-         It all began in 2^nd grade when my grandmother trained me to deliver the “Mustard Seed Sermon.”

-         On my 15^th birthday, Renee Gaters hired me to work in her law office.

-         Life went into overdrive after I stopped by then-Rep. Mark Sanford’s office to see if he was willing to hire a high school intern.  His receptionist gently suggested that I instead apply to be a Page.

Bottom Line:  The reason why I’m a politically-obsessed lawyer is because of all of the above.  My vocations and passions aren’t popular, but I am who I am and try my best to do right. And outside of my profession, I’d like to think that I’m a better person because of – among other blessings – my grandmother, Ms. Gaters, and having served as a Page.

In the days since I shared those memories, I learned that the most pivotal experience of my life, the United States House of Representatives Page Program, has been discontinued.  I’m despondent.  But I understand the decision.  After 200 years of technological advances and changes in the character of Congress, employing a select cadre of 16-year-old messengers is simply redundant, cost-prohibitive, and difficult to justify in today’s political environment.  Few things last forever.

Before August of 1996, I never before visited Washington, DC.  By June of 1997, I had stood 10 yards away from the President of the United States as he delivered the State of the Union address.  My family saw me on TV.  My mother cried and praised God.

As House Pages, we attended school in the attic of the Thomas Jefferson Building of the Library of Congress, one of the most ornate and beautiful buildings in the world.  Classes and assemblies were often distracted by unobstructed views of the sun rising over the entirety of the nation’s capital, brilliantly reflecting from the limestone, granite, and marble of memorials, monuments, and museums.  Our coveted floor privileges became mundane.  One day we’d watch a world leader address Congress or attend the Inauguration, the next we’d stroll over to the Senate and show off John Kennedy’s desk. We’d often count down the minutes to school being cancelled because another impassioned House debate stretched well into the night. I often had the glorious honor to stand on the roof of the Capitol and hoist up the American flag (signifying whether the House is in session), which was an especially stunning experience on a windy night. What a life.

But we were also 16-year-old kids from all over the country living in a dorm; kids who became friends, best friends, some lovers, others eventually spouses.  We roamed Metro stops and universities, sipped alcohol and skirted curfew.  There was a prom… in the Ways and Means Committee Room.

Sure, it was distressingly non-egalitarian to permit less than 100 high school juniors to roam the halls of Congress.  But that’s easy for me to say now because I was one of the lucky few.  The elimination of the Page Program won’t eliminate life-changing experiences for wide-eyed kids, those events so unreal that one wonders if they ever really happened.  That’s why us former Pages can’t help but be sad that no one – even a small few – will ever again do what we did.  But it all happened, it was real, I did it and I’m forever grateful.

The once pristine full faith and credit of the United States is spiraling towards denigration and default for no reason other than to appease those whose visceral hate of President Obama supersedes any sense of responsibility.  Their puppeteers obdurately re-write American history into a false Founding Father – World War II – Ronald Reagan narrative, while demanding that people like me forget the most obvious and proximate historical cause of our current predicament: The George W. Bush Presidency.

I will not forget.  I will not get over it.  George W. Bush is certainly not exclusively responsible for our collective failure to prepare for globalization, anticipate the evisceration of blue collar jobs by better training the workforce, or our boom/bust obfuscations of reality.  Nevertheless, the policies of his lost decade hastened rather than cushioned the blows.

While George W. Bush and Republicans in Congress destroyed surpluses, ran up the national debt and routinely increased the debt ceiling, their White Citizens Council begat John Birch Society begat Christian Coalition begat Tea Party “conservative” cohorts looked the other way.  When the country should have railed against rampant deficit spending during the Bush years, instead this is what we talked about:

Next up: How can a black man not only gain admission but graduate magna cum laude from Harvard Law School? Vital questions as our duly elected Commander-in-Chief conducts three wars.

Will some birthers deny their previous condition of birthertude? Probably. But not O.G. birthers.

