Childermas Reconsidered: My Important Year

“You’re beginning something pretty important, and it will be forever.”

On this day in 1954, actor Denzel Washington, professional wrestler Lanny Poffo, and magazine editor and morning news anchor Gayle King, were born -- as was yours truly. Shortly after seven in the morning, at Saint Ann's Infant and Maternity Home on Cleveland's east side, I came into the world. About two weeks later, already settled into the second floor of a modest duplex apartment, I received my first letter.

Saint Susanna Rectory
500 Reading Road
Mason, Ohio

January 8, 1955

Master David Lawrence Alexander
875 Helmsdale Road
Cleveland, Ohio

Dear Davie,

Before this letter arrives, you will have been welcomed many times. I wish to add my voice to the chorus of welcome however.

You're beginning something pretty important, and it will be forever. You've got a big job to do, and that is to save your immortal soul that the Good God has given you. Dad and mother will help you in that, and will consider it their most important duty and privilege, which of course, it is.

But God will likely expect more then usual from you. You see, you have very good stuff in you, and that makes His investment pretty heavy and serious. So you'll have to do more than most others because of your rich endowment.

But despite the fact that you mommie and pop are pretty high class folks, even they have their shortcomings. Take dad for instance. Somehow or other, dads have a way of wishing their sons were big guys before they are. And so they treat them kinda rough some times. If he gets to throwing you up in the air and catching you, just to make you rough, you better explain to him that you do not approve. The first way to do that is to cry real loud. Sometimes that does the trick; but not always. Then you have to use stronger measures. For instance, sometime when he has a nice clean shirt on, and he gets a bit rough, just throw up on that nice clean shirt. That, Davie, will do it! If even that doesn't cure him, I guess you'll have to write me for further suggestions.

And now, Davie, if there is any time that I can help you to straighten out either dad or mom, just drop me a line, and I'll be glad to do what I can for you. And be sure to give them my best regards, and congratulations too on your safe arrival.

Faithfully yours,

[Father] Charles J Murphy

I still have the letter somewhere, amidst a host of memorabilia, papers, magazines, pamphlets, photographs -- things that seem worthless to anyone but whomever collected them. They are the things that trigger the memories, that tell the story, somewhere between the lines that are their pages, and the dust that collects thereupon.

My Favorite Year

Life has its own challenges at the age of sixty and beyond. One is past the point of building a life, and the focus is on how to spend its last years gracefully. This year, at the age of sixty-two, I am officially eligible to collect Social Security. However, I'd have to quit working full time in order to do that, and my benefits would be reduced.

But there will be no retirement at the end of this year. In fact, 2016 has probably been the best year of my career. After more than thirty years as a professional graphic designer, I made the decision seven years ago to switch to videography. One condition was to also serve as a photographer. Another was to risk failure, but that was less certain than the risk of mediocrity. Three and a half years ago, I was officially reclassified, from being a "Visual Information Specialist GS-1084" to an "Audiovisual Production Specialist GS-1071." And with the most recent evaluation, I went beyond a "Satisfactory" rating of "3" to a "Highly Satisfactory" rating of "4" on a five-point scale. When I was in college, I wanted my graphic design career to specialize in multimedia. The only problem was, the thing that I wanted to do hadn't even been invented yet. The merger of art and technology took nearly four decades for me. Far from slouching into obsolescence, I am at the very height of my career. A prediction of two years ago is continuing into fruition.

While the year has seen discoveries, and rediscoveries, there were sacrifices that had to be made, disappointments endured. They will be the subject of a piece to be released as the year draws to a close.

And so it goes.
 

“We now return (ostensibly) to our regularly scheduled programming.”

In case you haven't noticed, I haven't been doing much writing lately, at least not here.

Several things contributed to the dry spell.

For the past three years, my readership has steadily dropped. This past year, in particular, has seen it go to about one-fourth of what it was previously. Obviously it didn't help that I wasn't writing as much, but there was more to the decision (or should I say, the indecision?) than that.

The Other “Francis Effect”

The reign of Pope Francis, whatever one might think of him, has created more internecine infighting in the past two years or more, both in the Catholic blogosphere, and in social media, than one could possibly imagine. It is virtually impossible to comment with any authority on anything he says and/or does, on any given day, without arousing the indignation of some yutz who read something, somewhere, God-only-knows-where, that I didn't have time to read, probably because I have a life. And even if I did, a Vatican press office that is out of control, and a pope who speaks off the cuff whenever a microphone appears within spittin' distance, renders it equally impossible to know who or what to believe. Francis has been misquoted any number of times, and for those occasions where he is not misquoted, the account often starts with a headline that is very misleading. It is true that at times he has spoken most clearly on the nature of sin and the reality of the Evil One. Perhaps his finest hour was when he appeared before a joint session of Congress, and warned American legislators that the family was in danger (although he failed to include the unborn, as if it would have killed him to do so), that in a culture that encouraged divorce, a growing number of young people were genuinely afraid of the idea of marriage. The good news is that he has actually committed no formal heresy to date.*

All that aside, Pope Francis tends to make extemporaneous comments with little forethought, even by his own admission. We find it difficult to imagine what may come over a man in such a responsible position, until we consider not only that such public dissemination of spontaneous remarks by a pope are a very recent phenomenon (and by virtue of this, for all we know, might be nothing new at all). The reality is that not every pope can be a rock star like John Paul II, or a well-published scholar like Benedict XVI. Many of the 266 men who have reigned as Vicar of Christ are merely the most ordinary of men, as was the foul-mouthed Fisherman who was the very first of them.

