Voting for the Lesser Evil

I just got home from the polls. Did my Civic Duty. Felt like a schmuck.

There are 300 million people living in the United States, and I got to choose between Granholm (seen at left with my buddy Brandon F.) or DeVos as my state's next governor.

Those were the best offerings the Repelicans and Democraps could come up with. I, personally, know at least three people who could do the job better than either of them.

And if you believe their television commercials (I do not) then they are both either: a) baby-killing abortion lovers; b) criminally negligent business people who value dollars over lives; c)anti-Americans; or d) haters of mom and apple pie.

Actually, both candidates aired numerous commercials designed to exaggerate what they laughingly call "the truth." Their televised accusations and comments are the political equivalent of a made-for-TV movie. There may be some aspects of their stories which almost resemble the facts, but then again, there may not be.

The real message of those political commercials is this: "I sure hope the voters are stupid and lazy enough to buy into this dreck!" And sadly, most of us probably are.

Through my job as a reporter, I've met both Granholm and DeVos and had the chance to talk with them one-to-one at length. You wanna know the truth? They're both fairly nice folks. And I think they both have an honest desire to serve We The People.

It's a shame our political system is such that they've both been forced to stoop so low to grub for votes. It really is.

I like both of 'em personally. But neither got my vote. I voted for the Libertarian candidate, whom I've never met or interviewed. I figure, what the hell.

These days, the less I know about a candidate, the better I like him.

Squirrel Wars!

It has come down to this at last: me vs. the squirrels. And the squirrels are winning. They're not just normal brown or red squirrels; they're black, insidious, Darth Vader-esque squirrels, deep in the councils of the Dark Side of The Force

And they won't get the hell out of my house!

Now, before you hit the SPCA speed dial button, let me explain. I like squirrels. I really do. This despite the fact that squirrels are - when you get right down to it - nothing but slightly cuter versions of rats. Still, they frolic, they play, they sit in my maples and natter away as if they really have something important to share with the rest of the world, some bit of squirrel philosophy that - if we could only understand - would end war, stop hunger and ring in a golden age for all mankind.

Or maybe they're just pissed at the blue jays raiding the feeders in the back yard and are expressing their displeasure in the only way they know.

Either way, I like 'em, okay? But every fall, they decide I should like them more. I shouldn't simply put out food for them, bits of apple, nuts, seeds; I also should provide them with a place to hole up through the cold, winter months.

I don't open the door for the little rodents, God knows, but they find their way into my 100-year-old house anyway, through cracks and missing bits of mortar, maybe. At first, they're quiet and stealthy, moving cautiously in the space between the walls, working their way steadily toward the attic.

After they've taken up residence for a while, they no longer even bother to hide their passage from the outside to the inside. I'm almost sure they're throwing parties! I woke up last night to the sound of the Alvin and the Chipmunks version of "Louie Louie" coming from the attic. But when I opened the door they were gone.

The floor was littered with peanut shells and half-chewed acorns.

I could put up with it, I guess, if for no other reason than it's easier to live with 'em than do something about it. But The Lovely Mrs. Taylor - a noted xenophobe - has other ideas. She will not share her home with bugs, mice, snakes or bats. And she will absolutely not share it with what are - as I mentioned earlier - cute rats.

I volunteered to stand guard in the attic, armed only with a .22 and box of cashews (for bait, and in case I get hungry). But Mrs. T has seen me use a gun before and according to the terms of my probation ... well ... that's a story for another time.

Instead, I've gotten hold of a "live trap," which I intend to bait with peanut butter or corn or whatever the hell it is cute rats like to eat. What I'm going to do with a live squirrel - assuming I catch one - I have no idea. Take it out in the woods, I guess, and let it go.

I'm a little worried that a squirrel needs more time to prepare a nest - or shelter, or condo, or whatever it is they usually hole up in for the winter - than he (or she) will have in the scant weeks remaining before the snow flies.

But I can't let that be my problem. As the kid in "Red Dawn" said just before he blew the Russian away: "He doesn't live here!"

If my trap works, neither will the squirrels.