My hometown newspaper’s comment wall is my window into the world of dumb racists. Enjoy some of these gems from earlier today:

sand lapper, 9:18 AM:  “I’m sure that is the REAL birth certificate. Suuuuure.”

starcar, 9:18:  “What was so hard about that? Did they have to create it? You can tell election time is nearing..”

my2centsworth, 9:26 AM:  “I’m calling BS on that Birth Certificate being legit… If I filed a request for my Birth Certificate it clearly asks you expect a 6 week delay, possibly.”

rooster07, 9:43 AM:  “Someone is going to be fired over this. It should never take this long to create a false document for the President. Unacceptable!”

withgod, 9:53 AM:  “Muslim Obama is hiding something or he wouldn’t have spent millions hiding his past. We know that he was raised in a communist home, his mother was ant-American and his father was a Muslim and after Obama was born he went back to his African wife in Africa. One of the things he may be hiding is he was born out of wedlock.”

hossdog001, 10:07:  “My son was born in another country and it states “CERTIFICATE OF LIVE BIRTH”….So barack hussein obama jam it where the sun don’t shine!!!!! My opinion is that you are the “ANTICHRIST!!!”

keyesforpres, 11:48 AM:  “there is a difference between “native born” and “natural born”. To be eligible for the presidency one must be “natural born” not “native born”. The good news is everything O has signed and all his judge appointments are null and void!!”

keyesforpres, 12:19:  “The idiots that voted for O and think they are getting free healthcare are too stupid to understand that they will be forced to buy health insurance under the “free” healthcare law.  Muslims are exempt and over 1000 special interest groups and corp. are excempt. Including the unions that wanted the bill passed.”

And my favorite:

yankeedoodle, 12:44 PM:  “I think the more important fact is in this sentence.

“It says his father, Barack Hussein Obama, age 25, was African and born in Kenya and his mother was Caucasian and born in Wichita, Kan.”

Obama is Caucasian. It always goes by the mothers race. I could care less about the race of the President, but did not appreciate him using it as the tool to get him elected, when in fact it isn’t true.”

“It” ALWAYS goes by the mother’s race, y’all!  What a relief.

Therefore, I’m sad to report that I was embarrassingly creamed in my latest Twitter war. The casus belli were my Sunday morning tweets complaining about being denied entry to the Red Palace on the previous evening.

The incident was definitely fruit of the poisonous tree: No question that I committed the first wrong. One of the Red Palace’s managers saw me approach the bar holding a red solo cup, the international sign for “there is alcohol inside of this.” Yes, I was brazenly flouting DC’s antiquated prohibition on the carrying of open containers, an objectively silly law especially when enforced against non-belligerent slightly intoxicated adult citizens. In my mind, any potential problem would be a matter between me and the police.

Therefore, I was taken aback when a Red Palace manager assumed police powers over the public sidewalks and denied me entry on the account of witnessing my offense near his bar’s curtilage. But regardless of how dumb I think open container laws are, I did indeed break the law, he saw me break the law, and denying my entry was definitely within the ambit of his authority. Most won’t believe that I didn’t raise my voice or argue, but that’s the truth. My friends put up a fuss for a while, but all eight of us eventually gave up and went on our way. I was sufficiently embarrassed for calling negative attention to myself and inconveniencing everyone.

I should have let it go, but I didn’t. In the throes of my Little Miss Whiskey’s-induced Saturday morning hangover, I bitched from bed about the incident on Twitter because:

1. I wanted the bar management to know that I wasn’t attempting to enter the bar with the solo cup, that I wasn’t in line with the cup, and that I wasn’t even hanging out in front of the bar with the cup. Simply put, as my group approached our destination, I quietly excused myself to discard my roadie cup in the nearest appropriate location. I have run this hustle long enough to know not to try to bring a cup into a bar. I thought I was far enough away from the ID checking process that it wouldn’t matter, but it did. And no slack was cut, although I thought there was room for some leniency.
2. The bar manager made his decision prior to inquiring as to the contents of my cup (a definite formality when confronted with the international sign for “there is alcohol inside of this,”) but after a friend tried to induce me to go along with a lie about the cup being filled with water, I chose to be honest and admit that I was indeed holding alcohol. I felt my forthrightness warranted a little consideration, but I received no such love.
3. Despite our efforts not to be argumentative, the manager was rude to me and my friends, furiously waved his finger at a lady in our party, and lost the business of 8 customers. In my unsolicited and worthless opinion, his conduct wasn’t a smart business move.
4. Finally, while standing outside as my friends pled my case, I saw several extra-intoxicated patrons admitted without quarrel. That was just annoying.

