Republican Thoughts and a Story by Sid

You will note that the Potpouuri Poll has disappeared from the blog.  Responses were minimal, but we may bring it back as the Presidential election draws near.  Also, we have added some advertisements to the blog.  We neither select nor endorse the ads.  As for the location we ask you to try to identify, there's a new picture off to the right.  The boulevard previously shown was in Buenos Aires, Argentina.

And now, here's a 2008 short story by Sid Bolotin and some political thoughts as well.  Please send your opinions on to me at riart1@aol.com and they will be published. 

Jack Lippman

                                                       
Some Political Thoughts 

The Republican Party is at a crossroads.  It must decide what kind of party it wants to be.  

The Democrats faced a similar challenge during the Seventies when the left-over turbulence of the Sixties was still present.  George McGovern, heir to that movement, was trounced by Richard Nixon in 1972, and since then, the Democratic candidates, while nominally liberals, have veered to the center and supported business and the free market as strongly as they have advocated a "safety net" philosophy.  Just look at the support Barack Obama and Bill Clinton received from Wall Street and the banking industry.

                                    

The Republican Party must choose between representing "true conservatism," as represented by Rick Santorum or Ron Paul, or a candidate who merely purports to support conservative ideas, like Mitt Romney or a "white knight" chosen at their Tampa convention, but who in reality will move the party toward the center in an effort to gain independent votes.  In such a situation, the conservatism of the Republican candidate will be as hypocritical as the liberalism of the Democratic candidate.  But this is the way it should be:  two centrist parties, each influenced but not dominated by the ideas of their more extreme wings.  

                                     

  

Should the G.O.P. nominate a true conservative, however, they will duplicate the debacle of 1968 when Lyndon Johnson got 61% of the popular vote and carried all but six states in the electoral college in his rout of G.O.P. candidate Barry Goldwater.  This may please the true conservatives of the party because they very well may inherit it, or what remains of the G.O.P. at that point.  If that should happen, look for a realignment of parties in the nation.  We might even end up with three parties, a dominant Democratic Party, and two smaller spin-offs of the present G.O.P., one conservative and one centrist.  It might, population-wise, look something like this:

Democrats - 40%

Centrist Republicans - 20%

Conservative Republicans - 20%

Independents - 20%

In a nation with a "parliamentary" system, this would result in a coalition government.  In our system, however, it means that all three parties would be appealing to the independent voter and dissidents within the other parties.  It will be interesting, but my guess is that the Republicans will not nominate a "true conservative" and we will remain with a two party system, with independent voters making the difference.

JL

                                                            

Email - Take it With a Grain of Salt, Mes Amis   

I received an Email the other day deriding the French for referring to Israel as "a shitty little country" and pointing out the tremendous scientific, technological and economic accomplishments of Israel to negate such criticism.  

On investigation, I learned that the comment came from an interview the French Ambassador to the UK gave to a British newspaper in 2001, eleven years prior to my getting this message.  Such Email, with no indication as to the authorship nor date of its content, should be taken with a grain of salt. This is not to excuse the French, who by the way have been trying to increase their trade with Israel lately, but it is a criticism of those who are gullible enough to blindly accept anything they get over the internet at face value and pass it on to others. 

If you recently got an undated Email saying some South Carolinians were so fed up with Federal interference with their state that they were considering seizing some local Federal government facilities, please ignore it.  It refers to something that was happening about 150 years ago at a place called Fort Sumter.  Passing the Email on to ten of your friends who are annoyed by government interference in their lives won't help change the results of the Civil War.

JL


                                                                                                         

In the Blink of an Eye

Sid Bolotin

Al stopped digging to answer his cell phone seeing that it was his youngest brother: “Hi, Mitch.  Thanks for returning my call.  Yeah, I’m still here at Cascade Lakes.  The papers are signed.  You, me, and Scott are the new owners.  Dad and mom?  They’re on the patio watching me dig.”

 “Dig?   What the hell are you digging?” Mitch interrupted.

“Well, I’m not so much digging as removing a large, potted plant that is sunk into the ground beside the screen door.  Dad insisted that I do it now while they could watch.  As best as I could understand he says that he buried something under the pot about 15-years ago…about 7-years after they moved in.  Can you believe it’s been 22-years since they bought here?  Mom says that over the years he periodically pulled up the pot, futzed with it, and re-interred it.  She thought he was just tending to the plant and is pooh-poohing his insistence that there’s stuff under the pot.  She claims that he’s all mixed up.  Mitch, let me attach my hands-free gizmo so I can talk while I work.  Where’s our bro, Scott?”

