In an earlier entry on this blog, "What, and Get Out of Politics?", I proposed an amendment to the constitution, The Stay Home Amendment. Subtitling it “New Conditions For Congressional Officeholders,” I advocated we elect congressional candidates for terms to be served at home. Instead of sending them to Capitol Hill, we post them to their families—and their own beds.
I see now why I had no support from either side of the aisle, nary a Republican or Democrat. I was threatening to blight the glands that feed their libidos. Noblesse oblige will oblige itself freely, especially when free from obligations like tending the lawn, and children. Heroes at home, paragons of personal sacrifice and role models to the media, when the saints go marchin’ in to distant boudoirs, they’re not likely to stop until they get caught with their pants down.
It doesn’t begin and end inside the Beltway either. I was shortsighted, thinking Washington when I should have been casting my net all the way from the halls of governors’ mansions to the shores of icons’ estates. I’ve seen a video of Tiger’s wife and villa. There’s no place like home.
Reaching back a few years, there’s also no place like religion for infidelity and tears. Witness Jimmy Swaggart and Jim Bakker. There’s also no place like Hollywood, where actors who don’t “do” contrite act sincere, throwing in a few broad grins to convince you that you owe them an apology. Mel Gibson is not an anti-Semite—it was the firewater speaking. Alec Baldwin did not leave his daughter a frighteningly abusive telephone message—he was speaking to her as a father. There’s also no place like the music business, where rich and famous rappers publicly admit they abuse their rich and famous girlfriends because… they love them!
What do they all learn? Not much, it appears. The lesson is ours: power corrupts—those who have it and every one else in reach.
Notice, not a woman to impale on the Pickle poll! I pondered nailing a woman Supreme Court judge in flagrante delicto. The closest I was able to come to catching Sandra Day O’Connor swinging was to discover she and her husband hosted the Bushes at all their Christmas parties, but—to her and his dismay, they couldn’t socialize with them at all after Sandra provided the decisive swing vote in Bush v. Gore that had the effect of determining George W would become president. She owes the country an apology.
In closing: The Pickle Award poll’s parameters don’t encompass pedophilia, a transgression far too heinous to be treated lightly. But when it comes to public apologies, wouldn’t it be nice to see a Pope step up?
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This week’s Pickle Award question comes from Steven Eskow, who cordially agreed to let me rework it. (Either that, or he couldn’t have the small token of our gratitude we don’t have for him yet.)
If health care reform hadn’t worn people to a frazzle, I would have put Steve’s question briefly on the back burner and The Pickle Award reward that hasn’t come into existence yet would have gone to “Elsie,” who I have hopes will reveal herself some time—if for no other reason than to let me know where to send her gift.
The Poll will remain posted in the upper left corner for two weeks.
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