Newtie Had a Fit and Fell in It

 A friend of mine asked me yesterday why on earth I would watch the Republican Presidential debates.  He wondered if I felt my blood pressure was too low and needed elevating.

I agree it is a rather masochistic thing to subject myself to, especially since they seem to happen every other day of late.  I do it in order not to be  guilty of the thing I deplore in people on the opposite side of any issue – not listening.
  
And so it was last night, when I made sure to be tuned to CNN at 8 p.m., so as not to miss anything, given the kind of wild day on the stump the GOP had on Thursday.  Rick Perry suddenly discovered he was wasting his time.  Rick Santorum suddenly discovered he had actually won in Iowa.  And a woman once married to the man his mother charmingly referred to as “Newtie” decided to have a chat with ABC.

The elegant John King sat at the moderator’s podium and introduced the four remaining contenders for the Republican nomination for the 2012 Presidential election. 

And then he said this:

And just as speaker Gingrich surged into contention here in South Carolina, a direct fresh character attack on the Speaker.  
 

And Mr Speaker, I want to start with that this evening.  

As you know, your ex-wife gave an interview to ABC News and another interview with The Washington Post. And this story has now gone viral on the internet. In it, she says that you came to her in 1999, at a time when you were having an affair. She says you asked her, sir, to enter into an open marriage.

Would you like to take some time to respond to that?  
 

When Mitt Romney is presented with a question he would prefer not to answer,  his slick exterior stiffens and his tongue suddenly twists itself into speech-defying positions.  All that so-called “looking Presidential’ disappears and is replaced by bumbling.  Not so Speaker Newt.

Nobody can say “Fuck you!” more eloquently than Newt.Gingrich.  By the time he got through eviscerating John King and all the other “elite media” types who ever lived, somebody should probably have called the paramedics to attend to the news man, who tried desperately to look unfazed.

Oooooooowheeeeee!  One can only imagine what it would be like to cross His Speakership in a closed meeting where he is unencumbered by the invasive media cameras.  I pictured a meeting between Newtie and Iran's President  Mahmoud Ahmadinejad and saw the diminutive leader flying out of his shoes as the result of a Gingrich rant -- followed closely by the whine of missiles heading toward the U.S. coastline.
Can we change that slogan to "Anybody but Newt, please?"

Dr. King Would Not Be Pleased

The ironies of human life are almost unbearable sometimes.  Like today, the national observance of the birth of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

Living as I do in the city Dr. King made famous, my local Atlanta news station covers the annual MLK services at Ebenezer Baptist Church minute by minute.  Though I have frankly tired of the redundancy of the speeches delivered by members of his family and local politicians, I dutifully tuned in this morning in time to hear the preacheresque  delivery of a stemwinder by U.S. Representative David Scott, my Inman Park neighbor whom I often see watering his front yard in his pajamas and robe.

Scott whipped the congregation of Atlanta’s movers and shakers into the appropriate frenzy, using the opportunity to encourage all of us to get out and vote in the Presidential election in November.  He did a little Jessie Jackson rhyming.  He threw in the list of Obama accomplishments that are so often omitted and ignored by his opposing aspirants.  And he ended by dramatically reciting the lyrics of the great Billie Holliday’s God Bless the Child:

Them that's got shall get
Them that's not shall lose
So the Bible said and it still is news
Mama may have, Papa may have
But God bless the child that's got his own
That's got his own

Just in case the message of us- versus-them didn’t convey, the next speaker, Georgia’s Republican Governor Nathan Deal walked to the podium while the crowd continued to whoop and holler, as if possessed by the Holy Spirit they speak and sing so much about.  This will be the first time I have ever had such a thought – much less articulate it – but I felt a tad sorry for the Governor.  From the look on his face, so did he!

Nathan Deal was first elected to the U.S. Congress in November 1992 as a Democrat.  But as soon as Republicans gained control of the U.S. House of Representatives in 1995 for the first time in 40 years, Deal joined the Republican Party then led by Speaker Newt Gingrich.  He remained a member of Congress until he took office as Governor of Georgia in January 2011.

One would probably wonder how a man who has accepted the obligatory invitation to address the King Day congregation has acquitted himself on the topic of Civil Rights.  On the Issues.org lists his voting record:

Nathan Deal on Civil Rights

Click here for 14 full quotes on Civil Rights OR background on Civil Rights.

