Memo to the Party of Lincoln.

On this day, one hundred sixty-one years ago, Abraham Lincoln wrote a letter to his friend, Joshua Speed.  Though he and Mr. Speed disagreed on politics, they remained friends throughout their lives.  In an eerily relevant passage of the letter, Lincoln comments on the nativist party of the 1850s, the "Know-Nothings".  Pardon this future president's spelling—his sentiment is worth consideration.

I am not a Know-Nothing. That is certain. How could I be? How can any one who abhors the oppression of negroes, be in favor or degrading classes of white people? Our progress in degeneracy appears to me to be pretty rapid. As a nation, we began by declaring that "all men are created equal." We now practically read it "all men are created equal, except negroes" When the Know-Nothings get control, it will read "all men are created equal, except negroes, and foreigners, and Catholics." When it comes to this I should prefer emigrating to some country where they make no pretence of loving liberty -- to Russia, for instance, where despotism can be taken pure, and without the base alloy of hypocracy.

A peek into our relationship.

Will just made me guess the 10 most populous counties in the US.  I pretty much got them all except for Maricopa County in Arizona, which I don't feel too ashamed about missing.  As Lucille Bluth says, I'd rather be dead in California than alive in Arizona.  (Will would like me to disclose that he gave me the names of the two New York counties on the list.)  (Kings and Queens Counties.)  (Who knew that the five boroughs were separate counties?  Not me.)

Skunk's alive.

On this, one day after their 37^th anniversary, I would like to dedicate this post to my parents, the unbeatable Jim and Jane. 

A recent (mis)adventure of theirs continues to warm my heart and I want to share it with the world.

A pesky groundhog has been living under our poolhouse for quite a while now, so my parents decided it was time to evict him.  Rather than have an exterminator do the job, they purchased and set up a trap from Home Depot and planned to release the groundhog into the Great Swamp once he was caught.  The following morning, however, they awoke to troublesome news: the groundhog was still cozy under the poolhouse and they had caught a skunk instead.

None of the exterminators in the area provide service on Sundays, so Jim and Jane had to improvise (or else have a baked skunk on their hands).  After consulting the internet and some more nature-minded friends, they decided to cover the cage to shield Skunky from the hot sun and to keep him from spraying.

Apparently, skunks will not spray if they can’t see you, and they are soothed by the slow, floating approach of a large, blue Snuggie.  Armed with this information (and of course, a blue Snuggie), James bravely risked his usual scent of Old Spice and baby powder for the task of covering the cage.  And Jane, with her ever-steady hand, videotaped the whole thing for posterity.

(How calmly he walks away at the end!  I would have bolted.)

The skunk got picked up on Monday.  After all that, my parents decided to let the groundhog remain in his residence under the pool house.  When asked for comment on this story, Jane said, “I don’t think we’ll try again for the groundhog.  We feel like amateurs.  Should pay the pros.”

I, for one, am glad they didn’t.  Not only did this episode provide my sisters and me with great entertainment (“Oscar-worthy footage”, said one), it is yet another example of how my parents continue to confront life’s challenges as a united team, armed with tenacity and good humor.  Happy anniversary—here’s to many more years of catching skunks and taking names.

Mr. Speaker.

Good evening, Mr. Paul….Mr. Ryan…Mr. Paul Ryan.  I admit, I always have to think twice when I’m reading an article about you—is this author referring to the Speaker by his first name? his last name? which one is which?  I suppose with the last name Ryan, you were doomed to be someone with two first names.  Sadly, this is not your only burden.

When you reluctantly took over as Speaker of the House, literally zero people envied you.  The House is a shit show.  You knew this.  I knew this.  But I was glad that you were the one for the job.  You are a decent man and you bring an important perspective to the budget debate.  I thought you could keep down the more deplorable aspects of the Republican party.  Maybe you could kick the crazy.

And yet, here we are.  You, as standard-bearer for your party, feel obligated to endorse its candidate, despite the strong possibility that he is the orange Antichrist. 

Shame on you.

I wonder how it feels to look up at Ted Cruz, basking on his moral high ground.  Another unenviable position for you.  Aren’t you supposed to be the good guy?  It must be infuriating to know that slimeball will always be able to hold these moments over your head.  I can already hear him running for the 2020 primary—“Remember when Paul Ryan was willing to sacrifice his integrity on the altar of party?  Remember my ‘vote your conscience’ speech?  It’s up there with Lincoln’s second inaugural.  We are the party of Lincoln, after all.  Praise Reagan.”

Don’t you think it’s time to stand up for yourself, if not for your country?  Donald Trump does not deserve your loyalty.  He is not your man.  He is not going to advance your agenda.  When has he ever done someone else’s bidding?  (Besides Vladimir Putin’s, of course—who can blame him for having a man-crush on that soulless KGB bod?)

It’s (past) time to grow a pair and withdraw your endorsement.  I think you’ll sleep better.  Don’t wait to see how low he will go.   

We miss your smile.