You Answer Weeds With Vigilance

In my previous life as a homeowner, I learned a valuable lesson on yard maintenance that just so happens to be applicable in life.

Progress will never kill weeds.

Admittedly, I was from the Kim Kardashian School of Green Thumb: I spent much, gained little and always divorced myself from the situation within three months. Cause, no matter how many victorious battles I waged through April and May, and no matter how great things were looking in June, those weeds would return. The latest tech arsenal of weed control weaponry was no match for the relentless boomerang of crabgrass, dandelions, thistle stalks or pretty little violet disasters. Hell knows, there were always more where they came from.

Bullies happen that same way. Just ask Rutgers, they know. They fired Mike Rice because he was better at bullying than coaching them up. Maybe if Rice had won a couple national championships, he could’ve played the Bobby Knight card and been issued a stern warning instead.

Tim Pernetti followed Rice out the door today. Pernetti was the Athletic Director at Rutgers, and I can only assume he was fired for his inability to distinguish between ‘low-lights’ and an ongoing pattern of abuse against Rutgers players.

Rice claims he’s sorry now . . that he’s ‘changed’. Yeah, he’s sorry he got caught, and he’s ‘changed’ because he’s unemployed now. He’s a great big liar. But he’ll  get a job somewhere else, because he’s still got upside and that is always going to be the bottom line in a business that talks up academics, just as long as it coincides with banners and tournament appearances. I expect Rice will go about repairing his image by talking about the mistakes that were made and how he should have known better and how it’s time to move on. All the same hashed over language we were hearing from my state’s university, back when Jerry Sandusky was found to be a monster and Joe Pa was losing his sainthood status.

These Rutgers players deserved far better than they got. So did the alumni, the parents and yes . . the taxpayers. Because the truth is, these schools take our money and promise our kids the world, while offering precious little in return as far as transparency goes.

The names change all the time in big money college sports. Last year it was Sandusky, and this time it’s a bully named Mike Rice who gets tossed when the higher ups at Rutgers run out of rug to sweep all his dirty deeds under.

Rice will get a second chance somewhere else, and whatever. Just as long as his second chance doesn’t involve kids. Hey, if he really wants to stick with basketball (since he’s so good at throwing them) let him go professional and try his temper on for size with men who aren’t beholden to him for their scholarships.

See how that works out for him.

And Speaking Of . . Annoyances

Spider ManYou know what annoys me? When they make a superhero movie- like Spider Man– five minutes ago, and before it’s even out of the theaters, they’re already re-imagining that which is still being imagined.

That’s where Mustang Wanted comes in. He’s a real life Spider Man, no rebooting necessary. He was the best part of my online news grab. Cause the rest of this spin cycle was . . . annoying.

The DA is gonna file battery charges against Justin Bieber after he spit on his neighbor and threatened to kill him. Man, I wish Potsie 2K would have been neighbors with OJ.

And speaking of neighbors . . . Chris Brown claims he “lost everything” after putting Rihanna in the hospital back in 2009. Well, he didn’t lose his kneecaps to a Louisville Slugger. In my old neighborhood, that would’ve been the bill.

And speaking of bills . . . Hey, I get that CBS is swimming in the Red Sea thanks to all that money they forked over for the rights to the NCAA Tournament. But there’s no way in hell I’m sitting through thirty minutes worth of commercials to watch the last three minutes of a game.

TV Timeout Thought of the Day . . .

For the love of God, can our social media crazed society just leave Joe Biden alone for two minutes?

And speaking of sorry . . . My Yankees are receiving their Karmic comeuppance. That’s what happens when you tear down a living museum and replace it with a Tiffany showroom with ticket prices to match. After which they stopped overbidding for every pretty face on the hot stove because they didn’t want to take the financial hit . . since that’s what the fans are for. And now they’re fielding the first 200 million dollar Triple A team. Karma.

And speaking of amateur hour . . . Kim Jong Un claims his nukes are not for sale at any price and that he’s not afraid to use them. Puhleeze! The only people this guy is warring with are his barber and his dietician.  Who’s he going to war with? Portlandia?

And speaking of wars both real and imagined . . . No matter how much the Fox News producers or Jim Carrey’s agent try, they can’t make me care about this feud.

And speaking of much ado about nothing . . . I disagree with the criticism over the Walking Dead finale. Carl was right to take down that Woodburian in cold blood. It’s not like they were going to be college roomies. And having the Governor go off the rails and then bounce may not appease those who were looking for a showdown, but it was the right move. I liken his disappearance to Darth Vader’s TIE fighter spinning through the galaxy at the end of the original Star Wars. Hell hath no fury come Season 4.

