Old School or I see dead animals

Spent most of the week with the team from LAZ Parking, which resulted in a trip to Hartford, Connecticut.  As always, we were swept up into that vortex, that force of nature, Alan Lazowski, LAZ Parking's CEO, who seems to get more stuff done in a week than most mere mortals do in a month.  In addition to two days huddled up with the senior leadership team, there was also a political fund raiser he hosted for Mike Blumenthal, Democratic candidate for Chris Dodd's abandoned seat.  Frankly, Al should be running.

The meetings and the fund raiser, conveniently were held at The Hartford Club.  The company's new CFO, Nathan Owen, an English fellow, immediately submitted his application for the club, because "It reminds me of England."

I don't know if Nathan meant the food, but he certainly meant the decor.  And since it is a private club there is actually a "Gentlemen's Cigar and Billiards Room."  (I am quite certain that distaff members of THC are quite welcome.)

The room is redolent of the pleasant smell of cigar.  Wood panelling, private humidors, leather chairs, a bar, dead animals on the wall, and the requisite photo of Samuel Longhorn Clemens, better known as Mark Twain.  Clemens was a member, and the photo showed him in his trademark white suit, leonine head of hair, and the ever-present cigar.

While we never saw the room in actual use, one imagines suited gentlemen rustling their copies of The Wall Street Business Journal or The Hartford Courant, sipping a glass of port, and indulging in their favorite smoke.  Harkening back to simpler times. 

My cigar venue of choice was a bench outside of McKinnon's Pub on Asylum Street.  On Wednesday evening the pub was packed with musicians who played Celtic music in a come-one-come-all style.  A squeebox, a few fiddles, guitars, a mandolin or two.  No pipes.  The only drawback was having thye Guinness served in a plastic cup, as pint glasses were not allowed outdoors.  One must suffer occasionally for one's vices.

And now back to San Diego, where it is becoming increasing difficult to find a place to indulge in a cigar.  Beaches and parks have banned all smoking.  You can't drink on the beach, either.  There are a few cigar stores where patrons can light up.  But a private club...if you know of one I'd like to know.

My life in nine weeks & Hypocrisy

First, it was March 12th, nine weeks before our trip to Scotland.  Suddenly the plans and time telescoped.  Books on Scotland's rich and warlike history to read.  Highlighting Rick Steves and other guidebooks on planned sites to visit.  Telephone numbers, addresses, signing up for Skype, getting the iPhone...

Then, the trip itself.  Nine weeks chronicled here in detail.

Now, nine weeks after our return.  To mark the occasion I called Callum and caught him (shockingly!) at Jelly Hill.  The turnout, he said, was low.  He and Lucy were there along with Kirtseen and Callan.  The fire fighting duo were expected.  Callum blamed the weather, 55 and raining...true Glaswegian weather. 

So, half a year passed in this trio of nine week blocks.  A certain symmetry if you will.

And now to the purpose of today's missive.  Hypocrisy.  Two events from the sporting world and from a world (football, or American football) where my interest is slightly less than studying the mating habits of three-toed sloths.  My friends know that I have watched less than five professional football games in the last five years, even eschewing last year's Super Bowl.  You can blame the over-entitled pissant Eli Manning, whose fit of pique and refusal to play in San Diego finally demonstrated what a callow bunch runs across our less than Elyssian Fields.

Reggie Bush, the electrifying all-purpose back who was indeed the best college player in 2005, returned his Heisman Trophy.  His crime, he took some money when he was an undergraduate, thus making him ineligible.  The results of that are now visited on a coach and players who were nowhere near the campus in 2005.  The irony of the NCAA and its punishment.  The USC coach at that time, Pete Carroll, now coaches an NFL team and makes a multi-million salary that has him rooting for an extension of the Bush-era tax cuts.  (In this case the Bush in question would be George W. and not Reggie.)  Reggie is a pro football player with the current world champions, the New Orleans Saints. 

The report was that the Heisman committee was considering asking for the trophy back.  Bush relieved them of that hollow wringing of hands and gnashing of teeth by returning it of his own volition.

The hypocrisy is the entire system of college athletics.  Coaches who earn millions of dollars, schools that earn comparable sums for appearing in bowl games, ticket sales, television revenue.  Hell, Notre Dame has its own network, NBC!  The only ones not making money, the kids on the field.  Who are also banned from holding jobs or risk loosing their scholarships.  And the Heisman itself.  If you want to go and watch the presentation, a ticket will cost you $500.00. 

Our second example of hypocrisy is Ines Sainz.  Ms. Sainz, who might be a member of Mensa, was certainly not hired for her intellect.  She is a stunning beauty.  Walking Cialis.  She would get the College of Cardinals electing the next Pope to melt into paroxysms of cat-calls and wolf whistles.  Ms. Sainz walks into a locker room full of naked Jets and expects what?  She was also upset that the team ran a play near to where she was standing on the field.  These two incidents offended her.  She was, well, treated like an object.

No journalist, male or female, actually needs to be in a locker room.  There are press areas and mandates that require athletes to make themselves available to the press.  This access is an anachronistic throwback to the days of fedoras, spiked stories, and cigarettes drooping from the mouths of Heywood Hale Broun or Red Smith.

The hypocrisy...do I really need to explain it?  Thought not.  But you might be interested to know that male reporters are denied access to the locker rooms of the WNBA, the Women's National Basketball League.

Working on my intolerance

Reverend Terry Jones, a Gainesville, Florida man of God, wants to burn the Koran, his personal and peculair way of commemorating September 11th, which also happens to be his right under our Constitution.  How is burning the Koran any different than burning the flag, or hanging and torching various politicians in effigy, or placing a crucifix in urine and calling it art?  And that's just here in the good old U. S. of A.

We have all been treated to countless scenes of "the Arab Street" burning Old Glory.  We have all witnessed what to our minds have been disproportinate displays of displeasure at political cartoons, or comments from Pope Benedict.  These responses went well beyond burning a flag or two, they blossomed into arson and general mayhem.

Our Consitution guarantees Rev. Jones' right to burn the Koran. It is called free speech. Once we start to make decisions on what type of free speech is protected by the Constitution we begin a slide down a slippery slope. Years ago I read Nat Henthof's wonderful book, "Free Speech for Me, But Not for Thee." The book should be read in every Civics and Government class.  While I may not agree with Rev. Jones' act, I hold his right to do it as sancrosanct. The media has whipped the flames of this fire into a conflagration of Biblical proportions without the good reverend even striking a match. (Poetically a match works better than a Bic lighter. You've got the whole smell of sulphur and the fire and brimstone thing going for you.)


Frankly, I am getting a bit weary of being asked to understand this or that abomination under the guise of political correctness.  I am also bone tired of being tolerant.

Especially since our call for tolerance (and let's broaden this to include all of Western Culture) seems to fall on deaf ears.  The Taliban destroying the ancient Buddhas of Bamyan comes to mind.  How many Catholic Churches are in Saudi Arabia?  None.  See this Time Magazine article: http://www.time.com/time/world/article/0,8599,1723715,00.html  Somehow, we have the burden of tolerance and must forgive intolerance in others.

My recent travels to Scotland were edifying in a number of respects.  The Scots are fiercely proud of their country, their heritage, and their history.  They make no apologies for who they are.  They are independent and outspoken. 

I wondered and continue to wonder how many of us in America can make the same claims. 

I am proud of my country.  I am proud that I live in a country where every crackpot or nutcase can express his opinion.  I am proud of our heritage, a country of immigrants (though these days it feels like the melting pot is being sectioned like a bad TV dinner.)  And I'm proud of our history.  We haven't got everything right, but we get most of it right.