Time to Make the Do-Nots

Gerry's Corner: No, I didn't spell 'donuts' incorrectly. Well, okay, I did, but I wasn't trying to spell 'donuts.' I was introducing a new term into our English language: the Do-Nots. It's a list of things that I should not do, updated from time to time when I feel the guilty urge strike me. This idea interested me, too, because I have a Life's Little Instruction Book desk calendar that one of Not-Betty's addicts stole out of a bathroom when he hit rock bottom. She brought it home to me and we figured why not put it to some use? So now I get daily positive suggestions and I can balance those by giving myself daily restrictions. That seems fair. Plus, when I do this and blog about it, I'll offer some suggestions for how I'm going to achieve these pretty arbitrary goals. Ready? Let's do this!

Life's Little Instruction Calendar Tip of the Day: Dream big. Plan big. Talk big. Put some drama in your life.
How to Accomplish This: Whew! That's a lot of stuff to do at once. Well, I just woke up, so dreaming big is out for a few hours, and I suspect that my daily afternoon catnap won't give me the opportunity to dream as big as the desk calendar wants me to. So tonight, I'll try and dream of things like Montana and Ronald McDonald's wacky shoes and the ocean and the world's largest ball of twine. As for planning big, I'll have Not-Betty or one of the kids bring me home an easel or a roller of large paper, so I can write everything I want to do in huge letters. I'm sure I can talk a bit bigger now - I just called the doctor about that and he said I can go ahead and yell, since I'm far enough removed from my angioplasty now. And I guess shouting at people more will automatically put some drama in my life. Great!



Today's Do-Not: Do not get behind on all the presidential reading you have to do.
How to Accomplish This: I should say here that when I write in the second person, I'm still talking to myself. I don't assume that my readers are lazy, anonymous miscreants. Now, it's a fact that I've gotten behind on my presidential reading, mostly because it's so dry and I'd much rather be listening to the new JT album and watching reality television. But apparently, neither of those pursuits is as presidential-sounding as reading thick, academic texts, so I've got to keep up with the Joneses (who aren't real people - I've been told that that's a saying). Every once in a while, reporters will call to ask me questions, testing my mental state and whether I've still got the ol' steel-trap mind. For the last few calls, I've really been caught unprepared and had to flub my way through. No more of that! From now on, it's gonna be up at seven (or earlier) to read for four or five hours, then lunch, then back to reading for three or four hours until I retire to the putting green for a little exercise, followed by a catnap, then the real push: eight more hours of reading, then dinner, then some television, then one or two more hours of reading in there, then my usual nine hours of sleep a night, and then wake up and start it all over again. See, you've just got to have a routine that gets you through the day.

Playlist: I unearthed the iPod mini that my children pooled their money to get me a couple Kwanzaas ago, and I figured I'd spend some time assembling a playlist so I could listen to it, once I teach my fingers to manipulate the confounded contraption. Here's what I've got so far:

1. Thick as a Brick - Jethro Tull
2. The Fall of the World's Own Optimist - Aimee Mann
3. Knocks Me Off My Feet - Stevie Wonder
4. I Can't Dance - Genesis
5. Bruised - The Bens
6. Tahquamenon Falls - Sufjan Stevens
7. I'm Still Standing - Elton John
8. Nothing Brings Me Down - Emiliana Torrini
9. Falling Through the Roof - Horsefeathers
10. Niagara Falls - Sufjan Stevens
11. Bigger Than My Body - John Mayer
12. Hurt - Johnny Cash
13. Losing My Way - Justin Timberlake (gotta have my JT)
14. All Falls Down - Kanye West & Syleena Johnson
15. No Place to Fall - The Little Willies
16. Tripping - Robbie Williams
17. Can't Help Falling (In Love) - UB40
18. Werewolves of London - Warren Zevon

Let me know if there's other songs I should include! I'm especially looking for songs that are good.

There is no Soviet domination of Eastern Europe,
Gerry

Awesome Dude's Tale

Once upon a time, Awesome Dude decided to write a post about himself in the third person, and here he goes.

Awesome Dude wonders if you knew that his name was not originally Awesome Dude. In fact, he was born Leslie Lynch King, Jr., after his biological father. It's odd for Awesome Dude to imagine how this name change affected his whole life. Like, would a Leslie have ever been elected president? Would his middle name have had pretty awkward connotations growing up as the nation grew out of its racist past? Come to think of it, could a King ever have become president? President King; it rolls off the tongue about as well as Vice-President Archduke or Congressman Baroness. Awesome Dude recommends that, when you're having children, don't name them after positions in other, archaic governmental structures. Though Awesome Dude guesses that you might not have much control over the last name. Well, whatever. Awesome Dude managed to have his name changed to what it is currently [note: it's not Awesome Dude; this is just an alias to preserve Awesome Dude's anonymity], and he certainly hasn't looked back.

