There is a white jacket hanging in my closet. I’ve only worn it once. The night was cold and rainy. Starless. And I was at a school near 83rd and Quincy armed with a cell phone and a laptop. The back of the jacket said it all – Voting Rights Team. It was November 2, 2004. Election Day. I was at a polling station to make sure that no registered voter was prevented from casting a ballot.

I encountered several instances of dirty tricks and voter intimidation that late afternoon and evening. I still have that jacket, eight years later, to serve as a permanent reminder to my children that we are all responsible to protect our American values. And a key value is the right of every citizen to vote.

I’m no virgin. My first campaign was George McGovern’s in 1972 when I was only 17. But I have had enough. My envelope arrived in Saturday’s mail and my ballot will be completed and mailed before you read this post.

I have allowed the coarseness of this year’s politics to invade my personal space.

Molly Ivins referred to the last President as “Shrub”. We have a long tradition of skewering our politicians. It is part of our Freedom of Speech. It is a freedom that allows both Rush Limbaugh and Jon Stewart to earn a living. But our politicians, our leaders, used to know the difference between parody and reality. Not anymore.

Maybe it was the Congressman calling the President a liar during the health care speech before a joint session of Congress. In the last few years night has become day and up, down. But the debates finished me. We had a guy who thought that he was still a CEO, and as usual, before he fired an underling, he questioned the guy’s manhood and tried to knock him down a peg. Of course, this time Mr. Romney is not the CEO. He is just the other party’s nominee. And the guy he was trying to belittle and fire was the President of the United States.

I am an American. I don’t want anyone to think that they can kick sand in the face of our President. Mr. Obama stayed professional. Watching it this at home, I was apoplectic.

So let me end the mystery. Yes, I’m voting for Barack Obama. I’m neither proud nor excited about this, but he is, in my opinion, the better choice. I don’t know if Mr. Romney believes in anything other than his own power and entitlement. That could be dangerous.

Disagree? OK. This is neither an endorsement nor a sales pitch. Make your own choice. I’ve already voted.

Dedicated in memory of my friend Scott, a patriot who would have made a different choice but would have understood and respected my decision.

I

He presented vignettes from his past with such practiced eloquence that I momentarily suspended my disbelief and accepted his importance as presented.

II

My Republican friend was giddy. The debate had been everything he had hoped for, and then some. Theodore (name changed) effused about the transformation of Mitt Romney to the 2012 version of Ronald Reagan. Not satisfied with the unsurprising change in all of Mr. Romney’s positions to those that more closely mirrored both Ted’s and the general electorate, my friend then went on to attack the President as a Socialist clone of Bill Ayers.

I was OK with Ted celebrating Romney 3.0, but the Ayers comparison was both silly and irrelevant. So it was time for a little intellectual honesty.

Ted and I are businessmen. We don’t know anything about defense spending. Cuts? Weapons systems? Bases? We are forced to trust our leaders. But taxes? We know taxes. And we both know a lot about health care funding. The politicians on both sides of the aisle have uttered countless half-truths, exaggerations, and out right lies. We know what the real numbers look like.

Ted was playing dumb. He told me that there were tons of small businesses that would have been created, but for the entrepreneurs’ fear of the tax code. Mr. Romney’s tax plan would motivate the creation of these new businesses.

And I laughed.

How many new businesses pay taxes? Small businesses write off equipment costs, office
furnishings, and fees. Small businesses are unlikely to have a taxable profit in the first couple of years. Few small companies ever approach the top of the tax table. Two guys starting a machine shop are hoping to net enough to make their house payments. Taxation is just another excuse for inaction from someone afraid to take the risk of being self-employed or starting a business.

Real entrepreneurs dream of being so successful that bitching about taxes would be justified.

And large businesses? This is a great time to captain a large company. Corporate profits are up. The stock market is at a record high. And governments are throwing money at you. Cities and states are bidding for corporate headquarters the way NFL teams were wooed twenty years ago. Tax abatements, tax incremental financing, and no interest loans are just part of the packages. If only Ohio could get the employees to work for free…

Ted was no longer smiling. So I gave him my best impression of last Wednesday. “Uh, Umm, Uh I agree with Governor Romney.” And Ted was OK. Hell, he was positively giddy.

