Hello everyone. I have made some upgrades to the site recently. I have added the Star-Tribune's RSS feed so the primary news source in Minneapolis has a chance to compete with my blog. I also widened the layout for easier reading.
If this is not met with you approval, please, use the new "Call Me" button that I have installed. Yes, The Critical Minneapolitan now has a voicemail box. Don't leave anything too profane or I'll be forced to post it. Thanks again for reading.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Friday, February 8, 2008
Mechanics of a Caucus
On February 5, 2008 I went to my precinct caucus. It was my third caucus. And it certainly won't be my last. I thought some may find it helpful if this process was explained in reference to a primary. A few of my friends have inquired as to why I exhibit this Hannah-Montana-crazed-nine-year-old-girl-style excitement about these political functions every other year.
So, there are Democrats and Republicans. You can't be both in this process (few exceptions out there though). Each party needs to elect a candidate. They do this democratically with the use of delegates. Each delegate is supposedly a representation of a caucus (quite simply "group") of people. In Minnesota, precinct caucuses are held (generally encompassing a neighborhood). People volunteer to be delegates. If selected, they move on to the Senate District caucus (generally encompassing a set of neighborhoods). At that level, they will attempt to be elected to the state convention to represent that senate district. Along the way, these delegates pledge their support for candidates. Depending on majority of delegates at the state convention, candidates are endorsed and nominated by the party.
Now, the more distilled version of this process is the primary. Depending on your party, you show up to a polling place and look at a ballot filled with one party's candidates. You vote, drop it in the box, the party counts it and assigns delegates accordingly (or, if a winner-take-all state, all the delegates are placed in favor of the winner). That is the simple process and in Minnesota, it was attempted in the stead of caucuses because it's faster about ten years ago. But it's not cheaper. Taxpayers typically foot the bill for a primary where caucuses are party function and the cost absorbed by the party. Here's where I inject my opinion: I prefer caucuses without question. And so do Minnesotans, which is why we returned to the process.
Some elements of a primary were adopted by the caucus system recently to create a hybrid system. Now, at least in DFL caucuses, you show up, register, fill out a "preference ballot" and can then either leave or stay for the caucus. I stay because that's where the fun starts. Sitting among you neighbors, you begin to meet and learn who they are, all within the scope of issues concerning you and your neighbors. From anti-war resolutions to the stop sign on Zenith, your discussions are often charged with a sense of community and purpose. It's invigorating.
In Minnesota, about half as many Republicans attend their caucus as Democrats. And this year yielded record turnout for both parties. MPR reported that "[Secretary of State Mark] Ritchie says he expects up to 330,000 voters to participate by the time caucuses for the Green and Constitution parties and an online Independence Party caucus wrap up next month." In my precinct (Lowry Hill), almost 700 turned out. The line wrapped down two blocks, the church's lobby double backing before two flights of stairs, into a kiddy play room and back out to the registration tables.
As I was sitting on a trike waiting for the line to budge forward, a warm feeling washed over my heart as my faith in this country, despite the recession, war, scandal, and housing crisis, was awakened.
So, there are Democrats and Republicans. You can't be both in this process (few exceptions out there though). Each party needs to elect a candidate. They do this democratically with the use of delegates. Each delegate is supposedly a representation of a caucus (quite simply "group") of people. In Minnesota, precinct caucuses are held (generally encompassing a neighborhood). People volunteer to be delegates. If selected, they move on to the Senate District caucus (generally encompassing a set of neighborhoods). At that level, they will attempt to be elected to the state convention to represent that senate district. Along the way, these delegates pledge their support for candidates. Depending on majority of delegates at the state convention, candidates are endorsed and nominated by the party.