His studies amount to nothing substantial. The Jesuits [in Argentina] have no professors worthy of the name, the subjects were tossed about in an unscholarly manner, the philosophy would never be properly taught ... The liturgy was perfectly awful, no one knew Latin, Scriptural Studies were little less than a sham ... So what does Bergoglio know? With that sort of training, pretty much nothing. No Latin, no languages at all, for that matter. His Italian is awful, not a word of English, no French, let alone his clumsy Spanish! (I wonder what on earth he studied in Germany for a couple of months, as is reported, because, for that matter, he knows no German either. And he certainly did not earn a degree over there.)

Well, then, how come he was elected Pope? Search me.

The remark that seems to irk people the most, is when it appears that faithful Catholics are depicted as "pharisees," or worse. It's one thing to preach on this theme in the first person plural, quite another to do so in the second or third person plural. It brings to mind the way in which Father Paul Scalia once began a homily on the parable of the Pharisee and the Publican:

"I know what all of you are thinking right now: 'I'm glad I'm not like that Pharisee.' And that's the trap that we fall into …"

One of the resulting "effects" that I've noticed on the internet, has been the drawing of a form of battle lines among pundits. Make a comment that's strident enough, one way or the other, and you'll quickly be consigned to one ideological camp or another. You're either in the Mark Shea camp, or the Michael Voris camp. Being pushed over the edge with the latter might put you in the Michael Matt/Chris Vennari camp. (There may be other camps, but that seems to be the trifecta so far.)

Shea wants to bring home the point that Catholics, particularly those who identify as "orthodox" or "faithful," too easily confine themselves to a secular political identity, which has proven contrary to any genuine examination of Church teaching, especially on social justice issues. Whether his vitriol has proven too weary to be effective, or just plain obnoxious, has long been a matter of some conjecture. Meanwhile, a lot of traditional Catholics were totally gung-ho for Voris and his ChurchMilitant.com apostolate, until he broke with the conventional narrative, particularly in his coverage of the papacy, and he's been castigated by his former allies ever since. (That would be the third camp.) It is an ambitious effort that is emerging as the next EWTN, but the risk is one of forming around a single personality, which has been the downfall of many a lay apostolate.

This is the tempest in the teapot that many want to follow. Those who choose not to, who would rather venture elsewhere, risk getting drowned out amidst this cacophony. At some point, what is the point?

The “Catholic Celebrity” Phenomenon

We all know that life isn't fair, and that some endeavors will be more successful than others. It's to the really great writers that people look for answers, for explanations, for insights. In matters of faith, it's not only priests who are sought on the internet. Any number of lay men and women have found their voice amidst the bandwidth. Some are mere hobbyists, while others are seasoned professionals. In the early years of the Catholic blogging phenomenon, the best-known bloggers were already established in the Catholic print media, either as authors or columnists. A separate subset, if one that overlaps, was that of the high-profile convert. Maybe they were once an atheist, or an Evangelical pastor, or even a High Priest of the Church of Satan. They are no sooner bestowed with the gifts of the Holy Spirit, barely emerging from the ranks of the catechumate, than they are touted as experts on the subject. The angels and saints in truly rejoice with the news that a lost sheep has been found, but here on earth below, the buzz is often less about the conversion, and more about the converted. It's pretty obvious if you know where to look, or just wait for the obvious. An entire church publishing industry enables this dabbling of dilettantes, so good are they for business. And so it carries on.

I could tell stories here, but most of them don't bear repeating. These are the types that make the Faith into less a matter of believing, and more a matter of belonging. The Catholic Church is not a private club, orthodoxy is more than the ability to talk a good game, and we don't have an elitist caste. We are a communion of souls, a procession of pilgrims, all of them on their way to heaven. Some will venture off the beaten path, others will fall away altogether, but it's about the journey, even more so about what awaits them at the end. No prancing pundit fawned over at a book signing, who has their minions show someone the door, sets the tone for who may follow the way. They fool some of the people, some of the time, but sooner or later, they are found. They are better off just being a face in the pews.

Sometimes it doesn't matter what you write, when all it really takes is a gimmick to get enough attention. There has emerged a subset of Catholic blogs that are best characterized as local gadflies, established ostensibly to crusade within their city or diocese -- they usually have titles like “A Concerned Catholic Crusader from Walla Walla, Washington” -- but which soon venture beyond the confines of their geographic locality, not to mention their competence, often doing little more than regurgitating what someone else has written. What they lack in original thinking and intellectual rigor, they make up for with a fawning fan base in their comments boxes. Some of these ponderous pundits also lack in fortitude, as they attack their ecclesiastical adversaries behind a nom de plume, presumedly for fear of retribution, as if somehow they can't stop themselves from attacking people, ergo they can't help it if they have to be anonymous -- like the lily-livered, yellow-bellied, crusading cowards that they are.

Then there are the twits who demand charity and kindness in their comments boxes, when they don't demand it of themselves. What's worse than that, is that their readership is too stupid to know the difference. At the end of the day, when you have to compete with the plethora of over-decorated websites and overly-bad writing (and it's difficult to imagine people actually loving this stuff, but they do), it sort of takes the wind out of the sails -- and just when you were hoping that Facebook and Twitter would have thinned the herd of the riff-raff.

