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Feminine Back Lash

August 9, 2012 by mountainmornings

I don’t know about you, but I’ve become completely pissed off about the coverage of the 2012 Olympic Games in London. Nothing against you, London, you’re brilliant! On this beautiful morning, Americans are waking up to the Misty May-Treanor and Kerri Walsh Jennings “Third Gold Medal Story.” The funny thing is, in our inter-connected world, there is absolutely no way NOT to hear about their victory, so staying up past your bedtime to watch the inevitable just seems well, to me, pointless. Which is why I’m so pointlessly tired this morning. Hooray for them http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/08/08/kerri-walsh-misty-may-tre_n_1757636.html and kudos to these California goddess’ who were lucky to have been born into stable, “normal” homes, graduated from college (Long Beach State and Stanford) and still manage to dominate their sport while looking good playing volleyball semi-naked in the sand in their mid-30s.

Now, let’s take off our sunglasses and cut to some of our other athletes. The not so lucky ones, like Lolo Jones. First of all, what a name and what a babe! I caught an interview where she mentioned “all the hate,” right after Rachel Maddow did a PSA about how Lolo was homeless for awhile as a kid…with the Salvation Army in the background. Now remember I love the Salvation Army, they were the only charity to show up after the Flapper’s car crash. It seems the “hate” Lolo was getting in the media came from, of all places, the New York Times http://www.nytimes.com/2012/08/05/sports/olympics/olympian-lolo-jones-draws-attention-to-beauty-not-achievement.html?_r=4&adxnnl=1&smid=tw-share&adxnnlx=1344524444-dC2lqwNIBMdznmbDmYzc1g
“Jones has received far greater publicity than any other American track and field athlete competing in the London Games. This was based not on achievement but on her exotic beauty and on a sad and cynical marketing campaign.”

I looked at the nude picture she was criticized for, sitting backwards on a chair looking over her shoulder; I thought we saw more skin in beach volleyball. It was like a modern VerMeer painting. I felt so bad for Lolo coming in 4th in the hurdles, but imagine she was 4th in the WORLD. Who is the NYTimes to say she’s all looks and no substance?

Now we have Gabby Douglas, the golden girl gymnast with a megawatt smile. And instead of focusing on her achievements, the media follows the trail of yellow/twitter/journalism about her “Flying Squirrel” nickname and Gabby’s family dealing with bankruptcy, and her hair…??

So Serena Williams is standing on the winner’s podium, her Afro flying gloriously around her face, getting her Gold Medal when the American flag flies off in the wind just as the words in our anthem begin, “…and our flag was still there.” And everybody smiles and congratulates each other, and gets the irony. But it’s all good, until she does a little Crip walk on the sidelines. OK so her extemporaneous dance is what you highlight? All those male peacocks, preening and posing and dancing at the Olympics and this offends?
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/08/08/serena-williams-olympics-_n_1757245.html

A word to the wise young, female athlete. Don’t be too pretty. Do have a professional do your hair, and Don’t dance as if no one is watching. OR just ignore the blogosphere, the twitter feed and the main and not-so-main stream media. They haven’t caught up to you yet. This is the year of the woman at the Olympics – every country has been represented by our gender. For some reason, that fact doesn’t really make me rejoice.

But this does: a young Jewish gymnast , Aly Raisman from MA, dedicated her Gold Medal to the Munich 11. Thank you ALy, for doing the right and proper thing. http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2185361/Olympics-2012-U-S-gymnast-Aly-Raisman-reveals-gold-medal-winning-routine-tribute-1972-Munch-Games-massacre.html

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Achilles Pilatus

August 7, 2012 by mountainmornings

At first glance, you may think I’m going to opine about some new exercise regimen, leg stretching perhaps? But no, this is a story about a tiny mishap. A politician’s vulnerable spot, a decision he/she made in her past that continues to haunt them long after that mistake was made right. In Missouri, a Pilatus PC-12/45 aircraft, the king of “small planes” worth $2.1 Million, is Claire McCaskill’s inflamed Achilles heel. A blue dog Democrat, known for her demands for transparency in government, she is still dealing with political jet lag, even though her husband sold the “damn” plane last year at a loss. Unfortunately for her, they had failed to pay over $300,000 in state back taxes and penalties on the plane; Claire said that was a “big, serious, sloppy mistake,” and the taxes were eventually paid. http://www.politico.com/news/stories/1011/66863.html