Except every once in a while, Awesome Dude checks himself in the mirror. He wonders whether it was incredible luck and good fortune that got him to where he is today (no, not just standing in front of a mirror - you know what Awesome Dude means) or if there was lots of skill involved. Before he played football for Michigan, he remembers himself being a little less broad in the shoulders, and a little less sure of himself. Before he was chosen to be Vice-President & President, he spent years getting flogged by his senior chums in Congress, and just asking for more, sir, until he became respected as a member of the tribe (of Congress, not the Jews - God forbid, am I right, George Allen?). So there was definitely some structure that prepared him always for the next step, not much of which was intentional or planned, but not much of which was exactly pure luck, either.

Come to think of it, though, since Awesome Dude is the only guy he knows who was not elected to be either VP or, well, P, maybe King is a name that suits him more appropriately than he initially realized. And maybe he's living a fictional life through the eyes of someone who's actually named Leslie Lynch King, Jr. After all, once you're named something, when do you stop going by that name, you know? Awesome Dude knows - he was still a toddler when his name was changed, but these things don't just turn automatically overnight, and now that he looks back on it and reflects, Awesome Dude thinks there's some deeper stuff to get into about all this. Stay with Awesome Dude here: if Awesome Dude is blogging about 'himself,' but he's really not Awesome Dude, but instead Leslie Lynch King, Jr., then isn't most of what he writes just a strange, elaborate fiction? Awesome Dude is writing about things that happened, sure, but he sure sees things through rose-colored glasses, doesn't he? Case in point: He spits on Touchdown Jesus and his alma mater defeats Notre Dame the following week. He romanticizes the situation, and ornaments the truth a bit, just for his own sake.

Maybe it's all because Awesome Dude is a little fearful that his biological father will come out of the woodwork someday (though he'd be mighty old by now) and tell him that he feels like Awesome Dude is misrepresenting events, that his success in life was not due to his name change at all, really. Maybe it was due to the biological father's incredible and powerful genes, for instance. His rough-hewn hands will grasp Awesome Dude's shoulder, and they will share a good cry over the times they lost that they'll never have back. After all, Awesome Dude would really like to have those international-house-coffee moments with his ol' Pop.

And maybe hoping is just the sort of thing that this world could use a little more of right now.

There is no Soviet domination of Eastern Europe,
Gerry

ps. This one 'For Better or For Worse' strip seemed particularly pertinent this weekend. Maybe you'll find it relevant, too.

Operating Without a Net

Well, what do I do now?

I'm reminded of a conversation I had with Rick (Nixon) shortly after he left office. (That's right, I called him Rick. Doesn't Rick Nixon sound much better than the alternatives?) Anyway, we were on the phone...



Me: It's weird to not have you around the White House.



Rick: Tell me about it. Do you understand how much ice cream I've eaten these last few days?

Me: Well, if you get addicted to ice cream, you should call my wife, Not-Betty, in a few years when she sets up her own rehab clinic.

Rick: Solid idea. Anyway, what were you saying?

Me: Oh, right. It's just odd to do this presidency thing on my own without you around as my muse. Like, before, I'd just sit around the Vice-President's residence and kind of practice what you were doing that day - recite your speeches in front of the mirror, sign pieces of paper that looked kind of like your official documents, stuff like that.

Rick: That's a little creepy, to be honest, Gerry.

Me: Well, I didn't do it entirely straight all the time, Rick. Sometimes, we'd make fun, but we figured you would never find out about it and it would be all good.

Rick: You'd make fun of me? For what?

Me: Well, you know how you wave your hands with the peace sign? We'd do that but with just one finger.



Rick: Wait - how did you find out that I do that move?

Me: What do you mean?

Rick: I've never showed you that move. Did Pat tell you about it so you could make fun?

Me: ...Are you kidding, Rick? You were the President - the media takes pictures of you.

Rick: Holy crap - those photographers publish the pictures they take of me?!

Me: Am I having this conversation? Of course. You're - well, you were the leader of the free world. What did you expect?

Rick: I dunno, I just kind of assumed that the whole Watergate thing and all my embarassing mannerisms and taped conversations - I thought they'd let that go. Sweep it under the rug. Keep it on the down-low. I mean, who would be interested in my stupid little presidency?

Me: Everybody, I guess. You've been all over the papers and the television for a while. Surely you must have realized...

Rick: I swear I had no idea! I mean, wait - you're still my friend and everything, Gerry, right? I mean, the resigning and the ordering the break-in? I was KIDDING about all that. That was just to dramatize my life.

Me: But...it all actually happened.

Rick: But I embellished!

Me: The FBI disagrees, I think.

Rick: Well, can you pardon me?

Me: Sigh. I guess I could do that. I mean, I know you weren't trying to be mean. You were just being all oblivious to the ramifications of getting caught.

Rick: Phew. Thanks. I'll be back in the office on Monday.

Me: ...Wait, Rick? You're still not President.

Rick: What? But you pardoned me!