                                    

“He’s right here.  I’m in Vermont on his farm.  I’ll put on the speaker phone so he can hear us.  We both appreciate that you popped down to Florida to take care of transferring ownership and make arrangements for the folks.  How are they doing?”

“They seem okay, considering that he’s 90 and mom’s 89.  Getting a tad forgetful.  Mom got herself a new-fangled tricycle, a three-wheeled version of the Segway People Mover that was all the rage in the early 2000’s.  She uses it to tool over to tennis and the clubhouse.  Dad still shoots pool, but his knees finally forced him to give up tennis.  He still walks three mornings a week though.  Okay, guys, I’ve freed the pot and lifted it out.  Wow! There is stuff in the hole.  I can see a box and some plastic bags.”

“Hey, Al, wait,” squawked Scott, “maybe you should wait until I fly down to make sure you don’t steal my share of the gold.”

“Oh, Scott, shish-up.” Mitch yelled.  “You haven’t strayed off the farm more than a hundred miles in years; now for gold you’re jabbering about flying.  Al’s digging in the Florida heat, and you’re making jokes.  Cut it out.”

“C’mon, guys, let’s not get into a row.  Supposedly we should know better now that we’ve matured.  How old are you now, Mitch?   60?   And you, Scott, 64?”

“Shish-up, Al.” answered Mitch.   “Don’t go into your oldest brother patronizing role.  Being 66 doesn’t automatically make you the wisest owl on the branch.  Just friggin’ pull up what’s buried.  Maybe it is gold that they squirreled away.  You better check the mattresses and pillows too.”

“Okay, okay, enough with the bullshit.  I’ve got the first bag out, and there’s a note inside that says ‘read this first’.  It’s a note from dad that’s dated July 2008.”

Settling into a patio chair Al began reading: ‘Hopefully, one, or all of you have found this cache of goodies.  It’s July 2008, and I’ve been trying to write a story for the upcoming contest by our community’s magazine, News and Views.  The lead-in has to be about a resident digging and finding something.  Well, I’ve struggled mightily for weeks without stumbling on a story line that resonated for me.  What could be buried?  Cash?  Jewelry?  Stocks?  Body parts?  Finally, I just gave up the effort, but decided that I’d bury something for you guys…sort of my own time capsule.  I figured that I’d put stuff in that had meaning for me and hopefully for you…maybe your children.  So here’s the inventory list that I started with in 2008: CD’s with my stories up to July 2008…maybe your kid’s will morph them into posthumous best sellers; some small tools that belonged to my father…knowing that Scott especially has an affinity for such items; the collection of letters that I wrote to you over the years in my attempts to pass on wisdom and humor; your letters to me; and a collection of your mother’s recipes that you or your children slavered over.  Oh, yes I threw in that special tie-clip made from a section of the Doom’s Day Death Ray Laser that I designed back in my Aerospace Engineering days.  I also included my reference folder of research papers that I used to create the family tree that I sent you.  Maybe you or one of your kids might want to put our history up on the computer.  I hope that one of you still have your copy of the 6-foot long newsprint that I used to scratch out our family lineage that sprang from my grandfather and his three brothers after they came over from Russia in the 1920’s.  Well, that’s it for now, guys.  I plan to add to this buried treasure over the coming years.  I wonder if I’ll be around when it’s dug up.’

“Al,” Mitch sputtered, “are you going to go through all the stuff now?”

“No, I think I’ll just pull it all up and put the pot back.  Dad couldn’t have been adding too much as he got older…the pot’s too heavy.  I’ll bring all of it back with me so we can sift through it together.  Besides, Anita, the caretaker we hired should be here any moment, and I need time to settle her in with the folks before I dash over to PBI to catch my flight home.”

“How’d she check out when you interviewed her?” asked Scott. 

“She seems fine.” Al answered.  “I feel comfortable with her.  She’s a former nurse that dad met when he was volunteering at Hospice.  He says that she’s a sweetheart who’ll take good care of them so that they can still live here and not have to go to a facility.  There’s the bell, guys.  It must be her now.  I’ll call you when I get home.”

                                                          
                                                         
Honda Classic Picture

A few weeks ago, the people at the Honda Classic would not let me and two of my buddies compete in their golf tournament.  They claimed the slots had to be kept open for Rory Mcilroy, Keegan Bradley and Tiger Woods. So we put our clubs away and settled for having our picture taken in the Honda race car Mario Andretti drove in the Indianapolis 500.




