Sunday, July 24, 2016

Stella and Stewart

Today my sister Kara is celebrating her birthday.  Kara is one of the world's good souls.  She has never encountered a doubt which she has failed to extend the benefit.  She walks through the world with such benevolence that when the back half of the Kenny sibling sextet was entirely school-aged, Jill and I used to tease her that either she was adopted or Jill/I were deposited at the doorstep by the same wolf pack.  Stella - as she has been known for more than thirty-five years - is incapable of doing anyone a bad turn.  She is among the planet's easiest persons for whom to root.  If I comprehended the e-mail she sent me Thursday night, then she, Russ, and all three of their sons are spending her birthday kicking off their summer vacation.  May the birthday and the vacation both be excellent and joyous.  She deserves nothing less. 

In addition to Kara's birthday, today we celebrate Day Three, B.C. ("Between Conventions"), which sadly is the final day of this woefully under-appreciated three-day holiday.  Tomorrow the Democratic National Convention invades Philadelphia (as if the people of Philly do not have enough to deal with between watching the Phillies and facing the stark reality that Sam Bradford is the Eagles' starting quarterback).  Lord knows it will probably take Cleveland weeks to wash the stink of the Republican National Convention out of Quicken Loans Arena.  Buck up, Ohioans - you still have LeBron...and you no longer have Johnny Manziel. 

I did exact a measure of enjoyment out of the headlines I read last week from Cleveland positing that this year's GOP nominee had woken up the echoes (my homage to my favorite Crown Royal-toting former college football coach, once and future jagoff) of a three-time GOP Presidential nominee, Richard M. Nixon.  Each one possesses and/or possessed an extraordinary comfort level alighting from and hopping onto helicopters.  So there's that anyway. 

All of the talk about Nixon made me wax nostalgic for the paraphernalia that popped up in 1988. 

I realize that none of those three presently apply to the deceased Mr. Milhous. However, I was reminded late Thursday night that they all apply to a certain fellow left-handed Son of the State of Concrete Gardens: 

"He's Tan, Rested, and Ready!"
Stewart in '16 

To hell with Trump.  To hell with Clinton.  I know for whom I am casting my ballot.  The only one of the three who I actually trust.  


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