But none of that, by itself, is what has taken me away from this.

Tempus Fugit

Unlike some of these yahoos, I have a regular day job. Not only that, but a very busy one. Most readers know I work for an agency of the federal government in Washington DC. I don't identify that agency, either on the blogs or in social media, not because it's one of those top-security agencies like the CIA, or worse, but because of a deal I've worked out with the people for whom I work. I don't mention where I work or do this where I work, and they don't tell me what to write. I can deal with political issues, and matters concerning the federal workplace (where not nearly as many of us are lazy or overpaid as you'd like to think), without catching any heat.

And writing isn't even what I do for a living, at least not there.

For the first thirty years or so, I was a graphic designer, or as they like to call it, a "visual information specialist." My area of specialty was mostly in publications. About a decade ago, I realized I'd gone as far as I could go in that specialty -- an outside hire who was a lot younger and brought in at a higher grade was a sure sign -- and managed to work out a deal to have them pay for part of my return to college. After five years of diploma studies in web design, they decided that they didn't want me to be a web designer. (That's the short version. The long one is even more pathetic.) Fortunately, I had learned enough about certain types of animation software, that I managed to persuade them to let me venture into video editing. That led to getting behind a camera and more video editing, and eventually, a formal reclassification as an "audiovisual production specialist."

My work got a lot better in the past year. It had to; they hired a director for us who actually knew what the hell he was doing. That sort of meant that I had to know too. As a result, I've caught up pretty well since then, but at a price. Between the day job, and volunteer work, and just taking care of a house, I simply don't have the time I used to have before this past year. And, as I said, my readership dropped considerably. So I had to step back, more or less. I did more commentary on Facebook, which was more expedient, and more likely to gauge reaction (or get any at all). I gained a lot from that, mostly what I wanted to write, and how.

The Rest of the Story

Once I told someone of how few people read this page. They told me it might still be worth it, just for the few who read it. Call it quality over quantity, call it as much fame as I can handle. I still get comments from people who have visited here, even in the past year. And I've been featured more than once, even in this past year, at New Advent. In fact, I even rate my own picture. I'd settle for that level of notoriety, the rare find among the well-read, a small cult following.

If you want to call it that.

UPDATE: Also in the works are the completion of a backlog of essays that never quite made it to the final draft. They will appear at the date of scheduled publication, in a futile attempt to save face in the long run, and viewers will be provided with an update of links to them.

+    +    +

* Readers were challenged on Facebook earlier this year to present evidence that Pope Francis had formally committed heresy. Except for a comment about the Jewish people which was at best inconclusive, no one succeeded.
.

Childermas Reconsidered: Turning Sixty

“You’re beginning something pretty important, and it will be forever.”

On this day in 1954, actor Denzel Washington, professional wrestler Lanny Poffo, and magazine editor and morning news anchor Gayle King, were born -- as was yours truly. Shortly after seven in the morning, at Saint Ann's Infant and Maternity Home on Cleveland's east side, I came into the world. About two weeks later, already settled into the second floor of a modest duplex apartment, I received my first letter.

Saint Susanna Rectory
500 Reading Road
Mason, Ohio

January 8, 1955

Master David Lawrence Alexander
875 Helmsdale Road
Cleveland, Ohio

Dear Davie,

Before this letter arrives, you will have been welcomed many times. I wish to add my voice to the chorus of welcome however.

You're beginning something pretty important, and it will be forever. You've got a big job to do, and that is to save your immortal soul that the Good God has given you. Dad and mother will help you in that, and will consider it their most important duty and privilege, which of course, it is.

But God will likely expect more then usual from you. You see, you have very good stuff in you, and that makes His investment pretty heavy and serious. So you'll have to do more than most others because of your rich endowment.

But despite the fact that you mommie and pop are pretty high class folks, even they have their shortcomings. Take dad for instance. Somehow or other, dads have a way of wishing their sons were big guys before they are. And so they treat them kinda rough some times. If he gets to throwing you up in the air and catching you, just to make you rough, you better explain to him that you do not approve. The first way to do that is to cry real loud. Sometimes that does the trick; but not always. Then you have to use stronger measures. For instance, sometime when he has a nice clean shirt on, and he gets a bit rough, just throw up on that nice clean shirt. That, Davie, will do it! If even that doesn't cure him, I guess you'll have to write me for further suggestions.

And now, Davie, if there is any time that I can help you to straighten out either dad or mom, just drop me a line, and I'll be glad to do what I can for you. And be sure to give them my best regards, and congratulations too on your safe arrival.

Faithfully yours,

[Father] Charles J Murphy

Sixty is the new forty.

Parade magazine recently broke the big news of a generation, that life really begins, not at forty, but at the age that everybody with an unpublished thought claims only seems like forty. Or something. We examine it more closely as we read the signs of The Times. For example, there's the one in New York ...

Yes, my generation, born between 1946 and 1964, has physical concerns: Friends are dying, joints are aching, and memories are failing. There are financial issues, with forced retirement and unemployment, children needing money and possibly a bed, and dependent parents. But for many of us, it is a psychological quandary that is causing the most unpleasantness: looking around and suddenly being the oldest.

Every generation gets old, but for those who were told we’d be forever young, it just seems more painful …

... which comes off as only so much self-indulgence. One is more inclined to identify with the voice of a similar name in London.

And please, can we stop this “60 is the new 40” thing? No one is saying 20 is the new 10. And who wants to be 40 anyway? An insipid, insecure age.