III

I didn’t need any sunglasses. The political discussion was generating plenty of heat, but no light.

They were surprised that I didn’t cave, that I didn’t bend to their will. After all, they were repeating all of the lines that they had heard on Rush’s show, Huckabee’s program and even from Greta. No one ever refuted this avalanche of information on FOX.

But I didn’t question my sexual identity when I was once the only straight guy in the room. And I didn’t change my religion any of the times that I was the only Jew in the room. So I certainly wasn’t going to change my politics when I found myself surrounded by a dozen Republicans.

In truth, I liked my odds.

There was a time, not so long ago, when the only annoying calls you would receive on your cell phone were from your parents or wrong numbers. “No, I don’t know Carlota nor why she stood you up.” My day was interrupted not once but twice on Saturday by political pollsters. Ohio is a swing state and everyone wants to know what we think. The more information the candidates have, the more they can tailor their message to move us to their side and motivate us to actually vote.

Obama or Romney? Brown or Mandel? The pollsters only asked about these two races. They also wanted to know if I was really committed to my choice or just leaning in that direction. Once those few questions were out of the way, the serious information collection began.

I was told that the next few questions were simply for demographic purposes. I was asked my religion, my age, my occupation, my gender, my income, and my girlfriend’s bra size. Each question was asked in the same robotic fashion as if it was perfectly normal for me to tell complete strangers all of my personal information.

So I have decided that the next time they call, and they will, I am going to be a thirty-three year old Eskimo who attends services weekly at a Mormon Temple. I encourage you to be equally creative. Support your candidate; just have fun with the demographics. If you plan to vote for Governor Romney, fine, but key in that you are a sixty year old African-American Muslim woman. If President Obama is your man, feel free to tell the pollsters that you are a twenty-five year old Evangelical male. Use your imagination.

The last thing we want to become is predictable. Utah is predictable. Sure the candidate’s TV ads are hideous and the Super PAC commercials libelous, but the only reason we get all of this attention is because they don’t know how we are going to vote. There are only eight to ten swing states. The rest, red or blue, are a foregone conclusion.

I don’t want to be taken for granted. Just call me Nanook.

Mr. Straub, of Straub Manufacturing Solutions, appeared on one of the commercials between innings. The Indians are winning, tonight, but have had a rough time of it lately. Mr. Straub, a Dayton area business owner, would have you know that Ohio manufacturers are also struggling. The Indians suffer from a lack of talent. Ohio manufacturers suffer from wasteful job-killing regulations.

“Call Sherrod Brown”, the announcer intoned. The National Association of Manufacturers sponsored this ad. They don’t really expect you to call. They just hope you will vote for whoever is running against Senator Brown.

I wish I knew who to call. Yesterday, Labor Day, I wasted 6 ½ hours on my annual Medicare certification training and exams. That was followed by over 3 hours today on the computer completing Anthem’s required training and testing. This wasteful, job-killing regulation, the kind the Republican’s are always complaining about, was a gift to insurance agents across the country from; you guessed it, the Republicans. This silliness was buried deep within the legislative mess that created Medicare Part D (Rx).

Unnecessary, job-killing, wasteful regulations can be found in the legislation sponsored by Democrats and Republicans. And sometimes those rules, like equal pay, child labor laws, and pollution regulations may have a cost but may also have a perceived social value. Yes, sometimes one man’s regulation is another’s protection.

Call. Call Sherrod Brown to complain about the Dems. Call John Boehner and ask him what he was thinking when he was the Speaker of the House with a Republican Senate and a Republican President and we ran this country into the ditch.

The Rasmussen Right Direction / Wrong Track poll recently had over 60% of us believing that the U.S. is on the wrong track. Are we on the wrong track because of President Obama and the Democratic Senate? Are we going the wrong way as a country because of the Republican lead House and the filibuster-happy Senate Republicans?

I suspect that it may be all of the above.

Call your elected official. Tell him/her that you’re tired of this. It isn’t a Democratic problem. It isn’t a Republican problem. It is OUR problem. And it needs to be solved.

Call your elected official. Today.

