Mike Duvall: Return of the Mack

Many of you are already aware of the sensation that is Republican California Assemblyman Mike Duvall. While participating in an assembly meeting on July 6, 2009, he began chatting with a fellow politician who had the misfortune of being seated next to him. The problem is that the conversation was not only recorded, it was televised as well. After all, there is no safer place to confide potentially career-ending carnal adventures than in front of a microphone at a televised meeting. In the now infamous conversation, he divulged his newly discovered penchant for administering a good spanking, his fondness of immodest undergarments, and indirectly, his blatant disregard for latex-based prophylactics. While these characteristics are not, in and of themselves, particularly noteworthy or even unethical, his choice of application was.

You see, Mike Duvall is a married father of two and a recent addition to the California Assembly Rules Committee which oversees member ethics. His previously unimpeachable credibility included a 100% rating by the California Republican Assembly and the Capital Resources Institute for his conservative voting record and his unwavering stance on the importance of family values. He even received the Ethics in America Award from Chapman University for his “demonstration of the highest standards of ethical integrity.”

This provided a deeply ironic backdrop when it was revealed that the posterior his hand was striking, belonged not to the mother of his children, but to another married woman. The identity of the “spankee” would have likely remained unknown had Mr. Duvall not felt it pertinent to emphasize the fact that his mistress was nearly two decades his junior by revealing her birthday. He then concluded his laughter-punctuated discourse by referring to his other secret lover, the existence of whom was seemingly unknown to both his spouse and mistress number one.

When the tape was unleashed upon the media in early September, it did not take long for a handful of arithmetic-savvy journalists to uncover the identity of Duvall’s paramour; Heidi DeJong Barsuglia, a 36 year old energy lobbyist employed by California-based utilities giant Sempra Energy. It is at this point the coincidences began piling up:

· Duvall received $1,500 in campaigned contributions from Sempra Energy.

· In February of 2009, Duvall became vice-chairman of the Utilities and Commerce committee.

· In April 2009, Barsuglia was hired by Sempra as a top lobbyist .

· In May 2009, Duvall began officially opposing a bill that would require Sempra and other energy companies to acquire a certain percentage of their electricity from environmentally friendly sources .

· In July 2009, Duvall reveals that he and Barsuglia are involved in an ongoing sexual relationship.

Immediately after the story broke, Duvall resigned his post on the California Assembly while insisting that if he was guilty of anything, it was “inappropriate storytelling.” He continues to maintain that the affair and two female participants therein, were figments of his rather vivid imagination.

While Duvall’s hasty resignation prevented any digging by the Assembly ethics committee, several investigations were launched by the FBI, U.S. Attorney’s Office, California Attorney General, and the Fair Political Practices Commission. Earlier this month, all four concluded that there was not enough evidence to prove that any laws had been broken and closed the investigation.

For her part, Mrs. Barsuglia continues to deny the affair or any wrongdoing and is still employed by Sempra Energy. She has indicated on several occasions that she might seek legal action against Duvall for defamation of character, but as of this writing has not done so.

I find several aspects of this story troubling, not the least of which is that it apparently takes the combined effort of two federal and two state agencies to reach the conclusion that nothing illegal occurred. I am not sure which one was a greater misallocation of tax funding; Duvall’s salary or the quad-pronged inquisition concerning his actions while being paid that salary.

Admittedly, the circumstances are not exactly ripe for criminal prosecution, but I cannot believe that “inappropriate storytelling” is all the public gets in the way of an apology. It sounds like a late night Cinemax series or something that occurs when your uncle gets inebriated at a family get together. This guy drew over $110,000 a year (plus over $120 for daily expenses) in taxpayer money and likely used much of that salary to carry on not one, but two simultaneous affairs with female lobbyists.

As upset as I am about this incident, I do believe that there are several lessons to be learned:

· Never, ever, piss off the audio / video geeks. Why do you suppose that something recorded in July suddenly surfaced in September? Duvall probably snubbed one of the A/V guys at an Olive Garden one day and the stage was set…

· If you decide to discuss your illicit affairs in front of known working sound equipment, try not to mention identifiable information about the other party such as birthday, name, social security number, birthmarks, or blood type. After all, that is just common courtesy.