Now, the more distilled version of this process is the primary. Depending on your party, you show up to a polling place and look at a ballot filled with one party's candidates. You vote, drop it in the box, the party counts it and assigns delegates accordingly (or, if a winner-take-all state, all the delegates are placed in favor of the winner). That is the simple process and in Minnesota, it was attempted in the stead of caucuses because it's faster about ten years ago. But it's not cheaper. Taxpayers typically foot the bill for a primary where caucuses are party function and the cost absorbed by the party. Here's where I inject my opinion: I prefer caucuses without question. And so do Minnesotans, which is why we returned to the process.
Some elements of a primary were adopted by the caucus system recently to create a hybrid system. Now, at least in DFL caucuses, you show up, register, fill out a "preference ballot" and can then either leave or stay for the caucus. I stay because that's where the fun starts. Sitting among you neighbors, you begin to meet and learn who they are, all within the scope of issues concerning you and your neighbors. From anti-war resolutions to the stop sign on Zenith, your discussions are often charged with a sense of community and purpose. It's invigorating.
In Minnesota, about half as many Republicans attend their caucus as Democrats. And this year yielded record turnout for both parties. MPR reported that "[Secretary of State Mark] Ritchie says he expects up to 330,000 voters to participate by the time caucuses for the Green and Constitution parties and an online Independence Party caucus wrap up next month." In my precinct (Lowry Hill), almost 700 turned out. The line wrapped down two blocks, the church's lobby double backing before two flights of stairs, into a kiddy play room and back out to the registration tables.
As I was sitting on a trike waiting for the line to budge forward, a warm feeling washed over my heart as my faith in this country, despite the recession, war, scandal, and housing crisis, was awakened.
Monday, January 28, 2008
Bits and Pieces
Last night, I received an expected phone call from my best friend summoning me to his apartment for a screening of his film titled "Bits." The main character suffers from a disapproving father, an adult life captured in his parents' home, and another easily-identifiable quality of a twenty-something: the crippling, inhibiting effects of technology.
In the search to prodcue closer relationships with his peers, "Steve" tinkers and toys with a vast array of electronic devices. His final creation is an over-wired device strapped to a bicycle helmet. Placing it on his head, one of the most captivating scenes takes place where he "interfaces" with his friend's girlfriend. Stretching out his hand to touch her forehead, he is stripped of his control and the film takes an odd turn.
After the screening, an English professor who was asked to furnish feedback began what I thought was a thoughtful but brutal analysis. I didn't help chiming in with supporting arguments, but as the professor noted, it was good enough to be criticized. My good friend, who also happened to be the main character "Steve" seemed to receive the analysis well noting that his fears had finally been realized and that perhaps now his cohorts would change their direction of the story.
Strangely, throughout the night that followed the screening, the conceit of the film followed me, the idea of our relationships suffering from new communication technologies, new technologies that create introspective focus instead of a desire to interact with others (like an iPod for example). How on earth can technology designed to bring us closer drive us so far apart?
I thought very hard about this as we sat at the bar in Northeast Minneapolis listening to country music as hordes of twenty-somethings kept drawing their phones, email devices, etc. from their pockets frantically checking the latest communication. Their focus only broken by an upset significant other shouting "put that away."
And I was then comforted. As I turned around, away from the obsessive text messaging folk, I found more of my peers in front of the band, dancing. Their devices all resting back at their respective place to sit. If only for a moment, they had disconnected and were enjoying the presence of another human being.
Thinking that this was perhaps a hopeful display of relational maturity, I produced my phone from my pocket to answer a call. I stopped.
I'll call 'em back later.
In the search to prodcue closer relationships with his peers, "Steve" tinkers and toys with a vast array of electronic devices. His final creation is an over-wired device strapped to a bicycle helmet. Placing it on his head, one of the most captivating scenes takes place where he "interfaces" with his friend's girlfriend. Stretching out his hand to touch her forehead, he is stripped of his control and the film takes an odd turn.
After the screening, an English professor who was asked to furnish feedback began what I thought was a thoughtful but brutal analysis. I didn't help chiming in with supporting arguments, but as the professor noted, it was good enough to be criticized. My good friend, who also happened to be the main character "Steve" seemed to receive the analysis well noting that his fears had finally been realized and that perhaps now his cohorts would change their direction of the story.