Now granted, she has apologized, regrets ever owning the Pilatus, and has repaid the government, but Republicans smell blood in the water and attack ads are drowning her. We all know that an abominable amount of money will be spent in the next few months in 10 states, including my own. And I wonder just how long does it take for people to forget and/or forgive such a transgression? In 2010, Louisiana Republican Senator David Vitter was re-elected, despite having acknowledged his involvement in a prostitution ring in 2007 – 3 years. Claire’s jet saga is just a year and a half old; will her constituents give her a pass? And it makes me wonder, why all the brouhaha over a plane, when a Presidential candidate continues to hide his tax returns in plain sight…

If you’ve ever wondered about private aviation, chartering and/or owning small jets to get around, instead of standing in lines and disrobing through security check points at commercial airports, here is a description of a Pilatus 12 for sale: “The popular six-seat platinum executive interior features articulating headrests on all seats, plus adjustible leg rests on the two aft seats. Three stowable tables, a refreshment cabinet and CD cabinet/iPod station are also provided, as well as a desirable fully-enclosed flushing lavatory.” But the kicker is the cabin is pressurized, meaning you can fly way over 9,000 ft, and have a faster, less bumpy ride without oxygen canulas in your nose! I recently met a woman who flies in that kind of style, with 2 pilots behind the wheels. It is rarefied air, a kind of “shall we build an elevator for our cars” wealth.

Some of you may have flown in a tiny, 4-seat, fixed-wing aircraft. Shall I compare Bob’s little Arrow to Claire’s Achille’s heel? Thou art more lovely and more temperate, like a well-loved, old VW bug to a Mazarati. Here it is in the shop for its annual exam, getting buffed and polished. Pilot Bob wants to be able to lift off the moment we hear those 4 little words – “I am in labor.” And a word to the wise, if you have the slightest thought of running for political office, hire a reputable tax attorney.

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Curious

August 4, 2012 by mountainmornings

What will be happening on Monday, August 6th at 1:31 am? An Olympic archery competition, or maybe diving? Nope. A tiny 2,000 pound robotic spacecraft, the size of a Mini Cooper, will navigate its way onto the surface of Mars at a cost of $2.5 billion dollars. NASA has named “her” the Curiosity Rover, and she will be touching down “naked” (without any protective wrapping) assisted by a parachute and a sci-fi Sky Crane. The feed of course will be delayed, but you can watch the action on NASA TV http://www.nasa.gov/multimedia/nasatv/index.html or follow her on Twitter https://twitter.com/MarsCuriosity…Twitter, I may just have to join your tribe.

I was listening to this podcast on NPR http://www.npr.org/2012/08/03/158100726/rover-to-look-for-building-blocks-of-life-on-mars with Bob in the car. My first question was why do we always refer to ships and planes, and most vehicles with the feminine pronoun? Is grammatical gender a feminist issue? Romance languages are replete with feminine and masculine inanimate objects, but we English speakers, not so much. Then when the scientists were discussing its mission, to dig deep below the surface in search of frozen water, and possibly find DNA and RNA and proteins that might hint at evidence of life on the planet, I turned to Bob and said, “Wow, if it’s like us, we may have to re-think Scientology!”