They're right.

I remember turning forty. I had been divorced two years earlier, and was only then getting used to the solitary life on my own terms again. I wouldn't return to that era even if it did buy me another twenty years on this earth below. The office environment had become thoroughly dysfunctional, my supervising official was an alcoholic and a sadist who made my life absolutely miserable, and who fooled everyone with a title (rather easily, I'm sorry to say) into thinking nothing was amiss. They would learn differently only five years later, and my view of management was forever changed (the details of which will find a proud place in my memoirs, or my retirement luncheon, whichever comes first).

I remember turning fifty. Sal and I were sitting in an Irish bar in Cincinnati. We were in town for her to meet my family. My life, for the first time in what seemed like … well, ever, was more or less where I wanted it to be. And where I was, was a helluva long way from forty.

I remember turning sixty. Or at least I will. But how, exactly?

It is when reading the New York Times piece, that part of you wants to say, oh, cry me a river already! And then you remember that you're actually talking to yourself. Yes, "my generation, born between 1946 and 1964," really didn't want to end up like our parents; old, in the sense of being "old-fashioned," confined to the rocking chair and decrying "these kids today." But you really can't help it, because "these kids today" really are a pain in the ass. You see it in the workplace. Not only do they not show much respect to their elders, but they really don't see the point of it. They are younger, brighter, prettier, more enlightened, and in many cases, they outrank you. What more could you ask of a generation?

At the place where I work, I am older than most of the people I see in the office, in the hallways, in meetings. The exceptions are almost all of Senior Executive rank, which I try not to think about, since over the years, people who couldn't organize a sock drawer have assured me that I have no future in management (and looking at them, I can see why). I have a son who's older than one political appointee or another, any one of whom could very well feel obliged to explain to me how the world works. It doesn't actually happen to me personally, but I know it happens to others. Alas, many of the Enlightened Ones will be replaced in two years, by those who appear even younger, but who are not, because I got older.

To reach sixty is to know that your own mortality is just around the corner. People get heart attacks at this age. Even the annual issue of Esquire magazine, the one devoted to maturing through the decades of life, concedes that after your fifties, "you're on your own." For me, going back to "the Latin Mass" was a sign of getting on in years, when after seeing "folk Masses" consisting mostly of aging adolescents trying to hang on to the unattainable, one is even less tolerant of anything with the appearance of novelty. Who wants to remember, or be remembered for, the things that pass like leaves in the wind?

Finally, and as can be discerned from the above, to reach sixty is to no longer care so much what others think of you, secure in the knowledge that, even if you had to, the die that is you has been pretty well cast by this point, and the world is going to have to live with it, if only for a little while longer.

The above being said, one can enter the later passages of life gracefully. Witness a certain Phyllis Tucker-Saunders of Newark, New York, for whom time will not slow her down. And there are so many others, who can look in the mirror and say, well, at least I still have my health. I can say that as well, up to a point. I have a herniated disc that got a good dose of Cortizone back in 2011, and there is the occasional flare-up of arthritis in my knees. I cannot walk for great distances without a cane, and even a minor back injury prevents me from being able to stand on a moving bus. So I have a cane with me, and I have to sit down.

And I'll still take to the hills around Mount Rainier when I tour the northwest. It's harder now than a decade ago. Still ...

On the other hand, people keep telling me (and without any prompting) that I really don't look sixty. Sal assures me of the same thing -- with my hat on.

The Road Not Taken -- Yet

It is the point in life when the light at the end of the tunnel that is retirement looms ever larger. They tell you to start planning for the inevitable, and so I shall. The soonest I would ever retire from the government is the end of 2020, when I will have just turned sixty-six. But even then, I imagine I will continue working for several more years.

And why wouldn't I?

When I was in college studying graphic design, I wanted to pursue an academic minor in multimedia. But even though I learned to use simple video equipment, and made a couple of animation films, what I really wanted to do with my life hadn't been invented yet. In the coming year, I will return to my studies in web design and development. I also found the sort of curriculum that is suited for my needs, not to mention my budget. Between that and a growing aptitude in video production, and I can finally say I have reached that goal of forty years ago, the marriage of art and technology. My next few years in my evolving profession could very well be my finest. I was always a late bloomer anyway.

And so it was, that after the Latin Mass today, for which I was the Master of Ceremonies, the sacristan dragged me to the rectory basement to help her bring my present upstairs. I tried really hard to act surprised by what I found as a turned the corner, really I did.

And so it goes, turning yet another corner, on to the next decade.
 

This Is Ponderous

You've all been wanting to ask, I just know it:

“Yo, Mister Black-Hatted One, how come you haven't added to the cacophony of commentary of Catholic stuff lately; you know, heretics running loose, Pope Francis saying something he regrets by the end of the day, the next pretty face on the celebrity convert circuit -- we've been tired of having to choose between Mark Shea's massive cult following and Michael Voris' massive head of hair. What gives?”

Well, you asked for it, and I'm gonna tell ya.

It happens every year, the two events which, one on top of the other, account for April and May being the busiest time of the year for me. There has been little opportunity to write, until the holiday weekend which had just passed.

