http://www.cato.org/pub_display.php?pub_id=10386

http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/opinions/the-joblessness-threat/article1226304/

Dear Friends:

I’m writing with excitement.  My friend and former talk radio co-host, Jon Alvarez, is running for a vacant seat in New York State’s 23^rd Congressional District.  The seat is being vacated by Representative John McHugh as he has been nominated the new Secretary of the Army.

Jon Alvarez defines “patriot”.  His paternal grandparents came to this country from Spain during the turbulent 1930s.  Jon Alvarez grew up in Canton, Ohio and later attended the University of Texas.  He met his wonderful, lovely and loyal wife, Laura, while in Texas pursuing a career in education.

Eventually settling in Central Upstate New York, Jon Alvarez was deeply moved by the images of September 11, 2001.  As our country’s war effort ramped up, Jon vowed he would join the Army if it would allow another brave young soldier to return home to family.  When the military lifted age restrictions, Jon Alvarez joined weeks shy of his fortieth birthday.  At the age of 42 he was deployed to Iraq.  This after he lobbied for overseas duty despite a hearing loss detected by Army doctors. 

Jon Alvarez is scheduled stateside in just a few short weeks.  His initial plans were to return home and tend to his farm in Oswego County, New York and to welcome his daughter as a business partner in real estate sales.  Then the special election came across the radar.

The district is massive, stretching across the vast expanses of the Tug Hill Plateau, Adirondack Forest and portions of the Mohawk Valley and areas south of Lake Ontario.  People living in the district define “hard work and personal responsibility” every bit as much as Jon Alvarez defines dedication to his country.  It’s a natural match.

This nation was once a land of heroes.  It was a land explored by heroes.  It remains a land constructed by heroes.  Contrary to popular belief there are still many great men and women, filled with grit, ready to remind us we’ve so much more ahead. 

Jon Alvarez hasn’t endorsed my message and I’m in no official capacity with his campaign.  We do, however, share a belief the nation is absolutely going down the wrong road.  Jon Alvarez will be representing my fellow countrymen some 400 miles away from where I live but in a sense he’ll be representing an ideal, one which embers still burn in so many hearts.  If you believe you can assist Jon Alvarez in his quest, you may contact me at billc@wgmd.com.  I’ll do my part by pointing you in the right direction. 

Some genius has posted a comment somewhere on the internet that contains my name.  I received a Google Alert late this Saturday afternoon.  The writer suggests if a minority police officer arrested Sgt. Crowley of Cambridge and me for doing something criminal we wouldn’t like it either.  It’s a reference to a story some of you may have missed about Henry Louis Gates, Jr.  A story I’ve offered some earlier radio commentary.

My reply to the other opinion writer would look something like this:

Do you suggest anyone getting arrested for doing something criminal is pleased? 

The internet has a democratizing effect and a lot of people are using it stupidly.  If I’m to put myself in the shoes of someone breaking the law do I get a series of choices?  Killer, arsonist, New York State legislators?  Or is my critic suggesting in order avoiding hurting people’s feelings we should shout a hello and allow rapists, thieves and murderers to pass? 

Professor Gates certainly isn’t accused of any such heinous behavior but he did verbally abuse an officer of the law.  An officer of the law, we should note, performing his duty at the time of the verbal assault.  Are any of you aware of any city, town or village in America where this is legal and considered acceptable social behavior? 

The conclusion my critic appears to have reached is that it’s acceptable for any non-Caucasian minority to engage in rude conduct as a form of reparation for past wrongs, perceived current wrongs and any potential wrongs which may occur in the future.  And a very orderly culture we’ll create when we establish rules allowing some folks wider latitude in life than others.  Oh, sorry, we’ve already done that; it’s called Affirmative Action. 

Under these newly enshrined guidelines the arrest of any member of a self-defined minority community shall result in a series of options.  We can start by allowing the arrestee to refuse.  Extreme?  Perhaps we can allow every member of a self-defined minority a series of get out of jail free cards.  These can be used up to a standard limit of three and if the persecuted wakes one day finding himself/herself out of cards a court of arbitration will be convened.  If the court rules in favor of the police a proportional number of white men will also be ordered to jail, which can be accomplished simply by pulling Social Security numbers from a jar.  Even to better represent white men in prison and balance historical wrongs we can order a secondary round of white men to the big house. 