Strangely, throughout the night that followed the screening, the conceit of the film followed me, the idea of our relationships suffering from new communication technologies, new technologies that create introspective focus instead of a desire to interact with others (like an iPod for example). How on earth can technology designed to bring us closer drive us so far apart?
I thought very hard about this as we sat at the bar in Northeast Minneapolis listening to country music as hordes of twenty-somethings kept drawing their phones, email devices, etc. from their pockets frantically checking the latest communication. Their focus only broken by an upset significant other shouting "put that away."
And I was then comforted. As I turned around, away from the obsessive text messaging folk, I found more of my peers in front of the band, dancing. Their devices all resting back at their respective place to sit. If only for a moment, they had disconnected and were enjoying the presence of another human being.
Thinking that this was perhaps a hopeful display of relational maturity, I produced my phone from my pocket to answer a call. I stopped.
I'll call 'em back later.
Thursday, December 27, 2007
The Literary Personality of a City
I'm so delighted after I finished reading a story (http://www.startribune.com/12853301.html) that Minneapolis as the most literate city in America. The study used several indicators to scale over 60 major US cities. Of those indicators, the number of newspapers, book stores, and public libraries were all seemingly sufficient in Minneapolis to accelerate it past last year's winner, Seattle. St. Paul was not far behind at at third.
The reason for such excitement is that upon reading stories of this nature, my faith in the capacity for critical thought and intellectual advancement increases. I can validate this study in a very non-scientific way by commenting on the observations of a good friend of mine who maintains the well-manicured nooks of Half-Price books in St. Louis Park (disclosure: my hometown--go Orioles!).
He reports incredible movement of both new and used books at this location. In fact, as he reports, they often are the second highest in revenue of all location nationwide, just behind the original store in Texas. Quite simply, St. Louis Park's Half-Price Books is the undisputed leader among other locations in the region. My friend asked me once, "Pete, the neighborhood you grew up in consumes so much literature, non-fiction, and other media. It's incredible."
My only response was that as I was growing up in St. Louis Park, I rarely interacted with a parent that didn't have a solid grasp on current events, history, law, even some familiarity with the annals of architecture. I was exposed to formidable minds and intellectual expectations. I remember a book appearing on every one's coffee table when I was a kid, Thomas Friedman's "From Beirut to Jerusalem." Again, disclosure: Friedman is a Parkee. But that alone stands as testament to my argument which I am finally arriving at: communities marked by the mass consumption of intellectual media often produce children bearing the distinct ability to think critically.
Well, that was a wonderful trip though la-la land.
That argument doesn't seem to hold water anymore. Some of my peers I interact with (not so much discussing my friends here) are often at a loss for words when I reference the most basic of cultural icons, like Kenneth Starr or Steve Jobs. Their attention is focused intently forward. Material goods trump intellectual goods as conversational pieces. Lohan and Spears are brought up with the same frequency that Reagan and Gorbachev were in the 1980s.
But the worst part is, I'm getting there too. If my peers cannot discuss why Dick Cheney is so frightening to the sanctity of civil rights, then what will it matter when they are lost so long as the subject has been pacified with an iPhone.
The news tries very hard too. So much so that know every other headline spells a doomed future in a feeble attempt to scare readers into subscriptions. But their yelling becomes so monotonous it's easily filtered out as the sound of that student screaming "Don't taze me bro" tunes in. Question, did anyone watch the video all the way through and listen to his question before he got the preemptive shock that could stop a 900 pound gorilla? It was actually a good question. Poorly delivered, yes, but a good question.
I'm overwhelmed, and due to this, I don't even try to explain the complex, or the historical perspective that informs us of our troubled future to my peers. But there's a sparkle at the end of this doldrums. It's just a matter of getting there. That small amount of light being emitted can only be one thing: awakening. And what better place for it to start than Minneapolis.