• Voted NO on prohibiting job discrimination based on sexual orientation. (Nov 2007)
• Voted YES on Constitutionally defining marriage as one-man-one-woman. (Jul 2006)
• Voted YES on making the PATRIOT Act permanent. (Dec 2005)
• Voted YES on Constitutional Amendment banning same-sex marriage. (Sep 2004)
• Voted YES on protecting the Pledge of Allegiance. (Sep 2004)
• Voted YES on constitutional amendment prohibiting flag desecration. (Jun 2003)
• Voted YES on banning gay adoptions in DC. (Jul 1999)
• Voted YES on ending preferential treatment by race in college admissions. (May 1998)
• Supports anti-flag desecration amendment. (Mar 2001)
• Rated 7% by the ACLU, indicating an anti-civil rights voting record. (Dec 2002)
• Issue a commemorative postage stamp of Rosa Parks. (Dec 2005)
• Rated 0% by the HRC, indicating an anti-gay-rights stance. (Dec 2006)
• Rated 14% by the NAACP, indicating an anti-affirmative-action stance. (Dec 2006)
• Supports Amendment to prevent same sex marriage. (Aug 2010) 

 It will probably come as no surprise to the reader that Nathan Deal vigorously supports the Georgia law that requires a photo I.D. in order to cast a vote.  In the speech he had just delivered, David Scott had urged those in attendance not to allow that law to get them down, which Scott believes it was designed to do.  Many in the state believe the law was passed specifically to suppress the African American vote.
So there he was, at the podium, a little ashen, waiting in vain for the crowd to quiet itself.  Even as he tried to begin his remarks over the din, some over enthusiastic members of the audience shouted over him.

What did Deal have to say?  I couldn’t tell you.  I did not stick around to hear the lies and platitudes that would make even a peacemaker like Martin Luther King, Jr. want to slap His Honor the Governor upside his head.

Weight Wars

 

This is a sad story.  It is not a new story, or a terribly original one, but it is sad.

At roughly the stroke of midnight on New Year’s Day, the American marketing machine began its annual assault on blubber.  Never willing to miss a chance to capitalize on the foibles of undisciplined, sedentary couch tubers, retailers roll out the New Year’s Resolution brigade to peddle gym memberships, high-priced machines that allegedly evaporate newly-acquired fat cells surrounding abdomens and derrieres from coast to coast.

Most of the time I try to ignore the whole siege.  I don’t make resolutions, New Year’s or otherwise.  I just decide and do.  Or I don’t decide and I don’t do.  More of the latter, I confess, but it’s better than failing to meet a goal!

Two years ago I decided to drop at least 20 pounds in time for my 44th college reunion.  I started in March, 2010 and by June 2010 I had lost 32.  That was satisfying as all get out, but there was a bigger challenge, and I knew it.  Almost anyone can lose weight when they put their minds (and mouths) to it.  The real challenge is keeping it gone. I wanted to accomplish that.

The lowest weight I achieved stayed at that level for exactly one week.  Even though I continued to eat the exact same way I had for the previous three months,  fluctuations in water retention and other bodily functions kept my weight bouncing back and forth by a pound, but never as low as that all-time low again.

Between months 1 and 6 after that low, my weight crept up around four pounds, still with the same eating patterns, but with my mind games starting to creep in almost unnoticed by the conscious me.  Salt and sugar seem to be the culprits in my metabolism.  During the diet period, I was religious about keeping both at bay.  But after the reunion, without a specific motive, my resolve began to slip.  For example, popcorn as a snack is fine if it is popped with little or no oil and salt.  But it is also pretty boring and bland.  So I began “compromising.”  Surely one gentle shake of salt won’t hurt anything.  And I’ll just use one tablespoon of Smart Balance buttery spread to pop it in for flavor.

I got away with that for quite a while, with my weight staying more or less plateaued.  In fact, it worked for a whole year, even with occasional “splurges” of steaks slightly bigger than the palm of my hand and frequent popcorn snacks.  So for some 18 months after the diet, I was holding my own in the maintenance challenge.

Christmas 2011 arrived and with it the need for gifts for people such as the mailman, my former gardener who is still a friend, neighbors and unexpected guests.  I have traditionally made cookies for these purposes.  Last year I resisted the whining of my former gardener friend and skipped the baking.  This year, I gave in.

If I ever doubted the notion that eating carbs causes carb cravings, I know it for certain now.  On the first day of the baking, I succumbed to the habit of licking the mixer beaters and bowl after removing the batter or dough. The sweetness of real sugar was shocking to my taste buds – almost sickening, to be honest.  Next came the warm cookies along with the intoxication of their aromas. One cookie can’t hurt. 