Me: That just means you won't go to jail.

Rick: ...Oh.

For a while after I became President, I didn't know what to do with myself every morning. Then, Not-Betty suggested that I fill my time with eating breakfast and doing presidential stuff. I got through it. So will you.

There is no Soviet domination of Eastern Europe,
Gerry

Correspondence & In Cognito

Front Page: Wow, you guys! Soooooo much to catch you up on. First, primary season’s just about done and the stretch run for November has officially begun, so some young buck in the GOP sent me this internal memo. I know ‘internal’ usually means it’s secret and all, but I figured I’d post it here on the blog both because I’m sorry about not posting yesterday and because it’s not like I’m putting this stuff up where everyone can see it – it’s just my blog, after all. Anyway, without further ado…

Re: Campaign Strategy

The Democrats have unveiled their new message for the midterm elections this fall, and it’s the same old same old.

Cut and run. Cut and run.

We’ve hammered them on this before, of course, but lately, because of our alleged miscues, voters seem more susceptible to this catchy slogan. Personally, I’m befuddled as to why the Dems would make cutting and running such an integral part of their party’s platform. Scissor safety is just as important today as it was in the turbulent sixties, when sharp objects were first invented, especially for our vulnerable and clumsy children. Why would Democrats want to associate themselves with such a dangerous policy, and why would the citizenry support their risky scheme?

Alas, this is the confusing political landscape with which we’re faced, and so we must counter ‘cut and run’ with an equal and opposite reaction. Here are some of my ideas:

• Stay put, stay safe.
• We have a scissor schism with the other side.
• This policy is not a double-edged sword.

Really, there are myriad possibilities, but the point must be made that the Democrats are plain wrong on this issue. I have young kids at home – I don’t let them go to public school with all the crack babies except on standardized testing dates, but if I did, I wouldn’t want some politician contradicting what their underqualified teacher might have taught them: namely, don’t cut and run. In fact, maybe this is the issue that will finally sway the teachers’ unions over to our side – I know they’ve been teetering our way ever since the intelligent design debate.

Maybe the real question is this: why are so many people moving towards this cutting and running policy? Well, it’s permissive of a practice that’s been ingrained in us as forbidden, sort of like the legalization of porn, or prison rape, or dissent. But maybe people just want to live more dangerously. Well, they don’t know how good they have it – a whole population that’s lived free of accidental self-stabbings. But if we turn back the clock on this necessary policy, we let the scissors win.

The Democrats’ stance is particularly insidious because if you give scissors an inch, they’ll chop your thumb off, and our changing-hearts-and-minds strategy won’t work because they don’t have either! Scissors are just ruthless killing machines, easily infiltrating our drawers and organizers because we’ve appeased their kind for so long that their presence has become commonplace. In short, they’ve been lying in wait for years.

What else can we do? My friends, the choice is obvious: we must re-instill a healthy fear of cutting and running in voters in time for the midterm elections. I’m thinking of ads in which a bleary-eyed, disturbingly-angry-looking woman (a little frumpy, but kind of hot, too) faces the camera and recites a script, something like:

My son didn’t know better. He didn’t know not to trust the Democrats. When they said, “Cut and run,” next thing you know, he’s tearing around the house, scissors in hand. His brother’s marbles were all over the floor, of course – you can guess the rest. The Democrats killed my son. [sob] They killed him.

If we play that in close races across the country, folks (particularly security moms) will come back to us. Then, we can focus on more important things, like fighting terrorism in Iraq. Good luck, everyone.

Yours,
Jim Laudly
Campaign Strategist

Hey - this is Gerry again. It really feels good to know that someone out there wants to keep me included. There's times when I feel so alone, but then little messages like this make me know I'm being thought of. I think this is brilliant and sharp stuff from our men behind the scenes.

One thing that doesn't make me feel good is that, for the umpteenth year in a row, the MacArthur Foundation handed out their Genius Grants, and for the umpteenth year in a row, I didn't get one. What does it take, huh? Just because people thought me clumsy during my administration, and just because I've been playing golf instead of doing humanitarian work like Clinton and Carter since I left office doesn't mean I don't deserve having my very own genius to help around the house and keep me company. I'm not sure why they're all named Grant, but I could even get over that. I could use a genius to teach me how to cheat at Sudoku, so it's easier to keep my wits about me (though I guess that's what this blog is supposed to do, too). Still, color me disappointed.

People With Nicknames: Today kicks off a fun new section of my blog. Because the Secret Service and my family worry that I might reveal too much information about them on here (though, honestly, what are the chances of that? I mean, who reads these blog thingies?), I've decided that I'm going to assign other names to make people who appear often in my blog completely anonymous.

"Awesome Dude"
I met this guy a long time ago, and we've basically grown up together. He played football at the University of Michigan, did some other stuff, became Vice-President & then President (of the United States), and now basically spends his days being totally great and cool and everything. He's bald, but that's not a liability. At all.