You could argue it isn’t obvious these targeted white men have committed any crimes but there is the written law and then there is the law waiting between the lines for interpretation.  In keeping with fairness this demands a seat for a Latina on the Supreme Court of the United States.  Understand a woman is a far better “decider” when it comes to dispensing justice.  A wise Latina, self-admittedly through her own life’s experiences, is an even better interpreter.

I reside in Delaware and all of what I suggest is standard thinking among local academics, many of whom propose just being born white is an expression of aggression and oppression.  Grant it, my white parents were quite oppressive.  They wouldn’t let us outside to roam the streets at night and frowned on poor grades, skipping school and doing drugs.  It’s exactly the type of parenting leading to more aggression and oppression and as it’s a learned behavior when we’re young it’s unlikely we’ll ever be fully rehabilitated. 

So I await the knock on the door at 3:00 A.M.  I know it’s coming the day the local crack addict finds his deck empty and arbitration provides my comeuppance. 

 

 Standard Podcast: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

Presented live at Crossroads Community Church, The 19th District Senate Debate, moderated by WGMD’s Dan Gaffney.

Hear from Wendy Jones, Joe Booth, Matt Opaliski and Polly Adams Mervine.

(download from this link) mp3 appox 1 hour 40 minutes

The redhead is upset with me this evening.  She wanted to come over and watch the FOX Sunday night lineup and I told her to stay home.  Fifteen days ago she found a baby blue jay on the sidewalk outside my house.  My advice was to leave it behind, birds are often pushed from nests and abandoned for reasons we don’t understand.  Instead she borrowed some of my Tupperware and a shoebox from my last pair of New Balance and now she owns a portly blue jay, which lollygags all day and still shows no desire to feed itself or fly.  It walks around her backyard and demands to be fed.  She takes it to work and on the road but she isn’t bringing it back here.  I rent.  For another two months I rent and I signed a lease almost two years ago and agreed there would be no pets inside my home.  My signature is my oath and I don’t intend to violate my agreement. 

When and if the bird flies, the redhead is welcome back at my leased home.  Of all the luck, her bird is a Democrat!  This could take some time.  I did spend Sunday afternoon at her house, where I mowed the grass.  Two weeks had passed since I last started the lawnmower and for what little growth there was I may have waited another two weeks.  There was a time in the spring when the grass needed cutting twice a week and our long drought had ended.  Now it has barely rained for 3 weeks and the corn, which was 6 feet high on the Fourth of July, hasn’t grown much since.  Two days ago the weatherman on WBAL-TV said the drought was a thing of the past but now we’re quickly losing what we gained. 

When I finished trimming the grass we spent a couple of hours talking.  We’ve known each other for well over a year and we’ve been an “item” for 8 months.  We’re still planning a summer 2010 wedding.  We’re also talking about what life will be like following the event. 

I’ve been here before.  Or I should say I was married once before but the last time around there wasn’t much negotiation or I didn’t think to negotiate before the event.  On Saturdays I would mow the grass and then go for a walk, grab the paper and a cigar, and smoke while walking home and reading.  The cigar infraction would cause me grief for most of the rest of the coming week.  While I gave up all tobacco ten years ago as a grown man if I choose to smoke a cigar I don’t need someone policing my choices. 

Now if I was puffing on a crack pipe I could see why someone would be upset.  If I was puffing on a crack pipe I should be arrested and ordered into rehabilitation.  If I was a crack head and someone married me then they should also know before signing a contract the other party isn’t likely reliable.  As I wouldn’t know what a crack pipe looks like I think this is hypothetical.  Can I also say we all agree an occasional cigar is pretty harmless when compared with crack?  But then I no longer even smoke cigars. 

I’ve got news for any ladies reading this.  When a man reaches the age of 47, please disabuse yourselves of any delusions you are going to change him for the better. 

