Where were you?

A reader asked me to comment on the Mark Sanford situation, as it blew onto the media scene just as the storm was dying down from a similar incident involving Senator Ensign upon which I bloviated in my last column.

There’s not a whole lot I can say that hasn’t already been said about the sordid affair. When I heard that he had been missing for 5 days and nobody knew where he was, my first thought was, this is not good. There are plenty of bad reasons for a governor to disappear without notice, but no good ones. So when the truth finally came out earlier this week I was actually a little relieved – he was healthy and not, apparently, doing anything or being anywhere against his own will. That is, if the governor and the media are to be believed, neither party having a stellar record of reliability up to this point.

So, based on the info we have so far, my opinion is, hey, boys will be boys, he’s an alpha male, and an alpha has to “put it around.” Love me, love my dog, haha, the loveable cad! You can’t blame him for taking the bait that gets dangled in front of him every day. It’s one of the perks of power. I mean, everybody does it, at least everybody who can. Based on what he’s done for women’s rights, he deserves a little payback anyway. Oh wait, there’s an “R” next to his name. Hang him high!

No, seriously, to me, it’s basically the same deal as with Senator Ensign – he got caught, apologized, expressed a level of obligatory contrition, etc., so let him work it out with those directly affected by it. I would say, for those of you out there who still put your faith in human beings and manmade institutions, here’s yet another reason to rethink your position. I’m personally more concerned about his dereliction of duty. I can’t leave my job for more than half a day without reporting my whereabouts and how to get ahold of me, and I have about a tenth of a percent the responsibility and accountability of a state governor. So my only advice is to the fine voters of South Carolina: if he doesn’t resign, resign him at the ballot box next chance you get. I believe in forgiveness and reconciliation as much as the next guy, but I wouldn’t appoint an arsonist fire safety warden.

Nuff said. Let’s move on to more important things.

Like, where were you when Farrah Fawcett died? I was at a grueling four-day conference in Chicago, toiling away at the buffets and happy hours, and studiously taking notes from contractors trying to sell me on their vision of how businesses should run, and what a good idea it would be to hire them to do it. I’m not sure exactly when Charlie’s Angel numero uno crossed the river, as she had the unfortunate timing to die just a few hours before the King of Pop, Michael Jackson. Between the two, I would say Ms. Fawcett had a bigger impact on my early emotional development than did Michael Jackson, although I do admit to having attempted, unsuccessfully, at one point in the 80’s to moonwalk. At the moment MJ died, I’m pretty sure that was when I was working out in the hotel gym, playing hooky from the early afternoon session that day; don’t tell my boss, okay?

As I write I’m on an Amtrak train from Chicago to Royal Oak, MI, my hometown. I love trains, and the idea of taking a train “home” gives me a poignant feeling of solid, nostalgic symmetry. Trains are undoubtedly the mellowest way to travel. It’s about a six-hour trip, which is a lot longer than flying, and a bit longer than driving the same distance, but nothing could be more chillin. Cheaper too. I paid $44, and got a free business class upgrade. Actually I’m not sure if there’s a difference between business class and coach. It was closer to the club car, and there was toilet paper in the restrooms. I got hooked on trains while traveling in Europe in the 90’s, and if not for the time component, would prefer to take them more often for my domestic US travel.

You’re probably thinking, wow, he got through almost an entire page without a single mention of amateur radio or firearms. Here’s the firearms angle: first of all, I don’t have any with me. Second, I do not condone the violation of any laws or ordinances regarding same. But, those of you who have flown with firearms know that it is a HUGE hassle. Amtrak’s rule regarding bringing firearms or ammunition onto their trains is, you can’t. But guess what? They don’t check! Just sayin’…

The radio angle: alert readers learned, then in approximately 13 milliseconds forgot, and are just now being reminded, that I picked up a nice little FM VHF handheld ham radio transceiver a couple weeks ago at our club’s swap meet. It transmits on the 2-meter ham band (144-148 MHz), and receives most of the VHF-HI band, 136-174 MHz. So right now I’m listening to the train radio traffic (with an earphone – I wouldn’t inflict my radiosyncracies on the muggles). It’s semi-interesting; most of the traffic occurs just before stops. While departing Michigan City, IN, I heard the conductor chide the driver for a rough departure. In case you’re wondering, the train staff doesn’t mind being monitored. In fact, when the conductor saw me entering frequencies, he keyed up for me to make sure his channel was on my scan list. As they say, there are two kinds of people in the world. If you don’t find this discussion of train radio scanning interesting, and are not just a tiny bit envious of my little radio forays, you’re the other kind.

So… where were you?

Hypocracy

I bet you’re thinking, hey, he spelt hypocrisy wrong. Actually I just made up a new word. Like it?