"Not-Betty"
Not-Betty is not my wife. I am not married to her. Obviously. I mean, otherwise her name would be Betty. Are you paranoid that I'm not telling you the truth? Put down the reefer and get a grip. You should be ashamed of yourself, not trusting an ex-president like me or Awesome Dude. [note: Not-Betty, I think the ruse is working! No one will suspect!!!]

"The LLama"
Notice how I capitalized both L's in 'llama.' That's not a typo. It's a clue. Fortunately, it's a clue that's probably waaaaay too subtle for everyone who reads this, which is probably no one, which is why I can say anything I want. Anyway, The LLama is kind of annoyingly good with numbers. She's pretty much interested in everything I'm not. I like poetry and velvet Elvis paintings and rain tapping on my windows at night; The Llama likes data and the property value of Graceland and barometers.

"Gunner?"
There's this other kind of short guy I see around every once in a while, but who I saw a lot more last year. He got married over the summer and now he's going to law school. He's changed, man. Maybe if he were around more, I wouldn't feel the need to have my own genius from the good people at MacArthur so much. I can't quite imagine him in law class, 'cause he doesn't seem like the vicious type, but I can kind of see his classmates being envious of his gift for gabbing.

Okay, enough for now. Hogan Knows Best is on. (When will the Hulkster and his wife learn to give Brooke some space?!)

There is no Soviet domination of Eastern Europe,
Gerry

For Purposes of Clarity

Front Page: One of my favorite things about not being president is that I get to watch other presidents squirm during press conferences. I mean, there have been some great awkward moments in the pressroom, and that other room where Clinton said he didn’t have sex with that woman. Bush chose the Rose Garden for his last stare down with the media, and you can see why from the picture. Look at the beautiful roses behind him!



Or whatever; maybe all red flowers are called roses in Texas. Anyway, the president had quite the time of it when it came time for him to speak, which I guess is the point of him holding a press conference. Here’s a quote, about interpreting the Geneva Conventions: “What does that mean, ‘outrages upon human dignity’? That’s a statement that is wide open to interpretation. And what I am proposing is that there be clarity in the law so that our professionals will have no doubt that that which they are doing is legal.”

Well, the president’s confusion is completely understandable. I’ve often wrestled with what’s an outrage upon human dignity, and what’s merely an indignation towards human dignity, or what’s an outrage just on human self-esteem, or even what’s an outrage upon platypus dignity, because there’s a lot of subtle policy variations that can really piss off the wrong constituency. Many shades of grey, that’s all I’m saying. So what I did was, during my administration, I kept a list of things that were and were not outrages upon human dignity. That way, I could keep all those tedious torture methods clear in my head.

I’m not sure if the president is reading my blog yet, but I figured I’d share that list with you now, here, below:

Blackmail — not an outrage
Abacination — look it up. That’s an outrage.
Being Kept in Confined Spaces — not an outrage
Shunning — not an outrage
Forced Labor — not an outrage
Goat Tongue — have you heard of this? First, you soak your victim’s feet in salt water. Then, you let a goat lick the soles, which tickles immensely (I’m told), but since the goat’s tongue is real rough, it will gradually strip all the flesh from the feet, right down to the bone. This is gross, but awesome, and therefore not an outrage.
Flaying — outrage
Waterboarding — outrage
Whipping — outrage
Being Urinated On — this used to be an outrage, until I saw that episode of Friends where two of the guys pee on one of the girls to neutralize a jellyfish sting, so now I’m okay with it.
Constant Shouting/Yelling — is constant whispering or murmuring an outrage? No. Neither’s this.
Judas Chair — outrage (those Spanish Inquisition folks meant business)
The Rack — outrage
Chastity Belt — honestly, who’s enthusiastic about having sex when they’re military prisoners, being prodded for information?
Forced Ingestion/Injection of Psychotropic Drugs — not an outrage
Electric Chair/Gas Chamber — outrage, except when used on American prisoners, am I right?
Burial Alive — It’s like a really, really long MRI. Plus, I saw Kill Bill: Vol. 2, so I know that if you train with martial artists, it’s possible to get out, so that’s not an outrage.

I hope I’ve helped someone today.

There is no Soviet domination of Eastern Europe,
Gerry

Fail, All the Sphincters Salient!, or However It Goes

Sports/Gerry's Corner: YESSSSSS!!!!!! Yeah! Woohoo!

Ask me why I'm so excited!!!!! Yesyesyesyesyesyesyesyes!!! You bet!!!!

Go ahead! Ask me!

Is it because of the upcoming dedication of the building named after someone else for the school that's named after me?!?!

No, sadly. I'll phone that in.

Back to my excitement! I'm so revved up! Really jived!

Last weekend, I went to Notre Dame, and I hocked a loogey on Touchdown Jesus. That's right, I did it. I'm not ashamed.



