And the Chief said Beat It

Tired of the marathon Michael Jackson coverage? Someone else -- a famous jurist, in fact -- is no doubt sick of it, too, so says the New York Times.

Once upon a time, nearly 25 years ago, an associate White House counsel to President Reagan was asked to review a draft letter from Reagan to Michael Jackson.

The background: In 1984, Michael Jackson visited the White House and appeared with President Reagan at a "don't drink and drive" event. A few months later, someone (presumably from the "king of pop's" staff) asked that the President write a letter extolling Mr. Jackson's virtues and his voluntarism.

The President's letter was to run in Billboard magazine, in a special issue devoted exclusively to Jackson and, well, his virtues and voluntarism.

The draft letter prepared for Reagan's signature was, by nearly anyone's standards, pathetically effusive and filled with desperate attempts to appear hip. "Dear Michael," it would have read,

Your visit to the White House was a real “thriller” for
all of us here in the Nation’s Capital. In fact, the White House staff are still humming “Beat It” and “Billy Jean” and wondering how they’ll get tickets to one of your concerts this summer.

Your award last month was a tribute to your accomplishments in the entertainment business, but it was especially intended to recognize your generous support for our national initiative against drunk driving. This support for a cause that deeply affects so many young people is in line with your demonstrated concern for the public interest. I want to commend you on the very effective help you are giving us in persuading young people that drinking and driving do not mix.

Nancy and I send you our very best wishes for every future success and happiness.

The young White House lawyer quickly torpedoed it.

I recognize that I am something of a vox clamans in terris in this area, but enough is enough. The Office of Presidential Correspondence is not yet an adjunct of Michael Jackson’s PR firm. “Billboard” can quite adequately cover the event by reproducing the award citation and/or reporting the President’s remarks. (As you know, there is very little to report about Mr. Jackson’s remarks.) There is absolutely no need for an additional presidential message. A memorandum for Presidential Correspondence objecting to the letter is attached for your review and signature.

This scathing pronouncement surely put the matter to rest until a few months later, when Jackson went on his "Victory Tour" and his manager asked President Reagan to attend Jackson's DC concert.

So how would the White House delicately decline Jackson's magnanimous invitation? A letter to Mr. Jackson was clearly required.

The draft said, in essence, "No, the President could not attend the concert. But, say, could Michael and his brothers stop by the White House for an informal tour and reception?"

This draft, too, the young White House lawyer was asked to review. But this one apparently sent him over the edge. No more pontificating, he had had quite enough, writing:

I hate to sound like one of Mr. Jackson’s records, constantly repeating the same refrain, but I recommend that we not approve this letter. Sometimes people need to be reminded of the obvious: whatever its status as a cultural phenomenon, the Jackson concert tour is a massive commercial undertaking. The tour will do quite well financially by coming to Washington, and there is no need for the President to applaud such enlightened self-interest. Frankly, I find the obsequious attitude of some members of the White House staff toward Mr. Jackson’s attendants, and the fawning posture they would have the President of the United States adopt, more than a little embarrassing.

* * *

In other words, beat it.

And where is that sharp-tongued young lawyer, John G. Roberts, Jr., today? He's Chief Justice of the United States Supreme Court.

Which is my long-winded way of asking . . . is Sotomayor a Jackson fan?

Keeping You Current and Wonky

Don't be caught flat-footed at your next summer gathering. This video from JibJab is not to be missed.



The reactions to it are varied. Some say it's an anti-Obama piece. I say it's pro, because it so well illustrates the insurmountable problems he's facing. What do you think?

On a wonkier, remotely related note, Obama had a few nimble moves for us today at his press conference.

A reporter reminded the president of his oft-repeated promise: that under Obama's health care plan, all of us can still keep our chosen doctors and our own private insurance plans, if we want to.

But a healthcare plan paid for by the government, the reporter pointed out, would force out private insurers -- because our employers would choose to stop providing us with private insurance.

That reporter was quite right. Individual employees wouldn't have any choice at all -- the employers would. So to say we'd all be able to keep our chosen doctors and stay within our private plans simply isn't true. I'll even go a step further. It's deceptive.

Obama's deft response? It was essentially, "Umm, well, but the government wouldn't force anyone to choose. Now, could your employer choose for you, and force you to take the government plan? Well, sure."

Then he tried to talk around his illusory "you can keep your own doctor" promise by sarcastically touting the efficiencies of free enterprise. He said, in effect, "Hey, all you free market insurance company folks? I'm with you. You say free enterprise is the most efficient? Then put your money where your mouth is, Blue Cross. Go ahead. Compete against a free government plan."

