Air show: Not the same old base

I love air shows, and I was seriously considering going to the one at the Charleston Air Force Base Saturday.

Thought about it, but I believe I'll pass.

You know it's not the same old air force base, not with post-9/11 Homeland Security being a fact of life. You can't just go onto the base without a search.

I got this from the Air Expo website, and this gives me an idea of what to expect:

Prohibited items include:

• Coolers
• Backpacks
• Gym Bags
• Glass Bottles
• Alcohol
• Knives
• Fire Arms
• Car alarms must be disabled for the duration of the air show

Again, not the same old base.

Back in my pre-9/11 taxi driving days, I used to cut through the base as a shortcut. Make up a name at the gate, and no one was the wiser. "I'm here to pick up Airman Mingus and Lt. Coltrane," I used to say, and no one minded.

Now, without military ID you can't even go on that base.

OK. Fact of life.

Executive decision: I'm going to watch it from the convenience of my front yard. This is the one time I consider myself lucky to live underneath a landing approach pattern.

###

While thinking about spring ...

These started cropping up on median strips around Charleston this week. I'm not sure what they are; they may really be some sort of weed for all I know.

But a couple of things about this weed:

• I've never seen them grow anywhere else but in South Carolina. I've seen them in the Lowcountry and upstate, but oddly, not on the other side of the North Carolina line.

• They come out in the early spring, and are as much an indicator of the season as the dogwood, as the Bradford pear, as the pedestrian walking around in an intoxicated we-survived-winter-and-the-world's-all-right state.

• Plus, they hold their color for only a short time. Then they become true weeds; thrown into the fire and burned.

But the colors are very pretty. Weeds never looked this good.

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Alvin Greene becomes fodder for Riverdogs promotion

U.S. Senate nominee Alvin Greene suggested raising money with an Alvin Greene action figure, and now it looks like he's gonna get it.

The Charleston Riverdogs, the local minor-league baseball team owned by Mike Veeck and Bill Murray, is making use of this. Greene will be immortalized in an action figure to be given away this weekend. Well, kinda sorta.

It turns out the action figure will be about something else, and his face will be available to put onto the toy. It seems that some weird artist wanted to create a male Statue of Liberty (don't even ask) statue to go up in Charleston Harbor, and that was laughed out of existence. However, the Riverdogs put together a mini "Mr. Liberty" statue as a ballpark promotion.

From what I get, you can then take your Mr. Liberty to an "economic stimulus" station set up in the stadium concourse, where they'll slap an Alvin Greene face on Mr. Liberty.

Greene, the unknown untested unvetted candidate who somehow got the Democratic nomination for Senate from South Carolina, blurted the action-figure idea out as one of his ideas to raise revenue:

"Little dolls. Me. Like maybe little action dolls. Me in an Army uniform, Air Force uniform and me in my suit."

And that was in one of his more lucid moments.

I love it.

Here's the story, from the Post and Courier:

Mr. Liberty, Alvin Greene, part of RiverDogs action figure promotion: "
CHARLESTON - The RiverDogs are going green: Alvin Greene that is."

Gotta hand it to the Riverdogs management. They know how to promote. Or wouldn't you say that about any team that deliberately set a sports record for lowest attendance (zero, as part of Nobody Night where the team played the first five innings in a locked-down stadium). Some years ago they planned Vasectomy Night for Father's Day some years ago, and this was considered so over the top that the promotion was ... say it with me ... aborted.

And Greene? He says he doesn't mind the promotion. "As long as it looks good and is in good nature, I'm OK."

The Riverdogs are not done with Greene either. They're planning another promotion down the pike, "Greene Family Reunion" T-shirts similar to the one the candidate was wearing the day after his primary win.

For those who are in the area, the Mr. Lady Liberty/Alvin Greene giveaway is Saturday, July 17.

###

Charleston County to privatize recycling

I really like this. An idea that is way overdue, and not done often enough.

The Post and Courier - Charleston County to farm out recycling - Charleston SC - postandcourier.com

In private hands, Charleston County's recycling operation should make $1 million more each year than it does now, said County Council officials who voted Tuesday night to privatize the facility ... Council approved a contract with American Recycling of South Carolina to run the facility in Charleston, and in another waste-related vote agreed to sell the site of the former garbage incinerator in North Charleston to Shipyard Creek Associates for an as-yet undisclosed price ...

I'm not just thinking about the money angle here. See, when you take these government functions and have them done by the private sector, they generally will be a lot better run, more efficient, just better functions overall.