The story only gets curiouser. Of course I had to research the whole “7 minutes of terror” theory, when the Curiosity would leave its orbit and descend to Mars – going from a speed of 13,000 MPH to about 200. And I love the personal story of the Entry, Descent and Landing (EDL) team leader, engineer Adam Steltzner. “He has pierced ears, wears snakeskin boots and sports an Elvis haircut.” Here is a guy who was coasting in high school, then descended into the sex, drugs and rock and roll pit that was the Bay Area of the 70s. His first car was a 69 Cadillac hearse and his dad told him he’d never amount to anything but a ditch digger, then one day he’s driving home from a gig and thinks to himself, hey, the constellation of Orion is in a different place than it was earlier. Steltzner starts taking a physics course at the local community college, and the rest is history, or herstory! http://www.scpr.org/news/2012/08/03/33644/crazy-smart-when-a-rocker-designs-a-mars-lander/

“I grew up in an era where space was revered,” he said. “So I think there’s a kind of natural ego drive to be involved in something so sexy. And I came from rock ‘n’ roll, and there’s a lot of sexy in rock ‘n’ roll. So in terms of, really, just what I would need to measure myself, it could have been waste treatment, but I also needed a little bit of sexy.” So here’s to all those women and men, rock and roll scientists and engineers out there, you’re sexy and we know it!

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Wonderful World

August 1, 2012 by mountainmornings

Have you ever been to any of the World Heritage Sites? The first time I heard of them was on my first ancestral homeland trip to Ireland. My Great Great Grandparents came from County Mayo, so while visiting the Lynn cousins and taking in all the brightly marked sheep, Bob and I trekked up to Ceide (pronounced CAY-ja) which means a flat land on top of a mountain. “It is a unique Neolithic landscape of world importance, which has changed our perception of our Stone Age ancestors. The remains of stone field walls, houses and megalithic tombs are preserved beneath a blanket of peat.” http://www.museumsofmayo.com/ceide.htm I loved how barren it seemed, and windswept. I could imagine the female pirate queen, Gráinne Ní Mháille (c. 1530 – c. 1603 aka Grace O’Malley) surveying her land and setting sail from this wild side of the island.

Imagine my delight to learn that my very own newly adopted city, Charlottesville, VA and Jefferson’s magnificent Monticello have been deemed one of the 10 top World Wonders by National Geographic! http://travel.nationalgeographic.com/travel/world-wonders-traveler-photos/#/world-wonders-monticello_54484_600x450.jpg
We already knew that Monticello was a World Heritage Site, and now we feel doubly blessed by UNESCO and National Geographic! Can you name the other 7 sites in the US of A? A Hint – we passed by this famous statue on the Bride’s Bat Mitzvah boat…

And the most wonderful sight of all? Meeting my baby boy 28 years ago today. Gladiolas were in bloom and his big sister was waiting patiently to welcome him home to our house on the edge of a bird sanctuary. Happy Birthday to the Rocker, the boy who could run before he could walk. I am so very proud of the man you have become.

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Olympic Fever

July 30, 2012 by mountainmornings

With my daughter entering her last month of pregnancy, and the London Olympics dominating the airwaves, I am reminded of the birth of my son. The Rocker was born on August 1st during the summer Olympics in LA. From our nest on the edge of a bird sanctuary in Pittsfield, MA, we got to know each other to the background of diving, swimming and gymnastic events. Without PCs or cable channels, the Olympic coverage was our only form of entertainment between nursing and napping. At his Bris, we had 2 Rabbis – the new one who had a portrait of Bob Dylan hanging in his office, and the elderly Rabbi Emeritus who has served the congregation for 60 years.

The Rocker was doubly blessed.

To be honest, I don’t remember much about the Munich 11. Twelve years before my son’s Berkshire birthday, a group of Palestinian terrorists murdered 11 Israeli athletes in cold blood in the Munich Olympic Village. And this year, while I was visiting with the Bride and later attending my brother the Viking’s funeral, I became vaguely aware of a petition that was signed by presidents and dignitaries around the world. The petition asked for a “moment of silence” during the opening ceremony, a pause to remember those athletes who had been slain in Munich because they were Jews. The IOC denied the petition. Instead they had a moment of silence for those who have died in war before the televised opening ceremony, before the Queen and her Corgis made their spectacular entrance.