The reason for such excitement is that upon reading stories of this nature, my faith in the capacity for critical thought and intellectual advancement increases. I can validate this study in a very non-scientific way by commenting on the observations of a good friend of mine who maintains the well-manicured nooks of Half-Price books in St. Louis Park (disclosure: my hometown--go Orioles!).
He reports incredible movement of both new and used books at this location. In fact, as he reports, they often are the second highest in revenue of all location nationwide, just behind the original store in Texas. Quite simply, St. Louis Park's Half-Price Books is the undisputed leader among other locations in the region. My friend asked me once, "Pete, the neighborhood you grew up in consumes so much literature, non-fiction, and other media. It's incredible."
My only response was that as I was growing up in St. Louis Park, I rarely interacted with a parent that didn't have a solid grasp on current events, history, law, even some familiarity with the annals of architecture. I was exposed to formidable minds and intellectual expectations. I remember a book appearing on every one's coffee table when I was a kid, Thomas Friedman's "From Beirut to Jerusalem." Again, disclosure: Friedman is a Parkee. But that alone stands as testament to my argument which I am finally arriving at: communities marked by the mass consumption of intellectual media often produce children bearing the distinct ability to think critically.
Well, that was a wonderful trip though la-la land.
That argument doesn't seem to hold water anymore. Some of my peers I interact with (not so much discussing my friends here) are often at a loss for words when I reference the most basic of cultural icons, like Kenneth Starr or Steve Jobs. Their attention is focused intently forward. Material goods trump intellectual goods as conversational pieces. Lohan and Spears are brought up with the same frequency that Reagan and Gorbachev were in the 1980s.
But the worst part is, I'm getting there too. If my peers cannot discuss why Dick Cheney is so frightening to the sanctity of civil rights, then what will it matter when they are lost so long as the subject has been pacified with an iPhone.
The news tries very hard too. So much so that know every other headline spells a doomed future in a feeble attempt to scare readers into subscriptions. But their yelling becomes so monotonous it's easily filtered out as the sound of that student screaming "Don't taze me bro" tunes in. Question, did anyone watch the video all the way through and listen to his question before he got the preemptive shock that could stop a 900 pound gorilla? It was actually a good question. Poorly delivered, yes, but a good question.
I'm overwhelmed, and due to this, I don't even try to explain the complex, or the historical perspective that informs us of our troubled future to my peers. But there's a sparkle at the end of this doldrums. It's just a matter of getting there. That small amount of light being emitted can only be one thing: awakening. And what better place for it to start than Minneapolis.
Thursday, November 1, 2007
Trick or... hey, no one is here.
As I lay back in my comfy love seat after a considerably painful experience removing my wisdom teeth today, I am blessed to find time to once again keep up with this blog.
Last night, I took a good friend's son out for Halloween. He is three and obsessed with the good looks, web-shooting power, and smarts of a one Peter Parker. The costume my friend got for him was no less obsessive: a uni-body spandex number with well-articulated pads resembling muscles over the top half of the torso. My fine three year old friend had "guns" as one candy-giving neighbor exclaimed as he approached the door.
Strolling the streets, I noticed a significant absence of house lights, which normally illuminate the streets quite sufficiently. My presumption was correct in that the homes were not interested in little ghoulish visitors. I find this to be very reasonable for some homeowners, however the frequency of these homes seems to be increasing with each passing Halloween.
In addition the visitations at each home seemed to increase in awkwardness. When I was three and running around, the neighbors brought us in for a short cup of coffee and prodded and poked at our costumes with interest. It was all very community-oriented in estimation. And then some kid was taken seriously ill with poisoned candy a decade or two ago in some remote part of the country and the whole concept of Halloween drew an ominous glare from the overzealous paranoia of the American public.
Upon returning the home base last night, three pieces of candy were to be inspected and then authorized for young Spiderman's consumption. Indeed, I remember my mother inspecting candy herself, though rarely did it pass an inspection as it would have been consumed in the "taste-testing" phase my mother insisted on.
