Hillary Clinton: Booyah!

barbara — Tue, 26 Aug 2008 23:09:42 -0500

barbara writes

Hillary Clinton’s Tuesday night speech at the Democratic convention will be sliced and diced, micro’d and macro’d, critiqued in extremis. It is the way of things. So I thought I’d write a few lines before we’re all influenced by the punditocracy.

I was nervous about her speech. Found myself holding my breath for a while, wondering what she might say. Turns out she was terrific, start to finish.

David Brooks, of all people, scooped my scoop. I was blown away by the question Hillary put to her supporters. In essence, what she asked was whether they were supporting her or Democratic principles. A poignant and pointed query, since some have not yet begun to heal from Barack Obama’s emergence as the presumptive Democratic candidate. Read on.

Monday morning random sampling

barbara — Mon, 25 Aug 2008 08:47:33 -0500

barbara writes

Everybody mourning the end of the Olympics? Courage. Cue the Democratic convention!

Yes, it is begun, or will be later today. Democrats in vast numbers, along with planeloads of Republican moles and pseudo-journalists, have ascended into Denver. Not exactly the Rapture. They’ve still got clothes. But some very cool stuff is going to happen there.

Just read that Ted Kennedy is in Denver and is expected to speak to the convention tonight. It will be a good thing for Democrats to have this visual of political spine. It’s a big health risk for TK. David and I have learned firsthand that when chemo whacks the immune system (which it always does), a cancer warrior is at significant risk of picking up…well, pretty much anything. Even grandchildren are potentially “dangerous.”

Back to the convention. These are the days when Obama and Clinton supporters will finally face each other down and either move to détente or perpetual estrangement. Read more.

Pawlenty redux: He's baaaaack!

barbara — Thu, 21 Aug 2008 08:27:00 -0500

barbara writes

(Watching the VP Follies reminded me of the first piece I wrote for the Clotheslineblog. May 1, 2006. Simpler times, kinda sorta. Anyway, this post redux is a reminder that the McBush/Pawlenty dance is not a new thing. It has been going on for a very long time. Pawlenty spends most of his time out of the state now. And his schedule has not been available to the press -- and therefore to the people who elected him -- for a very long time as well.

The man who promised he would complete his gubernatorial term is full of feces. And his departure will leave us Carol Molnau -- the woman who used to be both lieutenant governor AND chieftain of state transportation, under whose watchful eye the I35 bridge tanked in the Mississippi. We got trouble right here in river city, folks.)

May 1, 2006

Oh, frabjous day! The first week of May. Time to commemorate spring, revolution and the pairing up of political odd fellows. Yes, once again, Karl Rove reigns supreme in the match-making biz. And this year, that crafty Beltway Yentl has his eye on our very own Minnesota governor, Tim Pawlenty.

Tim is slick, sleek and young as politicians go. He is the conservative's conservative. He's an earnest-sounding, articulate D.C. outsider -- unless you count co-chairing Bush's Minnesota Campaign and having Rove raise funds for him insiderish. Read on.

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Johnny, we hardly knew ye

barbara — Sun, 10 Aug 2008 09:16:23 -0500

barbara writes

Dear John Edwards:

Well, you finally made big headlines. Remember when you were running for President of the United States how the media paid scant attention to you? Those were the days, eh?

You know, John, many of us were true believers in you. We figured you were the Democrats’ best hope. We defended you when the Pugs cursed and reviled you. We railed against anyone who tried to bring you down. We even sent you money. Well, I did, anyway. And we believed you when you were flat-out lying to us about your complete devotion to family, to Elizabeth.

Turns out you must have the same moral fiber as Newt Gingrich, Bill Clinton, Elliot Spitzer, Gary Hart, Wilbur Mills and possibly John McCain. So you have lots of political company in the Shameless Philanderer Hall of Fame. Read on.

Bridging the year since August 01, 2007

barbara — Thu, 31 Jul 2008 21:07:00 -0500

barbara writes

One year ago, a major interstate bridge in my home town collapsed into the Mississippi River.

The catastrophe mangled cars. It killed and grievously injured the human beings in them. As Senator Amy Klobuchar noted, bridges just aren't supposed to do that. This horror story brought national attention to the appalling state of our national roadway infrastructure. It’s a fair mess, and that’s a fact.

I won’t dwell on all of that today. What I will do is share with you the story of Garrett Ebling, whose great misfortune it was to be on the bridge (and subsequently in the river) when it went down.

I’ve gotten to know Garrett and his story because he works with David’s daughter. Like Garrett, she was on her way home from a company function on August 01, 2008. The only reason she didn’t end up in the wreckage with Garrett and the others was her last-minute decision to pull off the highway to gas up her car.

Garrett Ebling is a smart, funny, articulate man who has an indomitable spirit. Well, that and the love of a good woman -- his fiancee, Sonja. And about a bezillion friends.

Garrett has dwelt in and out of hell for one full year. He is still healing, by every definition. His is not the only bridge story, but it’s the one I know best.

In June, Garrett was invited to speak at the Minnesota Associated Press Association Awards banquet. When I read his speech notes, I asked him if I could share them with you here. Sure you can, he said.

Garrett Ebling is a compelling story-teller. His recounting of the bridge collapse and aftermath is powerful. I invite you to read what he told the AP gathering. All of it. Amazing.

I tore off my goggles and rubbed my eyes, trying to squeeze the salt water from the corner of my lids. I was exhausted, and I couldn’t climb out of the tank as I was covered in spandex, my feet clad in clumsy flippers and my back strapped with an air tank. I had been in that pool for days, scrubbing the walls and floor until my fingers ached so much I could have sworn they were about to fall off.

It was then that I had decided that enough was enough. I never volunteered to clean the animal tanks on this ship. How I became enslaved I did not remember, but this would be the last time I would ever do chores for a dolphin. I was going to have to make a run for it. I pulled myself up the ladder to the pool’s edge and desperately tried to dash across the deck and off the ship, which had made port. But I kept tripping on my flippers and the weight of the scuba tank prevented any quick escape. The guards tackled me and dragged me back to the tank and forced the large handled brush back into my limp grip. I wondered as I scrubbed: Would I ever be free again? When will normal return?

This nightmare replayed itself the 19 days I was kept in a medical coma following my rescue from the muddy Mississippi. Please read the rest of Garrett’s story.

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