The Coming Power Pageantry

I just mentioned that I attended a Mike Hatch speech this week. Yikes. I was not impressed. Sure, he's smart, brash, and stands up for the little guy, and I like him. He's also wonkish. Way wonkish. Al Gore wonkish. Which equates to loser in electoral politics, which I view as a Power Pageant. Sure enough, just like in the beauty pageants, brain and talent matter and are a part of the equation. But it is charm and beauty, pure and simple, that wins. Take Bush. He's stupid, arrogant, at times simply absurd. But he's got that facade of down-home charm that manages to convince millions that 'hey, what the hell, he's one of us and shucks, I can make mistakes too.' I even believe the absolutely hilarious spoofs of Bush (e.g., Will Farrell's, Andy Dick's, which is truth told, actually) backfire as insulting spoofs about people who feel the intellectual elite are, well, intellectually elite. It's like we laugh at Bush and his absurdity, but our laughter, to be honest, is generally also directed at those who, we feel, are stupid and beneath us. That has to change, because it's not working.

Pawlenty vs. Hatch? Pawlenty wins the charm portion of the competition hands down and thus the likely coming Power Pageant. Hatch has to cut down on the speed-talking wonky-tonk and just get a little bit down home, like he really does come from Duluth East and actually grew up here in Minnesota. As it stands now, he's a suit, a brash and successful one at that, but a suit nonetheless. I'm concerned.

Blue Blood

I attended my first civic event as a blue-suited attorney today, the Edina Chamber of Commerce meeting at Interlachen Country Club. I was invited so I could hear what Mike Hatch had to say.

I was completely out of place and, as typically happens, I prove it. First, it was probably the first time in at least a decade that I recited the pledge of allegiance, which is how these meetings apparently always start out. Plus, my shirt collar and cuff sleeves were badly frayed and showing white (it was a dark blue shirt) but for whatever reason I shrugged my shoulders this morning and wore the shirt, thinking I had no client meetings but forgetting that I'd be rubbing elbows with a bunch of suits later. My hands are also badly chapped in the winter, and my fingers sometimes get so dry the fingertips crack and bleed. That happened while I was eating my salad (oh, I was the only one at my table who got the obligatory vegetarian pasta primavera). I bled all over my fork and napkin, then unknowingly rubbed my hands across my nose and cheek, seeing later in a car window reflection that I had a long smear of blood across my face. Why no one said anything is beyond me--pity perhaps for this poor fool.

Nice To Bloggered You

I don't know about you but I get quite a few of those e-mails that promise millions of dollars for the simple task of depositing hundreds of millions of dollars in my puny little bank account. They are called 4-1-9 e-mails, apparently after section 419 of the Nigerian criminal code. While annoying, I find them mildly amusing in their near lyrical misuse of the English language. Take two I just received today. Here's the first:

NICE TO CONTACTED YOU!

This is an honest work of God, which I am introducing to you to undertake it sincerely and urgently as child of God and to obtain blessing from God.

I am barrister mike smith a lawyer for late Mr. MOSES TONY and late Mrs. DORIS TONY. Mr. MOSES TONY was a chief accountant with a foreign oil company-GOLF in Netherlands for 8yrs. In 1999 he died with his 3 children in motor accident and leaving her wife a widow without a child. They were Christian of the first order that decided in vesting in Amsterdam by banking their money in financial bank and a erecting 6 duplex super houses in Amsterdam.

Now, I'd love to see the 6 duplex super houses in Amsterdam and talk with these Christians of the first order in their honest work. And maybe I could if I qualify as "a responsible and honest person who resides in an entirely country" to be the recipient of "this fund of 25,004,002 Euro and estate for the upliftment of christen cause."

Here's another, just received today:

Due to the political crisis here, I have decided to nominate your name to claim this consignment of Gold & Diamonds on my behalf as my business partner & also you have to promised me that you will not sit on my money when it gets to your country that is why I need your assistance as a God fearing person. As soon as the consignment release from the storage company, the fund will be transferred through a bank or we make a good arrangement with a diplomat to bring the consignment directly to your doorstep in your country through a diplomatic means.