Regardless, all the candy I noticed last night seemed contained in its original wrapping. No home-cooked popcorn balls like I used to receive (when the great panic set in, this particular house in my old neighborhood kept producing them, only they would attach their name, address, and phone number to each item, which still drew ire and they stopped--a shame too, they were very good).
As we move closer and closer in proximity to one another in cities, the greater the distance between neighbors seems to grow. It would seem Americans are socially stupid, awkward, perhaps the best word: terrified. I find it disheartening. When I lived in St. Peter during college, I befriended a number of St. Peter residents an was invited to their home for dinner on more than one occasion. Everyone knew each other and strangers were looked upon with cautious optimism. The point really falls into distinct view: as urban Americans, we bought into the terror machine so easily I find it pathetic. Lest we not forget our president's swift hijacking of September 11, 2001 in order to terrify us into submission giving way to two wars, a crippled economy, and the TSA (they still haven't confiscated the small pocket knife on my keys in my pocket!).
That's a bit outside the scope of this pithy, sorry, but it really irks me. Moving on, as we plug into more and more social networking sites, I can safely say we're all losing the capacity to talk face to face and interact on a personal level. It's saddening because I'm a very social person and believe me, my computer, though well appreciated as a tool in my life, doesn't talk back. If you ever find the time, research exactly how many poisoned-candy incidents there were in US history. I think you'll come to the same conclusion I have: I'm keeping my front light on for those trick-or-treaters.
Last night, I took a good friend's son out for Halloween. He is three and obsessed with the good looks, web-shooting power, and smarts of a one Peter Parker. The costume my friend got for him was no less obsessive: a uni-body spandex number with well-articulated pads resembling muscles over the top half of the torso. My fine three year old friend had "guns" as one candy-giving neighbor exclaimed as he approached the door.
Strolling the streets, I noticed a significant absence of house lights, which normally illuminate the streets quite sufficiently. My presumption was correct in that the homes were not interested in little ghoulish visitors. I find this to be very reasonable for some homeowners, however the frequency of these homes seems to be increasing with each passing Halloween.
In addition the visitations at each home seemed to increase in awkwardness. When I was three and running around, the neighbors brought us in for a short cup of coffee and prodded and poked at our costumes with interest. It was all very community-oriented in estimation. And then some kid was taken seriously ill with poisoned candy a decade or two ago in some remote part of the country and the whole concept of Halloween drew an ominous glare from the overzealous paranoia of the American public.
Upon returning the home base last night, three pieces of candy were to be inspected and then authorized for young Spiderman's consumption. Indeed, I remember my mother inspecting candy herself, though rarely did it pass an inspection as it would have been consumed in the "taste-testing" phase my mother insisted on.
Regardless, all the candy I noticed last night seemed contained in its original wrapping. No home-cooked popcorn balls like I used to receive (when the great panic set in, this particular house in my old neighborhood kept producing them, only they would attach their name, address, and phone number to each item, which still drew ire and they stopped--a shame too, they were very good).
As we move closer and closer in proximity to one another in cities, the greater the distance between neighbors seems to grow. It would seem Americans are socially stupid, awkward, perhaps the best word: terrified. I find it disheartening. When I lived in St. Peter during college, I befriended a number of St. Peter residents an was invited to their home for dinner on more than one occasion. Everyone knew each other and strangers were looked upon with cautious optimism. The point really falls into distinct view: as urban Americans, we bought into the terror machine so easily I find it pathetic. Lest we not forget our president's swift hijacking of September 11, 2001 in order to terrify us into submission giving way to two wars, a crippled economy, and the TSA (they still haven't confiscated the small pocket knife on my keys in my pocket!).