Much ado about nothing? Certainly. Typical whiny DC-prickdom on my part? Sho’nuff. Did I get a response from the bar’s management? Indeed. They reiterated their position and made fun of me. You would have thought I asked the bouncer to hold my liquor drink while I fumbled around for my ID. Drunk burp/stagger/spill/shout, right? But, I probably would have made fun of me also. I was wrong in the first place. Oh well.

But finally to the good part. Somehow several strangers caught wind of my catty tweets, and laid into me. It all began with the low-hanging fruit: Responding to my inartful tweet comparing my suitability as a customer with that of a drunk underaged student, @jasonmader seized upon my admittedly arrogant mention of my career and asked “Were you wearing your lawyer costume?” Touché. I conceded the point, and replied that I was a “peaceful guy” who would have been a good customer. Obviously I’m not all that peaceful, but my point was that I wasn’t looking for trouble.

Then came the onslaught. My sporadic, visually unappealing, and pedantic blog was discovered, thoroughly reviewed, and widely ridiculed. My tardy narcissistic effort to catch up with 2005 became all the evidence a few strangers needed to reduce me to the self-entitled open container violator that we all dread, that prick DC lawyer who is so into himself that he thinks he has a right to pour his red solo cup all over a bouncer’s face with impunity, and then demand an apology.

My stupid little blog certainly provides much trite ammunition. Check out my silly ode to Stevie Wonder. And this story is lame. What makes me think anyone gives a damn about my pedestrian thoughts on tax cuts, especially when everyone else is pretty much saying the same thing all the time? The sappy tribute to my brother? Sheesh. And the dated bio is definitely whack and is desperate for elimination or at least a re-write. Loser! What really proves that my blog sucks is that this post, the one you’re probably not reading any more, is already the longest I’ve written, and there is still more to say. Snore.

Much to my surprise, however, my detractors didn’t seize on the obvious, but dug rather deep and methodically trashed my self-aggrandizing corny bucket list of #almost30 resolutions, innocently concocted to create the appearance that my 30th birthday would be accompanied by great reflection, change and self-improvement (Get back to pleasure reading? Yeah, alright). Examples of the deconstruction and chewing up of my lofty resolutions include:

• @dfntly “Dissolve bigotry” in South Carolina (14) AND play tennis and swim (27)?? What is this guy, Superman?

Dude, the only time I can dissolve bigotry in South Carolina is while I’m playing tennis underwater. There is no way I’m interrupting my space golf game.

• @chadamerica I keep looking at dude’s bucket list. I’m not sure how he plans to reconcile number 30 with number 18.

My, what a careful reader we have on our hands! Number 18: waking up earlier v. Number 30: curtail sleep deprivation. Yeah, I guess those are somewhat inconsistent. Good looking out!

• @chadamerica yeah, he sounds like a real shit head. It’s lucky he had that cup because that dude would have been a nightmare of a customer.

Hoping to be emboldened by the bar turning a blind eye to my brazen open container violation, I was totally planning on trashing the place. The public is ever so lucky that I clung to that cup.

And this one is completely awesome:

• @dfntly his great-grandparents owned a strip club in charleston!! Awesome!

Wow! Let that one stand for itself. Alright now, Rev. John and Maggie!

Along with links to solid Arrested Development references and sleazy lawyer videos, it seems a few other strangers may have joined in the fun. Unfortunately, their accounts are locked, but I would love for them to share with me their witty disses.

