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It's miserable just about everywhere

My friend Bruce sent me a picture-perfect photo (is that redundant is that redundant is that … ) to remind me that almost everyone in the contiguous United States has experienced some sort of crappy weather this week. I don’t know if you consider a snow as crappy. I don’t know that much about what North Texas has been experiencing but surely the record-busting snow hitting D.C. this week got to the crappy stage.

Here along the Texas coast we have just been receiving rain, rain and more rain. Snow is forecast in our “suburban” counties tonight. That’s kind of joke, but it’s not. Just a couple hours north may be receiving five inches of snow overnight. Once again I have to remind people who think it’s no big deal that as far down in the “lower 48” as we live, it will sometime go years without snow and when it does, some of that “white stuff,” as the TV people call it, rarely sticks. For some reason I always think about cocaine when I hear the words “white stuff.” I don’t know why.

This type of weather inevitably leads to the right-wing’s assertion that global warming doesn’t exist. I won’t bite. Needless to say, if you have been reading about global warming through the years — yeah 25 years ago I didn’t believe it either — you will find convincing scientific evidence that Michael Jackson died a white woman. That  has nothing to do with global warming, of course. But neither does one snow storm make the argument for or against global warming more cogent.

The best thing to do when the weather is cold and snowy or raining is to make something nice and steaming to eat, like buzzard a’ la king or possum under glass. Oh sorry, that was for cold days in Bug Tussle, of the Beverly Hillbillies fame.

Seriously, make some chili or some stew. Wiggle your ears until they’re blue. Drink a toddy or some tea. Kick a ball with your knee. Go stir crazy. Watch some movies. Or better yet, make rhymes out of everything you say. See how long ’til they put you away.

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Charlie Wilson of "Charlie Wilson's War" dead at 76

Charlie Wilson, the Texas congressman who inspired the book and movie Charlie Wilson’s War, died today at the age of 76.

Wilson was probably the most colorful politician I, sort of, knew. I say, “sort of,” because I didn’t know him well enough for him to recall my name although, if he ever had the occasion to know it, he sure as heck would have found it out quickly. Charlie represented the area of Texas — first in the Texas Legislature and later during 12 terms in the U.S. House — I lived in for most of my life. Of course, I moved around some and even left Southeast Texas several times for a few years at a pop  but returned. Also, political lines being what they are, where I lived at the time may or may not have been served by Charlie.

I probably could have made that whole paragraph shorter by saying Charlie represented me from the time I was a kid until I was an adult in my 40s. That’s some time.

My link above is to Wilson’s hometown paper, The Lufkin Daily News. It looks like they have all hands on deck for this story, which one would expect. Their early coverage looks pretty thorough although most papers have obituaries long on hand for prominent people.

But more than his longevity, Charlie will be remembered more for his devil may care attitude. “Good Time Charlie” is one of his nicknames. He liked to party and have good looking women around him. There is the famous line about someone asking Charlie, upon seeing all these fantastic lookers working for him in his congressional office, what it was all about. Charlie said: “You can teach them to type but you can’t teach them to grow tits.”

Wilson was never known in Congress for his ability to pass landmark or high-profile legislation. But his legacy will be his secret and sometimes singular fight to fund Afghan rebels when they fought an occupying Soviet Army in the 1980s. His hijinks and his successes are chronicled in the book-turned-movie by George Crile in which Wilson was portrayed by Tom Hanks.

As a politician and as a congressman, Charlie will also have a legacy that only those who lived in his congressional district knew. That was his so-called “constituent services.” These are things such as ensuring some long-suffering veteran gets his pension or helping someone get their Social Security checks. Such services and even what some call “pork” which puts jobs in a community and bread on the table are what get congressmen elected. And, Wilson and his staff were among the best at serving their constituents. It’s why little old ladies in the Bible Belt just loved Charlie, no matter that he trouble with drinking and driving or alleged use of cocaine.

Probably no one but Charlie Wilson’s staff could have gotten a medal from the Soviet Union for my late father, whose ships delivered goods to Vladivostok during World War II. It’s a long story, but I wanted to honor my Dad who wasn’t even recognized as a veteran at the time of his death in 1984 — it would be several years later that Congress passed legislation finally making Merchant Marine military veterans — despite his having served during hostile action on board a merchant ship.

Charlie was certainly a presence when he was around you. He could BS with the best of them. That’s high praise for a Texan. The world was certainly made more interesting by having Charlie Wilson in it.

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Who is their captain, Commander Queeg?

People complain about “Nanny this and nanny that these days.” Well how about this? The Nanny Navy.

Some sailors who go ashore on liberty while serving in the 7th Fleet — generally defined as the Western Pacific — are finding themselves subject to strict rules and having to file plans that include an authorized liberty buddy if they plan to drink, according to the Navy Times.

Sailors in the six lowest enlisted grades, three of which are non-commissioned officers, on board the aircraft carrier U.S.S. Kitty Hawk must have a detailed plan about what he or she plans to do and must have it approved before going on liberty. This includes off time in Yokosuka, Japan, the ship’s homeport. Incidents involving some of the ship’s company led to a rule that senior personnel should be given a phone number by the off-duty sailor where they may be reached or physically seen. This includes those who are married.

There is just so much wrong with this that I am not going to go on about it. Read the article yourself. But if you find yourself agreeing with the knee-jerk response by senior officers, imagine being a young sailor on liberty in a foreign port, or WWPD? (What Would Popeye Do?)