· If, by some unfortunate coincidence you find yourself in the same position as Mr. Duvall, it is imperative that you hint at a history of substance abuse during your resignation speech. This allows you to enter rehab, thereby redirecting responsibility for your infidelity / embezzlement / DUI / anti-Semitism to your penchant for model glue and scotch.

· There are several creative ways to lower your energy bills. While the rest of America is installing compact fluorescent bulbs and unplugging their cell phone chargers, Mr. Duvall realized that it would be far more efficient to engage in a romantic relationship with an energy lobbyist and “spank” his utility costs into submission.

Only time will tell where Mr. Duvall’s career path will lead, but if he is fortunate, it will be far away from a microphone.

The original video and transcript can be found here:

http://www.cbsnews.com/blogs/2009/09/10/crimesider/entry5300372.shtml

2012: Kiss Your Metaphorical Butt Goodbye

Probably my two favorite cable television channels are The History Channel and The Discovery Channel because they consistently provide intellectually-stimulating programming and still give me an excuse to watch Dirty Jobs and Gangland. Lately however, both channels have been hopelessly saturated with asinine specials concerning the Mayans, Nostradamus, and their chilling consensus concerning the year 2012. Namely, that the Earth with experience a mind-numbingly horrific series of catastrophes up to, and perhaps including, an extinction level event (not to be confused with the groundbreaking 1998 Busta Rhymes album of the same name.)

An entire host of books and movies are being produced on the assumption that the ancient Mayan culture created a calendar designating the end of the current age as December 21, 2012. The inference is that this date was given as a warning to humanity by the Mayan people and we would be foolish not to heed its message.

As always, the truth is somewhat more complicated. The Mayans did indeed have a calendar (in fact they had several) and one of them was created to specifically address a rather simple problem. The Mayan people would often erect stone pillars, called stelae, on which they would carve depictions of important people or events in order to commemorate them (just like statues in a park.) Being the highly intelligent people that they were, it was not long before they realized the plaque under the statues needed a fixed date on it so they could remember when the particular event occurred. The only problem was that they did not have a long term time designation to carve on it. This would be the modern equivalent of a gravestone that gave someone’s lifespan as March 21^st – April 3^rd, because without a year designation, we do not know which March 21^st they were born or on which April 3^rd they died.

The Mayans solved this dilemma by utilizing a Long Count Calendar, which created an “era” of time that started and ended at a specific moment in history (think in terms of B.C. & A.D.) Most scholars believe that the Mayan “era” began in 3114 B.C. and will end somewhere around December of 2011 or 2012 A.D. The date of December 21, 2012 became attached because it is the both the winter solstice (an annual event) and the date of Galactic Alignment (an event that occurs once every 26,000 years and brings the sun into the exact center of the Milky Way Galaxy.) We know that the Mayans were brilliant astronomers, and we know that their Long Count Calendar was slated to terminate in December of 2011 or 2012, so we find it acceptable to assume their intention was to bring their era to a close on the Galactic Alignment.

It is important to remember that there is no historical evidence that the Mayans expected a catastrophe at the end of their long count calendar any more that we expect one when we go to a New Year’s Party. It would probably have been marked with a celebration (and perhaps an alcohol-fueled awkward moment or too) but they certainly did not seem to foresee humanity’s impending doom.

Nostradamus was an astrologer and physician born on December 14, 1503 in Saint-Rémy, France. In 1547, after several years of successfully practicing medicine, he began composing “prophecies” embedded inside quatrains. A sampling:

1. The great man will be struck down in the day by a thunderbolt,
An evil deed foretold by the bearer of a petition.
According to the prediction, another falls at night time.
Conflict at Reims, London and a pestilence in Tuscany.

2. In winter’s darkness betrayal finds a home,

Mourning will be heard throughout the great city,

From the four pieces must lessen one,

Strongholds to bring sickness from Corfrino .

