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Bad Political Ideas


The Gazette recently ran an editorial that resonates with me. “Iowa Senate Should Drop Flawed Election Bill” ran the headline.

The Gazette is right. The bill that prompted the editorial is truly terrible. It would end any satellite voting at state universities, and also ask all college students to sign an affidavit attesting intention to live in Iowa in order to not be dropped from voting rolls.

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Front page of March 14 MMU Times. I hope all Iowa college campus newspapers are full of outrage over this awful law.

The first idea is not just voter suppression, but doubly damaging since it is directly counter to the need to draw young people into political life. It’s not as if college age people are over voting.

And as for the second idea—say what? When I retire, they won’t ask me if I plan to stay in Iowa. And suppose I do plan to move—that does not justify taking away my vote.

I’m not often moved to contact my state lawmakers, but I’m planning to, on this issue. It seems some elected officials in Des Moines are on the attack against the very foundation of representative government. Shame on them.

Speaking of shame, the Iowa king of shame, Rep. Steve King, has been at it again, posting a weird meme that seems to promote civil war–and that identifies Iowa as being on the liberal side of that conflict. Well, at least the crazy Congressman of western Iowa and I can agree on one thing–I would like to see a more blue Iowa, too.

Seth Meyers does a good takedown of King’s terrible moment:

 

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Life in a State of Emergency


Are you OK? Is your door locked, your curtains drawn, your family and loved ones gathered in a safe place?

We’re under state of emergency. I’m a bit vague on exactly what the emergency is—apparently hordes of drug-dealing, violent, brown bad hombres are headed our way to human traffic us, fill us with drugs and force us to hablo español.

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Ancient Roman defensive wall in France. No doubt it worked well, since the Empire still rules Europe. From Wikimedia Commons, user Yougo.

It’s been a slow-moving, rather quiet emergency. The response is going to be a bit slow, too. “Build the Wall” seems like something someone does between emergencies, not to assuage one.

Anyway, I checked, it would be a tight fit, but if the caravan of terrorists shows up in my hallway at work, I could squeeze myself under my desk.

To hide form a world where we blow $8 billion on a vanity fence to short guy (look it up, officially he’s 6-3, but not in the real world). All for a non-emergency. Make American Grumpy Again.

Well, maybe there is upside to Life in The Emergency. What could LiTE do for you? What’s the upside of the Alice-in-Wonderland world that the tangerine White King has established?

Here are some tips for surviving and emphasizing the upside of the emergency:

  • Stock up on salsa and avocadoes. With hordes of Central Americans overrunning our country, certain foods may become in short supply.
  • Employ your seduction lines. “Baby, I know you wanted to wait, but who knows if there will be a tomorrow? We need to enjoy life while we can before the caravan arrives.”
  • Watch where you step. With so many Republicans suddenly lacking their backbones, be careful you don’t mess up your shoes in a puddle of GOP Senator.
MAGA Lego man

Feb. 17–Late addition to post–wife was playing with grandson and created Lego MAGA construction worker with wall behind him. Can we just tell Trump the wall is done?

What suggestions do you have for coping with this national emergency? What are your survival tips? In what circumstances can you image, “hey, don’t you know there’s an emergency” being a useful phrase? Let me know. No hurry. For an emergency, it does seem to be a rather slow speed situation. But comment and add to the list of survival tips.

Happy Emergency Day to you. We’ll always remember this as the day we woke up and found out about this “emergency,” What’s next? “There is a shortage of supermodels and porn stars—EMERGENCY!”

 

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For 2019 I Can Still Change


I’m not big on New Year’s resolutions. Mainly, it’s because I resist the sort of corporate business management notion that meaningful changes require measurable outcomes—that goals have to be quantifiable to be “real.”

I think that’s a valuable notion for an organization. But I reject it as an individual. In my opinion, all of me is too complex, too bound up with other parts, too connected to past and biology and knowledge and experience to be reducible to such math.

I am more, and less, than the sum of my parts. For example, I could set a goal to lose 20 pounds in 2019 (or, maybe more appropriately, 19 pounds), and such a goal would make sense since I can easily afford to lose that weight and more.

But, to celebrate New Year’s Eve, I just washed down my emotions with a full-calorie beer. Is there any possibility that my habits and tastes will change so much in 2019 that the leaner Joe within will emerge? Yes, yes, I know that in a larger sense the answer is “yes.” But, to be brutally honest, the answer is, honestly, probably not.

And why should that number define me?

Isn’t it more important that I strive to be kind in 2019? To read more new books? To enjoy the latest Tessa Violet or Lake Street Dive video no matter what my students in the Times newsroom think? To be a better husband, grandfather, professor, person?

