My Sunday Feeling

Let us all agree on something right from the start.  If Johnny Manziel autographed items in exchange for money, he violated the NCAA rule that expressly forbids student-athletes from receiving "extra benefits" beyond what they receive as part and parcel of an athletic scholarship.  If it turns out that he did indeed violate the "extra benefit" rule he must be suspended.  And until the NCAA determines this, Texas A&M can be forgiven if it feels the better course of action is to keep him off the field rather than run the risk of forfeiting games for using an ineligible player.

Those are the rules and those are the potential consequences.  Just so we're clear.

And I think it also a fair comment to suggest that the young man's flair for reckless behavior is not confined to the playing field where his breathtaking play lead Texas A&M to last year's Cotton Bowl and for which he received the Heisman Award, the first freshman ever to be so honored.  

And it has been all noise all the time from College Station ever since then.

"Johnny Football" has over 400,000 followers on Twitter upon,which until recently, he could be counted on to pop off with frequency.  As you might imagine, some of those tweets have been problematic, such as the one in which he lamented life in College Station and the one in which he and a buddy are pictured in a casino brandishing wads of cash.  

I bet that latter exercise of his First Amendment rights amused the Aggies' Athletic Director to no end.

He has had a couple of minor run-ins with the law. During one such contact by law enforcement, he was found to have fake ID.  He has showed up at the NBA Finals.  He has thrown out the first pitch for a Rangers game.  His mug has been plastered all over the Internets at parties where it is evident that spirituous refreshment is abundant.  

Much of this is rightfully attributed to his being a kid in the age of the Internet.  Lord knows the trouble I could have gotten into if I had owned an iPhone at 18. And JF is not the only kid to find himself in hot water due to an indiscretion that got into the public. Indeed, I know a girl who got kicked out of boarding school in another state after a picture of her pretending to smoke from a bong in her dorm wound up on Facebook.  Technology frequently trumps teenage sense.

But if JF indeed autographed a bunch of helmets for a memorabilia broker in exchange for $7500.00, as the broker claims, he has created a huge headache for both himself and for Texas A&M.  But it is clearly against the rules.  No two ways about it.

Which again brings up the issue of the hypocrisy of college athletics, particularly in D-I Men's sports. Why is it OK for A&M to auction off stuff JF has autographed to raise money for renovations to Kyle Field but it's not OK for JF to get a piece of the action? What gives the NCAA the right to potentially come down hard on JF when up until fairly recently you could buy a jersey with Manziel's name on it from the NCAA website?

Isn't it the height of hypocrisy for everybody to get to line their pockets but the student-athletes themselves?  

I don't the answer to this.  I do know that I'm an enabler.  Which makes me a hypocrite as well.  I subscribe to my cable provider's premium sports channel.  I go to Razorback games.  I take 3-4 sports magazines.  

I donate to the booster clubs of both Hendrix and Tulane.  And when September 7 rolls around I will be in Conway watching the Hendrix Warriors play football again for the first time since the Sixties.  

And so I really have no room to talk.  

But I will say this, Johnny Manziel is not exactly some kid from the inner city who maybe takes a $50 buck handshake from time to time so he can buy gas and go to the movies with his girlfriend.  Although that is just as illegal as what JF is alleged to have done, I get that.  Especially when everybody is making money off of him but him.  

Johnny Manziel comes from a well-to-do family.  He doesn't need money to buy gas or to go to the movies.  Indeed, alarm bells went off throughout the system when he was seen courtside at that game in the NBA playoffs.  They were cancelled when it was revealed that his daddy paid for the ticket and for airfare.

Having little regard for appearances is not an NCAA violation.  Otherwise, JF would have been in the NCAA hoosegow a long time ago.  

But if these allegations are true, then both the NCAA and Texas A&M need to drop the hammer on the young man.  

Because he didn't need the money.  He did it because he's Johnny Football and because he evidently believes that this makes him bulletproof and invisible.  

Am I hypocrite?  Absolutely I am.  

But I'm a hypocrite with a sense of proportion.  At least I got that going for me.  

On The Road

I'm outta here for a couple of days.  Will resume this foolishness next week.

Talk amongst yourselves. 

My Sunday Feeling

I suppose the fact that I still have really good peripheral vision is a good thing.  Because of that I at least saw it coming.  But even though I saw it coming, I can't really describe how it happened.  

I was stopped in the left turn lane looking South on Van Buren.  When I saw something white and large way to my left.  It was an old-prophetically named- Dodge Ram flying out of the Exxon station.  I guess he was trying to get across my lane and into the right hand lane.  All I knew was that I was as good as hit.  I raised my arms as if I were doing a chin-up to protect my face from the glass and the airbags.  

Then BOOM!  

I was lucky.  He hit the front wheel well.  No glass.  No air bags.  I just sat there for a minute while I made sure that I wasn't injured.  Then I got mad.

"What were you thinking?" I yelled as I slammed the car door.

"I didn't see you.  I'm sorry," he said.  An older gentleman.  Wearing the clothes of a working man.  

"Didn't see me?" I said, wearing the clothes of a highly agitated lawyer. "How is that possible? I wasn't 2 feet away!"

"I'm sorry,Sir," he said. "It wasn't intentional."

"Huh?"

 "I would never do something like that on purpose."

What an odd thing to say.  Maybe he felt that he was liable only for intentional torts.  Maybe he was shook up and that was what came out under the stress of the moment.  Anyway, it appeared to me that he was sincerely remorseful.  I lightened up.  Dealing with the insurance company and getting a rental was going to be a pain in the ass, as per usual.  But at least nobody was hurt.  

The police came and worked the accident.  Information was exchanged.  I'm pretty sure the man in the Dodge got a ticket.  One of the officers was carrying his ticket book and he didn't give one to me.  I'm guessing reckless driving or something for no other reason than trying to hang a left on Van Buren from the Exxon station during the shift change at the hospitals was nothing if not "reckless."  Indeed, if you could get a ticket for "driving like a goddamned fool" the man in the Dodge would have been a prime candidate for one.  

We exchanged our information.  

"I'm sorry," he said. "It wasn't intentional."

I shook his hand.

"I believe you."  

He walked off. 

One of the cops was standing nearby.  We watched the man cross Van Buren. 

"He said what?"

" I know.  Weird, huh?"

"Have a good day, Sir," the officer said as he walked back to his cruiser. He was shaking his head in that world-weary way of law enforcement officers everywhere.  Just when you think you've heard it all, boy.