It makes me wonder if the Kitty Hawk’s captain isn’t Cdr. Phillip Francis Queeg, the tyrannical skipper played by Humphrey Bogart in “The Caine Mutiny.”

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Super football; not so great commercials

Last night’s Super Bowl was super. I’m not saying that because I rooted for New Orleans. It was perhaps the best football game out of maybe a handful of Super Bowls I have watched since SB No.I.

The way I came to that decision was realizing that the game was just flying by. I’d look up and all of a sudden it was the 2nd quarter. It was the half. The Who, I don’t care what anyone says, they are great — even for 12 minutes. Then came that fabulous onside kick by the Saints at the start of the 3rd quarter. When cornerback Tracy Porter snatched away a pass from the Colts’ spectacular quarterback, Peyton Manning, and ran it 74 yards for the end zone, the deal was sealed.

The TV commercials, for which all those years I would watch a Super Bowl that sucked, were not all that great during this one. Probably the most memorable one will be the Snickers ad with ancient actors Betty White and Abe Vigoda. Like someone once observed, just saying “Abe Vigoda” does something to you.

I am happy the Saints won for the people of New Orleans, for the Saints fans and for me. That joy is kind of tempered by learning later in the night in a text from my good friend in Arkansas that her dad passed away after a long bout with cancer. I didn’t know him that well but when your friends hurt, well, I can empathize since I lost both of my parents within nine months of each other.

I don’t know how to end this. Sometimes you can do it. If I was under deadline I could do it. But I’m not and and I can’t. So I’ll just say bye for now or something similar as this.

(Sorry, the latter phrase is from a song by Traffic called “The Low Spark of High Heeled Boys.” It was written by the late Jim Capaldi and Steve Winwood when they played with the group in 1971. Winwood — who sang the song — also performed his 1986 solo hit “Higher Love” at the Super Bowl VIP Pre-Show Sunday. The performance was broadcast during one of the CBS pre-game shows. Here is the MTV video — Warning: May be short commercial before the video, but it’s worth it. Trust me. I never lie. And I’m always right.)

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Who Dat fever: Riding the bandwagon with no remorse

Edited version: I missed an “I.” It’s XLIV instead of XLV. And 44 instead of 45. But what’s a year or two among good Romans? And, if there happens to be any Indianapolis  fans out there, here is a little tune to get stuck in your head while the Saints are winning.

This year, unlike many years before, I am pumped up about the Super Bowl.

What is this, the 42nd National Football League championship, or XLIVif you like the NFL’s Roman numeral version? I am sure there is some reason why the NFL has used Roman numerals all these years, but I don’t know why and don’t care. I just know that I probably haven’t really looked forward to watching the Super Bowl — for football and not the commercials — since probably No. XX. That was when Mike Ditka’s wacky bunch of Chicago bears, including Jim McMahon and William “Refrigerator” Perry as well as superb running back Walter “Sweetness” Payton played and beat New England.

There is some irony in that particular game as it relates to XLIV. That game was played in the Louisiana Superdome, home of NFC champs the Saints. Also, the Bears’ defensive coach, who said that the team had wasted its draft pick earlier that year on “The Fridge” Perry, was none other than Buddy Ryan, whose son, Rex, was head coach of AFC championship loser New York Jets. Buddy Ryan is a whole ‘nother story in itself. All the ties are like playing Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon, only its not.

Wonder if the referees stopped at Best Buy in Beaumont on the way to Miami?

But yeah, I plan to be in front of the TV starting about 1 p.m. Sunday to catch all the hype leading up to the game. That is because of the New Orleans Saints. I suppose I have been rooting for the Saints since they returned to play in the Superdome after the devastating Hurricane Katrina. I know that isn’t being a fan for very long in their 40-something year history, but after all, they really sucked for so many years.

That sounds rude, I know. But I am not the only one on the Saints’ bandwagon who is riding along and doesn’t, frankly my dear, give a damn what anyone says.

I saw the evacuees from Katrina pouring across the Texas line into my area of Southeast Texas. Then, they had to evacuate once more as Hurricane Rita pounded just about the easternmost fourth of Texas. Even though I was 80 miles away from the Gulf during Rita, it was “hurricaning” outside. Then came Hurricane Humberto in 2007, which I slept through. Next was Hurricane Ike the following year which I watched for most of the night as it whipped through Beaumont.

Fortunately, I didn’t suffer much from any of those storms except for the lack of electricity for a number of days. But my neighbors in Southeast Texas  and Southwest Louisiana did, some greatly. So you might say my cheering on the long-suffering Saints was a matter of “hurricane-related empathy.”

It is going to be a more difficult task to root for the Saints too, because they are playing the Indianapolis Colts. I like them as well. Or rather, I like Peyton Manning, who many think IS the Colts. But I will not have near the difficulty in loyalty that Manning’s family will. Dad Archie, of course, was the Saints quarterback in the bad old days. Thus, Giants quarterback and Peyton’s brother Eli, and non-pro football brother Cooper, all have ties to the Saints. So did Petyon. Rick Reilly, the ESPN Magazine scribe who is without a doubt one of the best sportswriters around these days, wrote a piece on ESPN.com the other day about the Manning family’s dilemma. It sounds damn near excrutiating, not only because of their family ties to New Orleans and the Saints, but because of what it means for the Saints to be playing in the Super Bowl after years of failure and then Katrina.

“In summary,” wrote Reilly, “you must either have had your heart removed by corn tongs or be in the Manning family if you’re not pulling for the Saints.”

I couldn’t agree more.