Maybe lean Joe would be mean Joe, and if there is one thing I hold self-evident, it’s that the last thing this sad planet needs is a other Angry White Male.

So, if you’re into measurable New Year’s resolutions, more power to you. I’m not. Still, whatever, works for you is fine with me.

As for me, I want to experience less irrational anger in 2019. (Rational anger is another story—some measure of anger is simply a sign that you’re aware of the state of the world.) I want to experience more love in 2019, and I think the Beatles where right—the love you take is equal to the love you make.

And Lake Street Dive has it right, too. Their video is interesting, because Rachael Price is changed by others as she sings about how “I Can Change.”

I feel the same way. I can change, whether I bother to quantify the change in some measurable way. Yet at the same time, I can caught in a web of external forces that ensure, in fact, I will change, and if I don’t recognize and direct my own change, that may not always be a good thing.

I’m 60. I don’t look forward to 2019 as a young person would—my life is not always full of all of those possibilities. I will never be a professional musician or rodeo clown. One of my daughters made me proud in 2018 by running her first marathon—a feat that arthritic knees rule out for me.

But I can change. I should not focus on the possibilities that biology, fate and age close off to me—there are too many roads that still remain open. And the world is on its own path, and while I’ll try to do what I can to contribute to the good, to reduce the level of bad—mostly, I’m responsible for Joe.

My main New Year’s resolution? Sort of the serenity prayer. To change what I can and not be brought down by the rest.

Happy New Year, reader. May you not dwell in the new year in the shadow of hate. I hope you and yours find positive change in 2019, and I hope you can take heart in that possibility. We can’t control everything. Yet, we can change.

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The Party of Joe


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Yard signs seems on morning of Oct. 30 during my bike ride to work. Contrasting ideas at work here.

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The day before Halloween was both exhilarating and scary—a bit like Halloween, in a way. On Halloween, kids walk around in costumes to beg for treats. My wife and I dressed in business casual attire and went downtown hoping to get for some rhetorical hope.

I think we got it.

The news was that Joe Biden was coming to town. The former vice president was here for a campaign rally to boost Fred Hubbell, running for Iowa Governor, and Abby Finkenauer, running for Congress.

We had signed up online, as we were urged to do, but that didn’t seem to matter. When we got downtown, it took some time to find a parking spot, so as a mild, cool drizzle halfheartedly tried to start, we trudged a few blocks to wait in a line that stretched for over a block from the entrance to the Veteran’s Memorial Auditorium on Mays Island.

The night was damp and cool, but not cold and wet. We sometimes put up umbrellas, but then folded them (a trick our President seems not have learned) because it just was not worth it.

We ended up in line with a couple of other college professors, our colleague at Mount Mercy Dr. Joy Ochs, and her science-teaching spouse at Kirkwood Community College, Dr. Fred Ochs.

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The long line that leads to Joe.

The wait wasn’t all that long, and we had some pleasant chats as we worked our way to the door. At one point, a Planned Parenthood volunteer handed me a sign. I didn’t really want to hold a sign, and regretted my knee-jerk reaction to take it.

We got close. I could see Fred Hubbell chatting just a few people in front of us, and got my camera out—and like a Halloween apparition, suddenly he was gone. Still, there was a state House candidate, Eric Gjerde, next to us, so I snapped his image.

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House candidate I will be voting for.

And then we were in the lobby. A uniformed guard was by the door. “You can’t take that in,” he said of my sign, and confiscated it, much to my relief. And then we were in the auditorium. I was surprised at how lax security was—if there was a metal detector, I didn’t detect it.

And we were crowded together. Honestly, we were not squeezed all that much, and the space was large, so it was not uncomfortable, but I was glad I had decided by good camera would be too bulky to hold. At times, moving to take an image with a phone or little camera was challenging enough.

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The crowd inside, and Dr. Joy Ochs.

After a half hour or so, warmup acts began. A state party official spoke. A man in a wheelchair who has appeared in videos supporting Fred Hubbell spoke. A pause. Then, a high school girl doing a fine job with “The Star-Spangled Banner.”

Next, Sen. Rita Hart, Democrat running for Lieutenant Governor, spoke. I was quite impressed—I had not heard her before. I kind of wish she was running for the top job, but maybe if Fred is elected, that’s the next step.

Next came Fred. He’s a good guy, gave a nice speech, which the crowd enthusiastically received, but to be honest, he’s not the best speaker in politics today. No matter, we liked Fred, and it showed.

And Fred introduced Abby. Rep. Finkenauer maybe sticks to her familiar message a bit too much, at least to my ears, but she is great to hear. She was excited, it showed, and the crowd loved her.