***

I noticed the voice mail while I was getting my rental car the following evening.  It was a runner for a local chiropractor.  
I guess I have lived a charmed life.  But while I have heard of this sort of low commerce I have never actually been a party to it.  I didn't return the call.  After all, I have access to excellent health care and I wasn't in any pain seeing as how I had, as I far I could tell, sustained no injuries.  

By Wednesday I had received letters from 7 attorneys, most of them came loaded with refrigerator magnets, which I very much appreciated as I can always use magnets.  After today's mail I am up to 9 lawyers and 2 more chiropractors.  And one letter from State Farm advising me that they haven't been able to reach me to discuss my claim.  This is not true.  

Now it was obvious to me that the actual lawyers behind these solicitations employ someone else to crank them out.  I know a couple of these guys or know lawyers in some of these firms.  They would not address me as "Arthur" if they wrote to me.  

Indeed, if they had actual knowledge that I had been in a wreck they would have called me to see how I was doing.  Maybe end the conversation with "Let me know if I can help you."   Leave it at that.  

I don't need a lawyer to navigate this process because a) I am one and b) I'm uninjured and all I need is my vehicle repaired and a rental car until I get mine back.  I have every confidence in the world that State Farm will be diligent in getting after the hapless gentleman that struck me the other day which means c) I don't have dollar signs in my eyes.  I just want to get my car back so I can turn this crappy Jeep Compass in.

Don't get me wrong.  If I had been injured, I would have lawyered up.  But I know who I would retain.  

But having said that I have to ask the question: Hey McMath-Woods! Hellooooooo Wilson, Engstrom, Corum and Coulter! Where are my refrigerator magnets?

Don't you guys want my business?  I mean, if I was really hurt and had a real case and all?  

Sick Leave

The literary world will have to accept that I am taking a leave of absence today due to a really bad sinus infection that is lingering on despite my following the advice of the medical professionals in my life to lay low, drink lots of water and take horse pills.  

I'm thinking of taking up smoking.  Clean living doesn't seem to be working out for me.  

Catch you later.  Talk amongst yourselves until I get back.  

My Sunday Feeling

I did something the other day that I hope I won't come to regret.  I agreed to become the President of the Hillcrest Residents Association.

Our immediate past President had to resign to tend to family business due to the unexpected death of his father.  That was certainly understandable.  But when the Nominating Committee unexpectedly turned to me in this dark hour not only was I surprised but I was also extremely ambivalent.

Don't get me wrong.  I was flattered.  And I love my neighborhood.  If my life's plan works out, I will leave here feet first and my earthly cremains will be stuck in a wall over to the Methodist church about 6 blocks from my house. That's why I agreed to serve on the Board in the first place when they asked me aboard a year or so ago.  

And still, it's not like the Board of Trustees at a college, or the Board of Directors of Women and Children First where I once served as President.  The stressors are few with this group.  The meetings typically revolve around such issues as graffiti in the neighborhood, crime in the neighborhood, what's going on in the local schools, stuff like that.

Occasionally, we have speakers.  For example, a couple of meetings ago a developer addressed the group seeking approval to build a driveway in such a way to avoid a certain street.  The adjacent neighbors objected.  Everybody got to get it off their chest.  

But every now and again there is an issue before the Board that involves something that folks on all sides of the question have a lot of emotion about.  And a couple of meetings have gotten ugly.

But I had to ask myself, did I really need this?  After all, even though I don't consider myself "retired" I am enjoying my mostly stress free life right now.  I enjoy pretty much doing whatever the hell I want to do whenever the hell I want to do it.  

When I looked at the situation through this prism, it made shirking responsibility seem pretty attractive.  

Still, these folks know me pretty well by now.  "Look," they said. "You're a lawyer, you're plugged in with the Mayor and with law enforcement.  You know everybody in town. You've run Boards before. And you've got the diplomatic skills for the job."

Hated to tell them that not very many people have ever accused me of being a diplomat.  I am polite, respectful and I mind my manners.  But I am no diplomat.  But they didn't know that.  So I didn't tell them.

But still, it wasn't until I had a beer with a former Board member that I decided to go ahead and do it.  

"You've got to admit you've got more time than anybody," he said. "And it couldn't be as hard as running a women's shelter."  

All true.  Keeping the doors of the shelter open and putting food in bellies and clothes on backs got pretty dicey at times.  The HRA by comparison deals with the Christmas tree lighting ceremony and the Ice Cream Social on the 4th of July.  And we're not even quasi-governmental.

In other words, I cannot possibly screw this up.  Which allowed my acceptance of the Board Presidency to conform completely with my new acceptance of my utter complacency and uselessness.  

Hell yes.  I'm in.  

Guess I'll have to quit drinking before the meetings now though.  

Damn.  

My Sunday Feeling

My young neighbor to the West of me was mowing his lawn when he saw me leave the house yesterday.  He cut it off and motioned me over.  After talking about what all we had done for the 4th of July, he asked me if he could ask me a legal question.  He is a surgical resident.  I bug him all the time with medical questions.  Fair is fair.

"Sure," I said. "What's on your mind?"

"I don't quite know how to put this," he said.  "I know I will say this wrong.

M is a thoughtful kind of guy.  And he doesn't like to be imprecise in his language.

"Tell me," he said.  "What do you think about the recent Supreme Court decisions?"

"Which ones?"

"About gay marriage.  Can you just explain this to me?"

It is safe to say that M is a conservative kind of guy.  He is a Southern Baptist from Texas.  But, like I said earlier, M is also a very thoughtful guy.  He is fair minded and never argumentative.  And so when we have these talks I try to keep my personal opinions out of it.  Just to give him the state of the law as I would if he were sitting in my law office.  If I had a law office.

I told him that while I hadn't followed it as closely as I might but that the provision of the Defense of Marriage Act that barred same sex married couples from availing themselves of certain federal benefits like survivor's benefits, the right to file joint tax returns, to be covered under federal health care benefits in states that had legalized gay marriage was unconstitutional.  I told him that the Proposition 8 case involving California's gay marriage statute was thrown out due to a lack of standing to sue.  In other words, that the wrong parties had brought the suit.  And that's about all I know.

"Do you think that's right?" he asked.

"It doesn't matter what either of us think."

"It seems like this is a trend."

"I think that you are right. And I don't have a problem with it."

