Deal with it.

The American Soldier.  A battling archetype born of the relentless spirit and fierce will for a fight that has preserved democracy and freedom ever since a fateful morning 19 April, 1775 on a Concord Bridge and a Lexington Green.  A legend of honor and bravery honed later in the trenches of the Western Front, the cliffs of Normandy, the sands of North Africa, the skies over the Coral Sea, the hills of Inchon, the bars of the Hanoi Hilton, and the insurgent insanity of Ramadi.

Whether sporting the badge of the All Americans (82^nd) , Screaming Eagles (101^st), The Big Red One (1^st Infantry), Hell on Wheels (2^nd Armored),  Seals, Rangers, Delta Force, or Green Berets… or the patches of those who fly – or flew – Mustangs, Fortresses, Voodoos, Phantoms, Tomcats, Hornets, Eagles, Warthogs, Blackhawks, Hueys, and Apaches; the legend continued.  Our fighting force was –and remains – the force… end of conversation.

But with the legend also came scuffs on the shine of that honor as our vaunted military prowess fell victim to the social issues of the times.  Minority soldiers were largely segregated (see Tuskegee Airmen)  and afforded not the respect and inclusion one would expect from a nation forged from the “All men are created equal” of Jefferson’s quill.  The women pilots (Wasps) of WW2 were relegated to fighter and bomber ferry missions while the men flew the combat sorties.  Racism and sexism remained in place even in view of the ultimate sacrifices blacks and women paid in defense of their country.  Change – as it always is – was painfully and abhorrently slow.  Votes, remember?

But in the end it was the scope of a man’s/woman’s  talent, mettle, and courage that would lay claim as to whether they were deemed worthy to wear the uniform of the US fighting elite.

Or was it?   It wasn’t… at all… not even close.

There was a new source of bigotry cookin’ in the kitchen’s of the White House, Pentagon, Congress, and on stoves all across the land of the free: The Gay soldier. Somehow, amazingly, the men in the halls determined ones sexual orientation equated military fitness (socially, ethically, morally) and could, if left unchecked, undermine the entire foundation of the armed services.  Huh?   And God forbid one happened to be a black Gay soldier… or Black Lesbian soldier… whoa, Nellie… sure as hell can’t have that, now can we?  After all, the public hysteria and fear had kept closets of Gay teachers, athletes, cops, coaches, parents and politicians under lock and key for like… forever, in fear of public crucifixion and personal ruin.  I mean, aren’t gay people perverts, disease ridden, and always always looking to infiltrate our sacrosanct family structure so as to get us all (the straight world) to “Change Teams?”  After all, that’s what the rumor mills crank out… gotta be true, right?   If everyone believes it then it must be true.

Well, the soldiers knew all to well the torches were lighted for them too should they dare come out and exercise their constitutional rights so they did what all persecuted folks do to keep breathing: they kept their damn mouths shut so the $^!% wouldn’t hit the fan

But the $^!t did hit the fan cause some brave gay soldiers and political supporters said no way…

The powers that be were now faced with a political hot potato and a simple question:  How to pander to a largely ignorant and intolerant “Family Value” voting populace while adhering to the Constitution (Remember that document?) and appearing to possess any semblance of an open mind?   “Don’t ask don’t tell” (see keep your damn mouth shut) was the palatable compromise fashioned by the White House, Joint Chiefs, and sheep of the Pentagon.  Kinda sounds like the advice given to Sarah Good and the rest of the Salem hunted to keep them from the Magistrates gavel and Puritans gallows.  Didn’t work, Btw.