                                                            



Most readers of this blog are alerted by Email every time a new posting appears.  If you wish to be added to that Email list, just let me know by contacting me at Riart1@aol.com.  

Also, be aware that www.Jackspotpourri.com is now available on your mobile devices in a modified, easy-to-read, format.

Our family of web sites includes:   www.computerdrek.com  - www.politicaldrek.com  -  www.sportsdrek.com  -  www.healthdrek.com. 
Check all of them out, find out what “drek” really means and feel free to submit your thoughts and articles for publication on these sites, which, while still “under construction,” already contain some interesting content.

Jack Lippman

                                                    * * *   * * *   * * *

To send this posting to a friend, or enemy for that matter, whom you think might be interested in it, just click on the envelope with the arrow on the "Comments" line directly below.

Obama and Netanyahu, Two Short Stories, Chip on a Pill and Some Punch Lines

We start out with some comments on the President's diplomatic efforts, a scientific article, and finally, two short stories from two of our regular contributors.  Join them with your writing.  It can be fiction, opinion, poetry or whatever you want.  And I see there's a new location pictured over to the right to identify.  Email me with your ideas as to where it is.

                                                      

Obama and Netanyahu

President Obama walks a tightrope.  He supports Israel with the very latest defensive military technology.  He assures the world that he is not bluffing when he talks about making certain Iran will not become a possessor of nuclear weapons.  And still, he tries to maintain a position whereby he can still work indirectly to promote a solution to the problems of the Middle East which not only include Iran’s nuclear program, the Israeli-Palestinian stalemate but also the rising democratic aspirations of Muslim populations trapped in non-democratic states.  This is not an easy job.  

Arab nations recognize that the President supports Israel, which in turn is fearful of the dangers Obama courts in his continued search for a non-military solution to Iran’s suspected program to produce nuclear energy for other than peaceful purposes.  This week, the President and Israeli Prime Minister Netanyahu meet.   

                                        

The President will be asking Israel to hold off on attacking Iran’s nuclear facilities and to give non-military steps, like economic sanctions, more time.  The five or six months the President will ask for is beyond the cut-off date after which Israel feels it will lose the capability of taking out the Iranian nuclear facilities, but not beyond the comparable date the greater capabilities of the United States will permit us to do the job.  Hence, Israel’s holding off will require an ironclad commitment from the United States to act if an additional period of sanctions don’t work. This is what the meeting is all about.  We will be keeping an eye on their discussions.  What they don’t say will be as important as what they do say.  

And the United States' position on continued settlements in the West Bank and Jerusalem, something which is of great political significance to Netanyahu in holding his coalition government together, will certainly be discussed, be a bargaining chip in the negotiations over Iran, but probably not be mentioned in any news releases.

Jack Lippman


                                                                   

1984

Right now, not tomorrow, but right now there exists the capability to attach a chip (made of vegetable matter) to a pill, and once digested into your system, that chip can send a signal which can be picked up externally, possible on a receiver resembling a nicotine patch and transmitted from there to your smart phone or your computer.  Information as to how the medication is working as well as certain blood or enzyme information can be included in the transmission. It can spot early signs of organ rejection in transplant patients. This is vital information for your doctor and also for the company who manufactured the medication.  Once the information is in your computer or smart phone, of course, it can be sent anywhere.  The manufacturer of this device is a California company, Proteus Biomedical.  It is already approved in a few European countries and is receiving support from the Swiss pharmaceutical giant, Novartis.  The National Institutes of Health is also planning clinical trials for the device here, particularly for heart patients.

                                         

But this is only the beginning.  The idea of an internal chip reporting data from within your body is almost frightening.  Your brain is part of your body, you know, and how distant in the future is a chip which reports brain activity reflecting what you are thinking?  Add to this the fact that right now, between Google and Facebook, more is publicly known about you (from the use you make of your smart phone or computer) than you can imagine.  It is inconceivable that the government will not eventually get their hands on this information.   

Think of this when you ingest your first “chip on a pill” device, when you learn about  the internal effect the pill had on your whatchamacallit levels and when you post that information on Facebook or tell your cousin about it via Gmail. If the pharmaceutical company which made your pill hadn’t already spread the word, Facebook and Google will, and consequently, your insurance rates may change or you may start getting pop-up ads from funeral directors.  Privacy is now no more than a word in Websters New Collegiate Dictionary located somewhere between “prithee” and “privatdocent.”