Having spent many years of my younger life as a barfly let me say no other barfly ever insisted on instructing me what to eat, drink, smoke or wear.  The tavern is the great libertarian water hole.  As long as you don’t get violent, spill your drink or wet on the floor there isn’t anyone telling you how it’s going to be in the future.  Heck, everyone just moans about the past.  The only orders you are compelled to follow are lights out. 

I like the redhead but let me offer this; a wife would be fine but a warden isn’t on my list.  Marriage and leases that mimic prison compel me to go over the wall.

A neighbor of mine many years back was pretty and blond and nice and at the age of 50 she was unmarried.  Her name was Joanne and mornings we would meet for coffee and take our dogs for long walks to a pond where the growing puppies could play and swim.  Joanne was never a romantic interest but we developed a lasting friendship.  We know more details about the life of the other than probably many married couples know about spouses.  It was a level of trust developed as we would set atop a picnic table talking while the dogs frolicked. 

Joanne never talked much about being in love but I knew she’d had a boyfriend who had played football at Notre Dame and then later with the San Diego Chargers.  College had split the two.  She stayed closer to home, attending St. Bonaventure University.  Years passed and her old boyfriend divorced and wanted to rekindle a romance.  She turned him away.  He was a successful businessman after football but she had no interest.    Why?  “The Irish drinking thing”, she replied, and it made me chuckle and think about my own experience.

My last name has a distinctive Irish feel about it and there are memories of my dad.  He was a formidable drunk.  He was a towering physical presence until he was felled by heart trouble.  He taught his sons all he knew about drinking and sometimes I’ve regretted the lessons.  If I’d been at home some nights I could’ve saved myself some embarrassment.  It also taught me I could drop some of the inhibitions I had earlier in life and some of them I’m glad are gone.  We built a house together, when I was just getting out of high school, and for a time my brother joined and we lived together as three single men. 

In the morning we would wake up and there would be a race to the bathroom.  Later there would be an addition to the house and 3 bathrooms but in the early years with just one there was gridlock.  The house was constructed resting against a hillside.  A backdoor on the second floor was at ground level.  It’s a guy thing and probably shouldn’t be shared in public but when drinking men get out of bed there is urgency.  Two of three would relieve themselves out the door before going downstairs.  The lucky of the three was already relieving his bladder on the ground floor where polite people relieve themselves.  Later the old man put a deck outback and two guys would walk a few feet and do their business, wearing nothing but skivvies.  This wasn’t a problem as there were no neighbors who could see us in a partially secluded rural setting. 

The habit was broken for me one foggy morning when I stepped outdoors without my glasses and while doing my business heard footsteps.  I was relieving myself amongst a herd of deer.  It civilized me.  Country boys sometimes need some civilization. 

About the same time I read Merle Miller’s oral biography of Lyndon Johnson.  At his Texas ranch LBJ would relieve himself before bed from his front porch.  After becoming President he continued the habit until one night security grew alarmed by noise on the porch and switched on spotlights. 

My interest in Johnson’s life was fueled by one man.  Walter Cronkite.  I was a small boy when Johnson was President and he’s the first President I remember.  Why?  Because Cronkite was in our living room every night talking about the President.  Forty years ago this week Cronkite was in the Makarowski’s living room uttering some familiar words.  “Man on the moon”, he said.  The Makarowski’s lived next door and neighbors from up and down the block gathered there for a party and for what was the greatest endeavor in human history. 

There are a great many broadcasters who became what they are because one person was their influence.  I’m not among them.  There were many influences in my life, some refined and some not so refined, however.  Aside from my parents and grandmothers I spent more time growing up around Cronkite than any other adult.  There could’ve been far worse role models.