3. Earthshaking fire from the center of the Earth
Will cause tremors around the New City.
Two great rocks will war for a long time,
Then Arethusa will redden a new river.

The first example is believed to be Nostradamus’s foretelling of the JFK assassination (struck down in the day by a thunderbolt) and Bobby Kennedy’s nighttime assassination five years later (falls at night time.)

The second example is believed to be a prediction of John Lennon’s December assassination (winter’s darkness) outside the Dakota in New York City. The “four” is often associated with the four bullets that hit Lennon or the four members of The Beatles.

The third example is presented as a vision of the September 11 attacks on New York (New City.) The two great rocks are the twin towers, and they did indeed cause tremors when they fell. The two “warring” great rocks could also represent America and the Middle East.

As you can see, what the French seer lacked in accuracy, he easily compensated for with ambiguity. The quatrains are vague, timeless, and generally speak to themes of human suffering and destruction; which allows the writings to be adapted to each new disaster as it occurs. Case in point; while the first and third quatrains are actual Nostradamus prophecies, the second one I wrote as an example in about ten minutes. As far as foreseeing Armageddon in 2012 is concerned, the Frenchman wrote prophecies about events that were to occur well into the 38^th century so it seems unlikely that he was under the impression our world would end in 2012.

That is not to say that there will not be warning signs that the end is near. After careful research, I have compiled several:

· A member of the Kardashian family is elected to public office

· Arkansas completes all interstate road construction

· A prescription drug is produced whose side effects do not include nausea

· Andy Rooney purchases and utilizes an electric eyebrow trimmer

· Members of the United State Congress take voluntary salary reductions

· It is after 8:30 PM on a weekday and the McDonald’s ice cream machine is not “broken”

· Jessica Simpson wins an Oscar for her work in a Civil War-era musical directed by Michael Bay

· Switchblade combs stop being cool

· A year passes without someone inventing a new device to work your abs

· GM produces a sport utility vehicle uglier than the Pontiac Aztec

So do not fret my fellow homosapiens, because the only thing in danger of extinction in the year 2012 is our own common sense. …

The Joys of Real Estate

It was about four years into our marriage that Ashley and I decided that it was time to purchase a house. Our apartment was wonderful, but we wanted a place of our own. A place that we could use to entertain guests, host family dinners, and place mildly offensive signs in the yard without asking anyone’s permission. After some research, we decided that the most prudent move would be to seek pre-approval from a mortgage company so that we had a better idea of our price range.

On a recommendation from a friend, we sought the counsel of a nationally recognized lender who just happened to staff a local office. When the day of our appointment finally arrived, Ashley and I sat in the waiting room clutching the documentation that would soon be utilized to determine our financial worthiness. After about 15 minutes we were summoned to the lender’s chamber and asked to produce the requested paperwork (bank statements, paycheck stubs, autographed Frank Stallone albums) so that an accurate fiscal picture could be painted. Several minutes and 10 invasive questions later, we were given a pre-approval letter.

Now that we had our price range, we could finally use the Sunday real estate adds for something other than fueling our charcoal starter. For three consecutive weeks we ritualistically studied the cleverly captioned photos and nauseatingly memorable tag lines (break that lease and get you a piece!) until we began to perceive the existence of a cryptic realtor code:

· “Investor’s Dream!” = Crack house

· “Walkout Basement” = Would you like to be the victim of a home invasion?