Jack Lippman


                                                        

Punch Line Paradise

Senior citizens in South Florida have heard so many comedians telling the same jokes so many times that, unless senility has set in, they know them all.  So, let’s imagine a new kind of comedian, one who doesn’t tell funny stories, but one who just delivers their punch lines.  Everybody has heard the joke before and will be reminded of it by the punch line and break into a hearty guffaw.  This methodology can result in a comedian telling many times the number of stories he would normally be relating if he had to utter more than just the punch lines.  

Here are some examples.  I am sure most of you know the full jokes they complete.  If not, ask me and they will appear in future postings.  Meanwhile, I am not quitting my day job. (I don’t have one, but that’s what people keep telling me not to do when I try to tell them the full joke preceding these punch lines.)

1.    “His brother Ben was worse!”

2.    “Oh my God, there come my wife and my mistress, walking together!”

3.    “Morris, cut velvet!”

4.    “But my dog was dead; I came to Israel to bury him.”

5.   “If you ever tried to squeeze into a size 14 collar, Mister, oy, would you   get  a ringing in your ears!”

6.    “Abie, look who’s trying to give us a lesson in marketing!”

7.    “Fountain pen, wallet, spectacles, testicles.” 

8.  "All I know, Sergeant, is he got the Lubavitcher Rebbe for a chauffeur."

9.  "Couldn't keep away from the women, Father, could you!" 

JL

                                              

Sal The Sneak

Harvey Sage    www.harvo1.com

                                    

He was as lean as a string bean. Sauntering into the sports store Sal certainly looked like he belonged there. No one took notice of an eighteen year old, dressed in shorts and a NY Mets t-shirt. Only his dilapidated sneakers looked out of place. It made sense when he told Remy, the sales associate, that he was here to buy a new pair.

“Sure my friend, right this way.”

“What kind do you want?”

“The new Nike Air Kings are supposed to be real good.”

“They are. They’re light weight and have a fully sealed air chamber. They’re high tech, the best in the market.”

Sal tilted his head and looked at Remy who was six feet and slender. Sal thought “I wonder how fast this guy can run. Well we’ll soon find out. With these new Nikes I have the edge.”

“They sound good. How much are they?”

“They’re top of the line. Naturally they cost more and…”

“Skip the sales pitch Remy. How much?”

“Two fifty. Now, if that’s too pricey I have a knock off that’s a hundred less.”

“No. That’s all right. Can I try them on?”

“Sure. What’s your size?”

Sal looked to be wrapped in thought. “I think size ten.

Remy went to get the sneakers and brought them back. As Sal took off his old ones he asked “I see you have a red button hooked into the side of the sneaker. What’s it for?”

“That my friend is for security. It stays on the sneaker till it’s removed at the register. You might call it flight insurance. Sort of keeps the sneaker grounded. Know what I mean?” Remy smiled. Sal laughed. Remy was challenging him. This was going to be fun.

After putting on the new sneaks Sal started to walk around. “How do they feel,” asked Remy.

Sal gave a little limp. “A wee bit too tight. Do you have ten and a half?”

“Sure. Take those off while I get you a size larger.”

As Remy went to the back to retrieve the next size Sal stood up and headed for the men’s room. He knew the better quality sneakers were kept in the back for security purposes. He had a minute or two.

Remy had his eye on him but felt no alarm. Going to the men’s room was a natural thing. He just hoped the customer didn’t pee on the new Nikes.

After the door closed Remy kept on. Sal opened the men’s room door to see that Remy had disappeared. Very nonchalantly Sal went to the store front as if to look at a display of watches. A few seconds later a customer entered from outside. In a flash Sal was out the door as alarm bells sounded. The race was on.

Sal could run a quarter mile in less than 55 seconds. Before Remy had realized his customer had absconded, Sal was already rounding the corner to where he had placed his bicycle. Surprise. The bike, his getaway vehicle, was missing. Someone had stolen it. He had placed the old relic next to the side of the building. Who’d steal that piece of junk?

From behind him Sal heard shouting. “Oh well, gotta keep moving?” He laughed. “They’ll never catch me.”