A Perfect Storm Is Brewing

by Pam Geller

I am a student of history. Professionally, I have written 15 books in six languages, and have studied history all my life. I
think there is something monumentally large afoot, and I do not believe it is just a banking crisis, or a mortgage crisis, or
a credit crisis. Yes, these exist but they are merely single facets on a very large gemstone that is only now coming into a
sharper focus.
Something of historic proportions is happening. I can sense it because I know how it feels, smells, what it looks like, and
how people react to it. Yes, a perfect storm may be brewing, but there is something happening within our country that has
been evolving for about 10-15 years. The pace has dramatically quickened in the past two.
We demanded and then codifi ed into law the requirement that our banks make massive loans to people whom we knew could
never pay back? Why? We learned recently that the Federal Reserve, which has little or no real oversight by anyone, has
“loaned” two trillion dollars (that is $2,000,000,000,000) over the past few months, but will not tell us to whom or why or
disclose the terms. That is our money. Yours and mine. And that is three times the $700B we all argued about so strenuously
just this past September.
Who has this money? Why do they have it? Why are the terms unavailable to us? Who asked for it? Who authorized it? I
thought this was a government of “We the People,” who loaned our powers to our elected leaders. Apparently not.
We have spent two or more decades intentionally de-industrializing our economy. Why?
We have intentionally dumbed down our schools, ignored our history, and no longer teach our founding documents, why we
are exceptional, and why we are worth preserving. Students by and large cannot write, think critically, read, or articulate.
Parents are not revolting, teachers are not picketing, school boards continue to back mediocrity. Why?
We have now established the precedent of protesting every close election (now violently in California over a proposition
that is so controversial that it wants marriage to remain between one man and one woman. Did you ever think such a thing
possible just a decade ago?). We have corrupted our sacred political process by allowing unelected judges to write laws that
radically change our way of life, and then mainstream Marxist groups like ACORN and others to turn our voting system into
a banana republic. To what purpose?
Now our mortgage industry is collapsing, housing prices are in free fall, major industries are failing, our banking system
is on the verge of collapse, Social Security is nearly bankrupt, as is Medicare and our entire government. Our education
system is worse than a joke (I teach college and know precisely what I am talking about.) The list is staggering in its length,
breadth, and depth. It is potentially 1929 x 10. And we are at war with an enemy we cannot name for fear of offending
people of the same religion who cannot wait to slit the throats of your children if they have the opportunity to do so.
And now we have elected a man no one knows anything about, who has never run so much as a Dairy Queen, let alone a
town as big as Wasilla, Alaska. All of his associations and alliances are with real radicals in their chosen fi elds of employment,
and everything we learn about him, drip by drip, is unsettling if not downright scary. (Surely you have heard him
speak about his idea to create and fund a mandatory civilian defense force stronger than our military for use inside our
borders? No? Oh, of course. The media would never play that for you over and over and then demand he answer it. Sarah
Palin’s pregnant daughter and $150,000 wardrobe is more important.)
Mr. Obama’s winning platform can be boiled down to one word: Change…radical change. Why?
I have never been so afraid for my country and for my children as I am now. This man campaigned on bringing people
together, something he has never, ever done in his professional life. In my assessment, Obama will divide us along philosophical
lines, push us apart, and then try to realign the pieces into a new and different power structure. Change is indeed
coming. And when it comes, you will never see the same nation again.
And that is only the beginning.
I thought I would never be able to experience what the ordinary, moral German felt in the mid-1930s. In those times, the
savior was a former smooth-talking rabble-rouser from the streets, about whom the average German knew next to nothing.
What they did know was that he was associated with groups that shouted, shoved, and pushed around people with whom
they disagreed; he edged his way onto the political stage through great oratory and promises. Economic times were tough,
people were losing jobs, and he was a great speaker. And he smiled and waved a lot. And people, even newspapers, were
afraid to speak out for fear that his “brown shirts” would bully them into submission.
And then he was duly elected to offi ce, with a full-throttled economic crisis at hand [the Great Depression]. Slowly but
surely he seized the controls of government power, department by department, person by person, bureaucracy by bureaucracy.
The kids joined a Youth Movement in his name, where they were taught what to think. How did he get the people
on his side? He did it promising jobs to the jobless, money to the moneyless, and goodies for the military-industrial complex.
He did it by indoctrinating the children, advocating gun control, health care for all, better wages, better jobs, and promising
to re-instill pride once again in the country, across Europe, and across the world.
He did it with a compliant media - Did you know that? And he did this all in the name of justice and…change. And the
people surely got what they voted for. (Look it up if you think I am exaggerating.) Read your history books. Many people
objected in 1933 and were shouted down, called names, laughed at, and made fun of. When Winston Churchill pointed out
the obvious in the late 1930s while seated in the House of Lords in England (he was not yet Prime Minister), he was booed
into his seat and called a crazy troublemaker. He was right, though.
Don’t forget that Germany was the most educated, cultured country in Europe . It was full of music, art, museums, hospitals,
laboratories, and universities. And in less than six years - a shorter time span than just two terms of the U. S. presidency
- it was rounding up its own citizens, killing others, abrogating its laws, turning children against parents, and neighbors
against neighbors. All with the best of intentions, of course. The road to Hell is paved with them.
As a practical thinker, one not overly prone to emotional decisions, I have a choice: I can either believe what the objective
pieces of evidence tell me (even if they make me cringe with disgust); I can believe what history is shouting to me from
across the chasm of seven decades; or I can hope I am wrong, close my eyes, have another latte and ignore what is transpiring
around me.
Some people scoff at me; others laugh or think I am foolish, naive, or both. Perhaps I am. But I have never been afraid to
look people in the eye and tell them exactly what I believe - and why I believe it. I pray I am wrong. But, I do not think
I am.