Early Friday afternoon I had the great honor of serving as the Sandek during the Brit Milah (Circumcision) of my client/friend’s son. I held the baby still while the Mohel performed this ancient ritual. This particular Mohel is a licensed physician who has received the proper training to lead a brief service, circumcise the baby, and explain the procedure to the family and guests. Yes, guests.

The Brit is a community event, the celebration of another son into the House of Israel. There were members of several congregations present. My friend is affiliated with B’nai Jeshurun. Three of that synagogue’s Rabbis were in attendance.

It gets very quiet when the Mohel is doing his work. It may be the only time that Jews are completely silent! I was holding this beautiful baby and thinking of this uniquely Jewish practice that has been done for thousands of years. I thought about previous times that I have had the special honor of being the Sandek, like my nephew’s Brit almost twelve years ago that ended just before an ice storm.

And I thought about my son’s Brit, thirty-four years ago, in Phoenix, Arizona.

This connection is so personal, so sacred, that it is beyond our ability to properly explain it to those outside of the community. So we don’t. The Midrash Tanchuma tells of Rabbi Akiva being confronted by a Roman procurator about this ritual. If I may paraphrase, Rabbi Akiva showed the ruler, Turnus Rufus, that just as it is up to man to refine wheat into cakes, so too is it up to man to refine G-d’s laws through the Mitzvah of circumcision.

And while I was sitting there helping to bring this eight day old baby into the community, I also thought of Norway. Norway is attempting to chase its Jews out of the country. There aren’t a whole lot of us left, less than a thousand in the entire country. The first step was to outlaw the Kosher slaughter of animals. Since that didn’t eliminate the community, the Norwegian Centre Party, a member of the ruling coalition, is attempting to criminalize ritual circumcision. That ought to do it.

The Mohel’s work was flawless. I handed the baby to his mother. The father, also a doctor, looked relieved and happy. There was singing and prayers. And food. Oy, was there food.

I had lox and sliced tomatoes while talking with the Rabbis

Saturday morning.  I woke up and realized that being me is a full-time job and that I needed a day off.  I rolled over and stayed in bed till 8, two extra hours.

Today’s post was going to be about the Ryan pick.  In preparation I got up and watched a half hour of Up with Chris Hayes on MSNBC and then a half hour of Fox and Friends.  Richard Belzer was on the UP set.  Mike Huckabee was a guest on FaF.  This wasn’t an exercise in understanding different world views.  My hour was more like an old Star Trek episode.  I was transported to parallel universes.  All of the names were the same, but the actions, motivations, and even right and wrong were completely reversed.

An hour of television left me frustrated and agitated.  My reality, my day to day interaction with clients and peers, didn’t jive with either of the USA’s the pundits described.

I needed a walk, a mind clearing pure escape from the drivel that passes as political discourse.  I grabbed a bottle of water, gave it a squirt of Mio, and headed to the Beachwood Park with my IPod.

Three or four miles would be perfect.  I clicked on Just Like Gravity, David Crosby’s CPR CD and set out to decompress.

I was walking at a pretty good clip.  Too fast.  This was about relaxing, not cardio.  I reduced my pace and concentrated more on the trees, bushes, and the other people on the paths.

As I got closer to Richmond RoadI could hear a group of young girls screaming and laughing.  They were promoting a free car wash at the junior high school.  I was annoyed that they were intruding on my music and peace even though they were hundreds of yards away.  And I realized that being annoyed was proof that I was still really agitated.

I stopped at my car and lit a cigar for the second leg of my walk.  Now before my favorite nurse weighs in on the evils of smoking, let me point out that we are all entitled to our own vices.  My only two are cigars and self-aggrandizing bullshit like this post.  The cigar, a CAO Mx2, was excellent.

The park, once I was far enough away from Richmond, was quiet and peaceful.  There were a couple of dog walkers and a few bike riders.  I didn’t count much more than a half dozen joggers and runners.  I was anonymous and ignored.  I thought about my father who died eighteen years ago this month.  I wondered what he, an employee who had chained himself to his job, would have thought of blowing off an hour on a Saturday morning.  I don’t know if he ever gave himself an hour in a park.