"You know?" he said. " Didn't state government have more power that the federal government at one time?"

"Still does in some areas.  For example, the state of Arkansas regulates both our professions.  The feds don't.  The feds regulate Medicare because its a federal program.  But it block grants Medicare money to the states to run.  There are federal regs but the states run it."

"That's true."

"Here's another story.  When I was at Tulane the legal age to buy alcohol was 18.  The federal Department of Transportation told the Governor that Louisiana needed to change the law.  Louisiana told Uncle to stick it."

"What happened?"

"Uncle told Louisiana that they could keep the legal age at 18 if they wanted to, it just wouldn't get any more federal highway money.  The law changed practically overnight.  People hate the government until they need the government."

"You're right. The money always comes with strings attached."

"Always.  But ya know, Americans have argued over the proper scope of federal power versus state's rights from the time  Alexander Hamilton floated war bonds to fund the army and suggested the creation of a National bank to Obamacare.  This has been a part of the national conversation since the Declaration of Independence.  And I think it's pretty cool that a couple of guys can stand in the yard and have a pleasant, respectful conversation about this stuff."

"You're right," he said.  "That is pretty cool."

He returned to mowing and I set out about my errands.

I always enjoy our talks.  I tell him the state of the law as I understand it.  He tells me why he either likes or dislikes what I told him.  Nobody tries to change the mind of the other.  Our talks are completely free of rancor and are conducted with the volume turned way down.

I think that's pretty special in this present age of angry sound bites, spin and making stuff up.

Imagine that.  A mutually respectful conversation about America a couple of days after Independence Day.  Why, that's damn near patriotic!

My Sunday Feeling

I confess that I really hadn't paid much attention to Paula Deen prior to the recent troubles.  I don't watch the Food Network and I didn't look at any of her cookbooks as I had always been told that her food was not particularly healthy.  I really had no opinion about her.  I still don't have much of one.  Other than she is proof that business acumen is no real predictor of actual intelligence.  That, and her "empire",as it were, seems to be falling in and around her ears after she fessed up in a deposition to use of the "n" word.  That the deposition was being taken pursuant to a discrimination case filed against her by 2 former employees seems to have caused but a ripple in the national consciousness.

Despite profuse and tearful apologies, the Food Network and all of her other sponsors are dropping her like a hot rock.  This has caused her supporters to threaten boycotts of these sponsors (2 of them being Wal-Mart and Target ) and of the Food Network.  A more clement reaction came from an unusual source when Rev. Jesse Jackson chimed in to say that her apology was sufficient for him.  Former President Jimmy Carter is on the record as saying that she has suffered enough.  And some of the commentary has been completely ridiculous, such as Glenn Beck's comparing the furor against her to be reminiscent of McCarthyism.

Which leads me to my first point.  Some folks have referred to the reaction of her skeedadadling sponsors as "censorship."  It is not.  Censorship is when the government comes in and takes your laptop for something you have written.  Or arrests you for something you said.  Corporations making the business decision that its spokesperson is sufficiently divisive to cost it money is not censorship.  It's business.  Look at Michael Vick.

My second point is that whether you believe that  boycotts are fair typically follows the principle of the gored ox.  As I have written in the past, I don't have a problem with boycotts.  People can spend,or not spend, their money anyway they damn well please.  So if Paula's supporters want to stick it to Target or Wal-Mart that's jake with me.  My only thought is that I'm guessing, giving the apparent strata which is supportive of Paula, that a goodly number of these boycotters didn't think much of it when the gay folks urged a boycott of Chik Fil'A.   Again, the gored ox.

Finally, I also confess that I have a little sympathy for the ole diabetic slinger of high sugar foods.  It's not like she got caught in a casual conversation using racial slurs.  She gave truthful answers under oath during a deposition.  What was she supposed to do?  Lie?  And the fact that the deposition was taken in a discrimination case against her doesn't mean much to me.  While I don't know much about the case at hand, I have defended more than one such case that was merit-free.  Granted the story about wanting black folks in plantation garb to serve the guests at a party (or whatever it was) was just plain stupid.

But she's a woman of her age and station.  And she evidently ain't real bright.  That's not to defend her.  But it's not like they got video of her catering a Klan rally.  Again, it's the companies' right to disassociate themselves with her if they want.  It's the law of the jungle, baby.  It may be neither right nor fair.  But it's Business 101.  You can't let somebody hurt the brand.

I suspect she will be OK.  After all, Michael Vick started getting sponsors again.  Nike even took him on again.  And he killed, or caused to be killed, a bunch of dogs.

So you never know.  She may not ever get the diabetes drug manufacturer back.  But maybe someday she can pitch recipes for Jenny Craig.  Is this a great country or what?

My Sunday Feeling

I saw the poster for the first time when I was taking a walk in the neighborhood.  It depicted an earnest looking young man named Lucas sitting with a guitar.  The poster advertised guitar lessons.

"Do you have a guitar in your house that you aren't playing?"

Actually I did.  Note the clever use of past tense as dramatic foreshadowing.

I sent him an email.  We went back and forth.  Told him I could play pretty well at one time but hadn't really played in 20 years or so. I told him that I wanted to take it back up but didn't know where to start.  He seemed to act like this was no big impediment.  Still, I was hesitant.  He was playing out in the neighborhood that night.  He invited me to come hear him to judge for myself.

Fair enough.

When I got there he was sitting outside the local butcher shop/sandwich place playing the living hell out of a Stratocaster.  Jazz.  Improvising.  Riffing off of scales with his girlfriend by his side.  I went inside and asked Kevin what he thought about the kid outside.  Kevin was a professional musician at one time.  I figured he would have an informed opinion.

He pointed to the street.  "THAT boy can play," he said.  All I needed to hear.  When Lucas came in to get a drink I introduced myself and a week later I found myself standing in front of a rent house behind the Methodist church with a guitar case in my hand, fixing to go in for my first lesson in easily 45 years.

To paraphrase Mr. Eliot "In short, I was nervous."

I don't know why I quit playing.  I guess I felt like I was too busy to really take it seriously.  Maybe I was too busy trying to learn how to play golf.  Sheer laziness cannot be discounted in its entirety either.  But there I was.  Me and the old Ovation that my father gave me when I graduated from high school.  Going to give myself over to a 24 year old to try to make the damn thing produce music again.

"So," he said after I had unpacked and stationed myself in front of him. "What do you want to do?"