His actual quote: "Why would it drive private insurance out of business? If -- if private -- if private insurers say that the marketplace provides the best quality health care; if they tell us that they’re offering a good deal, then why is it that the government, which they say can’t run anything, suddenly is going to drive them out of business? That’s not logical."

Give me a break. This circular logic is disingenous and I expected better from him. It's insulting.

That a private company cannot compete against a free government service is axiomatic. My widget will cost you $5.00 while the government's widget is free. What is "not logical" is to expect an employer to pay for private insurance when he can get it for free from the government. Where is the "free market" competition in this equation?

I'm all for health care reform, don't get me wrong. Close members of my own family do not have private health insurance and their doctor bills are devastating. But Obama should be honest about what his plan will do and tell it to us straight.

When politicians -- even the Almighty O -- try to snow me with neat-sounding arguments that don't pass scrutiny, I get suspicious. If deception is necessary to get me to "buy-in," there's a problem.

We need meaningful debate and informed discussion on this complicated issue, desperately, yesterday. But obfuscating things just provides fuel for the opposition, and turns proponents like me into wary skeptics.

How Am I Awesome? It's Impossible to Say . . .

Alrighty then. I just reviewed the Fed's flow-of-funds chart from Q1 of 2009 and holy shi . . . I mean, never mind. To get back my mojo though, I thought I'd return to Honey Pie Horse's awesomeness meme. Here she is, looking amazingly composed and ever-so-awesome on the eve of her first video debut.

She challenged me to compile a seven-item list of my awesomenesses, sending me off on a long mental adventure. But I'm back now, at the end of the diving board, with at least a few new jumps. "I am awesome" . . .
1. At being found by mosquitoes. Our family once camped in the wilderness. Mr. M was bitten twice. Mr. Husband? Not once. But me? Oh, thirty-seven bites, at least -- I counted. So it's about time OFF came up with these nifty clip-on no-spray repellers. Even if I have nothing in common with the taut hiker mom pictured in the ad.

2. For having learned (and forgotten) how to sew. By the late '80s, quilting bees were squarely out of fashion, while balloon curtains were all the rage. Somehow I managed to sew several balloon curtains all by myself. My friends marveled, called me a swag queen. Of course, today, "swag" means something else entirely.

In my ability to cook just three things, over and over again, and hornswoggle my family into thinking this predictable menu is perfectly normal. Having nearly mastered lasagna at the age of 44, I make it every other Friday for dinner. On the other Fridays I alternate between chicken in wine sauce and taco salad. Yeah baby. Just call me the Barefoot Contessa Barrister.

4. Because I can take away all rapture, rob Mr. M of all joy without ever looking back: no sodium nitrate or nitrite, no high fructose corn syrup, no BPA, no Mario cartoons, . . .

5. At timing, I am spot-on. Mr. M's birthday collides with Mother's Day and comes too late in the school year for the obligatory cafeteria-cupcake mom-serenade. As an added benefit, I've been able to avoid the brewing cupcake controversy altogether.

6. At smelling book spines and remembering how I learned to read. The method was Distar SRA. The book, "How to Teach Your Child to Read in 100 Easy Lessons," is available on Amazon. I managed to teach Mr. M in 100 mostly-peaceful lessons. We are still speaking to each other and gleefully smelling spines.

7. At remembering, and then finding for Mr. M, all the cool old stuff my smart mom got me when I was a kid (although the list of what she wouldn't buy me is equally enlightening). So I found things for Mr. M like . . .

* the Flying Turtle (for coordination and upper-body strength)

* Husker-Du (a clever Swedish memory game)

* Perfection (put the pieces back in place in under 60 seconds, or BOOM!) It even comes with a handy drawer to contain all those small foot-wounding, game-ruined-if-lost, pieces.

* old records that blare the multiplication tables in a pathetic attempt to rhyme, and an old Fisher-Price record player on which to play them. These treasures I found on Ebay.

If you thought "I'm just a bill up on Capitol Hill" was a riot, get ready for NINE TIMES NINE is EIGHTY-ONE!

* every Underdog episode known to man or mom (and finding someone who'd transfer them cheaply onto DVD before they disintegrated). "When Polly's in trouble, I am not slow. It's up, up, up and away I go!"

* CBS Radio Mystery Theater episodes FREE off the internet (and figuring out how to load them on Mr. M's MP3) . . . These are great!