I spit on Jesus. No, not on real Jesus. Touchdown Jesus. (You all should know that I would never spit on an actual person or actual Jesus, were I to run into him.) Irrationally, Touchdown Jesus is painted on the Notre Dame library, and his arms are raised, as though signalling a touchdown. And I spit on him.

Now, Touchdown Jesus is high up on the wall of this library; fortunately, I have a blow dart gun thing for loogies. It worked spectacularly.

And by worked, it means that I made Notre Dame lose this week. Yeah, my spit-curses worked pretty immediately back in the '70s, I'd say right through 1993 or '94, but now it takes longer for the spit-curse to take effect. So, sorry Penn State - my loogey only helped the MICHIGAN FREAKING WOLVERINES!!!! Woot woot!

Yeah, it's days like this when I'm glad to have graduated from a school that wins and when I'm glad I don't live anywhere near the undergrad ghetto. Man, it must have been c-r-a-z-y down there this afternoon. Honking, drinking, screaming, rioting... Victory tends to bring out, if not the worst in people, at least the loudest. Sort of like when Jimmy Carter beat me in 1980, and his campaign burned down all these homes in celebration (hence the origins of Habitat for Humanity).

Good times, these.

There is no Soviet domination of Eastern Europe,
Gerry

I Heart Fridays

Reviews: Sometimes in my youth, I would give into my cravings for ice cream or fried chicken or pelting the handicapped with calamari or drinking alcohol (kidding about that last one!), but honestly? I never felt very good about it afterwards - I mean, trust me, all of those things are fun in moderation, but overdo it and the next morning is pretty rough. Now, since my surgery, I've had to tone down my fun. Instead, I double-dipped at the movies last night: one in a theater and one at home (thank you, Netflix!!!!).

The first was 'Little Miss Sunshine,' which I didn't think was very fun - the parents (Greg Kinnear, who I haven't liked since he stole screen time from Matt Damon in 'Stuck on You', when they played conjoined twins + Toni Collette, who's British and has no business portraying anyone American; that'd be like Margaret Thatcher being our secretary of state) had zero chemistry. The plot of the movie is that everyone's driving with the daughter in the family to a beauty pageant. Problem is, this girl had no chance to win this pageant. I know what they were trying to say: beauty's what's on the inside, blah blah, but I felt like they overdid it. I mean, beauty in pageants is on the outside. And your talent. Plus, they apparently couldn't come up with lines for the brother, because he didn't speak for most of the movie. First line he says? He screams the f-word. Nice family movie. I hated it.

Back home, I watched 'Naked States,' which wasn't much better. It's basically a concert film for this photographer, Spencer Tunick. He likes to gather lots of people together in downtowns, and then have them take off their clothes and pose all together. But he doesn't even want them to look at the camera. He wants them to all lie down and face away from him while he screams at them if even one of them raises a leg or something. It was all a little uncomfortable to watch. I don't ever take off my own clothes anymore, and I sure don't want to see anyone else naked, not to mention that I don't like to see ugly people with their clothes on, much less in the nude. I mean, this guy Tunick doesn't seem to have much eye for what's beautiful. Maybe he should go to a beauty pageant and find out what pretty people really look like. Like this (the one in the back with the crown thingy):



Myself, I'll have to write a stern letter to the FCC. More tomorrow, gentle readers!

There is no Soviet domination of Eastern Europe,
Gerry

Freaking Tom Bergeron

Gerry's World: When you get old and you have an angioplasty, you want some company. The kids are all moved out (thank god) and Betty's at the clinic all day, so to make me a little less lonely, we rented out the upstairs of our house to some strange lady, and let's be honest. She hasn't done much to endear herself to me. First, when she moved in, I met her GIGANTIC BIRD, a blue-and-gold macau named Garfield. According to Wikipedia, "Even the most well cared for Blue-and-Gold Macaw will "scream" and make other loud noises, nonetheless, it is possible to make them silent." Well, my new neighbor kept Garfield on the same floor that I live on, where I found out that Wikipedia is perfectly correct. I hired Chevy Chase to tell her to move the bird elsewhere; he did his pretty inaccurate imitation of me and had the lady in stitches. I'd like to put Chevy Chase in stitches, but I'm saving my energy. For what, you might ask? The dedication of my school's new building that's not named after me? Perhaps...if I get a clear shot at that Weill jerk. But really, my main reserves of energy will be dedicated to the letter-writing campaign I am starting here and now to get someone to kick Tom Bergeron's ass. For really, his ass must be kicked. He's right up there with Nancy Grace in my book.

Tom Bergeron, for the uninformed, is the host of So You Think They Can Dance or Dancing With the Stars or Two Hours of Wasted Time Each Week or whatever the hell that show's called. Look at who their celebrities are: Joe(y) Lawrence with Howie-Mandel-hair, the Crossfire guy that Jon Stewart called a dick, and Slater from Saved by the Bell. If they were smart about it, they'd have only the former stars of Saved by the Bell on that show - can you imagine everyone trying to outdance each other with regular ballroom dancing moves, and then Jesse Spano coming out and doing some of the pole dancing she learned in Showgirls? Maybe Mr. Belding could host instead of that awful, awful man, Tom Bergeron.

