Happy birthday, dad.

I don't remember the exact day that my father was born. But I know it was in November 1910. Which means that if my father had lived, he'd be turning 100 any moment now. Maybe he could have made it. People do live to be 100. Not many. Turns out my father didn't have any desire to live that long. He committed suicide. When he was 38. As it turns out, I can hardly remember my father. He was a traveling salesman. And spent much of his time on the road. We'd see him on weekends. And not every weekend. He was also a habitual gambler. But generally a nice, relatively easy-going guy. Or so it seems to me. Can't tell for sure. Because I didn't know him that well. I think he was rather sociable. Because he worked part-time as a bartender. And he even went through a period when he had his own tavern. With slot machines. Which apparently were legal in Wisconsin for a short period in the 1940s. My father only had an eighth grade education. And his father was a German immigrant, whom I suspect sneaked into the U.S. illegally around 1900. Anyway, it would have been nice if dad had lived to 100. Because I have lots of questions I would like to ask him. No doubt, we'd also have a big-time birthday party. Maybe I'll throw one. And invite his spirit. I wouldn't put it past him. To show up. --Jim Broede

A gawd-awful price to pay.

I waver back and forth over whether to be a nice guy or a ruthless street fighter. Yes, in dealing with other people. Mostly, I choose being a nice guy. But occasionally, I take the tough, uncompromising approach. In other words, I use Republican tactics. I refuse to take prisoners. I draw a line in the sand. And I don't allow my adversary to cross it. I fight fire with fire. I fight Republicanism with Republicanism. Giving my foe a taste of his own medicine. Sometimes, in war it's necessary to kill or be killed. I'd rather live another day. And deny that day to a Republican. Maybe the time will come when we liberals and socialists will have to seize power the way Republicans seize power. Without scruples. By cheating. By lying. By duping. With cliched sound bites. Aimed at attracting and tricking idiots to our cause. I don't like doing that. But in the world of politics, that's the way the game is played. Sad and depressing as it is. But then again, one has to wonder if survival is really worth it all if one has to sell one's soul. That's a gawd-awful price to pay. --Jim Broede

My definition of hell.

I know I'm being unfair when I say it. But I'll say it anyway. Politicians are among the lowest forms of life. And I say that in large part because they are so partisan. Of course, that's the nature of politics. To take sides. To be partisan. But I don't like it. I'm not an active politician. But I'm partisan. In the sense that I dislike politicians. Speaking generally. And I dislike Republicans more than I dislike Democrats. I call myself a liberal. And I'm a socialist sympathizer. But still, if I were in Congress, I'd try to work with Republicans and conservatives. To achieve compromise. Middle ground. But if the other side isn't willing to budge, I might become a typical politician. And draw a hard line. And not give an inch. In other words, I'd insist on true give and take. I might even be willing to give a little more than I take. For the sake of harmony. But today there seems to be a hateful mood that pervades in Congress. Virtually no cooperation between the two political parties. No sense of decency and fairness. In a sense, the parties are at war with each other. And the Republicans, in particular, want to take no prisoners. They have become ruthless. Practicing the darkest side of politics. Devoid of scruples. They would cheat and connive. They want no opposition. No debate. They simply want power. The authority to do as they please. Because they think their way is the right way. The only way. Kind of the same way that Hitler and other despots operated. With the attitude that you are either with us or against us. You are either friend or enemy. There's no inbetween. Yes, I'm afraid that's what we have come to in the USA. The quest for a Republican dictatorship. That would be hell. --Jim Broede

In my written words.