About the author …
Pamela “Atlas” Geller began her publishing career at The New York Daily News and subsequently took over operation of
The New York Observer as Associate Publisher. She left The Observer after the birth of her fourth child, but remained involved
in various projects including American Associates, Ben Gurion University and being Senior Vice-President Strategic
Planning and Performance Evaluation at The Brandeis School .
After 9/11, Atlas had the veil of oblivion violently lifted from her consciousness and immersed herself in the education and
understanding of geopolitics, Islam, terror, foreign affairs and imminent threats the mainstream media and the government
wouldn’t cover or discuss.
Please use the power of the Internet to get this message out. Talk it up at the grassroots level.

I’ve French doors leading to my front deck and the windows face west.  At 8:15 P.M. the setting sun is peering through the pines and oaks and illuminating my sheer curtains.  Sunset and sunrise are my favorite points of the day, no matter how brief.  Rarely do I see the sunrise as my work day doesn’t start until noon.  When I worked the morning trick I used to take a break during commercials or news to go outside and watch the light rise.  One morning I filled in for our morning host here in Delaware and did the show live at the beach.  It was late December and the sky was clear and I watched the sun slowly lift above the horizon and reflect across the ocean and I returned the greeting and spoke to God. 

Tomorrow I’ll be up early.  I’m a guest on a radio show in Guymon, Oklahoma.  Long story.  Essentially I invited myself to appear on the show when I dropped the station owner a message and asked some questions about Guymon, population just below 15,000.  A series of emails followed and our stations not only have the same frequencies but the same sales consultant and I’m going to help market Guymon tomorrow.  I’ve done some on-air segments about America’s best places.  The best place to live, the best place to raise kids, the best place to find a job.  Indianapolis and Albuquerque always pop up but not many parts of the Oklahoma panhandle.  The inspiration was inclusion on one of these lists for Friendship, New York.  It was the town seven miles to the east of where I grew up.  If Friendship had been a relative we would’ve locked it in the attic. 

What makes a best place?  In Friendship it’s people selling homes at bargain prices or giving them away.  Guymon appears on no less than three separate lists over the past three years.  Even with a deep recession there is virtually no unemployment in Guymon.  The meth labs have all been outsourced to Mexico and the cost of living is low.  Being a broadcast guy I wrote the radio station and asked what made the place special.  Tomorrow I’m on the morning show. 

Life here offers its own charms.  Wednesday morning I had breakfast at Bob Evans with our state legislature’s House Majority Leader.  We’re political opposites and the meeting was brokered by a friend in hopes of finding some common ground.  I guess we did.  Three hours later I left for work and missed a walk along the beach.  Before I left the house I put on a new pair of walking shoes expecting an hour long meeting but we got to talking and then sharing stories and telling jokes and the time evaporated.  We share some similarities in our personal histories.  Details of the conversation, however, are private and even with my very public life there are some stories I don’t share.