Holy Week

There is, of course, the week or so preceding Easter, which is by far and away the busiest time of year at any Catholic parish. When I began at St John the Beloved nearly seven years ago, I was Master of Ceremonies for all parish-wide events pertaining to Holy Week. Since then, as the parish's celebration of the Triduum (Holy Thursday, Good Friday, Easter Vigil) uses the "Novus Ordo Missae" in Latin and English, rather than the traditional form, the role of MC has been handed over to the older gentlemen in the server corps. My official title for those days (as if I really needed one) is now "Privy Chaplain to the Pastor Emeritus," which means I sit "in choir" with him and the other ordained guys, and fetch the good Father something if he needs it. I suspect it's more of an honorarium than anything else.

Washington Folk Festival

The other event takes place on the weekend following Memorial Day. I've been involved with the Festival since 1992, when I lived in Georgetown, and ran into a former partner from the Contra Dancing days. She told me they needed a designer and editor for their program guide. I've been at it ever since, and the first three weekends in May are pretty much taken up compiling the material and putting it altogether. The staff people are really a great bunch, and it amounts to what is probably the most angst-free volunteer endeavor I have done in my life, with very little in the way of politics and palace intrigue. In return, they get a product about whose delivery they never have to worry. Granted, it is one of the less important aspects of the Festival production -- unless it isn't there.

Some years I work the Festival. Some years I don't go at all. My son Paul used to do stage work, and was running a sound board by the time he was twelve. I've never actually performed for it, though, not even as a sideman. Washington isn't like Cincinnati, where I would have been in a working band a long time ago. I can't really explain it.

Well, anyway, Holy Week and the Festival are the two annual "big ticket" items. This year, there is more …

Housekeeping

My house needs attention this year. My townhouse neighborhood has a number of laundry rooms throughout the complex, but more and more people are putting in their own units. I had mine put in last year, but there is more to be done. Sal acquired some antique furniture when one of her home health care patients couldn't take it with them, so it has found a place here. She keeps things in the drawers for the off-season, to facilitate sharing a small apartment with her BFF, so she gets storage at room temperature, and I get a place that looks … well, more domesticated than I am (plus it breaks up the monotony of bookshelves). The acquisition also included a china cabinet, so now I can finally display my mother's Depression glass collection. In addition, I am building my new combination stereo cabinet and fireplace, over which will be mounted my (very first) big-@$$ flat screen television. I'm probably the last one in my family (or for that matter, my neighborhood) to use an old-style cathode-ray tube set. And so an era of technology draws to a close. But first …

I need to repaint the interior. Being a designer, I have to approach this using a disciplined method (which drives Sal crazy, and that's part of the fun), in the form of The Home Color Selector by David Willis. I was supposed to schedule the painters this week, but was delayed by one thing or another, so it will have to take place some time during the summer. I'm also thinking about what to do with the kitchen, which has not had anything done since these units were last renovated en masse in 1982 (which is how old my dishwasher is). I'm getting estimates anywhere from $10,000 to $25,000, depending on how much of a production I want to make of this.

Capping that all off, of course, is the need to refinance. I bought the house in September of 2005, about a year before the housing bubble burst. And even though my neighborhood is next to the most up-and-coming neighborhood in northern Virginia, my real estate assessment is only now beginning to rise, after years of steadily going down. That matters when it comes to how much you pay in real estate taxes, but as to refinancing, no matter what your credit rating or income (and I'm good on both counts), it all comes down to this: no financial institution will touch a mortgage with a balance higher than 95 percent of what the home is presently worth.

Things could be worse. I could be out in Fairfax or Loudoun County, living in a big-@$$ McMansion that really took a serious bath when the bottom fell out. But still, if I'm going to have more than a modest retirement, something's gotta happen in the next six to twelve months. But you know, I'm still in this ball game, and it ain't over until it's over.

Nine to Five

And, of course, there is still the day job. After more than thirty years as a graphic designer (a "visual information specialist" in government parlance), I have been a photographer and video producer for the last three or four years, and a year ago next month, was reclassified as an "audiovisual production specialist." My director asked me to complete a self-assessment for my midyear review. I put on it: “I am the least of your worries.” I didn't get an argument, not from him, and not from the deputy communications director, to whom he reports. I find myself becoming increasingly relied upon for certain events, and unlike my previous position, I deal directly with top officials, without being hovered over by a bunch of empty-suited nervous Nellies, as I often was in the past. So, even though I haven't gotten a promotion in a gazillion years, my influence is being felt, and I'm working with the grownups again. I haven't had the chance for this much access since the early Reagan years.

And so, even though I'm no closer to being a mega-pundit of Catholic new media than I was a year ago, it's only because there are not enough hours in the day to do what needs to be done. So if you're looking to keep up on all the bitching and moaning going on, keep watching for our regular Thursday feature, because that's where we give you the highlights and the low blows.

And speaking of time, I turn sixty years old this year, which is another subject for another day. “I think you see what I mean.”
 

Not Dead Yet!

With six or more inches of snow on the ground, a sheet of ice on every road, and federal buildings closed in the DC area, it gives a man time to think. That's when I put the regular feature for today on hold, and also when I came across this:

At age 90, Ralph Hall is the oldest sitting member of the House of Representatives in U.S. history — a World War II veteran who exercises regularly, drives himself to campaign events and has voted in sync with his conservative Texas constituents for 33 years.

But as Hall enters the final stretch of what he says will be his last campaign, whether he makes it back to Congress could boil down to one question: Is 18 terms too many?

John Ratcliffe, his lead opponent in Tuesday’s GOP primary, believes voters will agree that Hall has been in Washington long enough ...

