It Makes Me Crazy! I Love Politics.

According to Wikipedia, Scaramouche  means "little skirmisher" and is a stock clown character in what is referred to as the Italian commedia dell'arte. He was often beaten by Harlequin because of his boasting and cowardice. Anthony Scaramucci is the newest stock clown character in Trumplandia. I saw his performance last week when he was appointed, and Spicer quit, and he was very impressive. What I would expect from a hedge fund director/saleman. Smooth, engaging, voluble, and he disarmed the press with humor right from the get-go. He loves being called "The Mooch" a nickname from grade school. I actually take that as a plus. A man who knows how to use everything to his advantage. The first question was "Does he do the fandango?" a reference and segway to Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen, a great rock anthem: He doesn't start work officially for a couple of weeks, but he has stepped into the news cycle with abandon. And his lavish praise

Jefferson Beauregard  Sessions  III Trump wants Sessions out so he can get someone to fire Mueller, but is too cowardly to fire either of them himself. Or, maybe, he's just waiting for the August recess to actually begin to make a recess appointment. Whether he can make that appointment or not, is up to Mitch McConnell. The President shall have Power to fill up all Vacancies that may happen during the Recess of the Senate, by granting Commissions which shall expire at the End of their next Session. ARTICLE II, SECTION 2, CLAUSE 3 The Constitution lays it out pretty clearly. But the Republicans used a maneuver to prevent that from happening when Obama was in the White House: They just don't go into "recess". This went all the way to the Supreme Court which ruled that as long as the Senate was holding pro-forma sessions, they weren't in recess. The Senate did this by having the presiding Senator gavel the Senate into session every three days. The Supreme

Gasoline sets Oregonians apart from most all other Americans. The reason is simple: This woman is a wanton lawbreaker. For those of you that don't know, pumping your own gas in Oregon isn't generally allowed. There are exceptions, of course, but every year someone moves to Oregon and starts bellyaching about how awful it is that you can't pump your own gas. Today in a guest opinion piece in The Oregonian Murr Brewster explains this and the soul of Oregonians, better than I can. Enjoy! BY MURR BREWSTER Guest columnist Brian K. Pinaire (" Just let us pump our own gas, already ," July 16) would really like to fill his own gas tank. Somehow, this feels like freedom to him. Perhaps I have a few more seconds than he to spend in quiet contemplation while I listen to my car radio, but I have a different take. People think this is a matter of choice, and that the choice to pump one's own gas has been taken off the table. Actually, everywhere self-service h

Well, I've been missing in action off and on for weeks now. A visit from my old roomie, and the grandkids just went home yesterday. And Politics? Well, geez, it could hardly be more disconcerting, could it? Donnie Jr. not only stepped into it big time, he's starting to reach Big Donnie's level of incompetence and foolishness. Not just the meeting with a Russian minion, but then being caught red-handed in lying about it.  Maybe it's time for a little lesson about Freedom of the Press. We all have been conditioned somewhat by the sometimes silliness that occurs in the press. Yesterday we delighted with pictures of Slime Eels that were dumped on cars in a wreck on Hwy 101 here in Oregon. Silly, gawking, and got our attention for sure. We see lots of that in the Press, and silly and stupid is what helps them pay the bills. (Access Hollywood, anybody?) We tend to see the Press as a bunch of folks screaming "Look what I just found", but the Donnie  Jr. sto

I've been blog AWOL for over a week and it's mostly Brad Herran's fault for coming to visit. Sure I asked him, and he came, so I guess it's really my fault. When two friends are at fault together, it becomes a good. Brad and I were roommates in college and best friends. The first year, 1972-73, we were in adjoining rooms in Bury Hall . I shared a room with Jim "The Missing" Link and Brad sharing with Greg "The Horniest Preacher on Earth" Givili. I was a junior and he was a freshman, and I did exactly what I was supposed to do: I corrupted him from his mid-west sensibilities into a full blown reprobate. The next year we shared "The Dungeon." The Dungeon was the last room on a dead-end hall with no escape except by the central stairwell. We adorned the room appropriately. Bunk beds broken down to make two singles. Window glass painted with blue tempera paint, casting a black-light like glow across the room, and making it hard for C

This is a story that reminds us of what the human race is capable of. It Appeared in today's Oregonian by Samantha Swindler, copyright 2017 Grant Harter has always been ahead of the curve. At age 11, his home school curriculum included geometry, astronomy, anatomy, chemistry and — for good measure — ballroom dancing. At 12, he earned his first college credits through Advanced Placement testing. At 13, he enrolled in Clark Community College. At 14, he entered Portland State University as a junior. And this Sunday, he’ll graduate with a major in physics, a minor in math and University Honors. At 15, he is the youngest bachelor’s recipient ever at Portland State. Yet until recently, most of his classmates and professors had no idea the shy, 6-foot-2- inch student was so young. “I think a lot of people just haven’t really been able to tell,” Harter said. When classmates or professors find out his age, “There’s generally some surprise there. Some people are like, ‘Oh wow