And now the whole shebang is back as the House voted to repeal “DADT” aka The Gay Ban.  The tally?  234-yea… 194-nay. The Sectarians… er, ah… Republicans are just peachy with DADT.  All but 5 (including the brave Judy Biggert R-Ill) voted to maintain the ban, while the more progressive Democrats (excluding the 26 doctrinaires) wanna scrap it.  Coons, Carney and Spencer – in addition to Ted Kaufman (who we’re liking a lot these days) –  have stood firm with a LGBT community that is tired of orientation having any bearing on anything.   We agree and applaud them  for such a show of common sense, pragmatism, and fairness.   We’d love to say the same for King Castle who cast his regrettable party vote to extend the ban (but he’ll spin it to the middle soon).  We would love to hear Mama and Papa chime in on this but I’m guessin’ Mama would be a hesitant yea and Papa a definite nay.

But even with the yea vote to end the blatant – and thinly veiled discrimination – this amendment has to pass the muster of the same cast of characters that have helped carry on the hysteria up to this point: The President, Joint Chiefs, and Defense Secretary Robert Gates.  They will  digest the slanted findings of a Pentagon study and walk to the podium.   Now how do you really think, given the nature of political pandering in the vaunted “Family Values” environment, the men in the suits and Unis are gonna come down on this?   And in an election year… hubba hubba.   If you’re guessin’ status quo then you are in the majority.  For DADT to be given a ticket to the scrap heap it will require real courage and big balls on the part of the aforementioned playas.   I’m not sure they’ve got ‘em, but will hold out a glimmer of hope they do…

It also in all fairness must be stated that The President has once again declared June LGBT month.  Yes, we applaud this show of support for fairness but it is after all a proclamation, and they are after all just words.  Getting past the hatred to do what is right will take action.

Now here’s something to consider Mr. President and Secretary Gates… and the Pentagon exploratory squad:   I would wager that there were more than a few gay patriots at the Boston Tea Party (ironic ain’t it) and Massacre, San Juan Hill, Gettysburg, Normandy, Pork Chop Hill, Saigon, and Fallujah.  Many have died defending the freedoms of some of the very citizens who still call them names.   I don’t know about y’all, but when a Gay soldier’s casket is flown to DAFB draped in the American Flag, I call that… debt paid.  Hey people; how many of your “normal” friends would truly take a fatal bullet for you and your family?  They did.  How bout we all grow up, take a look at our own “closets,” and finally… finally treat everyone like human beings

And Americans at that.

So the migration to the beaches begins.  Not quite the hot sunny days we were hoping would stretch from mid-week through the weekend – more like late September than late May – but nice enough to fire up the grill, imbibe with friends at the first Jam Session, or stroll in sweater style on the spankin’ new treated planks of the south boardwalk.  Also not so ungodly hot that being jailed in Rt.1 and 13 traffic doesn’t raise ones BP while shooting pissy glances at the boy/girlfriend who didn’t take off early enough to beat the masses.  By and large a fairly good start to the summer.

Actually, if a ‘nor’easter had decided to make a call and wipe out all the Coppertone dreams, it would still be a great weekend.  And why is that, you may ask?

‘Cause it’s Memorial Day.  And should anyone reading this not get it… you really should get it.  Maybe you rode – or are riding – past the expanse of the Veterans Cemetery off Rt. 71 and noticed the fields of Red White and Blue flapping in unison to the now cool breeze.  Or perhaps you visited a loved one – or two – interned there or some other revered spot .  Regardless, it is a scene like this that puts a ‘lil rainy day into perspective.  This weekend has so little to do with bicycles, beer, French fries, fine dining, or negotiating the curves between Ruddertown and the land of Sunday Bloody Sunday while totally smashed.   Nah, this weekend has everything to do with taking a moment to appreciate the sacrifice many brave souls made so y’all could decide for yourselves whether to cross over to Nalu (love that place) or continue up the west side to further experience the Miller High Life.

Yes, it seems like eons since Omaha Beach, Guadalcanal… (the death march), Pork Chop Hill, Khe Sanh, and the fall of Saigon; or even the opening night of Desert Storm.  The fierce street fighting in Kandahar at times touches the senses only as a CNN night light.  But these all have littered our consciousness in addition to our landscape with fields of white crosses that often lie in anonymity as we make our way quickly (we hope) in efforts not to miss the Toss of the Tacos.  Sad isn’t it?