Yeah, that's possible, but that could also be said about damn near everybody on the Hill that's been there for more than two or three terms. They come to Washington for the first time, wanting to be the next Mister Smith. They arrive at National Airport, with that free parking spot, a ten-minute limousine drive to the office, free haircuts at the office, the ability to tear up parking tickets in an officer's face, and let's not forget that private bowling alley ...

But this isn't about that.

Unless you're rich and/or famous, divorce affects most of us financially. Go through it once, and you spend the rest of your life paying for it, especially if children are involved (which there was), and especially if the former ball-and-chain gets half of your pension upon retirement (which she won't). The way I've figured it out, the earliest I can leave is at the end of the year of Our Lord 2020, with forty years of service, when I will have just turned sixty-six. But I may stick around for four more years, in which case I would retire at seventy. Now, just saying that seems shocking. Why would anyone want to work until they're seventy?

Here's my answer: Why would the same people not ask the same thing of a public figure who is pushing ninety?

Oh, sure, there are people saying that, including this John Ratcliffe guy who wants the old man's job. But if you thought the Gentleman from Texas was one of your heroes, you'd just as soon keep him there until he turned one hundred, no questions asked. Keep fighting the good fight, pops. But we don't do that right off the bat. And we assume that everybody who retires is just like the couples in those commercials for financial companies who want to help you plan your retirement. There's a few people like that, but most would rather stay home and tend to their garden, or enjoy their grandchildren.

Me, I'll probably keep writing, or maybe play more guitar. Maybe get paid for it. Or something.

The men in my family tend to live a very long time. My father was eighty-six years old when he left us, and he had suffered from multiple sclerosis for the entire second half of those years. Hell, even the drunks in my family live into their eighties. So unless I get hit by a bus, the odds for me are pretty damn good.

Dad once told me that most men don't like what they do for a living. Dad worked at Procter and Gamble for twenty-four years before leaving on disability. His occupation at the world headquarters was "Sales Assistant." He was a detail man, essentially, for "Packaged Soap and Detergent" (or "PS&D"). His job was to keep track of the doings of sales guys in the field -- what they delivered, how much they delivered, how much arm-twisting they did to get a retailer to move so much product for so much of a price break per unit, stuff like that. Every eye was dotted, every tee was crossed, every jot and tittle accounted for. Dad didn't particularly like what he did for a living. He just happened to be very, very good at it.

After more than thirty years as a graphic designer, I decided that I had gone as far as I was going to go creating new varieties of landfill (publications). Five years of part-time studies in web design ended when there was a regime change at the office, and a subsequent refusal to let me finish, just short of the one requirement for getting the diploma, a requirement I later learned was dropped, thus screwing me out of a diploma -- thanks a lot, Art Institute -- seemed to spell out another dead end.

But even a curmudgeon-in-the-making can find a silver lining. I had worked with video cameras before, and had learned enough about animation software at the Art Institute, to transfer that skill to video editing software. So I did, and wowed the Powers That Be. I still wow them, and I'm happy for it, since it got me out of that black hole of an occupation I was in for so many years.

When you get a new lease on life in mid-career, you either go for it, or you're gone. I used to watch older people at the agency, hanging around with nothing to do, their jobs made obsolete by new developments or new technology, and the management just couldn't take them out and shoot them or force them to retire, much less fire them. So those geezers hung around, looking listless, and useless. I was determined to never be one of those guys.

And so, tomorrow, if there's any chance at all of going into work, that's what's gonna happen. God has been good. I love my job. It's the least I can do, don't you think?

Or don't you?
 

FAMW: A Conference Call in Real Life

If you haven't seen this go viral already (and you both know who you are), this is what the 21st century corporate office environment is like.

Recent years have seen the rise of "hotelling" or the sharing of desk space by alternating "teleworkers" -- Dick works at home on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, while Jane works at home on her company laptop, and comes in on Tuesdays and Thursdays so Dick can stay at home and ... walk the dog and pretend he's working. It all sounds great, until you try to get them all together for a meeting. It's funny, yes, until you have to work this way, and find how easy it is for at least one joker to be perpetually disengaged from his virtual office environment.

It happens to yours truly on a weekly basis. Tripp and Tyler demonstrate what a regular in-the-office meeting would look like if it went like a conference call. It's hilarious, unless this is what your job is like, in which case it's REALLY hilarious. And so it goes for this week's Friday Afternoon Moment of Whimsy.

And while we're at it, welcome to my day job. Watch your American tax dollars at work.
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My Y2K Moment

Lately I have become interested in emergency preparedness and survival techniques. The good thing about such a skill set, is being ready for anything. The bad thing about such a skill set, is attracting others who are ready for anything, including those who are a little too ready. You know who I'm talking about; the "doomsday preppers." If you've reached the age of majority by now, you are old enough to remember what didn't happen when 1999 became 2000. Of course, it was a great time for COBOL programmers -- people who knew the language of the old mainframes that still held much critical information, but were supposed to go dead the moment the clocks turned over -- but other than that ...

It was New Year's Eve in 1999. I was invited to a special black-tie dinner by our then-communications director. It was strictly a private affair, so your tax dollars didn't pay for it. This gal I was seeing at the time was all set to introduce Mr Wonderful (that would be me) to her friends in the coming weeks, but you wouldn't know it by the look on her when I came to the door. Something was up, but I tried not to notice. (I'll get back to that.) But it was hard not to notice the wonderful full-course dinner we had. This was my first such affair. I hadn't seen this many pieces of silverware in my life outside of where it's stored.