The nice thing about writing a blog or a journal is that I pick and choose the topic. And I'm free to write about virtually anything. So much freedom. Whatever comes to mind. I just let it flow. And that's very satisfying. I don't feel any restraint. I recommend that others try it. Often, I sit down and write love letters. Impulsively. I've probably written more than 1,000 love letters to my girlfriend in the past two or three years. Even when we are together. I'm a lover. A lover of words. Not only spoken words. But written words. Words that can be sent off. In letters. In my blog. Words that I've sometimes forgotten. But also words that I resurrect. That remind me of my thoughts. And how they come and go. Gives me a sense of creation. Amazing. How one can capture a thought. And live with it for a while. Yes, savor it. And expand on it. Oh, so many of my thoughts would be gone forever. If I hadn't put them into written words. The mind can only store so much. I need a reservoir. From which I can retrieve my thoughts. I find that gives continuity to my life. More meaning. More substance. I never want to forget that I am alive. Living. Conscious. And there's proof of it. In my written words. --Jim Broede

There's no escaping the buffoons.

When I arrive in Sardinia just before Christmas, you'll get daily dispatches from me. With reports of life in paradise. With my true love. I'm gonna leave my native country (America) for a few months. In order to escape to a better place. Off the beaten track. I know I may have to pay some sort of homage to the likes of Italian prime minister Silvio Berlusconi. But I tell my beautiful and intelligent Italian girlfriend he can't be any worse than our American politicians. We have the absolute worst. Especially on the far right. Full-fledged lunatics. Anyway, Berlusconi has a villa on Sardinia. One of his many homes. After all, he's a billionaire. He can afford almost anything. That includes the good life in Sardinia. And he even speaks broken English. If I see him, I may ask for his autograph. And I'd ask him to pose for a picture with me. So that I can prove to the world that I met a genuine Italian buffoon. And survived it all. And thrived. Maybe I can do the same thing in America some day. After all, I expect to be back in Minnesota for the summer. When maybe I can meet my crazy congresswoman, Michele Bachmann. The American version of Silvio Berlusconi. No matter where I go, there may be no escaping the buffoons. --Jim Broede

Life in an insane asylum.

I think we Americans are in a state of panic. Over what to do about the economy. We see the statistics. An unemployment rate nearing 10 percent. A huge budget deficit. The biggest national debt ever. All sorts of idiots running for public office. And many of 'em getting elected. Which may be the scariest thing of all. Personally, I'm not panicking. I have faith that things will get better. Some day. Oh, things could get worse before they get better. But still, time marches on. And all the crap solidifies. Into a kind of solid, well-fertilized ground. Which allows for a new Eden, a Paradise. I know this is a nutty concept. But then, that's the age in which we live. Everybody has the right to go nuts. Just look at the political landscape. Nuts abound. On the right. On the left. In the middle. Everywhere. America has become one big insane asylum. Where we all have a say. The right to babble. Non-stop. I can babble right here. On the Internet. In my own blog. But I'm just a little speck. We have big organizations calling themselves sources of fair and balanced news and reporting when they are really creators of false realities. The creators of comic book characters. Such as Sarah Palin. Or Christine O'Donnell. Or Sharon Angle. Or Glenn Beck. Or Rush Limbaugh. Or Newt Gingrich. Some of the asylum inmates even call themselves Mama Grizzlies. And they dare run for public office. And some actually get elected. Because when we are in a panic, we American loonies don't know what else to do. We feel overwhelmed. Lost. Often in despair. Because we assume that the sky is falling. Or that the Earth is disintegrating. We have nothing solid to stand on any more. Because everything seems to be spinning out of control. But believe me, I'm not gonna panic. Through it all, I'm gonna remain true to my values and principles. I'll stay the course. As a romantic idealist, a free-thinker, a liberal and a lover. Soon I'll be off for a new land. For the winter. An Italian island called Sardinia. In the Mediterranean Sea. I'll be with my true love. While the rest of you back in America get what you deserve. Life in an insane asylum. --Jim Broede

Is that what you voters meant?

So, my fellow Americans, you loathe big government. And you want budget cuts. And you want to extend $700 billion in tax cuts to the richest Americans. And in order to reduce the budget deficit you'll raise the eligibility age for Medicare, or cutting back on Social Security or raising the retirement age to 70. Yes, I guess that's what you said in bringing a Republican majority and Tea Party conservatives into Congress. But I wonder if that's what you really meant. --Jim Broede