8. In my uncanny ability to foresee what will forever be a classic -- like my Lilly P purse from 9th grade, pictured here -- and hold on to it until it's once again all the rage.

Bonus: having the good judgment to keep my fashion-forward finds sequestered deep in the attic, even when they make a roaring come-back. Because let's face it: it's flat-out uncool to flaunt your oldness coolness.

Oops, that's more than seven. Better stop now while I'm still the tag-you're-IT girl. So TAG, YOU'RE IT TO SEVEN MORE -- unless you're in the throes of a really good book:

The Mother, Dental Maven, and the oh-so unmatronly Becky at Suburban Matron. Becky, shown here in a shower of candles, is ramping up to enjoy a sliver of her I-just-turned-17 birthday cake.

Stinky Bee (although you definitely don't need me) and the spunky Mayor of Sasstown (pictured here is the Mayor's handsome son), show us your coolness, too.

Last but not least, the creative dog-loving Lady-Fi, pictured left in her Sunday best . . . and the lovely daughter of Christine over at The Book Bench? It's reveal-time for you gals, too.

Put in a Mood

Do you ever take on the mood of the characters in a book you are reading, even after you've put it down for a rest? Yesterday I started "Testimony" by Anita Shreve and was thoroughly highjacked. By noon today, I'd finished it and it left me in tatters. It was that good.

But it was tough reading. For a mother, it was wrenching. "Testimony" is a lesson in how one seemingly small -- but irrefutably wrong -- decision can derail a life, and the lives of others forced to trail in its wake.

The more specific context: how alcohol and a comely young girl led a few teenage boys at a private boarding school to commit an act that irrevocably changed their lives, their parents' lives, and the quiet lives lived in the surrounding Vermont town.

For a while, the book took me over. I felt like I was choking. My mood was taken hostage; sometimes it was hard to breathe.

So this afternoon . . . spent in the backyard, supervising Mr. M's splashes in the pool, while he is still so young and mercifully blameless? While I sweated and brooded and mashed down tears? Would have been better spent doing something else. Anything else. A root canal, maybe. Chucky Cheese, even.

The phone rang, off and on. Most of the time I couldn't answer it. Once, when I did, "Your voice sounds flat," a friend observed. And it was.

I can't say much more about the book without spoiling it. But I can say this: when Mr. M is thirteen, "Testimony" will be required reading, just as it would, were he my daughter instead. It ought to be on every mother's reading list, starting now.

And no, but would that I were, I'm not Anita Shreve's secret agent.

If These are "Green Shoots" I Need a Parachute

This will be a fairly quick post, as posts of mine go. As of late, I've been obsessed preoccupied with the spike in U.S. treasury yields, and why we should be alarmed. Inflation is top of mind, of course. Still, as I researched my next post, I stumbled across these encouraging stats:

* May foreclosures were the third highest on record . . . but, oh happy day, they weren't as bad as they could have been.

* Unemployment is now at 9.4%. Except, umm, the absolute worst-case scenario under the banks' so-called "stress tests"? An inconceivable 10.3% -- that wouldn't, couldn't possibly occur until the end of 2010. Still, May's figures were better than expected . . .

But even the government is now acknowledging, finally, that the stress test numbers were based on a lot less "stress" than what we're now experiencing. Said Elizabeth Warren, head of the Congressionally appointed TARP board, "We've already blown past the worst-case scenario on unemployment."

* California is, according to its State Controller, fifty days away from a total meltdown. (Losses in local services were a concern of mine back in December; plunging property values mean plunging tax revenues).

* And in a nod to my faithful lawyer mom readers: Cravath, Swaine, a major white-shoe law firm, is asking new hires to stay away for a year in exchange for $80k. Summer clerks who accept Cravath offers will be required to take a year-long furlough . . .

But in all of this lush greenery, a little lightness can still be found.


Job-seekers are resorting to novel resume tricks. These eye-catching moves include:

* enclosing a shoe with your resume. You know, so you can "get a foot slammed in the door."

* washing company cars in the company parking lot, gratis.

* getting a haircut from the barber patronized by the company's CEO. After all, barbers make great references.

* sending a cake in the shape of a business card with your picture on it. Who can argue with the old adage that the way to a CEO's heart is through his stomach?

* handing out personalized coffee mugs.

* refusing to budge in the lobby of the company where you want to work, until you get an interview. Like an "unemployed sit-in" . . . of sorts.

And who can blame these folks? After all, remember the unemployed financial banker who paraded up and down 5th Avenue in a sandwich board blaring "Will Kill Bernie for Food." He got a job, didn't he?