Archive for the 'Wisconsin love' Category



I don’t think I can handle much more

The Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel and I have been at odds for some time. While I was pleased and grateful for their help during the Hyatt Smokergate debacle, the way they have handled the issues surrounding Governor Walker’s assault on the State’s public workforce has been irresponsible. If the editorial board wanted to support Walker’s radical positions, that’s obviously their right. But more often than not, the board acted as though nothing all that significant had happened. Thousands of us lost long-standing rights for which others had fought so hard for. We were devastated and the Journal-Sentinel’s repeated assertions that Walker’s kneecapping was no big deal was insulting. And then when the paper reendorsed him in the recall, arguing a recall wasn’t appropriate because the protests just amounted to a “policy dispute,” I just about lost my mind. Goddamnit, a recall is appropriate any time at least 25% of the voters in the last gubernatorial election say it is. See Wis. Const. Art. XIII § 12.

Anyway, given all of that, I didn’t think I could get much more annoyed with the paper. Once again, though, I was wrong. This week, the paper declared it would no longer make political endorsements because to do so would be to put their independence at risk. I don’t even know where to begin my tirade against this braindead statement. Well, let me start here: I do not give a whatwhat whether this ridiculous paper endorses anyone. It makes no difference to me at all. But, to say that a paper puts its independence at risk by evaluating two candidates, assessing their record and choosing to recommend one over the other is offensive. As AO consistently complains, there is no need or desire or – I may argue – place for independence in journalism. Yes, journalists probably should not work for campaigns because there would be an appearance that their reporting was not accurate and was instead merely campaign rhetoric. But I don’t expect any journalist not to have an opinion on what stories are important, what merits coverage and which candidate is better. I don’t understand this emphasis on independence. I think, in the words of the great Vice President Joe Biden, it’s a bunch of malarky.

It reminds me of the great debate over the judiciary. Should judges be able to be a part of a political party? No, say some, citing the need for an independent judiciary. Yes, say others, it’s their first amendment right. Yes, say I, because it would be more honest and transparent. Judges are people who are, like the rest of us non-felonious over-18-ers, allowed to vote. So they pick and choose candidates during every election season, like the rest of us. Why pretend they don’t have opinions? I’d rather know of them up front than mandate they hide them. I honestly don’t really care how they vote, I just want my judges honest, brilliant and compassionate.

Similarly, I don’t really care how the journalists I follow vote. I just want them honest and sharp and persistent. I want them to find me the truth. As I remind you, Dear Reader, that Errol Morris often reminds us, there is a truth. It is not leftist or right-wing, it is not progressive or conservative. It just is. And it’s the job of the journalist to find it and tell us about it.

And it’s the job of an editorial board to take that truth and make a choice. I think the Journal-Sentinel’s choice not to do so in the name of independence is both disingenuous and cowardly.

Packer love

I just love him. If he breaks my heart like that guy whose name I don’t speak, I don’t know what I’ll do. For now, though, I swoon.

Middle class in America

In college, I spent an academic year abroad in Florence, Italy. It was pretty much the greatest year of my life. I have a million memories from that time but one in particular has been flooding my memory inbox the last year or so. During our spring break, my friends Andrea, Jon & Andy and I decided to go on a trip we called Operation Behind the Iron Curtain. Of course, the Iron Curtain had been opened by this time – March 1997 – but we all remembered it and thought we were very clever for our name and brave in our exploration. We flew from Rome to Athens and then took a bus around Greece for a bit (and hitchhiked up Mt. Olympus) and then took a bus into Sofia, Bulgaria and finally another bus from Sofia to Istanbul. The trip was really something. One of the things that really stands out for me, though, despite all of this time, is a guy we met on the bus from Sofia to Istanbul. I can’t remember where he was from. Somewhere in South America maybe. Anyway, my friend Jon really took to him and they were supremely chatty on the bus and the rest of us sort of worried this guy was going to latch onto us when we got off the bus in Turkey. We weren’t xenophobes or anything, but the guy just didn’t seem very, well, nice.