How many of our brethren would love to have stuck around to witness such gaiety and popped a couple of cold ones with us all?  More than one could ever imagine.

This weekend – and Day – is entirely about our freedoms and those whom took it upon themselves to bestow on us all such a benevolent and admirable gift; and at such a dear price.

DE2010.com writes of the political realm and how it has become at times as oily as the tentacles of marshlands and waterways surrounding N’awlins; the protection of our Constitution, Bill of Rights, and preservation of our freedom.  So Mama, Papa, King, Chosen One, Quiet Man, and Spencer for Hire, take a breath if y’all would and get the dubious state of our State and National political specter out of your minds for a couple of days. Think more of why you’re really here and what ya really ought to be doin’.   If you think for a moment that the spirits of those lost are all smilin’ on the many liberties lost while folks were busy securing or keeping their jobs, then by all means fire up the Weber, throw on a Kansas City Cut and pop open a Fife Zin.  But make certain to serve up a side of conscience with them taters…K?

And for our readers?  We wish – along with the politicos – a safe, festive and introspective weekend.  Just remember who provided it for ya and what it takes to keep it.

Ciao

Remember when the Dems bypassed Jack Markell for the party endorsement?   Jack does.  He of course won’t play that card, but one could bet it’s somewhere  roaming the back alleys of his mind as he climbs on board a “Grandma Minner Express” as it rolls toward a date with the microscope.

With parties from both shores amassing to lay claim as the peoples protectors, standing at the ready to politicize – the GOP to gain admission into the hearts of the populace as the pure; the Dems to come off as looking out only for the peoples benefit (sacrificing one of their own) while washing their hands at the same time.  This is a bad time to look dirty as the Dems have one prohibitive favourite and one dark horse badly in need of good press.  This is hardly what they had in mind.

So our beloved Gov gets to step into the batters box and take a couple of swings; one to help his party; one to knock his “remember me” ball over the left field fence.  He has indeed added his muscle to hook up the Clydesdales, and steer the Big ‘Ole Red Budweiser Beer Wagon aka the Minner – Tigani Hearst, out to a three county tour.  Here it will stop for a look see by the peeps and investigators – some with Delaware tags; some with Fed Gov plates.  This ain’t something he relishes, folks, but you know how hysteria works… If you don’t hop in with the men with the torches, you look weak and sympathetic and end up getting hung yourself; like God forbid anyone has their day in court before  tried, convicted, and executed well before there’s even been a charge.  But hey, that’s what the peeps and legislators do these days.  It’s how it works.

Yes, there is lots of smoke here, Ladies and Gentlemen, and warrants a look see.  And yes, it smells.  May turn out too that Ruth Ann (and those teflonites that were close to her) – but separating quicker than we can say… Election – have some serious ‘splainin’ to do, Lucy.     So Jack has to get in the hunt.  And he has.  And here we go.

Yep… here we go.

All this time trying like everyone else to figure out how to stretch a dollar… down economy, yo… when all I had to was run down to Kreston’s … I mean, Boarders and buy Ruth Ann’s new book THE MINNER MIRICLE. “ Loaves, fishes, and bottled beer.” Hell of a book I hear.  Sold fairly well the past few years,  but with the sparks of intrigue now rainin’ down on Grandma Minner and her administration… yes, that means the “Chosen One” too, I think the book could hit the NY Times best seller list in no time.

This Bud to Bud bang for the buck that Ruth Ann slud (a Dizzy Dean word) by those snoozing in Dover, was by all accounts the deal of the Century for Chris Tigani and NKS, but now may become the scandal of the Century; and at a time when John Carney has yet to really break the Champagne across the bow of his sleek  new racing sloop of a campaign.  He had just better hope his former boss don’t leave him without a Mainsail.