By now you have probably heard about Nevada Senator John Ensign’s marital failures, and have probably already started to hear the overused but effective “H” word and its various derivatives thrown around by the pundits and opinionators. And I would hazard a guess that you’ve already arrived at your own opinion about him and whether or not you would vote for him. “He’s from Nevada, and I don’t live there, how could I vote for him?” you might ask. Well, as I understand, he is, or at least was, on the short list to oppose The Kenyan in 2012 if we’re still having free elections at that point, so if you’re anywhere in the US or territories, you might have actually gotten a chance to vote for or against him, at least in a primary.

But before we get too far into this, let’s pay a visit to the ghost of Noah Webster. Hypocrite: 1: a person who puts on a false impression of virtue or religion. 2: a person who acts in contradiction to his or her stated beliefs or feelings.

Pretty cut and dried, no? Well, not so fast, sez Bruck. The other side of the coin is good old fashioned human weakness. Let’s put it this way - any dog owners out there? (Note, this illustration categorically does not apply to cat owners.) Your dog thinks the world of you. He or she worships the ground you walk on. Are you nearly as good a person as your dog thinks you are? Notwithstanding your dog’s inability to comprehend your less tangible shortcomings, and likewise his or her relatively low self esteem (we once had to give back a dog who had excessively high self esteem but that’s another story), I’m guessing the answer is no. But I’m also guessing that this doesn’t compel you to embroider a scarlet H on your sweater either.

Those of us whose value systems include some non-zero level of moral/ethical standards always find ourselves in a bit of a quandary. On the one hand, we (hopefully) agree that it’s good to have such standards. If you think about, it’s pretty easy to see that civilized society depends on, and would quickly disintegrate without, at least a certain level of them. Taking this a step further, regardless of our ability to live up to them, I’m going to postulate that for genuine, objective moral and ethical standards, the higher the better for all concerned. But, and here’s the rub, the higher they are, the more difficult they are to live up to, and the more likely we are to fail to meet them. In some corners, and I believe this is a cowardly, despicable position to take, the answer is to simply disclaim any standards, or attempt to modify them after the fact to fit one’s behavior, having been caught with one’s hand in the cookie jar as it were. That way, the offender can be justified in his or her own mind, and avoid the dreaded “H” word. Honest men and women won’t do this, of course, but what is the answer?

Over the past few decades, the Christian world, both Catholic and Protestant in its various expressions, has been rocked with numerous moral scandals among its leadership, some truly revolting, and all of them disappointing. And I can tell you from the insider’s perspective, it’s not just the leadership who commit moral failures. You’re welcome to investigate other religions that claim objective moral guidance, and I think you’ll find much of the same thing. So, what does that make us? A bunch of hypocrites, as our opponents self-righteously claim? I’m going to invoke the “M” word at this point: Maybe. Or, the statistician’s/WOC nurse’s (look it up) favorite answer: it Depends.

How can you say that, Bruck? Isn’t it obvious? They’re saying one thing and doing another! Well, this is the quandary – we have high standards, but we can’t always live up to them, and when we don’t, we find ourselves on the defensive against those with low or no standards. Recognizing the fact that both can be present in a situation, I think that much of what is labeled as hypocrisy these days is just simply human weakness and should be dealt with as such. IMHO, true hypocrisy is actually pretty rare.

So, what makes a hypocrite? I believe it’s a matter of perspective. I heard on the radio that Sen. Ensign is a born-again Christian. My first two thoughts: (1) okay, a weak one, but certainly not the first or hundredth fallen Christian I’ve heard of, and (2) that’s kind of the point of Christianity, to restore one’s relationship with God, having been separated from Him by sin. Next I heard that he was a Promise Keeper. Okay, so he broke his marriage vows and his PK oath. Next I heard that he was one of Slick Willie’s loudest condemners following his intern indiscretions. Hmmm. Now we’re not quite in H-land, but we’re definitely on contact with the tower. And another data point. Apparently Sen. Ensign made his public confession under pressure of extortion from the husband of his erstwhile tango partner. Then I hear that it’s not the first time he drew water from the wrong well. Notwithstanding the fact that our information on the subject is filtered through the unfriendly media, now I feel like I need to take a shower.

The answer: admit your human weakness, seek forgiveness of those affected by it, deal with the consequences, and endeavour to constrain yourself against future opportunities. In Ensign’s case, as with the 42^nd president, public contrition occurred only after an extortionist or a stained dress appeared on the scene, so it’s a little tough to take it seriously.

I’m just telling you how I feel; fortunately, like you, I’ve been relieved of the responsibility to pass moral judgment. So if Ensign is a hypocrite, you won't hear it from me. But I do vote. What do I base my vote on? Character, and by now I think I’m have a pretty good handle on that. A person with strong character can possibly fail as a leader, but there is no such thing as a good leader with weak character.