I feel me some Kung Fu Disco coming on. Eh, blame it on Joe . . .

It’s time we stop tolerating the intolerant

Roger Goodell is the most powerful man in sports because he knows how to make money. But last week, when NFL personnel were creating a hot button mess of sexual orientation questions,  Goodell could have shown himself to be something other than a rainmaker in a really sharp suit. He could have shown himself to be a human being.

All he had to do was stand in front of the cameras and tell his NFL talent evaluators to cut it out. He could have put all those in his employ on notice that questions about a prospect’s sexual orientation don’t belong on the same checklist as how fast they run or how far they can throw a football.

Goodell should have known better than to say nothing. Too many people are content to say nothing when saying something, anything, could make all the difference in the world. Saying nothing means that we allow the wrong questions to matter way more than they should.

Anyways, I asked myself, how would Cayman Thorn respond to a pro scout’s sexual orientation question. Hmmm. . .

“Cayman . . . are you . . gay?”

“And how!”


“Ch’Yeah! I’m thisclose to playing in the NFL! I haven’t been this excited since I dated a Yoga instructor!”

“Are we talking about the same gay here?”


“I’m asking if you’re gay.”

Oh. You mean show tunes gay?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Into chaps, Cher and drama gay?”

“Are you? . . Do . . you?”

“All of the above?”

“Are you, Cayman?”

“Well, all of the above are stereotypes. They’re used in an indiscriminately discriminating way,  as a means of filing someone’s sexual preference into a Rolodex.”

“You introduced those stereotypes!  . . . I’m simply asking a question.”

“It doesn’t feel like a question. It feels like a sad and ignorant statement, the kind to which stereotypes are usually born.”

“I didn’t mean to offend.”

“No, you want to sneak a peek inside my little black book . . that’s not offensive at all.


“It’s funny, you have a live wire drip attached to your ear. You could dime up someone on the other side of the world with that Bluetooth and it doesn’t make a damned bit of difference to you why it works that way. All that matters is that it works for you.”

“What are you getting at?”

“What I’m getting at, prospective boss man, is that your ignorance doesn’t keep you from accepting that piece of plastic that can dial up Tokyo in the middle of the night. Yet . . somehow, your ignorance isn’t so accepting of people, real people? Whose only crime is being different than you?”

“I uh . . .”

“Alright, lemme ask you a question that doesn’t require such deep thought.”

“Go right ahead.”

“How’s the clubhouse situation on your team?”

“Excuse me?”

“The clubhouse, give me a feel for the dynamics I would be walking into.”

“I don’t understand your line of questioning.”

“Okay, how many players on your roster have been charged with a crime?”

“Why does that matter?”

“It matters lots. I don’t dig the idea of working next to a guy who drinks and drives his pal into a sidewall, or beats on his woman, or a guy who goes all Wild West in nightclubs, or shoots dogs for fun. It’s not a healthy working environment for me. And it seems that the league employs quite a few of these fellows.”

“Okay, Cayman . . . I get it.” 

“Do you? Or do you celebrate it? It seems as if your league is really good at placing a high profile on bad guys. Really . . what choice would a gay man have in your league, but to stay silent in such a daunting workplace?”

“You made your point . . .” 

“Of course, you’re simply looking to protect gay football players from the Mad Max world you guys perpetuate, right? So you issue a declarative statement under the guise of a question, whose intent couldn’t be more clear if you painted it red and called it Bulls Eye.”

“I get it!” 

“Nah, I don’t think you do. But some day? You’ll be forced to get it. Because some day, some hot shot kid with skills to the moon and back, is gonna come out before an NFL draft. And then, I wanna see what all you genius talent evaluators do about him. I want to see if you bypass that kid based on what he does behind closed doors.”

The interview ends, and Cayman Thorn walks away. Never having answered a question that never should be asked in the first place. Eh, I’m not so much ashamed of being a football fan as I am of being a member of the human race sometimes.

Things that Annoy Me (Part . . I forget)

PopeA Pope-less Situation- A sitting Pope decides to hang ’em up while still vertical for the first time in more than half a millennia, which makes for a fairly historical event. But do we really need six hundred different theories as to why?  I mean, it’s not like he’s bouncing cause he lost a poker game to a member of the Illuminati. He’s not running from his Baby Mama. He didn’t test positive for PED’s.