· “Rolling Hills!” = Highly susceptible to erosion

· “Unique, one of a kind home!” = Original contractor is still involved in litigation

· “Old World Elegance!” = Violates multiple building codes

· “All New Flooring!” = Someone was murdered here

· “Rural Tranquility!” = Cable television and high speed internet are unavailable

· “Quiet Street” = Located in a failed subdivision

· “Separate Workshop” = Clandestine meth-lab

· “Newly Remodeled Kitchen” = Devastating grease fire

· “Motivated Seller!” = Current owner is the focus of an ongoing police investigation

· “Classic Beauty” = Seller was unable to remove the gold-leaf wallpaper in guest bathroom

· “Historic Neighborhood!” = You are within walking distance of a Gyro King

Once we consumed our Sabbath lunch and compiled listings we were interested in, we would jump in the car and proceed to hit the open houses. After speaking to several real estate agents (one of whom gleefully informed us that she could get us a deal on a particular home because the couple building it had recently met with unexpected financial ruin) we found an agent that seemed uniquely attuned to our tastes. He was laid back and unfazed by the fact we were unable to purchase a dwelling priced above $139,000. Over the next month he shuttled us in and out of several houses, but none of them was tempting enough for us to give up our apartment. Then one day, that all changed….

We saw a listing for a foreclosed two-story house located in modestly high-brow area of town and it was in our price range. It had vaulted ceilings, a quaint picket fence, and had been on the market for almost a year so it had the unmistakable scent of desperation. Aided by our new real estate guru, we performed several walkthroughs on the property and even had our parents take a look. It seemed that everything was falling into place and on the weekend of our third walkthrough we decided to put in an offer.

Ashley and I had decided to meet at the realtor’s office that Thursday afternoon in order to complete the necessary paperwork, but by Wednesday afternoon she had grown apprehensive and wanted us to go first thing in the morning. I condescendingly explained to her that any anxiety was the result of inexperience and that a seasoned property consumer, such as myself, could see that it was ridiculous to alter our plans since the home had been on the market for twelve months. Finally seeing the error of her ways, we agreed to meet at the real estate office after work the next day as we had originally planned.

The following afternoon, Ashley and I entered our agent’s office and seated ourselves opposite him at the conference table. While handing out the paperwork, he informed us that an unprecedented turn of events had occurred: an out-of-state couple had submitted an offer two hours earlier on the same house without even seeing it. Beads of sweat began to form on my brow as I caught Ashley’s head slowly rotating my direction, and just to ensure I would spend the next week on the couch, the realtor added “If only you guys had come in a few hours earlier…”

I quickly realized that if we did not get this house, I would be taking an involuntary vow of celibacy for the next several months. Despite the grim outlook, we filled out the paperwork, submitted it to the lien holder for review, and waited. A week passed, and we received word that our out-of-state rivals had submitted the winning bid and would be the proud new owners of our dream home. Crestfallen and domestically ostracized, I set about looking for another house on the Internet.

A few months later, we found a beautiful older home that offered almost 3,000 square feet and a price tag of $130,000. Several close friends of ours lived in the neighborhood, and we felt comfortable enough in dealing with the owners to forgo using an agent so it looked as though we had it in the bag. We wasted no time submitting an offer on the property, and just to guarantee we would emerge victorious, we offered to pay the asking price. It would only be a matter of days until The Taylor Family had 3,000 square feet of historic charm to explore.

Several days passed and I finally received a call from the owner. He apologized for the delay and explained that they were unable to accept our offer because another couple had delivered an identical proposal just two hours before we got there and it was only fair to give them right of first refusal. He wished me luck on our continued search and left me with, “If only you guys had come in a few hours earlier…”

We both became so disgusted with the process we almost completely stopped looking for a place of our own, although we would occasionally hit an open house in the $500,000+ range as they always had the best refreshments, and decided that it just wasn’t our time to own a piece of the American dream.

A few months later we were driving home from lunch when we spotted an open house sign. We had a few hours to kill and there was always a chance of refreshments so we decided to stop in. Coincidentally, the house was owned by a coworker, beautifully decorated, and most importantly: in our price range. We made them an offer and soon enough we found ourselves at the attorney’s office signing the closing documents.

If you have never been through this process, it is impossible to accurately describe the volume of paperwork involved or the number of outrageous fees (loan origination fee, flood-plain determination charges). Fortunately, our closing attorney had a voice so soothing that I could have easily been persuaded to sign my own death warrant. In fact, I may try to close on a tool shed next week just so I can hear him summarize the property transfer process again….