FATHERS DAY EDITION, SUNDAY STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS

So how should it feel, this abrupt passing of Tim Russert at 58 – a much younger age than it ever seemed to be? His everyman appearance and demeanor made him likeable, even charismatic; he didn’t look like he belonged on TV, with its unforgiving insistence on aesthetic perfection. At many points in his career he showed mastery of the dreaded “gotcha” to those who would grab the reins. Other times – and regrettably recently - - he seemed too comfortable in the laps of tyrants. His velvet glove treatment of the DICK was shameful – coming at a time when he could have been most effectual at derailing the momentum for an insipid war that shouldn’t have ever been started. But he was one of a number of people who stood by and said nothing. And everybody can’t be Keith Olbermann – even if years ago there seemed to be more than just one – like the days when people ran from a microphone wielding Mike Wallace, instead of standing toe to toe and verbally vomiting on his grinning eeyjit son . . . Has Big Brown crossed the finish line at the Belmont yet ? . . . will the Celtics finish off the Fakers today or call one in just to have the spectacle of winning at home . . . anyone who tries to tell you that McCain is not really Bush 2.0 should be grabbed by the nose and forced to watch this for a quick primer from the man himself, not that it will make much difference, for sure . . . couldn’t’ think of what to write to mark 40 years since RFK was taken. His legend has grown since his passing, for sure, but who among us could reasonably fathom that he would not have won the nomination, beaten Nixon, and then ended Vietnam much sooner than that which actually occurred? Simply imagining a world without Watergate and with markedly less bloodshed and bitterness over that War is painfully tempting enough to contemplate . . . parenthood flies by in the macro, even if its more difficult moments seem to last forever, they lie. One minute your kids are banshees, “trapped” by a garage door handle they can’t quite reach, and the next minute – after a whirlwind of Christmas and birthday memories that resemble a tornado twister they’re picking colleges to apply to . . . happy Fathers Day to all my male sibs who do and do not read this blog – and especially those who don’t even know this one exists