"I don't know. I don't know where to start."

" Can you play the C, G and D chords?"

"Well, yeah."

"Cool. Let's play 'Twist and Shout' then"

He set the metronome on-naturally-his IPhone.  He played it first and then the two of us proceeded to play the first Largo version of Twist and Shout in history.  It wasn't very good.  But it was playing the guitar again.  And it was a lot of fun.

He told me to send him a list of songs I wanted to try to learn to play.  In between learning those we would would be working on technique and theory.  Sounded good to me.

We did some Neil Young the second lesson.  Went pretty easy.

"Seeeeeeee?" he said, in the way of teachers everywhere. "You're 10 times better than you were last week.  You can do this."

"You think?"

"Oh yeah.  I can tell you once could play and that you are a musician.  This is gonna be fine.  Trying to teach that 40 year old guy that has no musical background who wants to take up the guitar, now THAT'S a challenge.  But tell me.  What you wanna do with this?  What's your goal?"

"You really want to know?" I asked.

He took a sip of his chocolate milk while nodding his head.

"I want to go to open mike night at the Afterthought.  I want to play and sing again and not suck. That's all."

He pit down the chocolate milk.

"Oh, it's gonna suck," he said.

Hey, great.

"Don't take that the wrong way.  It's gotta to hit a certain level to suck."

"I'm not following you."

"Well, you told me that you like to play golf but that you suck.  But you can play golf.  And playing golf is really hard to do."

Ah.  A sports metaphor.  Now I'm dialing in.

"So while you may suck, we just have to make sure that you don't reallllllly suck.  So, I'm gonna sit in with you when you perform."

"Really?"

"Oh yeah," he said with a smile. "This will be fun."

Lucas will be going off on tour with some band after next week.  He said he's going to overload me with stuff to do while he is gone.  This week, he wants me to learn a basic blues progression just because he says every guitar player needs to learn some blues.

Learning to play again is really hard.  But it is great fun.  The most fun I've had in years.

Besides, while Lucas may have me playing the blues.  He's not gonna let me really suck.

My Father's Day Feeling

I've written before that I tend to forget Father's Day.  I remember Mother's Day but I forget Father's Day.  I guess it's because I don't have any children of my own although I did receive the nicest complement yesterday from straight out of the blue.  I'll get to that in a bit.  Maybe I don't remember Father's Day because my own father passed away so long ago.  By the way, Buck is the tall man with the glasses standing on the right.  I don't recall the other men.  Maybe I knew them at one time.  Just like I knew my father at one time.  Anyway, all the men in the picture are armed with little trophies. They must have won the company golf tournament or something.  Buck was a pretty good golfer.  I'm sure he would have been amused when I took up the goddamn game in my forties.

Maybe I don't remember Father's Day because I am pretty impervious to advertising.  Which is an odd statement from one who spends a good bit of his week sussing out deceptive claims in advertising.  I guess I just don't pay attention when I'm not on the clock.

A kid at Catholic High asked me how long I had been on my own.  I told him that I had been on my own ever since my father dropped dead when I was 21.  At least it felt that way.  That was 36 years ago.

So no, Father's Day isn't much on my emotional radar screen.  It's a good day to buy sporting goods and not much else.  Oh, I congratulate my friends and brothers.  But I never see the day coming anymore.

It hit me about the middle of last week while I was getting my hair cut.

"Damn, Bobby," I said to the image in the mirror.  "Sunday's Father's Day.  I completely forgot."

My friends Steve and Ann and I have been trying to get together for sometime.  She told me to pick a day.  Guess which day I picked?

"Gee Bob," I said.  "I need to change some plans.  I accidentally horned in on Father's Day.  Again, I completely forgot.  But then again, I haven't had a father in so long..."

Bob Hilliard has cut my hair since I came back from Tulane.  He knows me pretty well.

"Stop," he said as he undid the cloak.  "You have a father.  He's just not with us anymore.  My dad and your dad are both dead.  But we both have fathers."

True enough.  Interesting perspective.

I sent Steve a text when I returned home.

" It just occurred to me that Sunday is Father's Day.  I certainly don't wish to intrude."

Here's the response: "No intrusion.  Come be part of the family."

It will be my privilege to do so.

Now the compliment.  Earlier yesterday Dennis, who is one of my trainers, checked in on me.  He had tried to kill me Thursday morning and he wanted to know how I was faring.  Even by Saturday I felt like I had been hit by a cement truck.  So, it wouldn't do to share my response in this, a family blog.  But I did man up and wish the architect of my misery a happy Father's Day.

"Same to you my friend," the response said. "Same to you."

"Huh?"

"Yes you are a father to all those who you willingly mentor."

Damn.  I teared up.

If anybody has said anything nicer to me recently I sure don't remember it.  Such a kindness.  And from a man that could knock you into next Tuesday. These things always astound me.

I'm honored to be part of a big Catholic family's Father Day celebration tonight.  I have a little bottle of something for the man of the hour.  I've got a little something for my Godson who turned 13 last Friday.

And this year, I even got something for me.  From my buddy Big Dennis.  And just like most Father's Days I didn't see it coming.

Happy Father's Day.

My Sunday Feeling

I had never heard of Shannon Richardson until the other day.  She is evidently an actor and has appeared in shows like "The Living Dead" and "Vampire Diaries."  Of course, I had never heard of these shows either.  As my alleged friend and neighborhood pediatrician Jenny Paul hurtfully put it on Facebook once, I am behind the times.

I  took notice of Shannon after the FBI arrested her for sending ricin- laced correspondence to President Obama and the Mayor of New York.  Ricin is a by-product of the castor bean.  In its weaponized form it is a totally lethal poison for which there is no antidote.  An almost microscopic amount of the stuff is capable of killing a grown man.

Did Shannon allegedly commit these crimes out of misguided political motives?  No.  She did it to frame her estranged husband, whose child she is carrying, to gain the upper hand in their impending divorce.

Now there's some thinking.

Get this.  Shannon, whom we may safely assume is not exactly bent over double with brains, goes to the local authorities in order to tell them that she found these here castor beans in the house over to New Boston, Texas along with some notes on her soulmate's desk with the addresses for the President and the Mayor contained therein.  You don't have to be Dick Fucking Tracy to guess what the first thing out of the mouths of the cops was:

"Do you have a home botany kit?  How the hell you know those are castor beans?"

