It has been awhile since I last put out something on a blog, particularly one that is mine.  But in just the last 10 days I've survived the end of the world, a seemingly never ending Christmas, the fiscal end of our great country, and the firing of a football coach who won but not with the kind of style that is both fabled and fictional.  Factor in that about 60 days ago I survived the end of democracy and the advent of insane (Bain) capitalism, and one could almost say that I'm on a roll, riding quite the wave.  I even enjoyed greeting people by saying "today is the end of the year" as opposed to wishing a "Happy New Year."

This year is going to be different as, like MJ once sent a text, I'm back.  I'm no longer muzzled by who I work for, and I'm not afraid if someone thinks they want to take a shot at me.  I can hit back and I don't care if I'm that big brute pounding some little person's delicate sensibilities.  My kids are now of college age so I don't have to worry about what they might think of me, or what someone else might say or write about me, or what I write.  And as of today I'm not fighting or flinging any lawsuits, so at least for now there are no interrogatories to hurdle or depositions to be dashed.  But its still very early in the year.

So what am I going to write?  Well, there's some stuff from the hard drives of computers once deceased but now resurrected.  There are a few people now fighting to stay out of jail and and few others who are awaiting their day in court, so I can talk about them.  There's the greatness of big cities and the quirkiness of the little suburbs both near and far.  There are small towns, farm towns, and ghost towns.  There's the state, the state of the state, and counties that exhibit varying degrees of dysfunctional operations.  From Apple to Facebook, from Twitter to Google, the Colonel's Tribune is not only dead but emerging from a bankruptcy that has it battered and tattered and teetering on relevancy.  

Sports?  Certainly, but my tone isn't so much jaded as it is a matter of having come to better understand the context of sports.  Having spent weekends in Charleston, Peoria and Champaign, and various other remote locations I know how competition can be exhilarating and the pursuit of competing exhausting.

There are many other things, big and small.  Some anecdotes and some passing observations, and sometimes just because.  

Stop Hating on Trophy Wives

You know, its time somebody stood up for people who like to share relations with good looking people, and the good looking people who like to share relations (and maybe a little something more) with those who are rich and powerful. Where is it written that to be rich or powerful, and to run for political office, that you need to marry some ugly babe? Just because George H. Bush did it doesn’t mean the template can’t be tossed aside.

That’s why its time to come to the defense of Fred Thompson and his choice of Mrs. Thompsons. Fred is best known as the Senator who turned Hollywood. He parlayed his archetype character: the older, wiser senior officer who wants to give the young out-of-his-league maverick a chance (Hunt for Red October) into a series of minor roles to the point that he wound up playing this character as a regular on one of the ubiquitous “Law & Orders” shows (where the perps are always guilty, the DAs know no rules, and the whole deal likely gets tossed on appeal).

Fred’s also known for liking his wives to be more built for comfort than for speed, and with the kind of looks that get men openly staring (the easiest way to scope out another guy’s wife/date is to have them staring at the pair that’s with you).

Seriously, Fred’s pimping the hell out of the celebrity Republican lifestyle (ask Alan Keyes how much fun he had) and that means being seen by people, people who have money they want you to spend, eating lots of baked chicken, sipping lots of brackish wine, and introducing his significant others.

From that point he can say whatever the hell he wants about taxes, guns, gays, abortion, Osama or Obama, the Tennessee Titans, or Dick Wolf’s genius. Who’s listening? Any straight, hetero, Republican red-blooded male is checking out Jeri. And any suitable female is either also checking out Jeri or wondering about the kind of roaring lion Fred keeps in his pocket.

Sure, without her standing next to him, or an accompanying photo of her with him, Fred sounds (and looks) like some hick who didn’t study the index card notes he was given last night. Sure, his seduction of being compared with Ronald Reagan hasn’t instilled in him the overwhelming confidence to deliver his lines with the necessary steely certainty. And boy, if the talk gets around to family values he’s going to stumble unless the talk gets away from family and moves towards celebrity/pop news.

When a man moves from this:

to this:

It’s obvious that he knows a good thing when he feels it. So quit hating.

Look, if Fred does get the nomination, that’s a good thing. Thousands of creative cyber minds will do photoshop magic to make her appear even more provocative, while a few dozen cyber sleuths will set about to find authentic pictures of her in various states of undress, or authenticate those photoshop submissions that invariably will pop up on these Internets. Think of all of those titillating downloads and how ol’ Fred will seem like he really does know a little something more than the rest of us.

Hey, those of you who are married can take a simple play from ol’ Fred’s playbook: Fix a steady look into her eyes (put down the beer can if you're holding it) and in a steady voice tell your wife you think of her as, “something more than a pretty trophy wife, a lot more.” If the kids will leave you alone for 20 minutes she may show you something that’ll put a smile on your face. You don’t need Fred’s money or Hollywood connections, just the impression that you have the right stuff. It works for Fred, it can work for you too.

The view from the other side of town is not always one that will shared with your particular point of view but that doesn't mean that the two view are incompatible, contentious, or polar opposites. It's just a different perspective, one that may either be more deeply rooted than the one you may wish to dismiss. One that has a direct personal history as opposed to the casual observations made in passing. One that may have a greater appreciation for something though at the same time admiring from a greater distance.