Let's take a look at Tom Bergeron's esteemed television résumé, shall we?

He started on Granite State Challenge, a local game show on New Hampshire public television.
Then, Hollywood Squares.
Worse: America's Funniest Home Videos.

None of these are good shows. None of these are even okay shows. Perhaps he can simultaneously co-host Extra! and appear on The Surreal Life to make me absolutely want to donkey-punch myself when I look directly into his eyes. And what would make me want to do that? Because his eyes are dead, stuffed with insincerity. I caught him excessively-cherrily introducing the ABC fall line-up this evening. He did one segment from Wisteria Lane, getting all in the personal space of Eva Longoria and the big guy who plays her husband. It's hard to imagine that anyone would have less chemistry with Gabby than her husband, but Tom Bergeron succeeded! Oh god, he makes me wish I'd started a nuclear war and kept him from ever rising to such prominence.



Honestly, how does he even live with himself?

I'm too bothered to even write anything else tonight. Forgive me. More tomorrow. Oh wait - I started this out talking about my upstairs neighbor. I told you about her because she's moved from annoying me with a bird to apparently either dropping heavy things or moving safes and heavy furniture around all night when she gets back from work. I will say that the bird makes not a peep during all this. Maybe this is what she does to soothe it.

There is no Soviet domination of Eastern Europe,
Gerry

I'm So Lonely

Gerry's Corner: As you may all know, once you're elected president, you're never really alone for the rest of your life. You've always got family and friends and Secret Service detail and well-wishers - I even had a pair of would-be assassins during my term in office! Also-ran presidential candidates are less fortunate: Dukakis can walk down pretty much any street outside Boston unmolested.

All the same, though, it can feel pretty lonely to be me. By way of example, there's a public policy school named after me at my alma mater. (I don't know how to say this, exactly, but I'm kind of a big deal. People know me.) I'd wanted the football stadium, but they wouldn't do that, even for me (what do I have to do, be president of the moon or something???). So there's a Gerald R. Ford School of Public Policy in Ann Arbor, and they just moved into a big new building - it's getting dedicated next month, and I'm supposed to show up, make an appearance, wave to my adoring fans, etc. Well, I just got sent the script that the student tour guides will be using to take people around the new building, and I'm kind of disappointed.

The building's not named after me.
No classrooms are named after me.
There's not even a bathroom named after me.

Oh, my wife got her name on a classroom - the one that "seats nearly 100 in auditorium style seating" and features "state of the art AV capabilities, including video conferencing." But me? I'm just an old man that no one bothered to name anything after. I feel used - I feel like they named the school after me so they could impress enough potential donors to give money and then forget about me.

Plus, all the other former presidents declined to come to the building dedication, ostracizing me even more. I feel like an unelected man in a sea of elected peers. Literally - I'm drowning in an ocean of misery and self-pity. I remember back when I went to the opening of Clinton's library, and we were all sitting there in a row - me and Carter and the elder Bush and whoever else was still alive (Nixon? Humphrey?), and we were talking about our own libraries. I mentioned that mine was at the University of Michigan, and Carter especially gave me this look that spoke absolute volumes. I heard Bush lean over to Jimmy and whisper, "I hear they didn't even put it on the main campus," and Jimmy whispered back, "Not like we'll ever have to go there." Well, I happen to like my little library on the north campus; it's cozy and homey and there's no awkward section that has to explain some bizarre scandal like Iran-Contra or Monica Lewinsky, because I didn't have any of those times in my presidency. I was all about consistency, but does anyone appreciate, or even recognize, that? Noooooo. So, I feel a little alone today, down on myself and on my place. Hopefully, if I just keep plugging, things will get better.

At least I have For Better or For Worse to cheer me up. No matter how bad I feel, I know my life can't be as tough as Elizabeth Patterson's: she's now living at home, maintaining a long-distance relationship with her boyfriend, the constable, and you just know that's not going to work out. Meanwhile, she has to testify against this guy who tried to assault her last year, all while being 'supported' by Anthony, her old high-school flame, who is so totally not a hottie. Why doesn't anyone in the comic strip realize this?? Am I the only one who knows that Anthony is pathetic? Check out what I mean:



Things will get better. I'm crossing my fingers for a good day.

There is no Soviet domination of Eastern Europe,
Gerry

What Would Gerry Do?

Front Page: Today, I sat down and watched Katie Couric anchor the CBS Nightly News. She doesn't have a wonderful, bushy moustache like my good friend Walter Cronkite, but she did just fine. It was like watching my daughter read the news, even though she's a photographer.