Things went swiftly to hell in a bucket after that.  Shannon foolishly consented to a polygraph exam which of course she flunked.  By this time the Feds have come swooping in and discover evidence of research in how to manufacture ricin on their home computer.  Research conducted during periods of time when her husband is away at work.

Oops!  Ya know, is hard enough to bamboozle the local cops, let alone the FBI and the Secret Service once they get to poking around.  But then again, I believe it is safe to say that Shannon is not exactly the second coming of Madame Curie.

I have often said that one should leave the commission of crimes to criminals.  They are just better at it than people like you and me.

I went to a Continuing Legal Education seminar a month or so ago.  An FBI agent gave a presentation on Hate Crimes during which he told the story of the prosecution of these knuckleheads up around Searcy who burnt a cross at an apartment complex where a black man had the temerity to be living.  I remarked at the time that I had generally done well in school, and hold both a college and a law degree.

And I have no doubt that I could not attempt to ignite a cross or make crystal meth without blowing myself to Kingdom Come.  I never cease to wonder how full time morons accomplish such feats.  The good FBI agent allowed as how law enforcement is occasionally as mystified as I am about these matters.  This goes double for idiots who try to manufacture ricin which is really, really dangerous.

Similarly it would not occur to me to attempt to make threats to elected officials in hopes of laying it off on my spouse in order to gain the upper hand in a divorce proceeding.  There are way too many moving parts to that story.  And would have required much wool to be pulled over the collective eyes of the cops and the judiciary.  A nodding acquaintance with Occam's Razor would have done Shannon a world of good.  (Look up Occam's Razor.  It won't kill you.)

Hell, a nodding acquaintance with simple common sense would served her even better.

No, I never heard of Shannon Richardson until the other day.  Maybe I'll check out the zombie shows she performed in that I never heard of either.  Like Dr. Jenny says, I am behind the times.

Besides, it looks like that's the only place most of us will be seeing Shannon for the next 10 years or so.

My Sunday Feeling

I do a little work for a non-profit.  They station me at a desk in the conference room.  Last week I shared my space with auditors.  They were there performing the yearly audit that all non-profits have to go through.  I remember spending much quality time with auditors when I was the President of the Board of the local women's shelter.

Now, my current boss is a straight up kinda gal.  And the Executive Director over at Women and Children First is as well.  And still, the auditors had questions.  It's their job.  Sometimes stuff looks funny.  Expenditures sometimes don't get readily tied down to justifiable business reasons.  People forget to write stuff down.  It happens.  When the business is run by straight up people, explanations are found.  Corrective measures are taken if needed based on the auditors' recommendations and things roll on until the next year when it happens all over again.  Complete and total transparency will cure a lot of problems while you are getting audited.

For those of you who don't know the lady in the mugshot, this is Martha Shoffner who recently resigned as the Arkansas State Treasurer after she was charged by the Feds with extortion under something called the Hobbs Act.  It is alleged that she was caught taking a cash payment concealed in a pie box from an informant wearing a wire.  The informant is widely suspected in the media to have been employed as a broker with a small investment shop over in Russellville, Arkansas with whom the Treasurer's office did a substantial amount of business.

Shoffner's troubles began with-guess who?-the auditors when she couldn't provide them with a reasonable explanation-or any explanation really-why her office a) did so much business with this firm and b) as to whose idea was it to sell some bonds prior to maturity which resulted in a 700k hicky to the State's portfolio.

Now, that's all I am going to say about the criminal case.  She has the right to defend herself and her guilt or innocence will be determined by the jury.  As it should be.

What I am going to talk about is how it makes absolutely no sense for a 3 billion dollar investment portfolio to be managed by somebody whose only qualification is to win a statewide election.  Arkansas has too many Constitutional elective offices that serve very little useful purpose other than to give politicians a seat to warm until they are term limited or are elected to something else.  One exception to this general rule was Jimmie Lou Fisher who was Shoffner's predecessor  in office.  She brought the Treasurer's office into the 21st century.  I love Jimmie Lou.  But it's a low bar.

The State Auditor doesn't audit a damn thing.  The Land Commissioner sells property for the delinquent taxes.  The Lieutenant Governor presides over the Senate and causes headaches for the Governor whenever he leaves the State.  The Secretary of State at least is in charge of corporate filings and voting.  At least that's something.  The state would be better off if the people would abolish these nickleshit offices that haven't been particularly relevant or even needed since the Depression.  We would be better off to put these offices under the aegis of the Governor who would appoint presumably qualified people to run them.

I'm not the first person to suggest this.  Indeed, the press has been bristling with similar suggestions.  But this would take a constitutional amendment.  And Arkansas being Arkansas, there would be grumblings that this would put too much power in the hands of the Governor .  So it will probably never happen.

OK.  Here's a second thought.  Raise the salary in some of these offices.  Take the Treasurer's office.  The taxpayers pay the person in that job $54,000.  To manage a portfolio of 3 billion.  This is insane.  No wonder the Martha Shoffners of this world run for these rinky dink offices.  In her case, she needed the money and secondly there is no economic incentive for a person with expertise in the investment business to want that job.  For example, I don't know how much money the man that manages what passes for my portfolio makes per year.  But I bet it is at least about 5 times what the Treasurer's gig pays.  Indeed, I make more money than that office pays.  And I'm semi-retired.  Under these facts, it is a miracle from God that something like the Shoffner mess hasn't happened before now.

According to an article published last Sunday in the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette, Shoffner had trouble paying the rent for an apartment in downtown Little Rock.  Her present difficulties are not just a scandal.  Or a tragedy, although personally I refuse to see a tragic dimension to selling your office for rent money if indeed that turns out to be the case.

It's an embarrassment to the State of Arkansas.  Sometimes you really do get what you pay for.

Nephew Henry Will Hate This

" Is this where Arthur lives?"

Thus asked the kid that was canvassing the block.  I was on the porch swing after hitting balls on the range.

"Yes," I said. ". I would be Arthur. What are you trying to sell me?"

Pause.

" Well, you might have noticed that AT&T has been doing a lot of fiber optic work around here."

"Actually I haven't.  But if you are trying to sell me U-Verse I'm not interested."

"Really?"

"Really."

" Well, what are you paying for bundled services?"

" None of your business."

" I bet I can guess what you are paying."

"And I bet I can guess that my answer to you that it is none of your business won't change."

He writes in his book.

"Good night Sir."

"Good night Son.  Don't come back."