Sportscaster Bob Costas said, “For many, tonight, with the world watching, is the true time and place to remember those who were lost, and how and why they died.” Then I began to hear more about this petition. It was nothing new, in fact 2 widows of the Munich 11, Ankie Spitzer and Ilana Romano, have been asking the Olympic Committee for a moment of silence since the massacre happened in 1972.

“This is something the I.O.C. ought to do,” NY Rep Elliot Engel said. “Those in the I.O.C. said this is political, and they don’t want to have politics in the Olympic Games. It’s the opposite. It’s political not to have a moment of silence. And if it were any other nation but Israel, there would be a moment of silence long ago. It’s the decent thing to do.” http://london2012.blogs.nytimes.com/2012/07/25/munich-widows-to-meet-with-rogge-to-urge-moment-of-silence/

My first thought, after the tragedy in Colorado, upon seeing my beautifully serene Blue Ridge Mountains, was why stir up the pot. I had seen Spielberg’s movie “Munich,” and thought this is madness, a biblical blood feud. But then I thought about those widows, and the mothers of the Israeli athletes, and I thought about how political it was for all the Arab states to threaten a boycott of the games if a moment of silence were observed. http://www.algemeiner.com/2012/07/24/olympic-committee-vp-fear-of-arab-boycott-led-to-minute-of-silence-rejection/ “Moments of silence have been held at previous Olympic ceremonies, including one remembering the victims of the 9/11 attack at the 2002 Winter Olympics in Salt Lake City, Utah.” And then I thought…never agin. We must keep remembering; it’s politics that placed the Black athlete’s fists in the air in 1968, and it was politics that thrust thousands of Nazi arms out in salute to Hitler on August 1, 1936 at the Berlin games. Politics is interwoven in everything we do, but a moment of silence is testament to our humanity.

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What Happened to Me

July 27, 2012 by mountainmornings

Bob sat down next to me at the graveside service, a handful of dirt in his hand. I gave him one of my most scathing looks and whispered, “This is not a Jewish ceremony, don’t throw that dirt in my brother’s grave.” On top of the purple and gold flowers cascading over the casket, the pall bearers filed by placing their boutonnieres in the arrangement. Then the minister started to speak about how in their reform (Presbyterian) tradition, emphasis is placed on the afterlife, and not on the body. And while reciting the prayer “…ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” the solemn/seersucker/suited/Southern preacher threw a handful of dirt in among the flowers. Bob turned and smiled at me.

“Isn’t religion useful?” I said, while driving along on our twelve hour road trip home. The book NPR was discussing with its author was What Happened to Sophie Wilder, by Christopher Beha. http://www.npr.org/2012/07/26/157424289/christopher-beha-on-faith-and-its-discontents Beha is a lapsed Catholic, a non-believer like me, and he wrote a fictional account about an old college love who converted to Catholicism. I was riveted. After the radio interview, our discussion ran deep. Losing a family member, even when it was expected and an end to endless suffering, can bring some clarity into our own lives. Life is fragile, hang onto the good times, and yes, isn’t religion “useful.” Bob and I were talking about the service, the minister’s warm and heartfelt tribute to Mike, who had told him time and time again, “You’re doing my funeral, you’re MY man!” No one could refuse my brother.

I grew up super-Catholic because my foster parents were Catholic and my dead Father had been a church-going Catholic and not a “cultural Catholic.” Sacred Heart School, Camp St Joseph for Girls, maroon beanies and bow ties followed by khaki shorts and mass every morning in the summer. Beha was asked when he lost his faith and I was thinking about my own fall from grace. Remember, I was 11 when I went to live with the Flapper forever. She married a Jewish man, a judge in our small town. I acquired Jewish step-siblings and my brother Jim went to Columbia University. My first foray into a temple was for Purim, when kids dressed up in costumes and made noise like a Jewish Halloween! The polar opposite of the Latin Mass. I was hooked. Dinner table talk became enlightening, expansive. The Flapper loved Buddhism and wanted to travel to Hong Kong; she had been raised Presbyterian I believe, but always said that organized religion was for sheep. Sundays became a day for sleeping-in, the New York Times and lox and bagels with whitefish – no more church-going for me. But since I could first form a thought in my head, I never did buy the idea that only Catholics would get into heaven…and limbo? After 9/11, I was permanently done with religion of any kind.