In any event, I learned a long overdue lesson: never again carry a solo cup in public, unless the bar is providing the cup. I’m way too old for a stupid open container ticket. Otherwise, I already knew that both myself and my blog suck, as anyone who doesn’t take him/her self too seriously knows or should know. So, as a peace offering I’d love to buy a shot for those brave private defenders of open container statutes, who wasted part of their Sunday afternoon jocking the nuts of yours truly and his blog.

We can throw a few back at the Red Palace, unless I’m barred for life. I’m guessing I am, but I plan to make a test run in a couple of weeks… sans cup.

-  Monica Crowley referred to President Obama as “Mubarak Obama,” because Obama’s Justice Department issued a well-reasoned and not-out-of-the-ordinary opinion on the constitutionality and defensibility of the Defense of Marriage Act. Without getting into the obvious pander to the frothing and foaming “Obama is a Nazi Muslim” legion of fools, my understanding of the Egyptian people’s grievances with Hosni Mubarak does not include “articulating reasonable rationale for declining to defend potentially discriminatory legislation.” But I digress into the land of thought and reason, also known as Candy Mountain.

- During a public forum, a likely well-armed constituent asked Rep. Paul Broun (R-GA) “who is going to shoot Obama,” which apparently drew a big laugh from the crowd. Broun’s meager response: “The thing is, I know there’s a lot of frustration with this president.” Let’s pause and reflect on the wages of speaking ill of the President in the pre-January 20, 2009, world, and gingerly move on.

- Only 52% of polled Americans are aware that the health care reform bill is still in effect. Keep hope alive, ignorami! Sooner or later, the government will take its filthy hands off of Medicare.

- Finally, the Craziest Guy in Christendom, Alan Keyes, proffered this week’s batshit pièce de résistance. In a bizarre formulation which would necessarily prohibit the marriage of heterosexual couples who don’t desire (or aren’t able to have) children, Keyes compared legalized gay marriage to legalized slavery. Yep.

My friend Nick Abbate (who obviously did well on the SAT analogy section) wrote several perfect responsive corollaries:

“Allowing children to eat bananas is like granting Nazis the right to strangle baby llamas. Allowing Applebee’s to serve nachos is like granting NASA the right to incinerate Betty White. Allowing [Name of Friend One redacted] to roam free is like granting [Name of Friend Two redacted] the right to space dock with your mom.”

Space docking with your mom. That’s crazy I can believe in!

2. The “starve the beast” theoretical crowd pisses me off. It’s certainly no fun when government confiscates wealth for any purpose. And it’s not crazy to want a smaller government. So, those who hate redistribution and want a skeleton government should look the public in the eye and honestly explain exactly what services should be eliminated, rather than tricking the people into thinking that the same level (or more) governmental services can be paid for with less tax revenue.

3. After decades of hearing that supply side/trickle down can simultaneously grow the economy, create tax revenue, and cut deficits, the theory has yet to be proven and pretty much disproven. Makes for great sound bites and has political appeal, but – again – we can’t have it both ways. If the public wants government to do stuff, the public must pay for it somehow.

4. 1990s tax rates: surplus and growth. 2000s tax rates: broken promises, negative growth, deficits, unemployment, and excuses. Taxes can be both too high and too low. There is such a thing as a level of taxation that sustains growth… and perhaps the 1990s rates were sustainable.

5. GOP (while crying deficit crocodile tears) is holding continued tax cuts for 99% hostage to prevent increases for top 1%, saying that small businesses within the top 1% will use difference to create jobs. True small business job creators can be easily carved out of top 1% increases. Political spin taxes like “marriage” tax and “death” tax can also be carved out. Capital gains and alternative minimum taxes are ripe for compromise. So, what’s the issue?

6. Objective accounts say more personal income for top 1% will be hoarded, sheltered, or splurged rather than used to grow the economy and hire people. Sure, if I were top 1%, I’d fight like hell for my personal income, and I don’t fault them at all for protecting their interests. But I’m not in the top 1% and won’t fight like hell until I am, so why are those who aspire (yet are no where close) to being rich so happy to carry the water for the rich? Hell, the consumption of the masses is what makes the top 1% rich, and plenty of rich people know it’s good for them when more Americans have money to spend. Yet somehow it’s “class warfare” when others do what the rich have perfected: fighting for their own economic interests.