Directly to my doorstep? You mean $8.5 million in gold and diamonds at my doorstep in St. Paul, so long as I don't sit on them? How can I resist, especially as a God fearing person of the first Christian order for the upliftment of children and others? Nice to bloggered you indeed!

When I Fight Authority

Typically, authority always wins. It's a theme going back to high school, when I wanted to exit from our graduation ceremony with the Beatles "When I'm 64" playing. Big kebash on that one, even though I was, ahem, president of my class and, like all good adolescents with a cause, made a stink about it. But, all that aside, I've got big news. Remember how I griped about Match.com and its 'automatic renewal' policy, whereby they basically got $90.00 more bucks out of me for 'renewing' my subscription automatically each month for three months? Well, I complained to the Minnesota Attorney General's office and, yadda yadda yadda, after a few letters and all, Match has agreed to refund my money. This despite their 'zero refund' policy. I've also been contacted by other folks about the practice and they are interested in pursuing it. Woo hoo!

Needle in the Hay

There's a fascinating and heartbreaking article in the January 16 New Yorker, about a child prodigy who lived in the middle of Nebraska and committed suicide at the age of fourteen. What is partly so fascinating is the author's ability to lay out the story without judgment, either in the way in which the boy lived or in how his death has been interpreted, by his family, friends, and experts. His mother and father deny that Brendenn was depressed and have an odd interpretation of his suicide. In the middle of the story, however, there's a quote from what would normally be an innocuous teenage e-mail from Brendenn:

I'm glad there's someone who cares. I don't know why I'm so depressed, before it was just every now and then, and you know, it was just 'bummed out' depressed. But now it's constant and it's just 'What's the point of living anymore?' I don't know, maybe I don't spend enough time around good friends like you.

While I don't want to read a whole lot into the few words in the e-mail, for me it captures the genuine distinction of being bummed out vs. being depressed, and Brendenn, at age fourteen, accurately described depression, the constancy of it at least.

I'm fumbling through my days here as well, feeling like I'm merely moving from here to there, sometimes in a car, sometimes walking along a sidewalk, even feeling like I'm watching my arms move, detached and autonomous from my body. It's not very fun, but I have enough cognitive gymastic skill to get through the day and also to seek a bit of help. I don't think the music I listen to helps at times either, like Elliot Smith and Nick Drake, but I've been grooving to free online tunes I've scored for my iPod. Check out www.fingertipsmusic.com.

All's Not Lost

Whoa. It's been how long since bike boy posted here? Geez. Maybe I can chalk it up to it being winter and my bike is sitting in the back of my pickup truck, which itself is out of order. I bought a used 1997 Volvo, a common person car, or what the elite think of as a common person car. It's a real tank and I love it.

Anyway, maybe another excuse for my inexcusable tardiness is my extreme busy-ness, with new job, new love, new car, new blah blah blah. Now that the Professor--the woman I'm dating--is out of town and in Italy for a month, maybe suddenly I have time that I normally would spend with her. Hmmm. But even that's not easy, as I've suddenly become a complete moron. Yesterday, I lost my favorite hat, a Christmas present from the Professor. I also went sledding with an ink pen in my back pocket, breaking it and exploding it all over my Wranglers, then thought I lost my wallet and called to cancel my credit cards, only to find my wallet two hours later on the floor of my car, where I swear I had looked for it carefully--twice. Before finding it, however, I had spent an hour at the bottom of a hill in South Minneapolis with a flashlight, searching through weeds to find the wallet, even getting a guy, his two kids, and their dog in on the search. But, thankfully, it was not lost, though I'm now without credit cards until I get new ones issued.

After a brief hiatus, I'm also back to running, and now thinking of either doing Grandma's Marathon in June or the Fargo Marathon in May.