All the networks, in fact, devoted their entire shows, basically, to the fifth anniversary of September 11, 2001. Even though all the cable news programs are always carrying on about the war on terror, it really did feel like too much, flipping back and forth between stations and finding nothing but grief and memorials. I was president during some of our nation's previous darkest days (back when a president's resignation was about as dark as we could imagine), and I really don't feel like dwelling on them too much. I'm going to cringe a little when I watch President Bush speak about the lessons we've learned from 9/11/01 in a while; I wonder what lessons he's learned, exactly. I was also in the same position that he could potentially be in, as the president who pulled the last troops out of Vietnam. I don't think we can withdraw from Iraq right now - too messy - but dang if we didn't really have to be there in the first place. And can we please - pretty please - stop calling it the war on terror? Only call things wars when you can win them decisively. When you're battling things like terror or drugs or skunky beer, you can't win decisively unless you brainwash everyone who thinks terror and drugs and skunky beer are, if not good, then at least okay. Brainwashing isn't part of democracy, last time I checked. (And I check regularly, just to make sure of things.) It would also be nice if we would make an effort to help people without having to bomb them all first. People don't really like being freed, I've found, if it means having their homes and places of work destroyed by military might and the ensuing anarchy in the streets. I would also like a pony. Seriously, Betty and I spent the day quietly remembering and praying. I'm just venting. Sigh. Maybe this heart stuff and my old age are making me too soft.

Gerry's World: Maybe because I'm worried about becoming too soft, but I got on the erg today and rowed a 5k (or about 3.1 miles, if you're not European). I haven't done that...ever? Not sure what came over me. Perhaps it was the Coke Zero that I love so much. Or maybe it was the delightful sounds of the new Justin Timberlake album, FutureSex/LoveSounds. I know, I know: it doesn't come out until tomorrow. Well, friends, one of the perks of being an ex-president is that I get any album I want one day before it's released to the rest of you. Nyah, nyah. I'm especially enamored of track 8, "Damn Girl."

Today, I was talking with a few of my friends and close advisors, and we got into this whole discussion of what good public policy is, and whether politicians have an obligation to be honest, and then what 'honesty' even means. From there, we talked about whether public policy is about maximizing the number of winners and minimizing the number of losers, and then what 'winning' means, exactly. All this talk about semantics makes my head hurt. If you want to know what this stuff means, go look it up in a dictionary and accept the definition. You can question lots of things, but never the dictionary. As a former president, of course, I know all too well both the power of words and the sad power of meaningless rhetoric. To the latter, I say, "Blah blah blah." Maybe I'll watch 'Next' instead of Bush tonight - at least the words that come out of those mouths is supposed to be blather.

There is no Soviet domination of Eastern Europe,
Gerry

Go Irish! Be Violent!

Gerry's Corner: I willed myself out of bed yesterday, a Saturday, at 7 in the morning. Yuck! Our dear family friend, Cat (a pseudonym), had invited us with her to the Notre Dame campus. Now, the idea was that we'd follow her around as she reconnected with friends from her undergrad years while we stole beer from their coolers, and then we'd find a television somewhere to watch the game against Penn State. I was surprised that she'd want to travel all that way and not even end up in the stadium, but I didn't have anything else to do besides boring ex-presidential reading, so we all hopped in the motorcade (I still get a small one) and headed on across to South Bend, Indiana. Cat had told us that the trip would take about two hours, but it was really about three hours. We also got a little turned around once we finally got off the highway, due perhaps to the fact that Cat doesn't keep any maps in her car. My cartographer badge from Eagle Scouts instilled in me a love of direction at an early age, and I have to admit to a little - what's the word? Hang on, let me look it up...incredulity at the absence of such a useful tool in her glove compartment or something. And I might I add here, all those people who exclusively use their Mapquest or their fancy GPS doo-hickey? I feel bad for you, blindly depending on someone else's directions instead of charting your own journey.

Anyway, when we arrived, we went on an even longer trek to find all of Cat's friends. It reminded me of one of my favorite comic strips, The Family Circus:



Let's just say that Cat's not all about the most direct route, and what with my advanced age, I was exhausted by the time we arrived, after brief stops at eight or nine tailgates, at the in-dorm domicile of Cat's favorite priest, Father Billy (again, a pseudonym). Well, he quickly became my favorite priest, too, because he had two extra tickets to the Notre Dame-Penn State game! I hadn't been inside Notre Dame's stadium in years, if ever, and so I jumped at the chance to go alongside Nate, my Secret Service detail (and an avid Nittany Lion fan).

The setting was amazing, sort of like a Roman coliseum - waves of fans swooped in clean lines from the top rim of the structure right down to the field. Nate and I sat even with the back of one end zone, ten rows behind where the Notre Dame band sat in the corner, playing the same three or four songs over and over. I liked their rendition of 'Crazy Train,' but honestly, don't they get tired of playing the same snippets of the same songs over and over again? And don't even get me started on their uniforms: polyester, totally sweaty and ill-fitting - ugh!