The bloodletting has begun and the pointy ‘lil fingers are not just attached to the GOPer hands of Tom Ross; who btw called this “an outright crime” while inviting the Feds to come have a look-see.  Nah, the Dems are in no position to get caught with their mid-term pants down, and are burnin’ up the intra-party phone lines searchin’ for plausible damage control scenarios.  Pete Schwartzkoph – the short straw spokesperson – became the Dems first face. He stopped short of the “C” word, but did call it “Just plain wrong.”  He also added a ‘lil humor (unintended) when he said that “Lawmakers were surprised by the reports.”  Surprised.  Uh huh.  The Dems are in heightened anxiety – with some seen breathing into paper bags – and op tempo as they try to repair the hole in their side caused by Grandma’s torpedo while keeping in close proximity to the lifeboats.  That includes the Chosen One.

So we are calling for Ruth Ann to come clean… fess up.  This passin’ the buck and fuzzy memory just ain’t gonna cut it.  You have a party and serious candidates to look after and you’re lookin’ pretty small.

It would also do John well to call a ‘lil press conference of his own and clear the air on any knowledge he did – or didn’t – have of the deal.   We do find it hard to believe that this matter was outside his attention, but the benefit of the doubt is in play and will stay there until he speaks.  

Two thing’s for sure:  This is all just warmin up, and The Dems just can’t have this.

Been driving Del 1 a lot lately;  with the convention last week and a lil break this weekend past.  Prob gonna run the tires again in a few days as the Cultured Pearl and “Columbia Blue” skies beckon scribes and Vets alike to revisit the Nations Summer Capital.  Good Memorial Day beach weather has never been a sure bet and most Delaware natives’ memories of this time of year are of crackin’ open a cold one while tending to the grill in full North Face poncho regalia; battling driving vertical rains in bone numbing cold.  Welcome to Dewey and get hammered cause that’s all there is to do…lol. So the forecast this time around may actually call for a frosty cold Bud.

Ah, a frosty cold Bud.  The King of Beers.  Clydesdales, promotional beer bunnies with big, er… ah, tubs… of BL, and a timeless Christmas Commercial.  Yeah, that Bud.  Funny, from what I’m hearin,’ if one were to gauge and describe the temp anywhere within 10 kilometers of the Budweiser distributor in DE… NKS… these days it would be “Frosty Cold.”  How very apropo, ya know.   Good for beer, bad for families.   Seems to be a very serious chill emanating from a Tigani Camp where none of the players (see La Famille) would be classified as “Buds.”   But that is just immediate family.  We  gonna talk extended family, bro… like Grandma “Pass the buck” Minner and her valet… I mean,  Chief of Staff, Mark Brainard, who together with the King of Beer, engineered  what is now being described as a Real Sweet Steal of a Deal for the Sultan of Suds.  And the source of all the bangarang?  Why a State owned plot of land (10.3 acres) in Milford that according to learned sources would fetch a hefty $84 + grand per month on the “open market” but was somehow???? “negotiated” and handed over to Chris Tigani for a whopping $1,500 a month for 66 years, by Ruth Ann “I think it was Chris that called me” Minner, or was it her driver or her gardener… hmmm… she can’t recall… but not her; according to her best recollection, of course.  Now, my background is in literature and the social sciences, and my math’s a ‘lil off, but isn’t that kinda like Chris renting any of us his beach house for a couple hundred bucks a summer for the next 50 years?   Yeah, a real sweet deal, I’d say.  It stinks, sure… but how many of us would turn it down… be honest folks.

What’s of interest to us is not so much Tigani and his “almost” free future state warehouse space, but rather a Governor who seemingly allowed herself to be schmoozed; passed the buck (or is it thrown under a Dart bus), pulled the old convenient memory trick, and somehow was not involved having washed her hands of any grease that may have been on her palms.   Of course flying with the Sudsman on his leased (18 G’s) private jet to Ottawa (a year after the deal) accompanied by a liquor lobbyist, while raising some eyebrows along with the BP of the GOP, looks fuzzy enough .  But when what followed was more eyebrow raising when the liquor industry was the recipient of some very favourable tax breaks, that is a story.