And she got to introduce Joe.

Joe, Joe, Joe. What a great guy. What a nice man. He spoke like warm honey, his distinct voice booming out and becoming animated. He got emotional at times, choking up when he spoke of how Iowans supported him as his son was battling cancer. He compared his early life to Abby’s.

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Joe!

And he took President Trump to task for irresponsible, incendiary rhetoric. It was nice that he himself was never insulting to any Republican, other than noting the President’s excessive language. Even then, his criticism was of what the man says, not of the man.

Unlike Trump, Biden can take a stand without belittling or insulting anybody.

“This is an election for the soul of American,” Biden said. Granted, that’s a pretty typical political line, but I feel that it’s true this time.

We can’t afford to be the ignorant, coarse country represented by the Donald.

I am feeling some trepidation going into the final week of the fall campaign. To me, the core of Trump’s support has been rock solid, despite or because of the ridiculous, hateful things he says. Trump has successfully painted media as “fake news,” and not because it is, but because it’s an easy excuse for the lazy of mind to hunker down in narrow ideological silos.

Well, Biden didn’t cure me, but he helped a lot. I feel a bit better now. I was in a crowd of like-minded souls, and it felt good.

I don’t know if a blue wave is coming, although I hope so. Trumpism is a national disgrace, the modern American nightmare. I hope my country wakes up and tosses off the yoke of xenophobia and nationalism.

I’m not sure it will. But it sure felt good to hear Joe, a nice counter balance to the latest bombastic tweets from the Twit-in-Chief.

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Inspirational Words for a Football Team


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Colorado author aaron abeyto speaks Sept. 27, 2018 to a packed Flatherty Community Room at MMU.

I enjoyed all of the snippets of writing read by author aaron abeyta Sept. 27 at Mount Mercy University.

An English professor at Adams State University in Colorado—and mayor of a small town, abeyta was also recently the local high school football coach. In that letter, he offered this working definition of being perfect:

“You are perfect because your imperfections have not derailed you,” he said.

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Student notes.

abeyta’s writing ranged from Satan in a bar fight to a calculus problem written as a love poem. As he changed genres and topics, abeyta’s voice would change and his pace would quicken or slow.

He said it’s because he is a conduit for poetry, and reads each poem in the voice of the person who inspired it.

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Explaining cover.

One of my favorites was a people about clichés—loaded, of course, with clichés.

Flaherty Community Room at Mount Mercy was packed for this event. The lighting was pretty dim, but I think I managed to get some images anyway. It was a great evening, and enlightening with many insights provided by the mayor of

abeyta, between readings, reflected a bit on the nature of writing. He noted that he usually revises a lot, and that writing involves being able to deal with rejection without getting discouraged.

“Poems are work, folks,” he observed. So are other forms of writing, a point I think this small-town Colorado mayor would probably agree with.

NOTE: In correcting this post the next day, I deliberately did not capitalize the author’s name. No disrespect intended–in many uses, it seems he prefers it not capitalized, which is why I decided to go with that unusual usage.

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Student listening.

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Lilies of Summer, May You Lift My Mood


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Lily in bloom today.

The flowers of summer arrived just in time. I noticed and photographed some lilies today in my gardens.

Now, I know that lilies have been blooming elsewhere in town already, and my own gardens tend to be a little behind, but somehow, on June 21, longest day of the year, it seemed like a good day for lilies to arrive.

Maybe they can lift my mood, a bit. It’s been a hard summer. Not that anything is wrong personally in my life, but I’ve grown increasingly distressed watching our democracy unravel. The border-child thing, which is not really over, was harsh and horrible, but it was just one more point of pain.

Bad ideas seems to be taking off all the time: Militarizing space. Fighting Canada and praising North Korea. Saying one thing one day and countermanding it the next. Claiming the media are the greatest enemies of the American people while also praising North Korean state TV for treating the ruthless dictator of that country well.

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OK, internet, what is this flower? The plant is thin and about 2-feet tall.

It’s not just the lunatic in the White House. Here in Iowa we have rain. And rain. Rain and more rain. We’ve gone from some dry, hot weeks to cool wet weather that almost feels more depressing. Who knows what will come next from Mother Nature or President Crazy.

Well, seasons and presidents change—shame on America and the electorate if there is not a blue wave this fall.

And in the meantime, at least there are lilies.

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And there is Milkweed.

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A Few Minutes After Grades Are In


And in the post-semester, I’ve-just-posted-grades posted point, I’ll admit, just for one self-indulgent minute, my mood about grades briefly matched a pop song from the 1980s:

I’m better now. Back to caring. Let another semester commence—in three months, or so.

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