State of the Union

State of the Union

By Laura Walcher

Presidio Sentinel, San Diego, August 2011

   Who would’ve expected  Mrs. Murdoch to go attacking the clown who sent her husband a pie-in-the-face?  She looks like a delicate sort of woman, but undeniably full of grit.  Anyway, at least she wasn’t the hurler – though heaven knows, that couple could be next up for “issues.”

Rebekah Brooks, she of the flowing flame mane, might … um, love Mr. Murdoch, herself.   We haven’t quite yet learned, … what did she know and when did she know it?  “Incredible!” is how Newsweek reports her claim that she din’ know’ nuttin’ - !    Wait   Maybe her role is deeply related to, ummm, more than her

Job.  We’ll find out.  The New York Times warns us, “the web unmasks ... everyone!”

And, we’ll hear soon enough just why Arnold refuses in court to provide his ex-Mrs. with child support and/or alimony.  He’s broke?  Mad?  Maybe Maria just plain doesn’t need it.   More likely, it’s the principle of the thing.

We un-rich couples have our own problems, so before the i’net bares my newest one, replete with untruths and second opinions, I’ll tell you that if I could afford it, I’d have taken Mr. Walcher to court myself.  

What happened?  I distributed my last  semi-brilliant column in e-mail,  with absolutely no subject line, thereby seriously reducing the probability of it being read.  I made this egregious error because Bob Walcher was driving me nuts.  He paced ‘round the office, stamping his alligator feet, because he wanted us to leave.  Leave!  What, again?  To be too early for a date we could easily be just on time for, if only I were left alone to craft an appealing subject line? But no. NO!    Off it went without the subject line, sentencing me to spend my writing life in miserable invisibililty.  

Unfortnately, I’m not rich enough to sue.  He owes me a subject line for sure.  Instead, I complained to PR guy Tom Sprague, who’d chided me for the lack of a  subject line. Tut, tut, he said, but soon, understanding the source, offfered  a perfectly reasoned solution:

“I’ve been married for 61 years,” he reported, “but I only recently discovered that no matter how much I suggested, pleaded, commented, etc., nothing made the ‘getting-ready’ process any faster. So now I get dressed, and lie down on the couch until she walks by and says she’s set to go.

  

“We have not yet missed any kick-offs, early cocktails or curtain time.  Who says time is money?” 

“My pastor  calls it the ‘Two Minute Warning,’ ” he continued, “ like in football, two minutes takes a lot longer than two minutes when getting ready to leave for an event.”

Mr. Walcher could take a lesson.

The rich could learn from us; we’re better at peace.  Or at least,

our peace costs us less.  When my mother and dad - both of whom spoke perfect English - had a dispute, they switched instantly to Yiddish, and somehow, that led to endless streams of resolution and not a single cash

exchange.  Or maybe they were just protecting us kids, which isn’t a bad idea, either; one the rich ought to get serious about.

It’s a little scary to think what we’ll learn next, about Mr. Shacknai and Ms. Zahau.  We’ll take the mere tut-tuts of we un-monied, any day.  ###