He blew out of here in an oil burning heap with Texas tags.

My Memorial Day Feeling

About a month ago a dentist over to a nearby town received a delinquent tax notice from the Arkansas Department of Finance and Administration.  Evidently, it pissed him off.  According to the allegations in the Affidavit for Warrant of Arrest, he faxed a letter to the local DF&A office in which he threatened to kill the DF&A Division Manager and "any government tyrants, agents or such that tried to come and collect or such that tried to shut down his business."  The Affidavit also alleges that our hero would "make (the Division Manager's)wife a widow in order to keep his business open."

This exercise of his 1st Amendment rights got him tagged with a charge of Terroristic Threatening which is a Class D felony.  His lawyer entered a not guilty plea on his behalf and a trial date was set.

Although there is nothing remotely funny about this incident, I am frequently amused by such Tea Party rhetoric.  And the following question comes to mind:  What is the government?  According to the comic book rhetoric of the NRA and the Tea Party it consists of "thugs in jackboots (always in jackboots)" that are hell bent on taking away our freedoms.  Indeed, our hero referred to the employees in the local tax office as "tyrants."  Which I suppose means that he interpreted their sending him a goddamn letter to be an act of tyranny.

Quite frankly, and as hurtful as this may sound, he ain't important enough to tyrannize.

But let us turn back to the question of what is the government?

It's not guys in jackboots although they got 'em.  They are called Marines.  It's the highway department.  It's the lady that brings the mail.  It's the public school teacher.  It's the water works.  It's the air traffic controller.   It's the guy from the Soil Conservation Service who will help you figure out why your pond is leaking. It's the cop that answers the call from 911. It runs the Universities and the professional schools.  It gave me my license to practice law and there is at least one dentist I know that probably ought to have his license suspended.  Maybe it's just me but I view threatening to kill a public servant as inconsistent with the sound judgment required to prescribe Schedule II narcotics.  What all this stacks up to criminally is for the Judge and Jury to decide.  But I can't imagine what the Committee on Professional Responsibility would do to me if I committed such a damn fool act regardless of whether it constituted a criminal act.  I just can't imagine.

The government is you and me and pissed off dentists even.  Although suffice it to say a letter containing death threats is probably not what the Founding Fathers were contemplating when they put the right to petition the government for redress of grievances in the Constitution of the United States of America.  The government is you and me when we vote.  The government is you and me when we attend town hall meetings.  It's you and me when we bid on public works jobs.  You get the idea.

It sent my buddies John and Danny to the Middle East.  It killed Osama Bin Laden.  It invaded Normandy and subdued the Nazis.  You want tyrants?  You want thugs in jackboots?  The Germans tried to eradicate an entire race of people from the planet. And damn near succeeded. There's you some tyranny,Son.

The government sent my father to the Pacific Theatre in World War II.  It taught him how to be an electrician.  It sent him to college on the GI Bill where he learned to be an engineer.  And it buried him for free along with countless other men and women who wore the uniform.  My father was a pretty conservative guy.  He voted for Nixon and Ford.  He owned guns for hunting and for self-defense.  I guarandamntee you that Buck Bowen would consider the Tea Party's narcissistic and paranoid view of the government as juvenile and silly.

Sure, we can all find dealing with the government frustrating if not irritating at times.  Of course, there is waste and inefficiency, although not as much as widely suspected.  But anybody who took high school civics ought to know that the right to own a gun doesn't give you the right to threaten to blow somebody to Kingdom Come just because you get a tax bill.

Meanwhile, about the same time as our dentist friend was getting riled up, a lawyer over to Little Rock received a delinquent tax notice from the Arkansas Department of Finance and Administration as well.  It pissed him off too.

With an angry and defiant stride I swiftly went to the fax machine as well.

And I sent it to my accountant to deal with.

Happy Memorial Day.  Thanks to all our Veterans for their sacrifice and service.

My Sunday Feeling

No MSF today as there is too much long weekend stuff to do!  Thanks to all our veterans and to those who paid the ultimate sacrifice so that we might enjoy our freedom.

Talk amongst yourselves!

My Henry Feeling

Dear Henry:


How old were you in this picture then?  6?  White hair from your Dad and his Grandfather.  Long arms and legs from somewhere.  And a brain that, mercifully for you,.was never overly influenced by me.

You don't get me.  I know.  That's cool.  You don't have to.  For example, you were disturbed by the story of me throwing the door-to-door salesman off my porch a month or so ago.  We all have different gifts, Hen.  That sort of thing works for me.

Flashback: I got the call about your arrival around 11 pm the night before or so as I recall. I'm certain that your Mom can provide the details in acute detail.  Moms, they do that.  Guys, we just show up.

Anyway, I threw stuff in a bag and headed for Conway.  I called Uncle John en route and said, "Here we go."

I let myself in your house.  Well, it wasn't your house yet.  You were en route to the hospital.  Anyway, the next day your brother Eli asked me over breakfast how I got in the house without him knowing anything about it.

" I'm good at stuff like this E."

He nodded as he crunched the cereal that I had fixed for him.  No change in expression.  True Story.

Flashback # 2:  There you were.  Laying there on your Mom's body.  10 minutes into the world you were.  You were hungry.  "Tock, tock, tock," your empty bird mouth went.  Eli was there.  He was scared.  Your Mom took his hand.  I pulled him to me.  "This is how we look when we are born," me being the expert that I was and still am about these matters.

And here you today are as tall as me although in my my mind's eye you're still the little boy in the picture above.  Going off to Fayetteville to get your start in the world.  Wow.

You didn't ask for advice.  But here it comes anyway.

The most important lesson about money I learned was from Uncle Howard who told me when my father died that "You have to pay yourself first."  Which means putting $ away as soon as you earn your first check.  It ain't high finance.  And I'm hardly a wealthy man.  But it's worked out for me.

Here's another thing.  Money is important but you can't purchase your self-esteem.  Really you can't.

My buddy Pat tells young folks that if you treat college as seriously as you treat a job you will be OK.  That makes sense to me although neither he nor I actually did that.

This just occurred to me.  You should avoid the temptation to try to make God do what the Bible says.  The Good Book contains much wisdom and it will profit you to continue to study it.  But it will also profit you to remember that it doesn't say a damn thing about financial planning, natural science or who you should vote for.

I could go on and on.  You know that.  It's part of my discrete charm.

But I won't.  You will have to figure out most of this stuff on your own.  Especially when it comes to women.  For God's sake don't ask me.