I don’t remember a lot of what he said, but I do remember this. He said that he would rather be a peasant anywhere (I actually think he named a place, but I can’t remember where it was) than be middle class in America. I was floored. I seem to remember Jon nodding knowingly. I had never heard someone say such a thing before. He wasn’t disparaging suburbia or strip malls or chain restaurants; he was insulting millions of people, including me and my family and pretty much everyone I knew because of their bank accounts. The statement feels as arrogant to me today as it did fifteen years ago. The difference is today I can’t shrug it off as a foolishly ignorant, condescending and pretentious thing said by a young man who had too much privilege and too little education and compassion. Today I see that young person’s sentiment all around me. The assault on America’s working class is as real as it is heartbreaking. And I don’t know what to do about it.

I try to buy American-made products, but not nearly as much as I should. I cry when I read about the unemployed and those that are losing their homes. I refinanced our mortgage so that it would no longer be held by Bank of America, but I have a half dozen credit cards that are held by banks that may be equally greedy and heartless and irresponsible. I don’t know when things got so bad, but I do know that it feels that I am complicit in letting it happen.

The thing that felt most important to me about last year’s protests and the recall movement was that it was more than a million people coming together. Teachers and professors and fire fighters and cops and iron workers and plumbers and lawyers and electricians and professors and paralegals and custodians – all working together, all singing together, all marching together. It felt like we all realized that we are in this together. Our lives and livelihoods are completely intertwined and we would not be taken in by The Rich’s effort to turn us against each other. We would refuse to fight each other for scraps and pennies. We would stand up for our neighbors and in turn stand up for ourselves.

I don’t know what’s going to happen, but it doesn’t feel like it’s getting better. I hope that’s not true. I hope that we realize what we used to know: a rising tide truly does raise all boats. I want Mollybear to have the dream, which I’ve always understood was to be middle class in America.

Reason number 736874232 why I love Wisconsin

Donald Driver wins Dancing with the Stars and the whole state celebrates!

Molly’s days out

While we are certainly not the family that jets off to Italy with our newborn or, say, California or Maine with our infant like some families we know (ahem, Heather), we will not let it be said that Molly has not seen a few places in southern Wisconsin. On Saturday, we loaded up the diaper bag — forgetting only a burp cloth — and took to the open road to check out the morel festival in Muscoda, a small town on the Wisconsin River. We went with AO’s lovely friends, Mike & Jess, and their bella bambina, Reilly. This new baby chapter of our lives has unveiled yet another change for us: the caravan. We needed two cars to fit us all. The drive to Muscoda is one of my favorite Wisconsin drives — out highway 14, through Cross Plains, Mazomanie and Spring Green. Lots of pretty land and Recall Walker signs. Muscoda, though, wasn’t as pretty as I thought it would be, being a Wisconsin river town in such a lovely part of the state. It had a serious wild-west vibe to it: it felt dusty (of course it was also 90 degrees) and a little lawless. The festival was spread out on the town’s main drag and the only real mushroom-related festivity was a booth serving fried mushrooms. I can’t stand mushrooms, so this wasn’t too much of a bummer for me, but AO left a little unsatisfied.

Best mushroom festival ever!

On Sunday, after a nice morning visit with Molly’s great aunt and uncle, we headed out to Miller Park to see the Brewers clobber the Twins. We met Heather and Dale and the adorbs wonderkid, Lucy, at Steve’s on Bluemound to have a beer and take the shuttle to the game. Before leaving for the game, though, Baby Girl got a little fussy. I took out one of the two bottles of water we bought specifically for on-the-road formula-making pursuits only to realize we’d forgotten a little something: the formula. Good God. What kind of mother am I? I don’t have working boobs for her and now I didn’t even have formula! AO leapt out of the bar to find a drugstore to pay through the nose for some name-branded powder. He returned, having found a tiny canister of Gerber formula selling for $20 behind the counter at a convenience store. Phew. Nothing but the best for Baby Monster. We carried Molly in our arms to and from the game and she sat (mostly) quietly in our arms throughout the game. We were even able to see Molly’s favorite cousin Maggie and her beau, Bryan, before heading home. We consider it a roaring success!

Aaron, Molly & the Brewers

Aaron rode with Mollypop in the back of the car to and from the game, which seemed to make both of them very happy. I felt like I was chaperoning the world’s most important passengers, which I suppose I was. It was a pretty great weekend.