Don’t make me write it.  You know the rest.

It is five pounds later and I am up a total of ten pounds from my lowest weight after the diet.  Add to the mix the fact that I quit going to my gym because of poor treatment of seniors by the staff and have ignored my intention of finding a substitute, and I am pissed at myself. 

There is no getting around it.  Maintenance of a healthy weight takes good habits and lots of movement.  Head games are guaranteed to be lost by the person with the head.  The older we get, the more difficult it is to do.   If I continue to make excuses for myself, my health will pay the price. 

I did it once, I can do it again.  Ten pounds is a helluva lot easier to lose than 32.  Back to reality.  The weaning from salt and sugar has begun, the eyes are steely and the motivation has returned.  My waistband is too tight. Dammit!

Ideology Doesn’t Work For Me

While I was reading a recent OS cover piece by Ted Frier about Rick Santorum’s relentless Catholicism, the realization almost bowled me over:  I don’t do ideology well.

I am supposed to be Catholic, too.  I was baptized, confirmed and indoctrinated.  Eight years of Catholic elementary school made sure I learned all the thou shalt nots I needed to be guaranteed a seat near the right hand of God Himself.  There were a few thou shalts thrown in, mostly in the form of commandments such as behaving, obeying, keeping holy and honoring.  Good works were encouraged, so long as I didn’t have to enter a Protestant, Jewish or Muslim house of worship to do it.  Those were forbidden places.

I questioned myself into the principal’s office so many times, I had my own chair there.  My six-year-old mind couldn’t grasp the concept of blind faith.  Logic was more my style, although I didn’t know that word at the time.  I did, however, know the word precocious, because I was constantly being described that way to explain why I asked so many obnoxious questions.  They weren’t obnoxious to me.


There was lots of talk about the Virgin Mary, for example.  I knew Mary was a girl’s name, but what is a virgin, I asked.  Told to ask my mother, as usual when I ventured too far outside the boundaries of first-grade query, I soon got a satisfactory answer at home.  Which then made the concept of a virgin birth a little outlandish in my book.

Miracles?  C’mon now, I’d think.  You really expect me to believe that Jesus was successful in feeding throngs of famished people with five loaves of bread and two fish? I was Doubting Thomasine, the classroom pain in the nun’s heavily clothed behind.

It was impossible for me to reconcile a “loving God” with the notion that “Catholicism is the one true faith.”  We were even taught that only Catholics had a chance of getting into heaven.  That didn’t make sense to my immature but logical mind.

Although there don’t seem to be as many of them as others, Catholics are really prime candidates for Republicanism.  The Catholic faithful are used to thinking in absolutes, eschewing gray areas of human existence.  They have been taught the practice of exclusion and of thinking of what NOT to do, instead of what to do.  The Catholic way is the right and only way; everybody else are sinners, blasphemers and the doomed.

When the time came for me to determine my political stance, I often found myself straddling a line between the two parties – socially inclined to make sure all were included in the American Dream, but firmly entrenched in the work ethic demonstrated by the adults in my family, who would walk 10 miles to work rather than miss a day.  Money was not abundant, but it was managed so well by my grandparents, the families of my friends were convinced we were far better off than we were.  Paying as you go, saving and sacrificing were family credos.

When someone like Rick Santorum preaches both banning birth control AND banning abortion, I want to scream.  That is taking Catholic conservatism to an insane level for thinking people.  If contraception is “dangerous,” as Mr. Santorum believes, and abortion is murder, can chastity belts and/or penectomies be far behind?


But there are other elements of the conservative way of thinking that make a lot of sense, at least they do to me.  The government has proved to be a very poor manager in so many ways.  The level of waste and redundancy in the halls of the U.S. Departments of Everything is staggering and maddening.  Politicians spend so much time running for office, there is little left for monitoring the practices of bureaucracies that simply plod along, growing bigger and less effective each year.


I agree we need a smaller government.  I just don’t mean the same thing the average Republican means when I say that.  I do agree we could do without a lot of the agencies created during some political fracas or another to appease the opposition or postpone the matter indefinitely.  I do not agree that taxes are evil across the board and must be slashed indiscriminately. How are we supposed to maintain the infrastructure of the nation without taxes? 