You're a good Methodist kid.  So let's end this sermon with some words of wisdom that are commonly attributed to John Wesley although there is no evidence that he actually wrote them.  Oh.  Another bit of advice.  History sometimes lies like that.  Check that.  History lies like hell. Especially on the Internet.  When I practiced law I used to say that facts are troublesome things.  Always have a command of your facts.  So few people do anymore.  Really.  Facts are not what feel right to you.  Facts are, well, empirically provable shit that really happened.

Anyway, you would do well to commend the words that Mr. Wesley should have said to your memory.

"Do all the good you can, by all the means you can, in all the ways you can, in all the places you can, at all the times you can, to all the people you can, as long as ever you can."

Do all the good you can, Hen.  That seems to be a pretty good prescription for life.  If you do all the good you can you will be less likely to feel the need to purchase your self-esteem.  See above about the relative importance of money to the grand scheme.

You don't get me, Son.  That's OK.  But you will always know where to find me.

Congratulations. I am so proud of you.

Love,

Uncle Paul

My Sunday Feeling

No MSF today sports fans.  Got company coming, and some other writing gigs to get in the can.

Will be back soon.

Until then, talk amongst yourselves.

My Sunday Feeling

The phone buzzed bright and early one morning last week.

"Don't go outside!" the message said. It was from my back alley neighbor Debbie.

"Why not?" I typed back.

" Cops chasing suspects down Fillmore Street.  We are on lockdown here at the school.  They are believed to be armed.  Don't go outside!"

One of the many reasons I like living where I live is because of the strong sense of community.  We tend to know our neighbors here in the People's Republic of Hillcrest.  We tend to know what's going on.  Folks tend to stop and visit as they push strollers or walk their dogs.

Debbie has been my neighbor since I bought this little house.  She keeps an eye on me and me on her.  Like the other day.  We walk together sometimes.  She offers to bring me food or to go to the pharmacy when she hears I am sick.  During the snowstorm it was a comfort to see the lights on beyond the fence.

"You OK?" I texted every night.

"Yeah, we're OK.  You need anything?"

"No.  I'm fine.  Let me know if you need something."

"Same here."

It's nice to know that somebody is looking out for you.

I have never been to Boston.  But it is my understanding that it is a close knit kind of place as well.  And surely the events of the last week have done nothing to change my general impression.  So the almost universal expressions of shock and surprise from the community at the news that brothers Tamerlan and Dzhokar Tsaraev, were suspected of committing the atrocities both at the Boston Marathon and afterwards.

As events unfolded, we learned that Tamerlan, the older of the two, was a pretty nasty piece of work.  He had been cited for domestic violence.  He had become more religious, more interested in the teaching of radical Islam.  An aspiring boxer, he had started to behave disrespectfully toward other members of the fight club he belonged to.  Indeed, he was about to be kicked out by the coach.  But still, just because you're a "d*ck" (as he was described in the Boston Globe by the coach) doesn't mean your capable of placing an improvised weapon of mass destruction next to an 8 year old.

Dzhokar, on the other hand was described as kind and gentle.  Sure, he smoked a little dope now and again but that is hardly unheard of in 19 year old males.  Friends and classmates of the younger brother expressed their shock and disbelief that Dzhokar was capable of such a thing on the news program 60 Minutes last week.

So, the question on the minds of many people is " How did we not see this coming?"  Even Tamerlan's widow swears she knew nothing of her husband's dark plans and is said to be cooperating with authorities.  So how does this happen?

I guess one of the answers is that the public face we display to the world in our daily sojourns might vary with the one we display behind closed doors.  It might not vary much.  But it can vary.  We don't really know who among us is desperately sad, angry or lonely.  We wave and we talk but that doesn't mean we know each other.

For example, there's a young fellow who lives a couple of doors down.  Big sportsman.  Hunts and fishes all year round.  He owns lots of guns.  Nice kid.  I have no reason to believe that he is anything but the sensible and honorable gun owner that he has always appeared to be to me.  But then again I don't know that with any degree of absolute certainty.  Does that mean I am vigilant about the possibility of the unthinkable?  Of course not.  We, in a civilized society, repose trust in smiling and waving.  I don't give him a second thought.

Another story.  I pretty much know everybody in my neighborhood.  At least by sight.  Or so I thought. Last week I had a luncheon meeting with a woman who the Residents Association hired to sell ads for the upcoming newsletter.  As we were making small talk it turns out that we have lived a block or so apart for 7 years and had never laid eyes on each other until that day.  We have numerous mutual friends and everything.  For some reason for all of this time, we just never fell into each other's orbit despite the fact that she lives a 6 iron from my front yard.  This was amazing to both of us.

You just can't know everything.  All we can do is to try be good neighbors.  To be observant but not give in to suspicion or paranoia.  To be grateful for good neighbors like my Debbie.  Worth her weight in gold she is.

And to be ever willing to help divert a neighbor from a self-destructive path if we can discern this from behind the smiling and waving.

That's about it.  Really.  That's about it.

My Saturday Feeling

Taking a pass for Sunday as I have too much stuff going on.  Will return Sunday night or Monday.

Talk amongst yourselves.

My Sunday Feeling

" It's good of you to do this," I told D.  " I really appreciate it."

" This is not a problem," she replied.  "I'm glad to give back."

We were meeting a client at the women's shelter along with her daughter at a local park.  The kid's a Senior in high school.  The mom couldn't afford to purchase graduation pictures.  The shelter called me and asked me if I would take the kid's picture.  I told them that I would be happy to do it.  But I'm the living embodiment of the line from a mob movie.

I'm a guy who knows guys.

And so I told GG at the shelter that I bet D would do it.  So I sent D an e-mail.  I was right.  She agreed.

And that's how I came to be present at a fashion shoot on a Saturday afternoon with one of the best photographers in Arkansas.

The kid is a beautiful black girl.  Diana Ross thin.  White dress, clunky bracelet, 8" inch heels.  D gets her to climb up on a stone walk.  Which the kid somehow does without breaking an ankle.  D is setting exposures.

"Do I look OK?" the kid says.

"Oh you're great," says the voice behind the camera. "You have such a nice figure.  Doesn't she Paul?"

" She is a lovely girl," I say.

"I guess you probably need to leave it at that don't you? Sorry."

She sets the flash.

"Did you dance at lot in the prom last night?"

"I sure did."