You have to remember that I come from people whose place settings only had one fork, even when the good china was brought out. It's one thing to have a separate soup spoon, because you need that big one to, you know, eat soup. But two forks? What would be the points? (Get it? Points?) Now, imagine seeing three of them, among other things. As for the night in question, what did all those pieces do? Well, someone just said to start from the outside and work your way in. That did the trick. For more details, I obtained this handy illustration from Fatima and Andrew Spoor. Keep this handy in the photo gallery of your smartphone, and you'll always know which implement to use next.

What happened to the one that got away? Well, once the clocks turned over and our computers didn't all die on us, she dumped me two days later. I found out about two weeks after that, that she was already making time with an old flame of hers for nearly two months. He was in a high position in a cabinet-level department right across the street, and the whole Y2K thing was the occasion for their meeting up again. And again. And again. What made it worse was that we both worked in the same agency, the same communications office. I wasn't just dumped; I was publicly humiliated. I remember sending her a long, heartfelt letter in the spring of that year, telling her of how these things tend to revisit you at your own expense. Two weeks after that, she discovered she was in the latter stages of cancer. She passed away by summer's end.

That wasn't what I wished for her, obviously, but I remember how bitter I was at the time, and how I considered it a form of poetic justice. Not only is that a rather cruel thing, but it presumes to know too much of what the Almighty has in store for us. We see so little of the big picture. We need to dust ourselves off, and move on. Somewhere in the greater scheme of things, there was then, and is now, a reason.

So eventually I did move on.

Most of the good things that have happened to me in my life, have been in the last ten years. For all my good fortune, I never forget how fragile the human condition can be, and how, as Old Blue Eyes used to say:

“Life is like the seasons. After winter comes the spring. So I'll say a little prayer, and see what tomorrow brings.”

Oh, and when the old homestead was sold last year, guess who got the good silverware.
 

FAMW: More Than A Glitch

Has anyone noticed that, in the last few years, this venue's political commentary has been a little less -- oh, I dunno -- political; that is, compared to a few years ago? Maybe it has to do with being a career civil servant during the day in times like these (at a time that is most assuredly not devoted to this endeavor). Whatever the reason, the prospect of demonstrating that a button-down power-tied wing-tip-shoed conservative think tank like the Heritage Foundation can have a sense of humor, if only for this week's Friday Afternoon Moment of Whimsy.

Seriously.
 

Shutdown: What It Is, What It Ain’t

This past midnight, the United States government not only did not have an annual budget (and has been without one for the last four years), but also lacked what is called a "continuing resolution," that to which Congress and the President agree as a means of operating at "present spending levels" for a specified time of up to, but not usually, a fiscal year. This short-term fix has kept the nation's government operating for at least four years. But after continued parlays from both ends of Pennsylvania Avenue, and (when it comes down to it) both sides of the political aisle, the luck ran out.

This morning, all federal employees deemed "non-essential" were required to spend up to four hours on duty for "shutdown operations," after which they were sent home. They will get paid for those hours -- eventually. Once a budget or continuing resolution is passed and signed by the President, all employees will return to duty. Whether they will be paid retroactively is a separate decision made by the Congress. In the past, they have done so, but the present general sentiment indicates that they most likely will not. (Relax, all 535 elected members of the legislature who have been dicking around for the past four years are considered "essential." They will get paid on time, if they have to run the presses and print more money by themselves.)

Now, I know what at least one of you is thinking: “Dude, we never know the difference when [begin dripping sarcasm] non-essential workers [end dripping sarcasm] are sent home for a few days, or a few weeks, so, like, um, why should we care? You should suffer just like the rest of us.” My initial response would be thus:

You're an idiot.

That's right. You merely think there's no difference, as long as your Aunt Minnie still gets her Social Security check on the same date every month, and you yourself are not otherwise inconvenienced. Tell that to the war veterans who literally tore down the fences blocking the World War II Memorial today (with the help of at least two members of Congress), because all national parks are now closed. You gotta hand it to them; at this age, these old grunts haven't lost their touch. Meanwhile, dear old Auntie will get her check -- eventually. You see, the money may come from a separate fund, but most of the people responsible for processing it have just been sent home, you big dummy! So you may have to float the old gal a few hundred until the unpaid masses yearning to assist you get to return to their jobs and do just that.

Now that I've got what's left of your attention, let's take a closer look at that, using big words that you'll have to read slowly, to see how some of you will be inconvenienced.

FINANCIAL SERVICES. The Small Business Administration will stop making loans, federal home loan guarantees will likely go on hold, and students applying for financial aid could also see delays and backlogs in applications.

HEALTH CARE. The National Institutes of Health will stop accepting new patients and delay or stop clinical trials. Medicare and the Veterans administration will continue paying out benefits, but new filers could face delays and doctors and hospitals may also have to wait for reimbursements.

PUBLIC SAFETY. The Environmental Protection Agency would stop reviewing environmental impact statements and food inspectors would stop conducting workplace inspections unless there is an imminent danger. The Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms could stop processing applications for permits.

SECURITY AND TRAVEL. The Department of Homeland Security would suspend the E-Verify program, which helps businesses determine the eligibility of employees, creating hiring delays. The State Department will also likely halt new passport and visa applications.