Here’s a thought. He’s EIGHTY FIVE YEARS OLD and he’s running a business that’s worth more than the LA Dodgers. He’s tired!

Will the Dolphins take their talents (sic) to Venice Beach?- And speaking of LA, this story about my Dolphins possibly moving to Hollywood annoys me. Don’t they understand that professional football doesn’t work in that market? Then again, maybe that’s why they want my Dolphins.

Live Remotes- Why do reporters implore us not to go outside during a storm . . while they’re standing outside during a storm? We get it, extreme weather sucks. They should just stay inside, grab a green screen and hit up some 2012 with John Cusack. Give the viewers some hope that the world is gonna end before they have to bust their asses shoveling themselves out.

March (Yawn) Madness- I can’t stand the office pool brackets, mostly because I can’t stand college basketball. There are six trillion teams, and not a single player I could pick out of a lineup (Pun intended).  Why? Because they stay in school for less time than it takes me to move through the line at the DMV. And their coaches jump ship even faster. Actually, I am hoping the Hurricanes get to the finals since basketball is the only thing keeping the sports scene cooking in Miami these days. But I’m not doing a bracket, since I would have to start filling it now just to be done by the tax deadline.

You’re Wearing That?!- There’s annoying, and then there’s stupid. This guy . . Deadmau5is the dual threat. I mean . . . seriously?  You show up to the Grammy Awards in an outfit that would get you kicked out of Burger King? I’m guessing the wife beater and Joe Boxer pajama pants ensemble he was going to wear were at the cleaners that day. And I’m guessing he wore a ball cap to hide the orange sized zit on his forehead. And of course, he probably chose the least offensive cap in his collection.

What I know for sure is that he  automatically made Taylor Swift the second most annoying guest at the party.

And speaking of parties . . . You mean to tell me that taxpayer money is funding OJ Simpson’s staycation!

Things that annoy me (6 degrees worth)

Taylor Swift Breakup Songs- Alanis gave great breakup song. Pissed off, sexed up, singular. That last part is most important. The breakup song is a one shot deal, unless you’re Adam Duritz of Counting Crows. Thing is, Adam has a musical skill set that allows for him to write the been done wrong song in perpetuity. Taylor Swift doesn’t. And right when I was about to thank Michael J. Fox for telling it like it is . . .

Apologies- . . . he apologizes to Taylor Swift. Even though he meant what he said and he had every right to voice his opinion. Then the wife of Patriots receiver Wes Welker blasted Ravens LB Ray Lewis for being a hypocrite . . before apologizing. Yep, despite meaning what she had said. If you’re sensing a pattern here, then you need a life every bit as much as I do. And I ain’t apologizing for saying it . . .

Retractions- . . . because I usually mean it when I say it the first time. Unlike most anyone with a spotlight on them and five minutes worth of time with which to get in trouble. Like former Raider Tim Brown. One day he infers that his former head coach basically threw the Super Bowl, and the next day . .  he says that what he said previously? He didn’t actually say.  If you’re gonna make a statement- even one as ridiculous as Brown’s- own it. Yanno, like the baseball writers did . . .

Baseball Writers- Yeah, those  writers who vote on Hall of Fame nominees kissed major league ass during MLB’s Cinema Paradiso when baseball history was being torched. They didn’t think to ask how it was that the thirty five year old McGwire or the previously skeletal Sosa could knock out a thirty seven year old record with ease. In the same year! And when a thirty seven year old Bonds broke McGwire’s record three years later? Nope, the writers were busy pounding the buffet spread. Fast forward to 2013. And now they make a statement. Hmmm . . .

Katie Couric, Serious Journalist- Cause, hmm is what I thought when I heard Katie was going to interview Manti Te’o and get to the bottom of a bottomless pool of facts and fiction. I thought Katie had graduated from tabloid news. But who am I to call her a sell out when Matt Lauer is still alive to do so?

And speaking of sellouts, I can’t leave out Al Gore. Who recently sold his Current TV bi’ness to that posse of straight cash homies who own Al Jazeera-  This deal sucks a million different ways to Hoboken, but you know what’s most annoying? Now he has more money than God.

Believe me when I tell you, Oprah’s pissed.

No Word of a Lie

I was involved in a long distance relationship several years back, the dissolution of which made the Hindenburg landing look like the best parking job. Ever. Why the hell couldn’t I have just made her up?