"In those shoes?" I ask.

"No," all 3 women say.

I had to ask.  Right?  Besides, she is young and limber.  She probably could have done it if she wanted to.

D quits fiddling with her Nikon and soon we are off.  Hands on hip.  Smiling.  Not smiling.  Turn this way.  Turn that way.Let's see a smile.

"She's good," I whisper to D.

"All these little girls love the camera," she said.  " I used to have to kind of show them what to do.  Now they all look like pros.  It's funny."

She turns to the mom.

"I saw a lot of clothes in the trunk.  You got something else for her to change into?"

"Yes ma'am," the mom says.  "If that wouldn't be a problem?"

"Nope.  Not a problem to me. We will be over there by that tree."

We walk across a grassy space to an old sweet gum tree.  D changes out a lens.

"Lot of clothes in that trunk," she says.

"Not unusual," I reply. "Lots of times they just throw what they can in a bag or a trunk and get the hell out of dodge."

" As you know, I started out as a medical photographer.  I used to take pictures of battered women in the ER.  I remember one in particular.  This asshole had beat her senseless.  She said she was going back to him.  She went back to him.  The next time I took her picture was in the morgue.  He finished the job."

She looks through the viewfinder.

"Some things you just don't forget."

By this time Mom and Tyra Banks have returned.  The kid is wearing slacks and a jacket.

D leans her up against the tree.  They go through the drill again.  She then has the kid take her shoes off.  She has her lie on her side.  Ceder Hill Road rolls up behind.

"Look," I tell the mom. "See how her length with the winding road in the background makes such a good image?"

"Oh," she says. " That is so pretty."

"Ok," D says. " You get 5 more.  We've done serious and we've done fashiony shots.  Let's do something fun. You said you're a dancer.  Can you jump and kick your heels to your booty?"

Well of course she can.

D is seated on the ground beside me firing away.  The kid is jumping around and being happy.

"I know this is dumb," she said. "But I just love jumpy shots."

We are done after the jumpy shots.  D and I head for the parking lot.  Mom says they are going to hang around in the park for awhile.  After all, it is such a beautiful day.

I put my arm around D's shoulder.

"You're going to Heaven, Buddy." I said.

" Well, like I said I like to give back.  I've had a great career.  I made a living taking pictures. I sure had a lot of help along the way.  I'm fortunate.  I only do what interests me now.  So I'm honored to help these folks."

As was I.

I've had a great career.  I had a lot of help along the way.  And like D, I like to give back.

It's not like D and I cured MS or anything Saturday afternoon.

But if I can help a kid in the battered women's shelter find a fleck of normal, of course I am going to do it.

Not that I did much of anything.

 I'm just a guy who knows guys.

Good guys like D.

My Sunday Feeling

A new NCAA Champion on the men's side will be crowned tomorrow night in Atlanta.  I think Louisville win it all but Syracuse and Michigan look awfully good right now as well.  Even though I can't say for certain who will win, I can say for certain that Rutgers will not.  But a sub .500 program rocked the basketball world when a video was leaked depicting Mike Rice, the former Rutgers head coach, engaged in what appeared to be abuse of the worst sort of his players.

The video depicts Rice kicking players, grabbing them, throwing basketballs at them and belittling them by referring to them as "fags" and "faggots."  After the video went viral around last Tuesday, the AD fired Rice and then resigned himself.  And it's not over.  The Rutgers faculty has now called for the resignation of the President.  If you want to see what all the fuss is about, look here:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mtf6eWtGWh0 .  Only make sure that you don't play it in the presence of either children or longshoremen.

I'm not naive.  I know stuff happens in the gym and on the practice field.  One of my football coaches used to hit us in the helmet with the heel of his hand when somebody screwed up.  It didn't hurt and it was mainly just loud.  I didn't think much of it then, and oddly enough I don't think much of it now.  And coaches yell.  I certainly got yelled at a lot when I played.  I likewise didn't think much about it then and I don't think about it now.  I actually ran into my high school basketball coach at the cardiology clinic.  He looked like a sick old man.  Nothing like the shirt-grabbing, whistle-throwing, line drill inducing martinet that I knew back in the day.

And I'm not opposed to a coach touching a player.  There's only one way I know to teach somebody how to box out under the glass.  The coach gets the player on his or her back and roots her out.  Back when I coached Little League and Babe Ruth I was a shirt grabber of the first water.  But I never grabbed a shirt in anger and never a fistful.  Just a couple of fingers to get a kid's attention.  I never yelled.  Well, I never yelled much.  If you slung a bat after striking out, you got your ass climbed.  But that was about it.

But the actions depicted on the video show a man that seems to have an anger management problem to the max.  Certainly you shouldn't kick a player.  Certainly, you shouldn't shove them in the back.  And you sure as hell shouldn't call them derogatory names.  Especially in an era where everybody is a potential videographer.

Which brings me to the following thought.  I have heard many people wonder why the players put up with this.  One friend wondered if they tolerated it because they needed their scholarships.  Another wondered if they were engaged in some sort of weird Stockholm Syndrome in which they bonded with their captors.

I have another thought.  Maybe they didn't think it was any big deal.  Indeed, one of the reason that Rutgers didn't fire Wise right of the bat when they it was first made available was because none of the players complained about their treatment.  And some of his former players have come to his defense.  Further, I'm sure that Rutgers videotaped most of their practices.  Most teams do.  And so if the video that got leaked is an example of how Mike Rice typically ran a practice as is alleged, surely there are other similar incidents preserved for posterity.  Rice wouldn't have taped himself in action if he thought he was doing something wrong.  Nobody's that stupid.

Still, when you belittle people, you are in essence reducing them to an object.  This is what abusers do.  An institution of higher learning would not tolerate this behavior in the dorm.  It sure as hell isn't going to tolerate it from one of its employees just because he makes a lot of money.

But I wonder.  Would Rutgers have canned Mike Rice if we had won 20 games?  Bobby Petrino supposedly lit players and coaches up routinely when he coached at Arkansas.  If he hadn't hired his girlfriend he might still be up there.  He may have been an exceedingly unpleasant person to be around but he won football games.  That's all that matters.

New Hog head coach Bret Bielema certainly won big at Wisconsin brandishing a tough, hard nose approach to football.  And yet he told the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette that his approach to handling players is "Praise loudly and criticize softly."

Sounds like a good plan.  Because somewhere a camera is always rolling.