That's a bit outside the scope of this pithy, sorry, but it really irks me. Moving on, as we plug into more and more social networking sites, I can safely say we're all losing the capacity to talk face to face and interact on a personal level. It's saddening because I'm a very social person and believe me, my computer, though well appreciated as a tool in my life, doesn't talk back. If you ever find the time, research exactly how many poisoned-candy incidents there were in US history. I think you'll come to the same conclusion I have: I'm keeping my front light on for those trick-or-treaters.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Culturally Designed Tragedy
A former University of Minnesota, Mankato student was found dead in an apartment near campus this morning. Authorities believe, though not conclusively, that Amanda Jax's 21st birthday celebration the night (and perhaps day) before is to blame. Excessive alcohol consumption is no longer an isolated event where the untried drinker becomes very ill and never again finds him or herself in such a state. It's a cultural institution, one almost as culturally compulsory as attending college.
I attended Gustavus Adolphus College, about ten minutes up the highway from Mankato. The drinking culture there was no different. In fact, I would venture to presume it's no different at any campus save Bethel College in Arden Hills and the smaller unaccredited Bible colleges salted throughout the state. I wrote a piece for the "Gustavian Weekly" my junior year about the consumption.
Without going further, I must disclose that between high school and present day, I was a pack a day smoker and fierce Puritan when it came to alcohol use on account of rampant alcoholism in my family (in the last year, I've backed way off from it, a delight to many around me actually, and can be found having a beer or gin and tonic at local bars once or twice a week). I was stalwart in my position, castigating those who drank excessively and berating their behavior publicly in the newspaper.
I was lauded by the administration (the director of Safety and Security even considered framing the article for the wall of his office). I was laughed at by the students (one wrote to the paper that quite simply, I needed to get a life). And so I closed my mouth out of embarrassment.
Until now. I can't say it enough, after spending a considerable amount of time with slightly younger crowd than myself in the last year, I have observed the stupidity with alcohol is perhaps not even equal to when I was in school, but very likely worse. It's cyclical and of course addictive. Now, in the case of Amanda Jax, her past was riddled with instances of poor choices and a steady pattern of alcoholism. Regardless, is it not worth taking into consideration the environment that has been fostered that approves of dangerous consumption with ease?
In the most cynical and jaded of responses I can have, I find myself reducing the entire matter to the principles of Darwin. Put simply, those not of the capacity to benefit society may very well find themselves removed from it. But Amanda Jax was studying to be a nurse, of which Minnesota and perhaps the country still suffers a shortage of. And believe me, nurses will do more in a week for their patients than I will for my clients in a lifetime. How on earth can this not be regarded as outright tragedy. And without a finger to point in blame except the one on your hand pointing inward.
I attended Gustavus Adolphus College, about ten minutes up the highway from Mankato. The drinking culture there was no different. In fact, I would venture to presume it's no different at any campus save Bethel College in Arden Hills and the smaller unaccredited Bible colleges salted throughout the state. I wrote a piece for the "Gustavian Weekly" my junior year about the consumption.
Without going further, I must disclose that between high school and present day, I was a pack a day smoker and fierce Puritan when it came to alcohol use on account of rampant alcoholism in my family (in the last year, I've backed way off from it, a delight to many around me actually, and can be found having a beer or gin and tonic at local bars once or twice a week). I was stalwart in my position, castigating those who drank excessively and berating their behavior publicly in the newspaper.
I was lauded by the administration (the director of Safety and Security even considered framing the article for the wall of his office). I was laughed at by the students (one wrote to the paper that quite simply, I needed to get a life). And so I closed my mouth out of embarrassment.
Until now. I can't say it enough, after spending a considerable amount of time with slightly younger crowd than myself in the last year, I have observed the stupidity with alcohol is perhaps not even equal to when I was in school, but very likely worse. It's cyclical and of course addictive. Now, in the case of Amanda Jax, her past was riddled with instances of poor choices and a steady pattern of alcoholism. Regardless, is it not worth taking into consideration the environment that has been fostered that approves of dangerous consumption with ease?