And this story ain’t goin’ away.   And neither is the fact that Grandma Minner had a main man, the one “chosen” by the peeps to be her right arm and closest confidant.  The one who claims on his resume to have been as integral part of day to day decision making as has ever been by a second banana.  This all somehow escaped his notice?  Not even a posted note?  Nope, John Carney somehow was left out of the loop on this one; that is if Maureen “I’m not from” Milford of the NJ is to be believed.

The News Journal’s front page above the crease Sunday best opened with “Former Gov. Ruth Ann Minner’s administration helped push through what commercial agents say is a sweet deal…”  Yep, mentioned her administration.  And who is only one player removed from the Gov herself?… The Chosen One.  Yet I scoured the entire piece; all 3 some odd thousand words and damn if there wasn’t a single reference to the Second man in charge.  Amazing.  John Carney is a man who stays on top of everything (or so we hear) and the thought of a deal like this would be made without his knowledge or councel would seem odd.  Perhaps an effort to keep his name annexed from the story?  You tell me.

We’ll see as this unfolds a ‘lil more. It’s politics; need we say more?

So when y’all are driving from C-5 city to Rehoboth this weekend, take a look to your right when passin’ the home of the 1971 Boys State Basketball Champs.  At the corner of Front and 1 there’s a parcel of land.  Maybe pull over and get out of the sun for a few and see what all the hub bub’s about .  There ain’t no trees but it’s still real shady.

Given our recent reports (one picked up by Richard Black of the BBC… “Up in Flames”) on the developing environmental disaster off Nawlins’, some may look at this title as an extension of that coverage.   They would be mistaken.  This piece, while not focusing on the flood of crude with its sights set on Magazine St, does carry an ominous metaphor that is currently drifting towards the shores of the Republican State Convention in less than a fortnight.  The once pristine waters of a unified party are being threatened by a slick comprised of fractured relationships and dissent amongst its very core – and those who feel they should be the core.  Right leaner’s, moderates, Tea’s; all on their own soapbox with a biased and dogmatic view of just what the party must now stand for.  It could get ugly; and at a time when solidarity would appear to be a most valued commodity.

Now for anyone who’s ever been to a political convention, National or State, they would then be familiar with the ancillary revelry, debauchery and hi jinx that accompany the (serious) nature at hand.  It’s a time for struttin’ one’s – and the party’s – stuff while the family elders and network of envoys debate agenda, construct platforms, choose its emissaries (candidates) , and move towards the goal of whuppin’ the Dems in November.  It’s when a party ought to be at its zenith.  On top of its game.  But if the memo sent to the GOP party leadership yesterday by one of its delegates was any bellwether,  there’s gonna be trouble in River City, and it rhymes with T and that stands for TEA.

Ah, the memo.  With residue of Tetley all over it, the manifest was rife with the 9-12 fingerprints: Free market, fiscal responsibility, constitutionally limited Government,  and a constructing a platform the GOP and The Tea’s can agree on, and general intolerance for anyone with the temerity to hold one counter thought.   Actually it read more like a diaphanous threat; Like Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction when she chillingly tells Michael Douglas “That I won’t be ignored.” Yeah, it’s just like that.

Oh, but it gets better.  The said delegate, Evan Queitsch, goes on to Blast… and I mean BLAST… The King as a pert near conservative anti-Christ that stands in the way of true right wing constitutional ideology.  Now The King may be a ‘lil soft in the middle, but the Tea’s are steppin’ outta bonds with that one.  EQ proceeded to list vote after vote, Mike’s record as it applies to the “Global Warming hoax” (Castle siding with the environment), Omnibus Bill, the Wall St. bailout (the King voted in favour), Planned Parenthood; leveling him for voting against an amendment to withhold fed tax dollars from Planned Parenthood (oh, the horrors), and even attacking the King for voting for “Cash for Clunkers,” as they feel it would eliminate affordable wrecks better earmarked for the poor… for the poor now, huh?   This of course is a two way street these cars travel; one to supplying cars to those without; one to boosting the economy by Jump starting some sagging auto sales  Suffice to say, he (EQ) – and his followers – don’t care much for moderation in any form.  And directed at the venerable one!  Get out!  Coonsy’s gotta be turnin’ cartwheels.