So what is faith and how do we keep it? Mike grew up Catholic, married a Baptist, and was buried near William Faulkner by a Presbyterian. My Jewish MIL bought my cemetery plot near hers, soon after I married her son. Was this marriage counselor trying to tell me something about ’till death do us part? My step-father is buried there, and so is Bob’s brother Richard. I once knew a rabbi who said we haven’t really grown up until we plan our own funeral. Mike lived his life his way, not looking for accolades but working tirelessly. We will never know all of his good deeds, because for such a powerful man, he was pretty humble. That was rule number one from the nuns. He loved Great Danes, and his elegant Carmen never left his room. Frank Sinatra was playing, and a brother-in-law spoke about the dog sculpture that always sat on his Vikings desk. Emblazoned on its backside were the words, “If you’re not first in line, the view never changes.”

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Re-Blog from Dr Jim Lynn

July 24, 2012 by mountainmornings

Because a life cannot be summed up by two business deals. Reblogged from: http://lynn-and-associates.com/blog-1/

Mike Lynn was my older brother. He passed away this past Saturday, July 21st in Oxford, MS. The cause was complications from a long illness. For the past two days, sports columnists have been writing about his 15 years as the General Manager of the Minnesota Vikings, his lopsided Herschel Walker trade with the Dallas Cowboys, and the remarkable deal he negotiated to get 10% of the Metrodome Suite Revenues for 99 years in perpetuity.

I have started this blog to let interested people know about the consulting and training programs I am developing for on-line webinars, however, I am going to depart this one time to reminisce about my big brother, and show a different perspective of the ‘Purple Prince’ I knew.

One of the things I help clients do is ‘profile’ key positions … identify the core competencies that are needed for a position. Then you can advertise looking for those skills, and create a custom behavioral interview to look for candidates who have demonstrated those skills. So here is my take on Mike Lynn’s core competencies, with some behavioral examples to support them.

Composure – mood regulation and self-control. For as long as I have known my brother, (some six decades), he has been a cool customer. He was introverted and didn’t show his emotions very often. He was hard to read, tough under pressure. In high school, his friends called him “Duke” a nick name also given to John Wayne …another tough guy. Sometimes I would come to his Viking office to visit and watch as people would come and go with all kinds of problems … drama. Mike avoided the drama. He would listen … light up a cigarette, take his time, think about what he was going to say before saying it, and then tell them what needed to be done. He had great ‘street smarts’, emotional intelligence. He was self-aware and in control of how he expressed his own emotions.

Results – Mike was a bottom line kind of guy. He was very persistent at getting what he wanted. When he got out of the Army, he went to Pace College in Manhattan for two days…that’s right two whole days. Six years older than me, he came home and threw his General Introduction to Psychology textbook on my bed and said to me …”Here you read this crap …I’m going to work and make some money.” I read the text, loved it, and became a psychologist, and he did indeed go out and make some money.

I’ll never forget the first time he told me his business was basically to “get asses in the seats”. He was (he told me anyway) at 18, the youngest theatre general manager in the Walter Reade Chain. He was a young regional manager for Dixie Mart and a regional manager for a chain of theatres in Memphis …sometimes letting Elvis book a private mid-night party at one of his theatres. From the very start, Mike had management jobs… line jobs where he was accountable for business results. My brother never had a support or staff job. Even after retiring from the Vikings he started a private supper club in Oxford Mississippi, not too far from his antebellum home in Holly Springs. Up until the end, on my last visit to see him, he was on the phone giving orders to his club’s general manger. And the psychologist in me couldn’t help but notice how his affect perked up, his energy increased, breathing steadied, and he seemed and acted at his best during those few minutes – ’running his club’ – as I observed him – in a state of flow – issuing orders. I sensed he was happy, he had a purpose.