Bottom line: Would I vote for Ensign, given the opportunity? Well, it depends who he’s running against, but in general I would vote for a person who attempts to meet high standards and fails over a person who lives by no standards and succeeds.

But She Plays One on TV

I don’t normally take medical advice from pudgy 9-year-old Mexican girls, even ones who speak and read perfect English.

This past weekend our local amateur (“ham”) radio club held its annnual “hamfest” (swap meet / flea market). We were blessed with great weather, good turnout, and good participation from the club members to make it an overall successful venture. And I think we may have even made a little money for the club.

Oh no, you say, not another column on radio, doesn’t he realize…? Well, this one’s only tangentially on radio. What I wanted to talk about today is my trip to the Homo Sapiens zoo. Ham radio, along with its related endeavours, cuts across a wide spectrum of socioeconomic, cultural, ethnic, and political strata, which, IMHO, is a big part of what makes it such a fascinating hobby. This past weekend, about 2000 people converged upon our county fairgrounds in northern VA from near and far. Just how near and far, I’ll know when I do the ticket stub analysis, but last year they came from all over the US, or at least they were from all over. Who knows where they actually came from?

The Humanity: I’ve been to numerous hamfests over the years, and have never been below the median, or for that matter anywhere near it, regarding personal grooming and hygeine. Ours was no exception, but in the interest of full disclosure, there were relatively fewer attendees who smelled like nursing homes, and the overall level of redolence seemed to be below average. This might be partially due to the weather, which was warm but dry, and breezy. And the tattoo-to-tooth ratio was less than 1.0 for most of the festival-goers. Level of dress… well, one guy was wearing a suit; maybe he just came from church, but he was definitely a point off the curve. The rest of the crowd’s sartorial splendor was pretty evenly distributed from the low end of “business casual” to “thrift store reject.”

The Inanimity: Most of the vendors were hawking wares relevant to the high-tech pursuits of radio, computers, electronics, and communications. A few were selling new products and tools, but most were cleaning out their basements, as it were, either on a small scale or large. There was a plethora (I’ve been waiting for years to use that word) of old radios of course, and old computers, old accessories, old things that look like they might have been useful for something in 1965 or 1952, etc., sold by a diverse cast of characters who probably don’t pay much in taxes. For those of us with a sincere appreciation for the anachronistic, it was a brief foray into Paradise.

There were plenty of non-technological goods to be found there as well: leather goods, jewelry, baked goods, butterflies mounted in glass cases. I believe the woman selling gutter filters seriously misunderestimated the level of interest in her products. Had she not been a gracefully aging model, I don’t think anyone would have talked to her at all. One booth was selling health food supplements, and the proprietor had his young daughter passing out advertising literature at the front gate. While I was out there, she handed me a copy, whereupon one of the club members selling tickets joked that I couldn’t read and she’d have to read it to me (this actually isn’t true, I can read; I just don’t…want…to read). So she read it to me, this doughy little Mexican schoolgirl, in perfect English with a kind of singsong lilt typical for the age, read, “You could be suffering from cancer, high blood pressure, high triglycerides, high cholesterol, anemia, heartworm, hoof-and-mouth …” and on she went, rattling off the whole paragraph of hypothetical chronic maladies as if she were reading the breakfast menu to her farsighted grandmother. I was actually pretty impressed with her diction.
To this I replied, “Sounds serious, perhaps I should go see a doctor. What do you think?”
Her sage advice, “My daddy sells these shakes inside that building. You should go get one.”

I didn’t get one, but I thought about it. I also thought, with her level of self-confidence, this girl’s going places. She could even run for higher office, now that we’ve relaxed the citizenship requirement.

The Economy: All right, Bruck, what did you buy? Well, don’t tell Mrs. Bruck, but a few woodcut portraits of Andrew Jackson and other late presidents leaked out of my wallet in exchange for a new handheld VHF transceiver and an antique shortwave receiver, plus a few odds and ends. I also picked up a vintage car radio at no cost. I could have had a lot more free junk - there’s always a certain amount of stuff that vendors simply don’t want to take home. I was prepared to pay up to a dollar for it, so I spent the dollar I saved on a loaf of homemade bread. Mrs. Bruck taught me that trick.

Epilogue: Although a couple of days have passed, I’m still feeling a little worn out – I was on my feet for two 12-hour days in a row, had very little down time, and didn’t sleep very well in between. Right now I feel like I could really use… a health food shake! I mentioned earlier that I don’t normally take medical advice from overweight 9-year-old Mexican girls, but maybe this time I’ll make an exception.