7. Democrats are sorry negotiators, that is if they (i.e. Senate Democrats) even believe what they espouse. They’re negotiating from what should be a most enviable position: defending tax cuts for 99% against increases for the top 1% (screw the easy-to-solve “small business” job creators mumbo jumbo), and have nothing to lose because they just lost almost everything on Election Day. Yet, somehow this is still subject to debate; people among the 99% who would keep their tax cut somehow think their livelihood is on the line if taxes go up for the very rich in order to pay for all the stuff we all say we need government to do. Wow.

8. How about stare Mitch McConnell in the eye and say: “You keep on fighting for the top 1%. 100% of taxes will go up on Jan. 1, it will be your fault, and we’re going to explain why it’s your fault every single day. Bye bye.” Sure, two years of more impassioned “tax and spend liberal” spin is will be fun for the GOP, but that’s going to happen anyways and I doubt (if taken to task) they’ll find worth in two years of explaining their responsibility for higher taxes for everyone. And the treasury would have the revenue, which is a sad but real consolation.  Nevertheless, if history is our guide, Dems will capitulate and still get all the blame. #headspinning

“Blah blah blah blah blah, said The Blah Blah Man!” I shouted to a group of incredulous Hoyas.

The Blah Blah Man, my best imaginary friend and key element of my repertoire, has often comforted me during the last two years of American politics, possibly the silliest period of public discourse ever.

I’m as inspired by soaring rhetoric as the next guy, but for me one president’s “hope and change” is as “blah” as another president’s “compassionate conservatism” or “shining city on the hill.” Rhetoric is always displaced by reality.  I don’t need pep talks.  Rather, I’m looking for leaders who would intelligently and soberly manage our government and aim to “do the right thing” (whatever that means) on an everyday basis.  In the case of President Obama, his public speaking prowess is an added bonus.

However, many other Americans were apparently convinced that – despite rabid opposition – President Obama’s verbal pronouncements would instantly cure the most confounding of generational crises, including an unemployment crisis created by the three-plus decade collapse of the manufacturing sector.  The system is obviously far too broken and far too partisan to accommodate quick fixes.  No politician is able to – or should be expected to – fix everything.  We’re all going to get through life, sift through right and wrong, and solve public and personal problems as best we can with what we have.

Rather than impatient flapping to the winds of the loudest voices, I would rather Americans finally demand a truly intelligent and sober public discourse.  Why do we find it so difficult to reject the outrageous patronizing catch-phrased political narrative we’re constantly force-fed?

In the right corner: Patriotic God-fearing Constitution-loving Americans awoken by a sudden power grab by socialistic job killers, who salivate at the prospect of raising taxes and over-regulating Mom and Pop small businesses, running up the deficit handing out money to pregnant immigrants, and permitting Osama Bin Laden to unplug granny’s respirator.

In the left corner: Patriotic altruistic Constitution-loving Americans battling the decay of the 2000s, when war-mongering greedy big business special interests (aided and abetted by hateful rubes) destroyed jobs, the social safety net, safety regulations, and civil liberties, and ran up the deficit by handing money to rich defense contractors.

In the middle: Everyday hard-working middle class citizens who hate both parties (yet mysteriously can’t organize a third one), and just want to work somewhere and send their kids to good schools.

Meaningless blather, piled on by senseless distractions like the “Beer Summit” and obsessions over the next election rather than this one.

“Blah blah blah blah blah, said The Blah Blah Man!”

I dream of a day when voters ignore the next “my opponent shamelessly tortured and murdered a nun’s pet bunny rabbit” advertisement and simply reflect on their values, check their bank accounts, and actually go out and vote for the candidate with the background, intelligence, and agenda consistent with their needs.  Sounds easy, doesn’t it?

But I can guess how The Blah Blah Man would respond.