When I listen to Ron Paul talk about our individual liberties, I say an enthusiastic yes – until he goes a bit further and I realize that those same liberties are the arguments used by people who want to be able to make a profit at the expense of employees, customers and competitors using whatever measures it takes. 
But then Dr. Paul talks about the U.S. pulling the troops out of non-combat zones of the world,and he talks about America needing to stop trying to “fix” matters that are none of our business in other people’s countries, and I am back to yes.

I don’t appreciate being pigeonholed by others because of my position on a single issue.  I don’t like the double solid lines on the ideological highway painted by the Democratic Party or the Republican Party or the Libertarian Party or the Tea Party.  I want to be able to think through each issue, come to a conclusion and be able to vote accordingly.  I cannot do that now – not in my state.  I am required to declare a party affiliation in order to vote in primaries. 

This morning I was driving on the Interstate, listening to a black radio station.  I am mixed-race, but identify as black.  The on-air personalities were discussing a new GPS feature they said was introduced by Microsoft, which allows the driver to “avoid ghettos.”  They took umbrage with that concept, based on the assumption that the designer of the software was thinking “black neighborhood” when s/he used the term ghetto.  They imagined the use of the n-word in the product’s development stages. One of the announcers went on to ridicule “white folks” because “they strap things on their car roofs, trunks and hoods.” 

I don’t get this.  I don’t get how we “black folks” can make  such sweepingly stereotypical statements about other groups and expect to hide behind the ideology of victimhood in America.  Ask Dr. Laura Schlessinger if she could get away with a similar commentary.

When people adopt an ideology which informs their every waking thought, they are surrendering their freedom to think for themselves.  It makes them sound like parrots and robots and thoughtless boors.  That doesn’t work for me.

Reflections on an Icy Pond

Two days ago there was a hard freeze in Atlanta.  It was the first freeze of the season.  The bubbling fountain on my patio froze solid, threatening the survival of the clay pot that holds its water.  The robins came by, as usual, looking for a drink or a bath, but stood pecking at the surface of the ice, to no avail.
The pond in the local park was deserted by the water fowl.  Lucy the Neighborhood Goose squatted on the shore, wrapped in her own down, head tucked snugly under one wing.  The ducks were nowhere to be seen.  Thin and crystalline shards of ice floated on the surface of the placid pond, too sparse to form a solid surface.


Today the sun is warm, the air is 63 degrees Fahrenheit, the sky clear and bluer than Muddy Waters' sounds.   The contrast in the two days' presentations reminds me of "the more things change, the more they stay the same."

My week was spent watching all 38 episodes of the Showtime series The Tudors.  No one ever swore on the historical accuracy of this work by Michael Hirst.  License was taken.  I video-streamed the four seasons since 2007 via Netflix because I don't get Showtime on my cable service.  I'm too cheap.
Not since I read James Clavell's Shogun have I been so riveted by anything, written or filmed.  Period pieces do entertain me tremendously.  I love the pageantry, the luscious frocks and jewels.  I feast on the foibles of royalty. The story was close enough to true and the major elements stayed intact.

King Henry VIII was a spoiled latter-day trust-fund kid.  His dad, Henry VII, was the last King of England to win his throne on the battlefield.  Henry VIII's only qualification for the kingship was an accident of birth.

The king was a handsome, athletic and charming individual, especially as played by Jonathon Rhys-Meyers.  He loved his food and drink, romping on horseback through the English countryside with his buddies, and bedding his wives' ladies in waiting.

His habit of wooing, wedding and ultimately dispatching his six queens would be funny if it weren't true.  His idea of showing his discarded spouses mercy was to have them beheaded instead of hung, drawn and quartered.  Nice guy, Hank.

If I hadn't struggled to stay awake through my Modern European History classes in college, I might have learned more about the power struggles between our mother-country's randy king and the Catholic Church.  Episcopalians probably know far more than I, since their church was the product of those struggles.  Henry didn't like it that the Pope and his minions thought they could dictate policy to the English throne. so he found a loophole in the law he rationalized to justify giving himself absolute power in his realm as head of the Church of England.

Throughout this truly entertaining series, I couldn't help but see the parallels between the shenanigans in Henry's court and what goes on in Washington, D.C. today.  Power mad?  Check.  Womanizing?  Check.  Lying? Check.  

The nobility of the 16th century didn't believe in equality among people.  They used terms like  "betters" and "riff-raff."  They could walk by beggars and the handicapped as if they weren't even there.  Once a week or so somebody in a crown might step outside and tuck a coin into the hands of a few "lessers."  That allowed them to live with their consciences, if they happened to have one.  Amassing more money and power was job one.