The cigar and the walk ended simultaneously.  What had I learned?  I was again reminded that walks in the park, like deep tissue massages, aren’t a luxury.  They are the salve to my wounds, real or imagined, that I work through daily.  Those are mine.  What are yours?  What are you doing?  Do you indulge in smoking, or does some other vice call your name?

I had one last stop to make before I returned to responsible adulthood.  I stopped at Menchie’s and had a $1.50 worth of no sugar added frozen yogurt.

Frank was an In kind of guy. He brought the In to:

• _ _ competent
• _ _ difference
• _ _ capable
• _ _ efficient

I would praise his work, but I hate to be _ _ sincere.

I don’t believe in destiny
Or the guiding hand of fate
I don’t believe in forever
Or love as a mystical state

I don’t believe in the stars or the planets
Or Angels watching from above
But I believe that there is a ghost of a chance
We can find someone to love
And make it last
– Neil Peart

The heat has been intense. I took my temperature and was surprised and pleased that I was right where I should be. Still, the combination of illnesses and deaths of friends and clients, our political system’s inability to generate qualified candidates, and a government that wants to put me out of business could have had a real impact on my internal thermostat. But I’m fine, about as relaxed as I’ve ever been.

It is at a moment like this, when you realize that your internal well-being and balance aren’t being thrown by the extensive external pressures you are encountering, that proves the value of your support team. I am incredibly lucky. I am surrounded by people who understand that we are all a part of something bigger than ourselves and are more than willing to help me find my particular role.

Can the stability you find in one environment allow you to better cope with the chaos in others? I think so. And if you find that person or persons who choose to create that safe-haven, that oasis of peace in your world, then it is important to acknowledge their place in your life and your appreciation for everything they do.

If you let people know how thankful you are, there is a ghost of a chance that they will still be there tomorrow.

It was the summer of 1974. I was a tall skinny 19 year old with shoulder length curly hair. And I was calling on businesses, door to door on the eastside of Cleveland, selling a burglar alarm system. Hough. Superior. Kinsman. So, I’m standing in the back of a bar. The owner is talking to me while he is cleaning his gun.

Word on the street, boy, is that either you’re armed, you’re crazy, or you really know how to take care of yourself.

I answered him immediately. “I don’t carry a gun. I don’t need one. I’m not crazy. And yes, if I have to, I can take care of myself. But I won’t ever need to do that. I’m just selling burglar alarms.”

I still don’t own a gun. I don’t want one. I have no interest in guns. I don’t even bother to feign much of an interest when my son tells me about his trips to the firing range with his father-in-law. I don’t want to take away their guns. Nor do I wish to disarm the hunters amongst us who, for sport, food, or possibly both, march through our woods each fall. It is as foreign to me as the recipe for a great pork roast. I just don’t care, AS LONG AS YOUR GUN RIGHTS DON’T INFRINGE ON MY SAFETY.

And that is where it gets a little sticky. The idealized version of this country, the one in all of the movies and civics books, is that we believe in live and let live. You do what you want, pray or don’t pray as you so choose, live your life to the fullest, and as long as it doesn’t impact anyone else, you’re OK. In the real U.S., not so much. And we are becoming far less tolerant of our differences. We are becoming more polarized. We don’t trust the other side. And there is always another side.

I received a hate-filled email from a group that claims to be both Conservative and patriotic. Barry Goldwater, the father of modern Conservatism, would not have recognized the authors of this piece as either. The arguments weren’t designed to garner a single vote for Mitt Romney. I have seen very little promoting Mr. Romney. No, this was a revisit of the birth certificate, a laundry list of half-truths and complete lies, and thinly veiled racism. It was nauseating.

The authors of this and other advertising now appearing on television aren’t attempting to win over the undecided. Recent polling suggests that there are very few undecideds. Most of us have already chosen the lesser of two evils. The question is whether we can be motivated by fear or anger to bother to vote. Can we be so disgusted with our choice that we stay home? Can the other side get us to give up?

