14 November 2010

Old School

(The Brigade of Midshipmen enter the stadium. Photo Socotra.)

It was one of those days in the middle of November that make you drift off in an autumnal reverie. Crisp. The colors still hanging on. Jiggs and Ludmilla invitd me up to tailgate at the Class of ’68 tent at navy-Marine Corps Stadium, and I put down the analysis of the deficit crisis to go drink with the Old School.

Before we leave that, though, I was pondering the implications of the basic philosophy of The Odd Couple- Erskin Bowles of North Carolina and Henry Simpson of Wyoming:

“We have a patriotic duty to come together on a plan that will make America better off tomorrow than it is today...we cannot be great if we go broke. Our economy will not grow and our country will not be able to compete without a plan to get this crushing debt burden off our back…Americans have always been willing to sacrifice to make our nation stronger over the long haul. That’s the promise of America: to give our children and grandchildren a better life…(we have) have spent the past two years making tough choices in (our) own lives…(we need those jerks to)… agree on a plan to live within our means and make America strong for the long haul.”

I have my serious doubts that they will manage to pull it off. After all, the reason they issued the report as a draft was the simple fact that none of the conferees could agree on anything for the final recommendation that is due to the President on the first of December.

I would be willing to sign up for the whole package, but those sleazy special interests will manage to torpedo basic changes in the tax code. I would be willing to give up the loopholes that benefit me- like mortgage interest- if there was a fair rate and everyone paid.

There is no consensus on what is going to happen. The Times printed an article by one of  those Gold Bugs, who advocates lining the currency to the precious metal. It is a mental disorder and I am surprised the Times gave it any credence.

In the very same OpEd section was another article advocating more stimulus money is necessary and damn the consequences.

The point of all this is that people are shouting Weimar! and Deflation! All at the same time. What the hell is going on?

Seems to me that we have real upward pressure on energy and other commodities that cannot be denied, based on demand from China and India; we have serious deflationary trends in the real estate sector; the Fed is printing money like it is going out of style, which will inevitably devalue the currency, and cheapen the market for bonds, right?

Could the Black Swan around the corner be what the smart guy from the House Intelligence Committee said at the panel last week?

Suppose they hold a T-Bond auction and no one shows up?

(The Annapolis Class of 1969 is sticking to their guns. Photo Socotra.)

Screw it. We showed up, Old School. The Class of ’69 tent said it best: drink like champions.

The game pits the Midshipmen against the Central Michigan Chippewa’s. Excellent tailgating; got a great drink recipe for a crazy Pimm's Cup pineapple fantasy and some really outrageous apple-cinnamon Everclear that would kick your ass into next week if you let it.

Drank vodka and tonics with the Class of '68. Across the vehicle alley was a retired flag officer, his lovely bride and a host of former Fellow Travelers.

It is nice to have a lot of emotional investment in the game, since I went to college, not trade school, but I find I have a visceral connection to the Service that will not go away. Looking at the young men and women wearing the uniform, and all of s old-timers who used to made me think it was just barely possible that we could all pull together and not let the country careen off the clff, out of control.

Who knows? I also was a little spooked by the thought that my younger son is- today- wearing the same uniform as the kids in Navy blue.

Or that I did. Weird.

I wandered across the aisle to party with some of my old shipmates, when a young woman wandered up in a skin-tight mini jersey with the word “Princeton” emblazoned across the front. It clung to every curve in her lithe body. Turns out she works at Goliath-IT with the Admiral.

It was everything I could do to stay calm. So the word this morning conjures not only respect for academic strength and tradition, but the raw power of youthful beauty.

She had an interesting tattoo, by the way- where her wedding ring would have been was a spidery, Tolkien-like Elvin band of blue numbers- the anniversary date of a marriage that did not survive. A cautionary tale about ink, I thought, thinking of the one on my arm.

She said she has eleven other small image placed on her body, and I have to tell you I would have been very interested in the tour.

I still subscribe to Playboy, just for the articles, of course, but am saddened by the fact that it I could very easily be not the father, but now almost the grandfather of some of the young women in the magazine.

Jeeze.

The drive from Annapolis in the dark is a really amazing trip, since it runs along the Anacostia River and across the part of the District that used to be worth your life to get stuck in. Awesome day, but the best thing about it was seeing the kids and feeling some hope.

That and the F/A-18 Hornet fly-by to start the game as they ran the clips from Top Gun with the gigantic speakers on the stadium Jumbo-tron pulsing with the sounds of “Danger Zone” and Maverick getting ready to launch off the catapult in his Tomcat.

The roar of those engines is something else. Gives you the shivers, I'll tell you. Naval Aviation: "Turning dinosaurs to noise for a century!"

Maybe things will be OK. The kids are all right.


(Hornets over Navy-Marine Corps Memorial Stadium.)

Copyright 2010 Vic Socotra
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