Blessed Silence at the DNC

I've been watching the DNC for the past several nights on C-span, and I noticed something...the silence. 

Not from the endless parade of speechmakers, nor from the house band cranking through every 70's and 80's Wedding Reception uplifting dance song they have in their book.. 

No, the silence came from my television itself, because C-Span does not fill every empty moment with some yammerhead "analyst" reinterpreting what was just said as they are addicted to doing on every other network. I don't need Chris Matthews or Tom Brokaw or all the othertalking head "experts" telling me what to think about the speech I just heard, I don't need to be subjected to the innane rambling of some political correspondent's reminiscences of his time on the campaign bus when Hillary spilled grape juice on her pant suit. 

Hey, I have a brain, I have ears and I can make up my own mind on what has just been said. Too often these days, we allow ourselves to be subjected to this analysis for analysis sake, while nothing of any real significance is being said, only dead air being filled with dead words. 

I can hardly wait to watch the RNC next week on C-Span.

Global Warming...A Choice?

PG&E has taken it upon themselves to run a series of radio ads that manage to combine Global Warming, California environmental smugness and selling washing machines. These commercials all have the same basic format: a series of "real" people come on and share their "sincere" statements about how wonderful they are because they are "choosing" to end global warming...as implying, of course, that they are sanctimoniously better than the rest of us slobs. One woman even comes on and masterfully guilt trips her kids by earnestly saying "I'm doing this for you guys."

But what exactly is she doing anyway. 

Aside by the environmentally-holier-than-thou attitude that smugs its way through every word, there is one big problem here, Global Warming really isn't up to us, its this naturally occurring cycle that we have exacerbated, but it isn't up to us. 

Sure, we can make some personal choices that may reduce our personal carbon footprint, like choosing not to buy that new Escalade (like our masterfully guilt-tripping Mom above) but we don't have the power to stop (much less reverse) global warming.

It is this type of self-satisfied hubris that most annoys me about these types of campaigns. They skirt the true issues by making us feel good about using PG&E and buying their approved appliances.

That's why I turn those commercials off when they come on.

My Boy Can Cook

I've been thinking about my brother a lot lately, which really isn't unusual as I think about him often. People think about the people that were important to them, especially when those people have killed themselves and there are a lot of unanswered questions.

He was my older brother and for much of my growing-up years, I idolized him, though he tormented me no end, in my eyes he was a god. That's just how it is with younger brothers and older brothers. 

I could run through a maudlin self-indulgent list of why he was so wonderful to me, and maybe convince you as to why I thought so, but the reality is that you would just read the words and never see the man I looked up to and tried so hard to emulate. You just wouldn't get it, so I am not going to try...and we'll both be happier that way.

We had several things in common: music, fantasy football, pinochle, and cooking. My Mom made sure that we both knew how to cook. She had told us both, "If I die before your father, then you have to get him remarried right away because he would starve otherwise. My Dad could cook toast. My Mom made sure that my brother and I could do much more than that.

Both my brother and I worked our way through several different restaurants on our way to landing in our respective careers. We liked talking about food and cooking, it was a safe subject for us and we were both very passionate about it. As time went by, and we grew older and our lives drifted apart (while his demons and mine grew) we communicated less and less, though invariably, when we did talk, we would touch on each of the subjects...including cooking.

Over the years, my brother adopted a kind of country bumpkin/biker look that confounded the rest of the family. He adopted the pose of the outsider and tended to live up to the "family black sheep" persona. After a while, even his speech patterns shifted toward a rural-rough-edged mannerism that was completely contrary to how we were raised. He became an Oakland Raiders fan and thus tended to adopt certain speech patterns. I still understood his words though, because I was listening with that eager "little brother" ear that yearned so for his approval and recognition.

That's why I was thinking of him tonight. Why, when I was cooking a chili-lime seasoned salmon with picatta sauce, herbed rice and peach-strawberry-blue cheese fruit salad I was listening with my "little brother" ears for his voice, standing behind me saying, 

"My boy can cook."

God how I wish I could hear him say that.