So Manti Te’o lied. So what? I mean, yeah . . this story is bizarre every which way to Tokyo. But what it really comes down to is that a college kid lied about a girl. Something that only happens, oh . . every five minutes. Of course, Manti is a star linebacker for a big name college team whose story helped galvanize a Heisman Trophy run. So there’s that.

Thing is, we made the kid bigger than his britches, or even his lies. Sportswriters turned the diminutive Te’o into Paul Bunyan in pads and the public ate it like ice cream. His lie or hoax or whatever the hell this turns out to be, matters this much simply because this kid mattered too much to begin with. And so now, we almost forget the first episode of Lance Armstrong’s Truth or Dare. His interview with Oprah just so happens to be the longest amount of time he’s spent with someone who wasn’t injecting something into him.

The Manti Te’o story is working harder than Charlie Sheen’s liver, so I gotta ask. When do we make time for the national ‘conversation’ all the talking heads chatted up after Newtown? Or do we just let Congress take care of that once they’re done saving us from the fiscal cliff they drove us off in the first place?

And here’s a thought. If it turns out this Manti kid was fibbing up a love story to such Spielberg effect, then maybe he needs the help of professionals. Rather than the hurt of the semi-professionals who are quarterbacking his life into the Page 6 obits.

So Lance Armstrong told the truth as he believes it to be last night. And so Manti is busy with his PR guys figuring out how to save himself more money than Geico in the NFL draft. How is this stuff more important than the real news going on outside our door? How could we have learned the lessons of Rome if we’re fiddling on Taylor Swift’s latest breakup song while the rest of the world is burning?

I never held Armstrong’s personal life in any regard- good thing- because his personal life ain’t never been my business. Same as Tiger Woods. Same as Manti Te’o. I never built them up to begin with, so I can’t possibly have the right to break them down.

The only thing I know for certain is that Lance Armstrong didn’t lie about the cancer. Being a cancer survivor is his only truth.

The only two people who could crush me with a lie are my kids. And one of the few people I look up to is my girlfriend. Maybe that makes me simple in a complicated world, but I’m plenty fine with it and here’s why.

My girlfriend put in a call to a co-worker of hers the other day. The man is hurting for money and would love nothing more than to be with his granddaughter, a beautiful eight year old girl who is being eaten alive by cancer. She let him know that she had his ticket paid for. Just so he could get there to be with his granddaughter. She’s my hero, and that little girl she’s looking out for? Her too.

Dominique doesn’t have much time left, and when I’m not busy being sad about that, I’m being angry.  I’m sad because Dominique never gets the chance to show the world what she had. And I’m angry because she has her priorities fixed on the right places, unlike most grown ups who consider TMZ to be a news show.

And that’s no lie.

Silly or Not? You Decide (Bwahahaha Sold Separately)

Rory McIlroy Buys 11 mil Home. The 23 year old golfer is ready to sign a 250 million contract with Nike. Which should cover taxes and grounds-keeping. The Palm Beach digs includes a wet bar, gym, pool, putting green and personal twenty four hour pizza delivery service. The verdict is . . . Not Silly. His first wife is gonna need a place to live as part of the divorce settlement.

Gas Prices Crash. Just in time for the holidays, gas prices have plummeted. The verdict is . . . Silly. It removes any excuses you might have had for not visiting the in-laws this holiday season.

Obamas invite PSY for Christmas. The gangnam rapper made a kajillion dollars with that video that was dumber than microwaveable White Castle burgers. And in the afterglow of his big score, he rips the United States . . . yet, Obama invites him to the House for Christmas? The verdict is . . .Maybe Not So Silly After All. If the President is able to procure a loan from PSY to spare us from going over the fiscal cliff.

Alec Baldwin for Mayor? The actor has contemplated running for Bossman of NYC, without benefit of alcohol even. The verdict is . . . Not Silly. As long as he addresses City Council like this.

Jennie Garth admits she’s hurting. The actress confessed that she feels downright pissy now that her old squeeze is happily squeezing someone else. The verdict is . . . Not Silly. Refreshing, actually. Rather than give us the Heidi Klum treatment (in other words, lie and posture), Garth was honest. If you don’t know where the girl is coming from, then you ain’t known love.

Rob Schneider Sued. By a couple of disgruntled movie fans who want their money back. Well, it’s not exactly what it seems but I think I speak for everyone who’s ever gone to one of his flicks when I say. . . Not Silly in the Least, and About Damn Time!

