Banana, the public

Behold the banana. Elvis' gastronomical muse. Axel Foley's exit strategy. Vaudeville's comic vehicle. Inspiring revolution in sport, dubious fashion and, well, revolution itself. Socio-political talisman. A central character in base proto-porn spring break contests up and down the Lauderdale Strip. A noun, an adjective, a psychological state. Sleek and efficient, in commerce, as well as delivering nutrients. Whimsical in shape and color. In your pocket, it doubles as a sidearm.

Yes, something for everyone.

Big Top David

And we thought he was a thankless prick. The latest details to tumble out of the government's chapiteau for David Rivera reveal an almost virtuous side to the disHonorable Congresstheif. It seems ole' Dave was almost maniacal about thanking his constituents, even for elections that never took place. No matter how the steadily dawning saga of Congresstheif Rivera's operation ends, we will at least be left with a fairly hefty textbook on how the savants of our political class work the angles. When it comes to angles, Rivera is all elbows.

Setting aside character flaws for the moment-- his awkwarness with the ladies, his poor hand-eye coordination, his liberal economic policies -- the Congresstheif is a fanatical adherent to the political playbook when it comes to subsisting on the meager salary of a public servant.  Like most elected officials in Florida, he's taken on a second job to help pay the bills. Nobody does it alone, and Dave has a very supportive family, willing to lend a hand to make ends meet.

Having been a fan of the political game since I was a young boy, I have found myself strangely conflicted with the Congresstheif's story. As a member of the public which this man purports to represent, I am disgusted by every aspect of this walking fiasco of a man. But part of me has always been morbidly curious with how long a guy like this could get away with it before the tent came crashing down on his little cirque du irrévérence. Now it seems the posts are beginning to show some visible stress. Look for the animals to start scurrying for safer ground. Yes, even the elephants.

Recall Politics... Remember, there is no "safe word"

So, the last month saw another recall petition certified, with another failing by a mere 35 votes. The recall of Natacha Seijas was made official, while the failed recall petition for Bruno Barreiro was hailed by the always cerebral commissioner as proof he still enjoys the confidence of his constituents. That's Bruno for you. Harvey Ruvin may have edged Santa Claus as the hardest working man this holiday season. For Norman Braman and Vanessa Brito, Harvey is Santa Claus.

For the two recall campaigns that are going foorward, the real work begins now. Putting two savvy politicians, and their coterie of special interest supporters, on the chopping block is merely tantamount to kicking the sleeping bear. Sure, it took a heap of guts to kick the bear in the first place. But now you gotta wrestle it...

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Let's hope for real commitment to see it through. The Recallers have placed themselves squarely in the path of the incumbents' strength-- absentee ballots. If a strong and concerted effort is not made to blunt the absentee ballot rush of the incumbents, this season's recall efforts will wind up in the pile of recalls past, and serve only to strengthen and embolden the politicians. Take a page out of the incumbent playbook, and spare no expense on your own absentee ballot effort.

A ransom note of pasted letters...

Picture this post wearing a blindfold, holding up a copy of today's newspaper. This being the first blog post I will ever publish, I sense the need to throw out some sort of manifesto, some statement of purpose, to define the bounds and direction of this here space. Passive-aggression precludes me from doing so definitively. So, I'll try to serve up something and nothing at the same time. Already, I'm seeing this effort as my own personal adverb. It's been a long time since I learned how to do something.

My ex-wife, my friend, says I need to grow. My ex-wife, my nemesis, says I need to grow up. I've had this oedipal migraine for quite some time. Which reminds me, I probably should see an optometrist, before I can't see, period. I'm not comfortable with others understanding me. But I'm amused that anyone should understand me at all. I guess I'm just lucky that way.

Life right now is a mishmash of self-doubt, pride, optimism, meditation, desperation and quiet rage, sauteed in Pepcid and hand-me-down Lexapro. From my balcony, I have a 180-degree view. It begins in the west, where I began to go wrong. The view ends where I thought I wanted to be, in the east. And I'm stuck somewhere in the middle, unable to return in either direction. Not that I want to. I'm just here, right now, for now. I stare out at the red neon letters of the Magic City Casino, reminded how all of life has odds to prevail or defy. I've never looked the board. Think I better start.

It is, after all, a new year.