And even though there exists some intelligent differences in the rant, his wheels fall off when he whole heartedly endorses Christine O’Donnell, referring to her as a Party Martyr (our words) that would be a player if only the King would debate her… which just ain’t gonna happen.  She is a non factor and a fraud candidate who due to her Tea leaf aura has been embraced as legitimate by those with the Grass Roots.  Maybe she ought to cut her teeth debating Rose.  Now that I would pay to see.

And the cherry on top of it all is the ringing endorsement of the now popular Papa U, who, if the chips fall just right could be the name at the top of the ticket.  But he cannot afford to piss off the very folks who are now pissed off at this shot over the bow.  This makes Mama Rollins a much more attractive candidate and unifier in the eyes of Prissy and Laird… and a bunch of other folks.   Yes, our political scene needs dissention to keep everyone honest, but a party also needs wins… not losses… and this fracture portents a big ‘ole “L” in November if the GOPer’s don’t straighten out their act.  Papa and his team better watch for the yellow light before it changes its mind.  Oh, and K-Wade (mentioned favourably to a T) ought to keep an eye on the yellow light as well… I’m just sayin’… somethin’ ‘bout the company you keep.

So there you have it Soap Fans.  Payton Place has returned for a new season with Chris Coons and John Carney calling Comcast for the full cable package.

Don’t worry if ya missed the original air date… they’ll replay the entire pilot on May 15^th.

So Jill Abbott couldn’t “pinpoint” to point as to why it was that sooooooo many – common folk and yups alike – decided to take a pass on her invitation to “Dine in Mr. du Pont’s freakin’ garden.  Really, Jill.  It eludes you eh?  Well let me take a ‘lil stab at it if ya don’t mind.

You and Mr. “Starchy pants” Roselle have totally gutted and compromised the best Get together/cocktail party/ most anticipated spring event in one pompous and Pecksniffian fell swoop.  Your palpable snobbery – cloaked as it was in the BS rhetoric of “getting back to the event’s roots,” was nothing more than a thinly veiled act to introduce your version of a Caste system designed to keep out the “untouchables” and turn the event from effulgent emancipation to a turgid and cliquish display of hauteur.  You got your wish… and thousands found something better to do.   Well done.  But hey, the goat cheese and Cloudy Bay sauvignon blanc still tickled the educated palates and no one amongst the well coiffed and polished seemed to miss the riff raff.  Ya know, those who really were responsible for P2P’s huge following and $$$ success.

And it wasn’t just the great unwashed who stayed away.  Many longtime loyal upper socio-economic supporters opted out; some at P2P spin offs; some staying home.   The Logan House party, featuring many from the medical profession, in addition to others who have more than enough cash on their debit cards and couth in their cabinets, was a happening.  Of course a certain hoity societal maven had to immediately discount the affair and its immediate (and potential) impact with as much pooh pooh as she could muster, “Obviously, a couple of hundred people at the Logan House is not going to make or break an (see this) event.” Really?  Do she really understand viral backlash and the reason for the LOHO party’s instant success?  Does she not know that was but a microcosm?  Does she really believe that there are not thousands who have turned their noses on those noses who turned on them?  Does she not hear and feel the buzz?  Can it be that such a massive turn against the event was a onetime deal… an anomaly… an illusion?  I don’t thinks so.   Someone is delusional and the event took a hit as a result.  And it will continue.

Oh, but yes, the weather cooperated, the Carriage processional – replete with sweaty top hats – rolled over the meadow and past the woods, the front row pinapple casings were filled with quality hooch, the Piava, fillets, and Swarowski still adorned fine linen crowned tables, and the seersucker’s still promenaded with the villagers and ladybugs.  It was what it was intended to be.   But it could’ve been so much more.  So much more.

