23 x 23Bob Seger started "Against the Wind" with it seems like yesterday, but it was long ago . . .
and though there are other things to write about today - like the apparent readiness of the clunky echo machine as it churns to life, ready to belch out bile and swill in a rattle-and-hum stream of attack on the patriotism of Barack Hussein (didja hear that middle name, little toadies of all things righty) Obama - but today they pale by comparison to nostalgia.
Twenty three years ago, on a Saturday almost like today - okay, its cooler here now than it was on the first one - but LOST and the Mrs. left behind their broods and the two became one. "Left behind" now there's an interesting notion. LOST could talk of the ways in which the brood should have been left behind - the older bro who went past his 2 drink limit and started shadowing the sister of LOST's sister in law's husband - back then they didn't call it "stalking," and it was only temporary - just that day. But the story filtered back to the brood that "Mrs. LOST's sister had been rude" to the boy. And, the story stuck, for months thereafter, the way such stories do when they're told by sources with impeccable credibility. Even though Mrs. LOST had only one sister, who was in the wedding, and much to her great good fortune never had any contact with said erstwhile stalker wannabe sibling. Aside from the memorial service for LOST's dad seven years ago, the wedding was the last time the entire brood was voluntarily in the same room with one another. Oh, LOST could write volumes about that, but there's so much more.
The beauty of the day - a Santa Ana wind made it much like Summer. The turnout of people from various corners of the world. From the dank recesses of grade school, all the way up the ladder through the college days - they were there. There was Jenny's crooning old bluesy numbers into the mic near the end of the nite, a sound to behold for sure. There was "Myron Dobbs" holding court and swilling champagne like the market was crashing tomorrow. "Old Ed" and his spouse made an appearance, fashionably late as was their custom of the time. There was the infamous cake incident - the sharing which became the smush and run and nearly turned LOST into a victim of Reception Rage. Thankfully, cooler heads prevailed, and instead LOST was awarded the title of "idiot son in law" instead. So much better. Ah, the attempt to bring our Peace Corps friend Paula to the ceremony, by taping it and having mutual friends "talk" to her. A great idea that lasted until 30 minutes before mass time. Oh, the best laid plans . . . There was the money dance and the tossing of garter and bouquet, and the night at the Westgate, the latter of which will not be blogged about, so HA!
There was this agreement between the LOSTs about no presents this year. It's an off year, twenty-three. Not a milestone. That's 2 years away, right? Only looking around the room its apparent that every year of staying together, growing together, comforting each other, bickering at each other and loving each other - each one is its own milestone, one that has been achieved by comparatively few within our own circle. Is it luck, fate, karma, or all/some/none of the above? LOST has no idea. It has to be the combo plate, looking back, across the two decades plus. What a day it was, and what a time it has been.
So here's to you Mrs. LOST, my friend, my lover, my partner in this enterprise of scraping by and moving on. Here's to 37 more just like it, too. Sixty, it has such a nice ring to it, you know?
'FLOWERS' FOR ELDER-JOHN? Is there some straight talk for his friends that can clear this one up? Is this the tip of a philanderer's iceberg? Will MIttens "unsuspend" his campaign now? Will the talking point be, "Hey, at least he didn't shoot someone in the face!" or, perhaps this one, "McCain, 72, wife and a broad on the side, American STUD!" Or maybe there's this one, "McCain, He doesn't just TALK straight!"
We all know that the truly innocent always lawyer up as soon as possible - with the highest profile advocate available, right?
Oh, and what does this thousand words say to you? LOST is no expert, but It looks an awful lot like "you promised me the White House, you horny ol' B*st*rd!"
JOE ISUZU, NEITHER GONE, NOR FORGOTTEN Yes, it was with some bittersweetness that LOST read that Isuzu was pulling up stakes and leaving the U.S. consumer auto/truck market. The article of course took advantage of the circumstances and mentioned the most notorious non-political spokesperson of last thirty years, Joe Isuzu, as if he was gone and our nation had turned it lowly eyes to him.
Except that this is political season once again. That magical time that used to be confined to June and November is now bled into the Southern California winter as well. And Joe is really just morphed into a thousand different political spokes-icons. How, you say? Well, consider the ballot propositions. In this State, the ballot measure process has become akin to doing ones taxes. There’s a ton of paper that comes in the mail – a sample ballot, an election pamphlet containing the “text of the proposed law” and then well over a dozen postcards from this cadre of believers or that, all screaming at you in living color which ones need “NO,” which ones need “YES,” and the personal new favorite, which initiatives need a “NO” vote to get us what we really want to happen.
So you’re a voter, better than average income and intelligence, and you open the pamphlet. The “text” of the law is in about 5 point type. Incapable of being seen by the middle aged naked eye without a doubt. And its in three columns. And its covering 5 or 6 pages of the pamphlet. The legislature couldn’t get this done on their own. With a staff of full time help. With a crew of helpful lobbyists, who are just aching to buy the requisite amount of beverages necessary to get your Assemblyman primed to understand where he should be and how he should vote. Now its your problem and mine, and oops! Fresh out of staff at home. What’s a voter to do? Simple. Turn on the TV, where, wedged in between at 24 7 365 coverage of everything you always wanted to know about Britney Lohan you’ll find that most helpful of convincers, the 30 second TV spot. This year, we find compelling lists of iconic elements of society both favor and oppose large scale increases in slot machines for 4 indian tribes. So who do you trust?
Who, for that matter, does America trust? Simple. Firemen. For the last decade or so, when it has come to ballot initiatives in California, the most coveted constituent element of the fight on a ballot proposition has been the firefighters. Yep, they do great work putting out fires. They live disjointed lives, just for us, spending ten or more 24hour days away from home and in the firehouse, waiting for that next catastrophe to occur. But now they’re our all-knowing, wise and non-partisan oracles of how to vote. Move over League of Women Voters – or at least admit your personal conflicts and move on. You can’t weigh in on this gambling thing – most of you are already sitting on a stool in front of your favorite “Blazing 7’s “ machine, so we can’t ask you. But why firemen already? Has everybody forgotten what happened the last time we mixed public safety officers and Indian leaders on the same media stage? 
Depressing. At least bring Joe back for real, and let him handle all of the election ads from now on. At least we could smile while he fed us some of this bullshit, couldn’t we?
