Two Dimensional History Distorts Presidential Reality

I just watched an episode of the 2004 Discovery Channel series, "Decisions that Shook the World," about Lyndon Johnson. It was a great illustration of how people are not all that they appear to be; are not completely good or totally bad.

While remembered for letting the situation in Viet Nam get so terribly out of control, Johnson also did more than any president since Abraham Lincoln to advance the cause of civil rights. These days, when we especially vilify our political opponents by, for example, seriously equating President Obama to Hitler and calling him the worst president in history (move over Andrew Johnson), it is important to see our leaders as complex and not as two-dimensional caricatures. I'm not claiming to be above this tendency. Just ask me what I think of Sarah Palin. I dare you.

President Johnson was a man of the Old South who used the "N" word freely but also pushed through the Civil Rights Act (which Kennedy was unable to do), the Voting Rights Act, and the Fair Housing Act. Johnson was, to me, not particularly likable. He was crude and rude, vulgar and macho. Yet he used his old-boy, back-slapping style to get things done in congress, and wasn't above threatening old supporters who opposed his legislation.

On the subject of presidents who are usually seen as either all good or all bad, there's a new movie on HBO about Ronald Reagan. The mere thought of Reagan, actually, literally, has upset my stomach for 35 years. No one except for George W. Bush has had that same effect on me. As early as 1976, I feared Reagan as a war-monger and malevolent disassembler of valuable social programs. In fact, my father lost his job as a county psychiatrist thanks to The Gipper, and millions of mentally ill people were turned out of institutions to become part of the nation’s homeless population.

Reagan getting credit for the fall of the USSR is as bogus as anything I've ever heard. It most certainly would have happened anyway, and certainly not because he told Mr. Gorbachev to "tear down this wall."

Reagan refused to acknowledge AIDS as a problem, and I always found his folksy friendliness as phony as a seven-dollar bill.

It pains me to try to see the good in him, but this HBO movie about Ronnie tries to show him as the complex human being he really was, not the sainted statue, or pariah, that we now make him out to be. Especially when today’s "Tea Partiers" claim him as their patron saint, Director Eugene Jarecki points out that the real President Reagan would not only be too liberal for them, but would probably be embarrassed that they were besmirching his good name.

Clearly, LBJ gets the short shrift in history. I'm willing to give Reagan another look. But don't ask me to reconsider “W” yet. It's too soon.

Vacation Bender – A Cautionary Tale

(The following content may not be suitable for all readers.)

Boy, did I go on a bender.

I’m not talking about alcohol. I don’t touch the stuff.

Party drugs? Hardly.

Sex? I wish ...

No, this was a gigantic, out of control, week-long, food binge.

My annual vacation to San Diego was great. I attended a workshop, hiked for miles along cliffs and beaches, observed newborn seals nursing, and drove with the windows down. There was, however, a darker side. It seems that six months of disciplined Weight Watchers goes right out the window when I’m away from home.

To start with, I went to IHOP on the way to the airport. IHOP is very interesting at 3:00 a.m. when the booths are full of the post-bar crowd, roughly counting great amounts of cash and seemingly unaware of Colorado’s smoking laws.

Anyway, it was “All You Can Eat Pancake Day.” The pancake breakfast comes with hash browns, bacon, and eggs. I very sensibly skipped the eggs (I’m allergic). But have you had IHOP pancakes lately? They’re so fluffy. I had to have a second serving. It was going to be a long day, and I didn’t know when I was going to eat again.

By the time I got to the airport I wanted a diet coke. I got to the cookie place on Consourse A just as they were pulling the giant fresh snickerdoodles out of the oven. Hot cookies go well with diet coke.

I think I blacked out after that. The next thing I remember was sitting in a booth at the Point Loma (San Diego) Dennys sinking my teeth into a patty melt where the rye bread was buttered and crisply toasted with two kinds of cheese melted over the juicy burger. That Denny’s has great fries which come out hot and crisp, and it would be almost rude not to follow all that with an Oreo milkshake.

My hotel room was on the top floor overlooking the harbor. Like all hotels these days, breakfast is included – bagels, waffles, whole milk for the Raisin Bran – need I say more? The room also had a refrigerator and microwave - perfect for making popcorn and stashing some of those juicy fresh California oranges.

And since I had those appliances in the room, I could save money by eating in part of the week. So I went shopping at Vons.

Vons is a supermarket chain in California and the Vons on Rosecrans is beautiful. Being in Southern California, part of the store is permanently outside. And that bakery! Well, it couldn’t hurt to just buy one box of those big chewy cookies and spread them out all week. Unfortunately, I got through them in two days and had to go back to Vons for more.

When traveling, it’s important to avail one’s self of local food. In-N-Out Burger is a very popular chain in Southern California, but I controlled myself by only getting the single cheeseburger and fries, not the double. And I very smartly drank diet coke while somewhere in the back of my mind, a little voice was saying, well, something. I decided not to listen.