The Best Sundays Can’t Win the Bad Nights Back

ZoeyMaybe there will come a day when they play a football game in honor of someone like Kassandra Perkins.

Perkins was a young girl whose eyes could smile a bad day into better. Outside of that, I don’t know all that much about her since she wasn’t a starting linebacker for the Kansas City Chiefs.

Maybe it’s just an obsequious strategy on our part- to hero worship complete strangers, based entirely on statistics and on field heroics. Hey, when the home team wins, the hard wrought remains of a day seem to go down just a little bit easier, right?

Playing football on weekends may not grant you impunity, but it certainly doesn’t hurt. If Jovan Belcher wasn’t a starting linebacker for the Kansas City Chiefs, would we be hearing all these testimonials on his behalf after he gunned down his girlfriend in cold blood?

A lot of folks I follow and admire have turned this tragedy into a gun control soapbox. I’m sorry, but this isn’t the time nor the place to posture and politicize for amendments that weigh on the future without any consideration for the present.

Here’s the thing. Gun control legislation isn’t passing into law tomorrow. But the relevant issue here is the one we should be talking about and moving on. Today.

Domestic abuse.

That was my first thought when I read about Kassandra Perkins. And I gotta admit, it was frustrating to read the headlines on this story, one piled on top of the other . . . about how Jovan Belcher just ‘snapped’ in a fit of jealous rage.

Yeah. Just like OJ Simpson once ‘snapped’. OJ Simpson worked football weekends too. He got the benefit of most doubts as well, mostly because he wore a jersey and a million dollar smile. And he ‘snapped’ after countless years of the worst kind of trying. Technically, that means he was earning his stripes long before he ever wore them.

Now, I didn’t know Jovan Belcher, but I do know this much. As far as human nature is concerned, ain’t much happens that hasn’t happened without much practice happening first. Most every sin we commit, has an antecedent cousin tagging along. I may be wrong on this particular assumption, but let history throw a hashtag on me if so.

My heart aches for Kassandra Perkins. She’s the one I’m praying for tonight. Harder only, for her baby. The last time I looked, being a mother may not bring the multitudes together. It doesn’t entail the keeping of scores and ratings systems and fantasy league formulas. But all the same? It’s a pretty big deal.

And touchdowns aside, this baby of hers is a keeper.

Zoey has her father’s grimace, which seems a wickedly cruel joke until you consider those eyes of hers. Those eyes can loose a million dollars free of a miser’s hand, amazing as they are. Her mothers eyes.

If anyone lost more than Zoey, it was Kassandra Perkins. Because, thanks to Jovan Belcher, she will never see her daughter grow up. She’ll never collect her first tooth or walk her to kindergarten or get all awkward on that birds and bees chat, or argue with her over her misbegotten choice of a boyfriend, or take pictures of her in her prom dress or watch her graduate from high school and then college, or see her get married.

Kassandra Perkins will never hold her grandchild. Which is a damned sight worse crime than the loss of a linebacker on Sunday afternoons could ever bring. So, I’m thinking there is a lesson inside that holy revival they had going on at Arrowhead Stadium yesterday for a friend and altogether great guy.

Choose your heroes wisely.

Champion Annoyances Inside the Weak that Was

AnnoyedSince I never run out of stuff that annoys me, I decided to keep it current.

Big (Star)bucks Coffee- From the chain that took coffee and made it desert comes more insult inside these injurious economic times. They’re rolling out a 7 dollar cup of coffee that would make Williams Sonoma-nites blanch. Way to be considerate, Starbucks!

The Math of Miley Cyrus Hair- The girl is twenty years old, yet she has sported more hairstyles than most women will wear in a lifetime. She’s done the Sheryl Crow, the Marlo Thomas “That Girl” reprise, the Swiss Miss, Moussed Mouseketeer, Next Gen Jen, Barbarella, Goldie Lockup, Living Dead Girl and a bleached up Billy Kwan . . among others. The fact that I know this is what annoys me.

Demi Moore’s College Tour- Demi gets sexier all the time and Ashton is a schmuck for dumping her for Little Miss Tuffett, but unless I’m dating Demi, I ain’t emotionally invested in her love life. Besides, I’m twenty years north of being her type.

Best CFB Conference Nonsense- The truth of the matter is that the best conference is the one where all the suits get together to decide on the next big money grab. I can’t take the best conference jive seriously when the top teams are decided by vote. If major league baseball were to adopt this, the Yankees and Reds would’ve met in the World Series. Hey . . maybe it’s not such a bad system after all . .