He scooted toward a nearby super store. “I’ll duck in there, grab a different T and a hat and mingle till the coast is clear. I’ve done this before. No problem.” As he sprinted through the parking lot, leaping over the concrete curbs, Sal the Sneak stepped onto an oil slick. He flew through the air and landed on his back. Crack! Ouch! That’s where they found him, immobilized, never more to run, or walk for that matter.

A young man with sneaks on his feet

Was assured he could be very fleet

So he stole them and ran

As fast as one can

Then he slipped, flew and crashed on his seat.

                                                       
                                                        

Fantasy Fest  
                                                         

Sid Bolotin

“Al, you’ve got to fly down to Florida and check on mom and dad.”

“Why?  What’s wrong?  And why me?  What about you or Scott?”

“Al, I’m just too busy with a real estate deal that’s about to close, and Scott can’t leave the farm during planting season.  You can conduct your business from anywhere in the world using your Blackberry.”

“Okay, okay.” Al sighed at his youngest brother’s arguments.  Being the oldest, it seemed that all such duties wound up on his doorstep.  “What have they done now?”

                                        

“Remember how you’ve been wondering if mom is losing it?”  Mitch asked.  “Well, I think that they’ve both flipped over the edge.  My son, Ben, was surfing You Tube and found a video from Key West’s body-painting celebration, Fantasy Fest. It showed mom leading a group of senior ladies strutting down Duval Street with purple, airbrushed designs covering their naked bodies. They each wore a red hat, and, behind them was dad standing in a cart pulled by a donkey.  He was waving his airbrush and dressed in only a purple loin cloth and a red bandana.  Mom was holding a sign over her head that read ‘Red Hat Grannies From Cascade Lakes’.

                  
                                                   Key West Fantasy Fest Pictures

“Jeeze”, Al groaned as he speed-dialed his mother’s cellphone.  When she answered, he bellowed, “Mom, Ben just saw you on You Tube!  What the hell’s going on?  When you said you’d be in Key West for an escape weekend, you never mentioned parading in the nude.”  

“Oh, pish-tush, Alan.  Don’t act like a 52-year old fuddy-duddy.  I wasn’t totally naked…although some of the other ladies were.  I wore a g-string which dad covered with a camouflaging design, and he painted my mammaries to look like eyes.  We looked delightful, and we actually won an honorable mention.”

Al gritted his teeth and hissed, “Mom, ever since you moved into Cascade Lakes, you’ve acted like a Whirling Dervish, spinning from one activity to another like a caroming billiard ball.  Bridge, poker, Kabbalah, canasta, Mah Jong, Caring Committee chairperson, Red Hat Society, study groups, and socializing.  Now you’ve got dad joining you in public nudity.  What’s gotten into you?  How’d you get involved with those weirdoes?”

“Oh, Alan, the ladies with me are not weirdoes.  They’re in your father’s meditation group…the one he facilitates each Sunday morning in our clubhouse.  Knowing that he airbrushes tiles to make refrigerator magnets, we asked him to paint our bodies so that we could be in the parade instead of just watching.  And, because we’re all Red Hatters, we had him create purple designs and wore our red hats.  Not only did he paint us, but he came down to ride in the cart as well.  What a blast we all had!” 

“But, mom,” Al grumbled, “what if one of my clients recognizes you?  Or Mitch’s?  What if another of your grandchildren see you?  Or their friends?  Our friends?”

“Well, Alan, start thinking of what you’ll say.  Blame our medications if you like.  With all the media covering the Fest, we’ve been approached by both the Today Show and Oprah.” 

Alan’s sputtering of, “but, but” were cut off by his mom’s cheery, “Oops, gotta run, hon.  The girls are honking.  I’m off to a Brandeis luncheon.  I’ll call ya when I have a sec.”

                                                 ***   ***   ***                                                                                
Most readers of this blog are alerted by Email every time a new posting appears.  If you wish to be added to that Email list, just let me know by contacting me at Riart1@aol.com. 
Also, be aware that www.Jackspotpourri.com is now available on your mobile devices in a modified, easy-to-read, format.

Our family of web sites includes:   www.computerdrek.com  - www.politicaldrek.com  -  www.sportsdrek.com  -  www.healthdrek.com. 
Check all of them out, find out what “drek” really means and feel free to submit your thoughts and articles for publication on these sites, which, while still “under construction,” already contain some interesting content.

Jack Lippman

                                                    * * *   * * *   * * *

To send this posting to a friend, or enemy for that matter, whom you think might be interested in it, just click on the envelope with the arrow on the "Comments" line directly below.