The student section was very impressive, too - they were able to do lots of things in unison, like waving their arms (from the elbow) in circles and 'whooping' all together. After each Notre Dame score, dozens of students would get lifted horizontally and bench-pressed by the other students around them. If nothing else, the students are aware of the aesthetic power of the visual image (my daughter, Susan, a photographer, told me to write that - thanks, Susan!). They also did this chant where they'd say, "Gooooooooooooooo Irish! Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeee violent!" I found out later that the second part of that chant is actually "Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeat Lions!" But I like it better the way I heard it - fans encouraging their football heroes to not only win, but be violent in the process, is ballsy and ruthless.

One issue was the problem of sitting or standing: I wanted to see the game no matter what, but there were old people behind us who wanted to see it while sitting, and any time someone got up in front of us, we had to stand up, too, and they'd yell at us. "But I'm the former president!" I pleaded, trying to guilt them into letting me stand up without shouting at me.

"Sit your ass down, you clown!" one retorted. Boy, have I heard that a lot in my life, especially during those summers in high school when I worked as a circus clown. I ended up trying to only stand when it was necessary to see something crucial, and then hunching over as much as possible. After decades of service, I find it my duty to be selfless.

If the setting was amazing, the game itself was not. Penn State made lots of mistakes and they fell behind 41-3 before scrounging up two late touchdowns to make the game seem closer than it was. Nate was disappointed but I think we were both just happy to be there. Thanks, Cat!

Reviews: The first movie I saw since un-suspending my Netflix account was Saint Ralph. It was excellent; a little film that I don't think did much business, but I'm a sucker for inspiring sports movies (what American public figure would say otherwise? Though I guess since this is my blog, I can write things without being concerned about who's reading it). Ralph is a young rapscallion who keeps getting in trouble at his Catholic school while his mother is in the hospital, dying of cancer. Ralph learns that only a miracle will save her, so he decides to try and win the Boston Marathon (this is back in the 1940s, when all the good marathoners will in World War II, so the competition was a little thinner, full of children and deserters). The scenes during the race, when everyone has become galvanized by his heart and pluck instead of annoyed by him, made me want to cry. You know those times when you really want to cry but you're not really close to tears? That's how I felt - I actually flexed my face muscles a few times trying to squeeze out some 'eye juice', but to no avail. Anyway, the movie was really good, even if it's about a Canadian kid - I guess our neighbors to the north can still move me.

Front Page: Finally, let me conclude with a shout-out to Storm Large, who was cruelly and unjustly voted off of Rockstar: Supernova this week. Storm is the daughter of a good friend of mine, a history teacher at a boarding school in Massachusetts - - and as far as I'm concerned, she was the most talented musician in any of these music-related reality shows. American Idol, of course, has nothing, and those dancing shows are all crap. And I really thought that, after Dave Navarro opted to jam with her on her cover of 'Suffragette City,' she'd be a lock to stay through the finale. Fortunately, Storm handled her ouster like a champ - rock on, Stormy Storm!

All right - I have to get back to reading the stuff that ex-presidents end up feeling a certain obligation to read; I woke up a little late today after yesterday's long hours, so I've got a lot to catch up on.

There is no Soviet domination of Eastern Europe,
Gerry

My First Post

Greetings, friends. Betty and the kids have been telling me for a while that I should keep an online diary, and since I'm 93 or so, I guess there's no time like the present! I mean, might as well keep track of my thoughts before I start losing my marbles, right? And now that I'm stuck at home, recovering from angioplasty and having a pacemaker inserted, I've got some time to kill. Up 'til now, I've been killing it in pretty meaningless ways, honestly, including:

• Spending hours in front of the mirror with the brush, trying to keep my hair from doing the batty-old-man thing, where it wisps up and makes me look less distinguished.
• Polishing my Father of the Year Award from 1974.
• Search for good hiding places for alcohol around the house, if I were addicted to alcohol and trying to hide it; dutifully report each location found to Betty when she comes home from the clinic each night, just in case I fall off the wagon that I was never on.
• Watch episodes of 'Made' on MTV.

So I figure this is a good place to publish my thoughts, my movie reviews, and my very bestest secrets. To save you all from reading all of my ramblings, I've decided to divide up my posts into the following headings:

a) Gerry's Corner (Gerry is short for Gerald, which is me): This is just about what's happening in my life, what I'm going through, all that, just in case any of y'all care about that out there.
b) Front Page: Here's where I talk about stuff that's going on in the world and what I think about it.
c) Reviews: When I get through a book or get out to a movie (or see one on Netflix!!!), I'll be sure to tell you whether I liked it or not, since I know most of you select what to read or see based on what presidents read and watch, which is probably why everyone I know is reading "The Stranger" right now.
d) Sports: I like sports and so should you and here's where I'll talk about them.

My goodness! I haven't been so excited to start something since my presidency, so look forward to more!

There is no Soviet domination of Eastern Europe,
Gerry