Enjoyable Intermezzio: Thanks to my vegetarian summer and the death of my plantar injury, I dropped that cranky ten pounds I had been lugging around for the past half decade. And thanks to this picture of Derek Jeter, I’ma keep on running through the winter. As a Yankees fan, I should be ashamed for rejoicing with Sawx fans, but I gotta admit, that photograph inspires the hell out of me.

Angus Jones in “All Apologies”- The only thing more ridiculous than Jones’ ‘filthy’ rant about a show he’s made big coin on was his pathetic “If I offended anyone . .” apology. So I prayed for Rainn, and my prayers were answered.

Champagne Wishes and Powerball Dreams- Whenever the lottery haul starts moving into A-Rod territory, we’re inundated with live remotes from convenience stores, where intrepid reporters pull unwitting victims aside to ask the multi-million dollar question . . . What would you do if you won all that money?

The only purpose of these interviews is to introduce us to the first losers of Powerball since the odds of winning Powerball after being interviewed about Powerball stand at Not a chance in hell! So if you happen to be standing in line the next time Powerball goes silly drunk and a reporter asks for a few minutes of your time, mug that reporter because it’s as close as you’re going to get to making any money out of the trip.

The “Time Flies But We’re Still Doing The Blue Thing?” Post.

When did we get so hateful with our politics?

I know . . this idea that politics morphed overnight into Mr. Hyde in stretch pants on a fat day is more laughable than Dick Morris’s mathematical prowess. I realize it’s never been a cross stitching social, but modern day politics makes Aaron Burr look mellower than the Dalai Lama after a milkshake.

You know what they call stoicism in Washington? A good bartender.

With that depressing thought, my inspiration was sapped last Tuesday evening. I already knew my vote was going to count for recyclable material. And to make matters worse, my jury duty experience was still gnawing at me. Seriously, would it kill our elected officials to provide their electorate with a few perks? Say . . Happy Hour specials? . . New car giveaways? . . . Give me Infiniti or give me death? . . . Yeah.

With darkness closing in, I supplied my own inspiration, since . . yanno, freedom wasn’t enough. I ran the two mile trek to my polling place, scratched out my choice and made boot home. Yes, Democracy wore sneakers; red, white. . and blew.

Moving on, it was a fat week’s worth of news I missed on the blog. President Obama scored Chitown’s first repeat since Michael Jordan’s semi-retirement. Mitt Romney now has more time with which to run his fantasy league. Nick Saban’s team ain’t king anymore, but James Bond still is. And General Petraeus could’ve saved himself a bunch of headache if he’d consulted me before fooling around with a writer. Come on man, they take notes!

Anyways, here are my headlines of the week. Cause headline writers have the best gig going, this side of Howie Mandel’s hairdresser.

Florida Recount Uncovers 3 Million More Waffle Houses

Dodgers Sign Phil Jackson After Lakers Pass

Mitt Romney To Pen Autobiography, With Alternate Ending

Skyfall Rakes In 88 Million, Edges Jay Z’s Yard Sale Earnings

Sarah Palin Drops Out of 2016 Race

NHL Ratings Are Up In Wake Of Lockout

Al Gore Promises To Be Even More Pissed Off In 2013

Gas Prices Fall Just In Time For End of Vacation Season

Heidi Klum Declares “I’m Really Happy!” For 100th Straight Day

As for my vote? Well, let’s just say I didn’t have the winning ticket come eleven o’clock. But I wasn’t crying in the least. As far as I’m concerned, it was a chance I took without loss in the bargain. When it comes to voting, the trying is more of the matter than the victory you may not receive. Because there are plenty of places in this world where my trusty sneakers wouldn’t have had a choice in the matter. So hey, a losing vote tendered is still a winning chance in my book.

I was in Chicago four years ago for Thanksgiving week. It was an amazing place to be, and I’m not just talking about the town, but the spirit of those moments as well.  So here’s hoping we can change the politics enough so that our differences might spare us these unforgiving divides. Because hopeful is always better than hateful. And as far as change goes? How’s about some “Day of Beauty” coupon handouts at the polls? . . . Or free massages while you wait? . . . Random celebrity appearances? . . . Speed pass lanes . . . Build your own taco nights. . . Live music . . . Any music . . . Kissing booths . . . A Mickey Mouse appearance, where the hell’s he been for all those election day jokes?! . . .