1. Make it to 40 happy, loved, and in good health.
2. Fall in love.
3. Maintain vibrant social life and rollicking nature, always stepping up game and taking care not to get injured or arrested.
4. Read or re-read literature that I was too immature to appreciate, skimmed or avoided.
5. Continue evolution away from notion that success is the accumulation of things and titles when in actuality success lies among the intangibles.
6. Comport myself in a helpful, generous, courteous, and gentlemanly manner. Take time to show appreciation to others both verbally and in writing. Pause and temper reactions to negative events.
7. Make sure that my parents enjoy peace, comfort, and security and are always surrounded by love.
8. Inspire and practically assist my nieces and nephews in discovering for themselves happy, well-rounded, and fulfilled lives.
9. Tithe. Why not?
10. Maintain a vigorous and evolving fitness and diet regimen.
11. Extensively renovate and reside in my great-grandparents’ house in Charleston (aka the Pink Palace). Enjoy the breeze on its splendid porch and watch Rufus, my future dog, romp about the amazing back yard.
12. Open up a law practice. Call it Polkey Law. Be your lawyer.
13. Advocate more forcefully for the equal treatment of persons regardless of sexual orientation.
14. Help create a South Carolina where I can comfortably reside with my family in my beautiful hometown without fear of being unemployed and destitute, where my nieces and nephews are flourishing educationally, where bigotry dissolves, and where we provide no silly fodder for late night comedians.
15. Figure out if and how to teach and inspire interest among middle and high school students in civics, history, geography or similar. Does that mean I want to be a teacher? Not sure. More mentoring and tutoring? Maybe. So – yeah – figure that out.
16. Enjoy more live music.
17. I’ve never retreated to a mountain cabin. So, do that from time to time.
18. Realize all the great things that can be accomplished during the peace of 5:00 AM – 8:00 AM.
19. Meaningfully tackle one of our representative republic’s most glaring injustices: the lack of voting representation in the US Congress for the nearly 600,000 citizens of the District of Columbia, “Capital of the Free World.”
20. Make time to visit elderly family and friends, because a) it’s right, b) they’ve already been through all of what I’m going through, c) they were always there for me, and d) I know I’m going to want visitors when I’m old.
21. Requisite “get back to pleasure reading” resolution, which would be greatly aided by the Kindle a beloved friend or family member happens to gift me for my birthday.
22. Seriously consider enhancing my chess skills (as the new hobby referenced in # 23).
23. Get less worked up about politics. Find a more soothing hobby.
24. Accept a simple truth. Hangovers hurt.
25. Rescue a Standard Schnauzer. Name him Rufus. Occasionally call him “Boutros Boutros.” Prove that if I can take care of Rufus, I might be able to take better care of myself and others.
26. Leave these shores at least once annually, and for at least one week.
27. Quit talking about tennis and swimming. Actually do it.
28. Be as cool as Meg Kinnard Hinson about snail-mailing greeting cards with wonderful hand-written messages of love.
29. Step up shoe game.
30. Curtail sleep deprivation.

Background Chatter (Porteño Spanish): Maradona! (indiscernible words) Maradona!

Aaron (to no one in particular): Madonna?

Argentine 1 (calmly, assured, dismissive): No, boludo. (chuckle). Maradona!

Aaron: Huh?

Argentine 2 (seriously concerned): Boludo! Fútbol! (points to soccer match on TV). Diego Maradona!

Aaron (visibly confused): Diego? No entiendo. Madonna juega fútbol?

(collective murmur rises)

Argentine 2 (angry): Por favor, Boludo! Madonna?! No! NO! Diego MARADONA!!

Aaron (chastened): Disculp. Conozco Madonna, pero no…

(Bar erupts in uproar. Randoms begin to discuss situation. “Diego Maradona!” heard from all parts of bar)

Aaron (nervously): Maradona! (chuckle) Maradona! Cómo se dice “joke!” Ha ha.

(Murmur continues. Angry looks. Aaron collects belongings, goes home, and Googles “Diego Maradona”).

El Fin.