Sound familiar?  The biggest difference between our far-right conservative politicians and the ones in King Henry VII's court is the costuming. 

The 17th century Plymouth Pilgrims  fled England to free themselves of religious persecution, but they brought with them the sensibilities of England's noble classes.   Rich versus poor.  Class versus classless.  Haves versus have-nots. Christians versus Muslims.  Mormons versus Baptists.

The more things change, the more they stay the same.

Photo by L

The Woman in the Mirror

 

A couple of recent lessons in humility have weighed on my mind for the better part of a week now.  It is my nature to detest making what are normally called faux pas; those lapses in social consciousness that find us saying things that are offensive to another person, group of persons, or classes of persons.

It is mortifying enough when such a misstep is made knowing full well, a nanosecond after the utterance escapes from my mouth, how absolutely inappropriate I have been.  But when the infraction is committed unbeknownst to me,  in the midst of doing what I perceive to be a good deed…well,to my knowledge, that hadn’t happened to me before last week.

How I reached the ripe old age of 67 without knowing the origin of the word I chose to utilize in a good-natured post marking the December 26th birthday of a fellow blogger, I can only guess. 

In the post, I said something about people having birthdays on or around Christmas Day often feel gypped out of attention – and sometimes gifts.  A reader who usually makes delightfully supportive comments on my posts this time just included a link to a web page – nothing else.  The topic of the page had something to do with tolerance.  I couldn’t figure out what it had to do with this birthday announcement, so I shrugged and moved on.

A couple of hours later I received a private message suggesting I replace the word “gypped” with something less offensive.  The writer wrote of living within blocks of a Gypsy King as a kid, and therefore knew how that term was used.

This was one time when only the word gobsmacked would suffice to describe my sudden realization of the origin of the word gypped. 

I have never met a gypsy.  I have never knowingly seen a gypsy, especially one who fits the description I carry in my imagination.  In fact, I now realize that before very recently, I thought gypsies were mythical characters or long-gone memories of times gone by.   

There were no gypsies in my hometown.  When my grandmother threatened to send me off to the gypsies if I didn’t behave, I thought it was just one of her “sayings," of which there were dozens. And the only thing I knew about Gipsy Kings was on the back of the Hotel California cd in the cabinet.

An hour later I had read enough about the history of gypsies to be mortified at my ignorance.  I had only learned of their victimization in the Holocaust in an article posted on Open Salon less than a month ago.  And now I know there are American Gypsies living the “traveler” lifestyle, for which they are famous, throughout the United States.

Three days ago a neighbor and I were chatting outside in the unseasonably warm sunshine.  She and I have known each other for at least a decade and have spent quite a bit of time together at neighborhood gatherings and events.

“Oh, Lezlie, I have something I want to …  You always have an opinion…well, I was about to say you are opinionated, but…I want to run something by you.”

Opinionated.  Now there’s a word that can get my attention.  It certainly did about 20 years or more ago when my boss used the word while giving me a progress review.

Here is Google’s definition:

Adjective:  Conceitedly assertive and dogmatic in one's opinions.

Synonyms: obstinate - headstrong - stubborn - self-willed

There are other definitions I found that aren’t quite as harsh, but I’m going with this one.

In my mind, a person who does not think about issues, who doesn’t have enough curiosity about certain topics to learn about them and form an opinion is not very interesting.  I seem to be curious about virtually everything, which is probably why I spend so much time in my head. 

In a given conversation I will be in one of two positions:  either I will have thought about, read about and talked about the subject before and have a basis for discussion; or, I will not know anything about the subject and will proceed to ask a few pretty incisive questions, many of which can seem to annoy the speaker sometimes.

It is never my intention to come off as a know-it-all; in fact, I try hard not to.  But I fail.  And I am determined to tone down the conceited and dogmatic aspects of my assertions, especially if the person who is evaluating my contributions would agree that obstinate, headstrong, stubborn and self-willed (whatever that means) would also apply to me.

Individual, evaluative words and phrases have as profound an effect on me as the more commonly hated gender and race based pejoratives.  A colleague who was not a fan of mine once told me I was “an inch away from brilliant.”  Some would say that was a rather generous pronouncement coming from a detractor.  Me?  Comically, I worry to this day about that inch!  But the hurt I felt from his telling me we were “oil and water” caused me to cry on the spot and it reverberates from time to time in my memory.  This happened 20 years ago.  I had thought we were friends or at the very least, friendly.

