Jeff Danziger speaks for me. I refuse to rant today. Why bother?
This administration has been a series of "I told you so" moments, and I've got nothing to add to this latest example, except that I hope one day we see major bills once more in which some Republicans and some Democrats vote in favor and some of each party vote against.
And a President who recognizes that he represents the whole country and that there is a reason our founders didn't set things up on a winner-take-all parliamentary model.
But I refuse to rant.
I'm not as concerned about national debt as some people, though it does bother me that those who scream loudest about debt when the issue is medical coverage or education are the ones who did this.
Except for Bob Corker, the sole Republican "no" vote.
And who is retiring when his current term is up next year.
I don't blame him.
It's not the debt that burdens us. It's the self-serving hypocrisy.
But why rant? We knew who we were voting into office.
Thank god Dennis didn't live to see this.
Speaking of coaches, and of expectations
John Branch's cartoon emphasizes the need for civic education and reminds me of a nonsensical argument about educational spending I recently got sucked into.
I'm not gonna rant, but I will kind of vivisect this cartoon and remove any trace of wit or pleasure from it.
I like the cartoon and it made me laff, because the kid might also have said he wanted to be a fired CEO, but CEO's get fired on the biz page and few people notice when it happens.
But if football makes the lesson more interesting, so much the better.
First of all, kids-of-all-ages should know that a contract is a commitment, and that's true for anyone, not just football coaches.
Employment contracts are rare, which is why a lot of people don't understand them.
Most professional athletes have incentive clauses in their contracts, so the $20 million figure you hear is a much lower guaranteed pay rate plus this much if they make the playoffs, this much if they win the championships plus specific goals like playing in so many games and, for instance, maintaining such-and-such a batting average. And dismissal clauses.
Coaches' contracts have, apparently, larger guarantees and fewer opt-out clauses, which is why, when you fire the coach ahead of schedule, you still owe him a boatload of money.
The lesson for kids-of-all-ages should be not to bind yourself into a contract of any kind unless you're prepared to deal with things if it doesn't work out.
The other lesson is that, if you want to become fabulously wealthy, the first step is to become one of a very small number of people who can generate hundreds of millions of dollars of revenue.
It doesn't have to be in sports. If you can't be Bill Belicheck or LeBron James, perhaps you could be Taylor Swift or Tom Cruise.
They aren't paid because they are good at something of great value to humanity, only because they are good at something of great value to humans.
They don't cure cancer, but they sell a whole lot of tickets and TV contracts and T-shirts.
And they certainly deserve a cut of all that money.
So when you look at what we pay a teacher or firefighter or police officer, ask if anybody is making hundreds of millions of dollars directly from that person's work.
And ask yourself if money is really the yardstick of somebody's value.
Maybe it is, but we've got a cultural prejudice against that conclusion, as exemplified in today's Grand Avenue.
Which gets a double-laugh because not only does the idea totally pervert the message of "How the Grinch Stole Christmas," but those of us who deal with copyright and trademarks know that, if you put an uncompensated Seuss quote on a T-shirt or mug, a flock of winged-monkey lawyers will drop from the skies and rip out your stuffing.
But why rant about the obvious? The after-the-creator's-death sanctioned adaptations of his work clearly suggest that the message has been lost.
Juxtaposition of the Day
Between Trout and Clyde, I don't have to rant a whole lot these days. I just have to occasionally remind people that the lead actor does not always play the most important role.
The joke in Agnes being that, if she were presidential material, she'd simply deny the obvious size differential.
The joke in Candorville being that you can make fart jokes all day long, but you have to substitute "spit" for "shit."
The joke on all of us being covered in yesterday's posting.
If you don't get the joke, ask Sandra.
She can explain everything.
Today's Pooch Cafe threatens to trigger a rant, but instead I'll sing in praise of the only type of dog with no intrinsic traits whatsoever.
Nobody would ever suggest, for instance, that if you got a Labrador or a Golden, that it would only joyfully leap into water if you taught it to.
Or that, if you got a beagle or a schipperke, it wouldn't bark or howl as long as you kept it around dogs who were quiet.
Or that, if you read to him every night, a bloodhound would one day win a Nobel Prize.
But pit bulls have no intrinsic personalities and no specific traits except those their owners choose to impress upon them.
I've learned this from rescue groups, and from the owners of pit bulls under three years old.
For some reason, owners of older pit bulls don't come to the dog park very often.
It's all right to laugh -- It might make you feel better, on a lost weekend.
And I'm sure that Ed would.
(First rock album I ever bought!)