Author: Dick

A while ago I read the transcript of today’s White House press briefing in which our favorite flak Scotty McClellan got his ass handed to him by the White House press corps. Quite a lot of righteous indignation was in that room today, I’d say. But then that is what the White House press corps is best at — righteous indignation.

The proverbial WH press corps’ nose was out of joint over it taking almost 24 hours before anyone in the media knew Vice President Dick Cheney had shot someone. Even though the man Cheney shot while hunting birds in South Texas is okay, it’s still news. We’ve not had a U.S. vice president shoot anyone since 1804 when Vice President Aaron Burr gunned down Alexander Hamilton in a duel. Funny, we don’t see Burr’s likeness on any of our paper money and we’re likely not to see Cheney’s. Nevertheless, the press could see no good reason to delay the news of the Cheney faux pas by almost a day. And, I’m inclined to agree.

Perhaps a lot of the press indignation was over the principle of the matter. It is yet one more in a long list of attempts to control the flow of information by a control-freak White House. But I have to think too that maybe there is just a wee bit of jealousy as well from the RIWHPC (Righteously-indignant White House press corps). After all, it was reporter Jaime Powell of the Corpus Christi Caller-Times who got the call from Anne Armstrong that Cheney had shot Harry Whittington with birdshot. It was on Armstrong’s ranch where the shooting took place and she was also a witness to the shooting. Powell had built up a good reporter-source relationship with the Armstrong family, longtime, rich South Texas ranchers, and those connections paid off in one hell of a scoop for a medium-sized daily like the Caller-Times.

As someone who has worked as a reporter for papers of that size and smaller, and who had to occasionally brush elbows with the RIWHPC in Crawford, I can only say: “Way to go Jaime.”

Oh my. It is just almost too easy what Vice President Dick Cheney handed those of us who like to skewer the powerful, political and the politically powerful.

If you were in a coma yesterday or today, you might not know that Cheney accidentally shot a 78-year-old Austin lawyer friend on a ranch in South Texas while they were hunting quail. This is, of course, not funny. The lawyer reportedly spent some time in ICU in a Corpus Christi hospital after being pelleted by birdshot from the shotgun fired by the man who is just a heartbeat away from the presidency.

But even if you have no sense of humor, or whimsy, or irony whatsoever you just have to say: “Whoa. Dude!”

First, consider that both Democrats and some Republicans have begun asking questions about the vice president’s role in the CIA leak scandal. This comes in light of revelations that Cheney’s indicted, former chief of staff Scooter “Dooter” Libby has indicated he was told by superiors to leak information to reporters to bolster the case for the Iraq war. Some politicians are now saying the special prosecutor in the case needs to question Cheney (Libby’s superior). Of course, I think the VP being questioned is not likely, especially in light of these events in Texas. I mean, he’s already shot one lawyer …

Also, there is this six degrees of separation element at work here. The lawyer Cheney shot, Harry Whittington, was an ally of President Bush when the latter man was governor. President George W. Bush picked Dick Cheney to be his vice president. President George Herbert Walker Bush chose Dan Quayle as his vice president. Both George W. and George Herbert Walker Bush are Texas residents. Cheney shot the president’s lawyer friend in Texas. Both Cheney and his friend were hunting quail, which is a homophone of the name of the elder Bush’s vice president.

Coincidence? I think not.

“I don’t know officer. It was all a blur to me.”

Sometimes I have a quest for the unknown. Maybe it borders a little on the obsessive. On second thought, it is obsessive. But sometimes you just have to know something. It’s like, you can’t let it go until you know it. You feel like your life is incomplete to not know it. You are only half an intellectual being until you know it. Starving children in Africa can’t eat until you know it. Brangelina can’t do … whatever the hell it is that they do … until you know it. So, I guess you maybe get the picture that I have got to know it. Yes, I’ve got to find out … today’s burning question:

Who put the bomp
In the bomp bah bomp bah bomp?

I won’t rest. I wont’ eat. I won’t sleep. None of this shall I do until I determine:

Who put the ram
In the rama lama ding dong?

You might as well not count on me to do much else unless I can find:

Who put the bop
In the bop shoo bop shoo bop?

And along those same lines:

Who put the dip
In the dip da dip da dip?

Yes. I guess I’m in for a long wait until someone tells me or I discover through painstaking research just:

Who was that man?

For you see, I’d like to shake his hand. And then I would like to slap him upside the head for making an obsessive cripple out of me. Slap him up one side and down the other. Who put the bop in the bop shoo bop shoo bop? I don’t know. Not yet. But when I do find out, you’ll be the first to know.

Hey! Is that a motorcycle I see? I guess windshield wipers WOULD be a good investment.

The above picture is not mine. It hasn’t been raining that hard where I live, not yet, it should soon. A hard rain’s gonna fall and then it’s going to turn reasonably cold.

I have not been on the highway today, not in my pickup at least. I did go for an abbreviated walk early this morning and then I came back home and started working, which is what I have been doing all the live-long day. I tell you, working is just no way to make a living. I guess that’s why you see so many ads for opportunities to work at home which mostly involve sending someone some money. People want to stay home. I don’t blame them. I want to stay home, even to work, but not to work like I have been doing lately. It’s just insane. Well, I only have a little tech writing left for the day and then I will go sit in the corner and turn into a big ol’ lump of protoplasm. Until next time …

How exactly does burning a candle at both ends work? I’ve never really tried because lighting one end always was a great enough expense of energy for me. And I like candles so what does that tell you?

The old saying “burning the candle at both ends” implies a sort of double-edged energy that flames out way past the normal bounds of exertion. What does that mean? I wish the hell I knew. Still, I can’t help but think that how I am feeling at this moment could be a classic, textbook example of someone who has burned his/her candle at both ends. No, that doesn’t mean I’ve set anything on fire. Not yet at least. It just means I’m tired. I’m spent. I want to sit and do nothing. But I have work I sorely need to dig into a little more this evening. What shall I do? What SHALL I do? I shall opt for nothing. Nothing is good. Nothing is the cat’s lingerie. I will sell no nothing before its time. Oh just shut the hell up will ya? Okay.