And add this telling comment as an epilogue; coming as it were from one who chose to attend but found the new vibe unappetizing as she stood outside the velvet ropes: “I don’t like being profiled as poor.”

Ya wanna know something?  No one else does either.

And that’s the Point to the Point.

One of the worlds greatest ironies unfolded off the coast of Louisiana yesterday… Earth Day.

The massive explosion and subsequent sinking of the “Deepwater Horizon” in the Gulf of Mexico yesterday – resulting in the disappearance (and presumed deaths) of 11 rig workers – in addition to 300,000 gallons of crude being injected into the gulf daily, has drilled home the point that there are dangers that come with the territory.  The Deepwater Horizon was 50 miles off the coast of New Orleans when she blew.  The platforms slated for the First state could be 47 miles closer.   It would be a real bad deal should this happen here.

As we had written back on April, 2 in the piece “A Crude Awakening”, there would always exist the possibility of environmental disaster should mammoth derricks dot the eastern seaboard just miles off the coast.  While we acknowledge that every method that could be employed to offset our Mid-east oil captivity and dependence ought be explored, we added – and rather vehemently – that with such proposed drilling comes with it certain inherent dangers.  We also realize that unfortunately with any high profile catastrophic event there follows a public clamour that the said event represents in its totality that a person(s), industry, or project must dealt with harshly or eliminated all together.

While we don’t suggest a kneejerk reaction, we do believe this event  illustrates the need for a reality check.  It ought not necessitate a full assault on the proposal or project.  We will not stand here with a “We told you so”… even though we could.  We would rather make this a wake-up call to all politicos who, for the sake of appearances – and with some sincere ideological stands – would blindly support this legislation ; that the utmost caution must be taken before one vote is cast or pylon constructed.

We don’t believe in indicting a large group of people for the acts of one and we will not condemn an entire strategy and program based on one accident. Yes it was a doozie, but there is still merit to the prospects of safe exploration and the benefits to its success.  We also would hope this unfortunate tragedy drills home the fact that Green brings with it it’s own benefits and merit and ought to share the stage.

All you who are running for High office ought to take a hard look at all the upsides and downsides to drilling scenarios.

A real hard look.

So there seems to be some banter recently about what a debate will look like once the King and the Quiet Man take the stage.  Not much of the convo centers on the issues (although there are enough of those) but rather the respective heights of the two combatants.  Barack O’Biden had the advantage over a much shorter John McCain and just looked better.  JFK was taller and looked a hellava lot better than Richard Nixon and blew a rumpled tricky away with ease .  And in the mack daddy of examples, Honest Abe Lincoln – all 6’4” of him – towering over his short (5’4”) and stocky opponent, Stephen A. Douglass, commanded the stage in all seven of the 1858 Illinois Senatorial debates as Douglass looked more suited to ride a thoroughbred than he did appear like one.

In many cases – political or not – the taller the person is the more presence he has. (We’d include the ladies, but until Ann Donavan – all 6’8” of Gold medal Olympian – runs for a Senate post, there is no real precedent) A taller candidate seems to rule more of the air hence  being viewed as stronger and often times the winner.  Stereotyped?  Perhaps, but a style and perception issue nonetheless.

So what will the shorter and stockier Coons do to offset the Lincoln-like stature of the King?  A healthy tan?  Perhaps he will point out ahead of time that the King slouches… so how Senatorial is that?  Or maybe he wears a pair of George Costanza shoe lifts; or maybe a box… yeah, that’s it… a soapbox.  Looking all the like a Hyde Park, London Sunday orator…

All kidding aside, the Quiet Man will offset the King’s height advantage with impetuous verve and the King for his part will stand taller than usual as he extols the virtues of his lengthy service.

PS.  Mama and Papa will have a similar discussion when facing K-Wade as the GOP Congressional primary debates shift to a podium rather than those metal cafeteria chairs.  Rosie will have her work cut out as well.  She’ll need some really high heels.

It’ll all be fun.

And that’s the long and the short of it.