Negotiating – He would often start out by telling some young rookie football player …”You may have been a big deal in high school, or college …but this is the NFL …and you are a rookie … you’re only worth ….” . His previously mentioned skills tie right in here ..being composed and difficult to read, he could put players and their agents on edge. He had good timing, he knew when to speak up, and more importantly, when to just sit quietly and wait. He was very good at reading people, understanding their hopes, fears, and motivations. In many ways my older brother was the applied psychologist in the family.

As the GM for the Vikings, Mike did the player negotiations and he brought in some great players in those days. He was able to both keep his composure and handle the heat. His negotiating strategy with me on the golf course was different. I was a better golfer than him, so he would just keep doubling down on our bets until he won and we were even. It was like a game, although I think it might have been a little more than a game to him!

Compassion – There was a soft and tender side to my brother that he only showed to a few people, which is why this one would surprise many, and have them question my credentials. The fact is, my brother reached out and helped a lot of people during his life, including mine on more than one occasion when I needed support. He was the steady rock, the person in the family who could be depended upon to come through and help when needed. And I think this is a skill he developed and nurtured as he aged. Sure he was a tough guy – he thought he had to be.

In charge, in control, but underneath it all was a poor kid who grew up in Scranton Pennsylvania, lost his father when he was 13, and saw his family hospitalized with a head on car crash three months later. We were hit by a drunk driver who never even got a ticket …it was 1949. I was only seven and I’m not sure how we survived as a family, but I do know that when someone in the family suggested we go on welfare, by brother was adamant …”no welfare …I’ll work …we’ll get by.” And we did. My sisters married doctors, I became a psychologist, he ran the Vikings and we all turned out okay. I hope you feel you can finally rest now big brother … rest in peace. When you were alive, sitting behind your desk, staring into my eyes … it was not easy telling you, ‘I love you’, but I do.

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Big Brother

July 22, 2012 by mountainmornings

I was just telling the Bride the story about the Flapper’s easiest birth. After her last doctor’s appointment had determined that baby girl was still in the breech position, the topic of “birth options” was a frequent theme – acupuncture, yoga, C-section? “How many crib sheets do I really need,” followed by, “Well she must be in that position for a reason.” My brother Mike was born at home, baby number four to a Pharmacist and his Flapper wife in Scranton, PA. My Mother was hanging clothes out on the line when she told a friend who was helping, to run and fetch the doctor. I imagined a young woman running through the backyards of that coal town, around fences and flapping sheets, hurrying by gardens and family pets to fetch the old doctor who was a friend of our Father. By the time he arrived, Mike was already coming into this world.

My memories cannot be trusted because I was not there for most of our family history. I was number six in that Year of Living Dangerously, when 13 year old Mike wanted to play basketball with a friend and so was spared the 1949 Independence Day tragedy. These are the stories I’ve heard: he was always hard working; he would gather coal to sell after our Father died; he was the most affected by our family’s loss. Later Mother told me she had to beat girls off of him with a shelaighly, he was that handsome. I believed her, to me he was like Paul Newman. But more than looks, he carried a certain confidence with him. When Mike was around, things would get done. He had a natural talent for business. This much I knew, when he walked into a room, all heads turned and the room hushed. Mike had charisma. As we entered the Layfayette Club for dinner, he’d say, “I’m here to eat, not to dine.”

Whenever we all descended on his beloved Walter Place in Holly Springs, MS he was delighted. His beautiful wife Jorja always made his Yankee siblings feel loved and comfortable. At his daughter’s wedding a few years ago, Bob got to know him a little better. They were the early risers, and so had some good talks over coffee with hummingbirds circling the backyard porch. Always the businessman, they discussed health care reform and the future of the music industry. Mike loved hearing about the Rocker and was so proud of his daughter, an Opera singer. Oh and another story I heard, Mike had a wonderful voice. The Flapper played Frank Sinatra records in the house non-stop. Later, in Memphis, he befriended Elvis. I think there was a part of him that wanted to be in show business. For one of the Flapper’s birthdays, he arranged to have Cab Calloway play at her party. Imagine that.