American English is packed with loaded words and expressions that come flying off the lips of well-meaning people who don’t question their meaning or origin.  Just this week I have heard Indian giver, off the reservation, Irish twins, Chinese fire drill, and yes, I used gypped.  I’m going to do better.

L’s 2011 Doofus Awards

 

The Year of the Dumbass has almost ended, thank the Fates. 2011 has been a year of bountiful idiocy, served up in every category of life on Planet Earth.  Never in history has the list of laughable lunacy competed in length with the laudable and annually lauded achievements of homo sapiens.

Though it was extremely challenging to winnow this list of moronic behavior down to a manageable number, listed below are my picks for my First Annual Doofus Awards:

Although there were some high-profile criminals     such as Casey Anthony, Florida’s young mother who killed her three-year-old daughter (acquitted by a boneheaded jury), and Dr. Conrad Murray, Michael Jackson’s physician who administered the lethal dose of Propofol that took the pop star’s life (convicted and sentenced to four years), the Doofus Award for Crime must go to Tawander Simmons, the 35 year-old woman of Stone Mountain, Georgia who checked her 17 year-old son, Benny Brice and two other boys, out of Stephenson High School one Friday morning. The four then robbed a Wells Fargo bank in Lilburn, GA, 20 miles outside Atlanta.

There was no shortage of nominees from Hollywood, God knows.  Is there ever?  Kim Kardashian, of the Hollywood Kardashians, moguls of the famous-for-doing-nothing industry, was certainly top of mind at the time of these award considerations.  Public opinion has deemed her infamous 72-day marriage to NBA player Kris Humphries an $18 million publicity stunt, while she plays victim and he gets booed at the arena for nobody-knows-what.  But nothing holds a candle to the web-based meltdown of bad-boy Charlie Sheen.  What fool who stars in television’s number one show gets on the internet and brags about his live-in goddesses, his tiger blood and his “winning” ways?  All while looking like a drugged out mad man who is ultimately fired from his lucrative job and stages a poorly executed one-man show.  Charlie Sheen, the Doofus Award for Hollywood goes to you, Bubba.

The winner in this category is getting the award solely for being the media person who I find unbearably irritating.  You might be thinking Glen Beck or Bill O’Reilly or Howard Stern or even Piers Morgan – and each of them is surely a doofus.  But my choice is a person who is really known mostly for writing memorable lines like “Read my lips, no new taxes” and catch phrases like “a thousand points of light.”  I’m sure the Elder President Bush appreciated her admirable ability to turn a phrase, but the Wall Street Journal’s Peggy Noonan is the worst political pundit on television.  Her patrician, over-enunciated whispery speaking style makes me want to slap her when she finally manages to get a sentence out.  Peggy, it gives me considerable pleasure to present the Doofus Award for Media. And yes, I know (or at least as FAR as I know) you haven’t done anything particularly stupid.  You are just irritating.

This category is a veritable cornucopia of possibilities.  Given my political leanings, one might expect this award to go to any one of the current crop of Republican Presidential hopefuls.  Rick Perry’s “oops” moment was unfortunate; Herman Cain…well, pick one, I suppose, but his brain blip on Libya made him look even stupider than his arrogant assumption that his 13-year “friendship” with Ginger White would escape undiscovered; Mitt Romney’s $10,000 wager… But no, this year’s award is going, with “certitude,” to the Peter Tweeter himself, Democrat Congressman Anthony Weiner.  Sending a snapshot of one’s junk into the perpetuity known as the internet is a boneheaded move that assures his presence on the list of all-time doofuses.

This one is no contest.  The biggest sports doofus in the land today has to be Kobe Bryant of the LA Lakers.  The affable NBA phenom has reinforced the “dumb” in “dumbass” as late as today, the day after Christmas, when he is reported to be trying to save his marriage to the beautiful Vanessa “for the sake of the kids.”  Since when did bank accounts count as kids?  We first learned that Kobe was a doofus when he was accused a few years back of assaulting a hotel employee on a road trip. A $4 million ring eventually patched things up with Vanessa, but nothing was done about the fact that Kobe had no pre-nuptial agreement to protect his hundreds of millions in the bank. And Kobe continued to drop his drawers with women apparently too numerous to count.  Now that Vanessa has not only had it up to here with his philandering, but has also allegedly found another strong shoulder to lean on which is attached to boxer Victor Ortiz, Kobe is scrambling to avoid losing half his fortune.  When are these numbnuts going to understand they will have to pay to play?  Kobe should have had a tête-à-tête with Tiger.