Right now my true-believer Republican friends are feeling slighted while my solidly liberal Democratic friends are smugly nodding their heads. It is not that easy. The rivers of mud are flowing from both molehills of talent. As Mr. Gingrich and Senator Santorum proved, it is easy to fight Mitt Romney by simply quoting Mitt Romney. The Democrats have spent millions of dollars to cast him in the most possible negative light. His reluctance to release his tax returns to the army of CPA’s waiting to analyze every line is understandable. I doubt that he could be elected dogcatcher once everything is out. But is any of it relevant? That, like the silly birther stuff, is a question that is never addressed.

But do you trust President Obama and the Democrats? What is their secret agenda? If elected to a second term will he take away your guns? Will he end the possibility of you, a middle-aged, middle class suburbanite; from quitting your job, creating the next Microsoft and becoming a billionaire because of his confiscatory tax policies? Will he sell nuclear weapons to Iran? And what about Obamacare?

Well, do you?

And do you trust the Republicans, with or without Mitt Romney? A bunch of Republicans, campaigning on economic issues, were elected to statehouses around the country in 2010. What did we get? Countless anti-abortion laws. Anti-union laws. Changes in voting laws. Were these the issues of their campaigns? Of course not.

So, do you trust the Republicans?

Another terrible tragedy occurred last week in Colorado. It was politicized before the dead could be buried. Each extreme has marked off its territory. Hero fantasies are quite the rage on both Facebook and in the news as if more guns would have made the theater safer.

I didn’t carry a gun in 1974. Don’t carry one today. That doesn’t mean I want to take yours. Can we start the conversation there? I think we have work to do.

I was in the left lane, ready to turn, to enter a place I no longer needed to visit. I wasn’t thinking, just driving. It was July 4th, a free day, and I found myself outside Menorah Park with no reason to go further.

Odd how death affects you. One minute you are on the way to the mall, a sale at Nordstrom with an hour or two to waste. The next you are in a parking lot, looking up at a building that no longer serves as a friend’s last stop before the next major journey.

Death. Cancer. Another Cancer. Another Death. Another Cancer. Another Cancer. Another Death. And then today, another Cancer. There are days, even weeks, where the only news that crosses my desk is of births and recoveries. These last few weeks have been particularly dark. There are times that I can help, but not lately. Impotent, my job has devolved to holding the hands of the dying and comforting the survivors.

Today’s Cancer is a vibrant man in his mid-sixties. He was recently diagnosed with prostate cancer. It is too early. He’s not ready. And I’m not ready.

But nobody asked me.

I read an article in Forbes by a nuclear physicist about the future of insurance agents. He didn’t see much of a future for my chosen profession. The consumer, he predicted, will soon elect to purchase insurance the same way one buys a small appliance, by price, online. He didn’t even bother to pretend that the elimination of over 100,000 jobs and the skills we brought to the marketplace would be missed.

And the truth is that he may well be right. The new exchanges, coupled with the faceless voices emanating from call centers around the world, will be how most people purchase their coverage. And it will be fine, right up to the moment when it isn’t. And then, it won’t matter.

My last alarm clock came from a store. My computers come from stores, brick and mortar entities that are staffed with knowledgeable associates. These businesses are prepared to stand behind the products they sell and the people they employ. Will these stores be here tomorrow? Where will I go to get my questions answered? Who will care if the product I purchase fits my needs?

Is the buying of a product an end to itself, or is the proper utilization of the product and the satisfaction one derives from getting value the real goal?

Sally, my girlfriend, bought a set of sheets at Macy’s last week. A set of sheets, something we’ve all done countless times. The color was perfect. They felt nice to the touch. They were on sale! This was not a purchase that required any specialized knowledge or planning. The sheets were awful. After one washing the queen-sized fitted sheet would have worked on a king-sized bed. Macy’s graciously credited her account.

What will we do when the deep thinkers explain away the need for Macy’s? Is insurance easier to buy than a set of sheets?

But my real focus, these last couple of weeks, hasn’t been on the end of my career. That would almost seem like a pleasant diversion. My focus has been on nursing homes and hospice, surgeries and chemo, and the small part I play in my clients’ stories. Sometimes I’m a bit player. Sometimes I have a bigger part to play. Regardless of size, I am always present in a supporting roll.

I only needed a few minutes to assure my client that his coverage supported his desire to meet with other doctors and to explore other treatment options. That’s what he needed. That’s what I do.