PARKS AND RECREATION. The National Park Service sites and the Smithsonian Institution will be shutdown. During the 1990s, 368 sites closed down and approximately 7 million visitors denied entry.

DISASTER RELIEF. In preparation for a potential shutdown, the Utah National Guard is holding off on sending a team to help rebuild areas in Colorado devastated by massive floods last week. More National Guard engineers are desperately needed to repair major roads and bridges in Colorado. Roughly 240 Colorado National Guardsmen currently working on flood missions are also in danger of losing funding.

NUTRITION FOR WOMEN AND CHILDREN. Though food stamps will still be available in the event of a shutdown, the Women, Infants, and Children (WIC) nutrition program, a service meant to help new and expecting mothers and their young children get nutritious foods, will not. If a shutdown lasts for more than a few days, the roughly 9 million Americans who rely on WIC could see their assistance dry up, leaving them food-insecure.

The article at ThinkProgress.org couldn't be more biased against Republicans for allegedly causing this, as the party that didn't control both houses of Congress when the no-budget scenario began, doesn't have one of its own for President who won't sign it without that which most Americans do not want. and didn't have one of its own say that "you'll have to pass the bill to see what's in it." All that aside, the above is a pretty good indication of what you will be missing until this is straightened out. Granted, some things will be missed by some people more than others. But a great portion of the population will be at least mildly inconvenienced while its tax dollars are not at work, including anyone with a government contract that's waiting for their business to be conducted smoothly. That last one will hurt the small businesses the most.

All the crybabies who think they can get along without the government, still want to feed from the federal trough. They are used to it. The most ardent Tea Party member wants their Medicare and Medicaid benefits. They paid for them, right? Well, yes, but you also pay for people to make sure you get them. You also pay for the federal government to swoop down on your little hamlet if there's a tornado, even before the governor of your state can ask them, which is required.

And last but not least, federal employees pay for the same things, with taxes, just as you do. They often get much of the blame for that over which they have absolutely no control. This brings up one more subject. Salaries and benefits are a substantial percentage of a state budget, but only a fraction of a percent of the federal budget. The savings to the federal debt incurred by three years without a cost-of-living increase for federal employees, will amount to about one-fourth of one percent. The woman who once told me -- in full view of Twitter, of all places -- that federal workers should suffer like others do is an ill-informed little twit! What possible benefit will come from wishing ill on people who try to make an honest living? If she can think of one, she can tell it to Federal defense worker Rob Merritt, a husband and father of four, who would have gone bankrupt from a furlough due to medical bills from heart surgery.

(As for me, I am one of the lucky ones. I have a contingency in place, so there will be no "tin cup rattle" campaign at this venue anytime soon, at least not to pay my mortgage.)

What can you do about what's wrong with Washington? Hold your elected representatives accountable. Quit re-electing the same bozos every time they want to keep their miserable job with exorbant benefits, and exemption from many of the laws they pass (including the Affordable Care Act, aka "Obamacare"). That goes ditto for you idiot Republicans in Arizona who keep sending that geezer John McCain back to Washington. For pity's sake, stop making that poor old man think he's indispensable, and let him retire in peace.

That, and quit crying to me about it. We get the leaders we ask for, the leaders we deserve. That means you, too, buckaroo!
 

“Many hot dogs are within you.”

Several years ago, I was at a two-day crash course known as “Video Boot Camp” when the instructor, a New York City-based TV producer-director of some repute, told me I had what it took to do voice-overs. People had told me before that I had a voice for radio (if not the face for television), but never a guy who made a living saying it. And since my superiors were in the room, I ended up for a while doing voice-overs at my (day) job for internal use.

I was reminded of this yet again tonight, in a conversation on Skype, with this commercial as a case in point.

The prospect of a regular videocast, under the auspices of man with black hat, has been on the drawing board for some time now. If it happens at all, it would be in 2014 at the earliest, with a new edition the same time every week, running between two and three minutes. With a necessarily fast-paced format, it would basically cover the same issues as in this venue, only more so. We would start with a pilot to show to a select audience, then a revision based on the input. From there an established formula, and regular production schedule, would be ready to go.

More on the details at a later date. For now, somebody “tell the world.”
 

Your Federal Tax Dollars At Work

Nearly a decade ago, I knew I had gone as far as I was going to go as a graphic designer, at least where I was currently working. So I wrangled my employer into paying roughly half my tuition expenses for diploma studies in web design at the Art Institute of Washington. I completed the course work and was preparing for final review when they told me, we don't need you to do web design, we're outsourcing the back end of that anyway.

So I wrangled them into getting me into video editing. I learned the software, did a couple of assignments, and got a year-end bonus equivalent to one paycheck, which was unprecedented for me, and anyone at my pay grade, for that matter. In the year that followed, they sort of went back and forth on what they wanted me to do. Then they put some sniveling empty suit in charge who came out from underneath his desk when the political execs weren't around and said, hey, we just don't see you doing video anymore, but we need a photographer, so would you ...?

Then, after a year of doing "grips and grins" (and getting quite good at it), they said, hey, we need you to get up to speed in a big way with video editing, and what the hell's taking you so long?

Still wonder why government doesn't work? You don't know the half of it!

So for these past two weeks, I (more or less) successfully produced, directed, shot, and edited my first training video. I can't show it here because it's not final, and it's for internal use only (besides giving away where I work), so here's a sample tutorial of the software I used to get the job done.

After all, who am I to argue with the kind of reasoning described above?