He didn’t tell his wife he was meeting me.  She’s not a fan.  My significant other has the same feelings for him. The redhead has been busy this week.  Did I tell you she convinced me to start feeding a stray cat?  Then it became two cats and then the second had kittens.  She wants to trap them and get them to shelters.  We were looking for them Saturday when she found a Blue Jay that had fallen or been pushed from its nest.  There were no signs of other birds sounding an alarm.  The bird spent some time here and then went home with her.  Now she takes it to work and the creature is standing and the eyes have opened and it demands to be fed.  Often.  There is a bait shop around the corner from the house and it sells Canadian night crawlers for 2.50 a dozen.  The worms came a long way to be gobbled by a bird. 

And life goes on and the sun has slipped below the horizon and tomorrow it’s scheduled to rise with or without us. 

http://www.nypost.com/seven/07052009/postopinion/opedcolumnists/albany__i_give_up_177689.htm

Sarah Brady dropped me two poison pen emails.  Mrs. Brady is the wife of former Reagan Press Secretary Jim Brady.  She’s also a gun confiscation advocate and you probably don’t need an explanation for her position.  More than a year has passed since I last heard from her.  During the Delaware Presidential Primary she called my program when Patrick Kennedy was an on-air guest.  “Hi, Patrick”, she giggled.  Then she didn’t have anything else to say. 

The emails arrived at my work account late Saturday morning.  One was addressed only to me and the second was addressed to me, my coworkers and managers.  She demands my show move to overnights and she says the demographics of our region have changed and we need more enlightened talk show hosts.  I wrote a polite reply and suggested she get back to enjoying her retirement. 

The woman claims she rarely listens but can cite all sorts of things I’ve said offending her. 

First, I’ve been a broadcaster for 25 years.  People who make such claims are lying.  They tune in everyday for their regular dose of righteous indignation.  Two, the demographics along a narrow stretch of beach have changed.  The rest of the region is about the same as it has been for 300 years, exceptions being paved roads and electricity.  Three, Michael Savage came to national prominence broadcasting a local show in San Francisco.  He wasn’t fired or moved to overnights for needling the loons on the left.  In fact, his ratings soared.  Fourth, since I arrived the afternoon drive slot has become so popular (in a numbers sense) the station’s entire ratings have nearly doubled.  If you figure the weak kneed on the left don’t admit to hearing me then you can extrapolate an even larger audience. 

Fifth, I’m not a conservative but primarily a libertarian.  While I admire Pat Buchanan I gravitate politically in the direction of Ron Paul, however.  If this country can’t survive as a Republic I sure as heck wouldn’t choose a socialist to run the show.  Number six, a program director in Raleigh called me a “Rush” impersonator some two summers ago.  While it would be nice to be making Rush money if I had been a Bush basher would the man have called me an “Air America” Impersonator?  Opinion leaders don’t reside in the center and I’m paid to be an opinion leader.  My opinions aren’t moderate and certainly not left-of-center.  Read the map of where I was raised and how my parents raised me. 

Seventh, Sarah Brady self identified in her first email as a “moderate”.  The word, from my perspective, is synonymous with “wimp”.  I concur the woman is anything but wimpy.  In fact she’s a clear and present danger from the vantage of our Constitution.  No moderates are campaigning to expunge the Second Amendment.  It’s number two and not 18 or 23 for a reason.  It’s number two because the brilliant people drafting the document recognized the value of self defense.  There are 305 million American citizens.  An overwhelming majority didn’t shoot anyone else over the holiday weekend.  Many more blew fingers off with fireworks, drowned or got loaded and slammed a car into someone else.  Even far greater numbers instead sought to have someone else kill their own children growing inside mommy’s tummy.  Yet Mrs. Brady chooses to lobby for my silence.  I pray to God I’ve a voice until he calls me home.