A generous man, he took care of our Mother in her golden years. If you needed help, you would ask him. One brother left for the Air Force and landed in Germany, another brother became a psychologist, exploring the landscape of the mind. But Mike was the pragmatist, always figuring out the best, fastest most efficient way to make a deal. And with him, a deal is a deal! He was a man of his word, telling his sons to always do, “The right and proper thing.” We will all miss you Mike. You entered this world quickly, like you just couldn’t wait to get started. And somehow we thought, you would never leave. http://www.twincities.com/vikings/ci_21129418/tom-powers-there-wont-be-another-like-mike

My love to Jorja and their children and grandchildren for always and forever.

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Musical Family

July 19, 2012 by mountainmornings

Tomorrow night at the Brooklyn Bowl, my son’s band, Parlor Mob, will be rockin the house. Music plays in his head and makes its way through his fingertips; always has, always will. Did I mention their latest record was voted iTunes “Rock Album of the Year?” Check it out here: http://itunes.apple.com/us/album/dogs-special-edition/id460482531 And if you happen to be in the greater NY area, head on over the bridge!

I wish I could be there. But I’m in the Music City, helping with a baby nursery and cooking for a freezer. I love Nashville and the Newlyweds new home. Plenty of room for their 2 dogs, a baby girl (due August 31st) and her Grandma. Best thing ever, I have my very own 2nd floor suite!

Let’s all tell that baby she has to turn around pronto. She is sitting head up (breech) in the exact same spot her mama settled into when I was about 6 months along and all about natural childbirth. She needs to know that there’s a right way and a wrong way to enter this world. Although come to think of it, whatever she wants to do will be just fine. We can’t wait to meet you sweetheart. Tomorrow it’s off to find a crib mattress! Oh, and we think she will need a piano too.

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Retro-Active

July 16, 2012 by mountainmornings

Poor Mitt. Talking GOP heads are trying to convince us all that 3 years mean nothing, that from 1999 to 2002 their guy was “retroactively retired” despite evidence that he was in fact involved and listed as CEO, president and chairman of Bain while they were actively outsourcing jobs. Who are we to believe? On one hand, that he had no “active” involvement, that he was too busy with the Olympic Committee; or on the other hand as Huff Post reported, “…that he was still listed as one of two managing members at a Bain Capital entity, …including on a filing form from 2002, and that he attended board meetings, signed documents and received a six-figure salary.” So he was paid $100,000 for each year (not counting dividends and bonuses) plus his undisclosed (like his taxes) parting financial package. Turns out, the rich are very different!
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/07/15/ed-gillespie-mitt-romney_n_1674281.html

I asked my business consultant what he thought about the debacle. After all, Bob left his business back in NJ and commuted back and forth, before selling all shares and handing over the keys to one of his partners. He said that maybe a year, sure he’d give him a year to get his affairs in order. But 3 years? To us, this sounds rather misleading. When you have started a business and it’s been your baby for many years, the work never stops. Every small and large business owner knows this. Emails and phone calls continue into the night, and all through the weekend. Particularly since Bob’s urgent care was open all weekend. I remember the middle of the night call in VA from the security office in NJ, and the calls to the local police department to determine that a balloon had been setting off the motion detectors in the office. This whole “part-time,” not really retired schtick is not only misleading, it’s disingenuous.

Let’s stop all the attack ads, let’s start being honest boys. We all know that this retroactive excuse is just another point in a pattern of duplicitous deceptions. We all know you made tons of money, so show us the tax returns Mitt. Show us the money! Maybe those independents sitting on the proverbial fence have seen enough? Your poll numbers have been slipping with women; we know how you feel about Planned Parenthood, Mitt, why not try some transparency for a change and shed some light on your finances?

My little town is gearing up for another bus trip, but this time we’re heading for The Hill. Lace up your sneakers ladies, estrogen will be flowing by the Potomac in August. If you’re tired of all this male bonding (and religious distraction) over our sex lives, let’s go retro and March Rally on Washington…again.

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