Did you know there was a Baskin Robbins on Point Loma Boulevard? Right on the way to the beach! I was on vacation you know, and I could count it as lunch.

After a peppermint shake, I decided to go healthy for dinner so after a couple hours of beach time, it was back to Vons where I bought a little container of Tomato Bisque soup. I could almost hear songs of praise from the Weight Watchers angels congratulating me on my moderation.

Two delicious spoonfuls in, I noticed on the ingredients that the soup was made with butternut squash. Squash is one of those things that, um, causes my intestines to explode. I couldn’t pour that stuff down the drain fast enough.

I was too worried about my stomach to go out. Fortunately there were some cookies left, and some popcorn.

You know what I haven’t had since last summer? Papa John’s pizza. I figured if it was just cheese on a thin crust, it couldn’t be too bad. I could eat half one evening and save the rest. But the box didn’t fit in the little hotel refrigerator, so I ate the whole thing.

Finally, my trip was coming to an end.

In exchange for being bumped to a later flight, I received a voucher for a future Frontier trip. And for my trouble, the airline also gave me some food vouchers to use during my nine extra hours at the airport. It’s not easy to eat healthy at an airport.

The Chillis at San Diego International is a nice big one where you sit down and get waited on. The fries are ok, but not as good as Dennys. I chased that down with a fancy coffee drink and a big cookie at Starbucks.

That was lunch. I had another voucher and needed dinner before catching the late night flight.

One of the things I’ve bragged about since starting Weight Watchers is something that, well, I can no longer brag about.

But when I sank my teeth into that long-forbidden, salty, two all-beef patties, special sauce – you know the rest - Big Mac, and fries, my relapse was complete.

Back home in Denver, carrying nine extra pounds, I went to King Soopers for basics. The big soft cookies beckoned from the bakery but I kept going. Now that I’m home, whenever I get a hunger pang, which is about every 15 minutes, I reach for the grapes.

A One-Finger Salute to February

I've had it. I don’t know how long I can stand it. I hate constantly being chilled to the bone even inside my home. I feel like an astronaut when I have to put on boots, coat, scarf, gloves, and hat just to take my trash out. Is it right that my fingers hurt every time I go outside? Why is it that the interior of my car doesn't warm up until I pull into the parking lot of my destination?

I usually keep a good perspective on the darkest time of year - at first. Early winter has it's enjoyable moments. The holidays sparkle with colored lights and festive merriment. It's fun to pull those sweaters out of storage. The afghan on the sofa beckons cozily. Fantasies of toasty soup and hot chocolate envision a season of cocooning in front of a fire, or in my case, the television.

But by February, the sparkle has turned to gray slush. This is the long stretch between holidays (Valentine’s Day doesn't count unless you're in a new relationship or work for Hallmark) when the drudgery of living without something to look forward to is compounded by endless darkness and cheerless dreariness.

This last round of below zero temperatures pushed me to the limit. I actually wore four shirts at the same time, in hopes of being a little warmer. I considered wearing mittens to bed except it brought to mind an eccentric uncle who wore gloves in the summer.

If Colorado’s Front Range isn't encased in snow and ice this time of year, it's dry and brown. The plains are dusty, dirty, and smoggy between snows. I am aware that the sun is up a little longer each day (everyone is reminding me), but the warmth of spring and the smell of green grass is still a distant dream. And our snowiest month, March, hasn't even started yet.

This past week as I shivered under a heavy blanket and two cats, I watched blizzard coverage on WGN, the TV station out of Chicago that everyone gets on cable. The Windy City was socked with their third worst snow in history, stranding motorists for hours and causing headaches for the outgoing Daley administration. Hey, I'm from Nebraska - I love seeing weather on TV.

I remember winters in the Midwest. One year in Lincoln, my front tire got caught in the same ice rut multiple times over a period of months. It didn’t melt. It might still be there. I remember not seeing the sun for weeks at a time. Denver is downright tropical by comparison. At least our snow melts between snowfalls and we do have the occasional 60 degree day.

Ah! 60 degrees! That's around the average temperature in San Diego this time of year. Sometimes it's a lot warmer. But there is no snow, at least down in the city. There is occasionally snow up in the nearby mountains, causing many who live at sea level to drive up a couple thousand feet to see it. Watching local weather in California, I’m amazed that, unencumbered by snow tires, people visit the chilly mountains wearing flip-flops and actually roll around in the freezing stuff I desperately try to escape.

Next week I will take my 12th annual vacation to San Diego. Leaving a poor winter-bound friend to sit my house and cats, I'll be staying at a nice hotel, Facebooking on a balcony looking over the bay at the downtown skyline. I'll have to motivate myself to drive over a big hill to get to the beach, but I'll be wearing shorts. There’s an In-N-Out Burger on the way. I'll drive with the windows down. I'll gaze at palm trees and think about how they don’t look real. I'll walk barefoot in salty wet sand.

When I return from 10 days of lovely California sunshine, April will be that much closer. And if it rains, I’ll still enjoy myself. Rain isn’t snow.