In the most cynical and jaded of responses I can have, I find myself reducing the entire matter to the principles of Darwin. Put simply, those not of the capacity to benefit society may very well find themselves removed from it. But Amanda Jax was studying to be a nurse, of which Minnesota and perhaps the country still suffers a shortage of. And believe me, nurses will do more in a week for their patients than I will for my clients in a lifetime. How on earth can this not be regarded as outright tragedy. And without a finger to point in blame except the one on your hand pointing inward.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Bridging Gaps
When I35W fell into the Mississippi over two weeks ago, several opportunities presented themselves to average Minnesotans, politicians, and federal leaders. To average Minnesotans, the opportunity to become a hero in the face of freakish and macabre events availed itself. And like hearty Minnesotans, the opportunity was seized by many. Individuals having been hundreds of yards, perhaps miles from the scene rushed over to aid and rescue the victims of poor engineering and a derelict state government; working with great energy and sense of duty among the other rescue workers, these folks were heroes born of their humanity.
And after any talk of heroes, one must not forget the press, with their excited sensationalism. Anderson Cooper and his crew flying in Minneapolis, perhaps for the first time as this city enjoyed national obscurity before the embarrassment of having an interstate bridge fall like a broken Erector set into the largest river in North America. They sensationalized. They told stories of blind brutality carried out by vile politicians, angry citizens, and a remorseful Governor who quickly reversed his position on a gasoline tax increase. Yes, the media did their duty, exploiting the pain, and intense emotion, and now, they will exploit elsewhere, like a nomadic group of vikings, emotionally plundering each critical event that brings a community to its knees. Minnesota, hopefully, swiftly, falling back into obscurity.
And then there was the opportunity that politicians saw. The DFL, a golden opportunity. Finally, something tangible to rally around and ride the final hopes of a failing national party into the ground. Assigning the total blame of death upon the tight-pursed leaders of cheap government. Yes, they took their shot.
But the most devastating opportunity, which was missed likely on account of total idiocy, was the President's. George W. Bush had a gas tax increase bill in front of him. He had the opportunity to show the House Committee of Transportation, led by a Minnesotan Democrat, that he cared. And maybe that he's right and that the increase will do nothing, but truly, it doesn't matter. People need to feel the support of their government as they travel across wobbly bridges. And how! The bill was vetoed.
Whatever possibility for this president to perhaps ride the coattails of hindsight into a mediocre review in the history books is lost forever. George W. Bush will fade into the same color of history that Andrew Johnson and Herbert Hoover occupy: the color of failure.
And after any talk of heroes, one must not forget the press, with their excited sensationalism. Anderson Cooper and his crew flying in Minneapolis, perhaps for the first time as this city enjoyed national obscurity before the embarrassment of having an interstate bridge fall like a broken Erector set into the largest river in North America. They sensationalized. They told stories of blind brutality carried out by vile politicians, angry citizens, and a remorseful Governor who quickly reversed his position on a gasoline tax increase. Yes, the media did their duty, exploiting the pain, and intense emotion, and now, they will exploit elsewhere, like a nomadic group of vikings, emotionally plundering each critical event that brings a community to its knees. Minnesota, hopefully, swiftly, falling back into obscurity.
And then there was the opportunity that politicians saw. The DFL, a golden opportunity. Finally, something tangible to rally around and ride the final hopes of a failing national party into the ground. Assigning the total blame of death upon the tight-pursed leaders of cheap government. Yes, they took their shot.
But the most devastating opportunity, which was missed likely on account of total idiocy, was the President's. George W. Bush had a gas tax increase bill in front of him. He had the opportunity to show the House Committee of Transportation, led by a Minnesotan Democrat, that he cared. And maybe that he's right and that the increase will do nothing, but truly, it doesn't matter. People need to feel the support of their government as they travel across wobbly bridges. And how! The bill was vetoed.
Whatever possibility for this president to perhaps ride the coattails of hindsight into a mediocre review in the history books is lost forever. George W. Bush will fade into the same color of history that Andrew Johnson and Herbert Hoover occupy: the color of failure.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)