H'mmm ... maybe the federal government ought to consider privatizing the medical industry? Just asking.

###

Town wins spot in Money list

Say it ain't so!

Mt. Pleasant ... or as we call it out here, "Mt. Plastic." Shinola-head capital of Charleston County.

Town wins spot in Money list: "Money magazine named Mount Pleasant one of the best small American cities to call home in its annual list."

***

I'm sorry. Much as I love the Lowcountry, I just can't get into Mt. Pleasant. It's not my kind of town.

###

Snow brings back old memories, lessons

I don't do winter. I hate the cold, and the older I get the less I like it. I've never really been used to winter, and I don't plan to start getting used to it now.

That's one of the reasons I call the South Carolina Lowcountry home. But in my nearly 15 years here, I'm seeing a first. As I write this, snow blankets the ground.

Insane.

Again, I hear all of y'all Up North laughing. Accumulation in my front yard is probably about two inches; in most of the country that's nothing.

I define my life into three main periods, all set apart by geographical location. I spent my first 30 years in southern California, and in all that time I saw this kind of snow twice. If I wanted to see snow, all I had to do was look out my window at the San Bernardino Mountains, where there was plenty to be had. I spent five years in Arizona, and now here.

I did spend a couple of years in Indiana, a couple of years in Tennessee, and a year in the North Carolina hills, so yeah, I know all I need to know about winter. Cold. Uncomfortable. Terrible to drive in.

But pretty, and kind of fun.

I had dinner with a few friends last night, and we hung out inside while the snow fell. I went outside for a couple of minutes and promptly skidded, almost on my butt. I forgot that snow gets slippery. Barbara and her daughter, Elizabeth, both made snow angels while Derek (another expatriate Californian) and I shook our heads at the weirdness of it all.

At home, the front yard is covered. My third-world trailer park never looked better; it's like looking at a black-and-white photograph. My 15-year-old dog is as wonderstruck as I, and for a couple of minutes the arthritic old girl was a puppy again. Snow, she figured, is edible as long as it's not yellow.

A few snow things came back fairly quickly:

• The going-back-indoors two-step, where you stomp each foot, then bang your feet together twice. Especially important when your shoes have a deep tread (such as my Timberland boots). Snow belongs outside, not inside.

• It's not so much the sound of snow crunching underfoot, but the feel. There's nothing quite like it.

• Driving is rough. I bummed a ride home with Derek, and we swapped wisdom on the subject. Where you put your wheels is really kind of important; even more so than "high-siding" your tires on mountain roads. I remembered my first forays driving in snow (at age 37), when I learned that a Camaro with automatic transmission doesn't handle well under such conditions.

• Memories of my first snowman, sculpted on Mount Charleston, a few miles from Las Vegas. It was anatomically correct.

• Snow isn't for adults. Like Santa Claus or Trix cereal, it's something that was invented especially for kids. That's OK. For the night I became a 50-ish kid.

###

Local donation hoax can still turn into good news

It doesn't sound like it right away, but this could turn into a feelgood story anyway.

Last month, the local Salvation Army received a check for $25,000, and everything looked good so far. Captain Anthony Guliana said the check came with a note on the letterhead of a large company here in town, saying the company (Force Protection, which makes military vehicles) had a good year and wished to share its good fortune. The check was taken to the bank, deposited, and the Sally went to work feeding families and dispensing toys for Christmas.

Then a couple of days before Christmas came the bad news. The check was bogus, drawn on a closed account. The letter was a forgery, and the Salvation Army was stuck with a large bill.

This made national news, with the Chalotte Observer and L.A. Times picking up on it.

Meanwhile, Force Protection -- where times have really been lean the past 18 months, with cutbacks and layoffs -- says the incident is little more than a smear campaign against the company.

It appears several other of these rubbery checks were sent to other charitable organizations, including $10,000 to a local church. I tell you, there's a special section reserved in Hell for folks like that.

Now, it would be a real PR coup for Force Protection to honor these checks, but it's not their responsibility. Understand, this whole incident was little more than a case of stolen identity, and I wouldn't expect them to step up to the plate any more than I would expect anyone else to cover for checks written if his own identity is stolen. And, as I mentioned, business for Force Protection really laid an egg during this recession. So that scenario is probably out.

The story ran on The Morning Buzz, a local talk radio show hosted by Richard Todd, and here's where things start looking better.

One caller, who is a member of the motorcyclists' organization ABATE, offered to make a donation and challenged other local bikers to do the same.

A firefighter in North Charleston said he was going to donate, and asked all other firefighters to pass the hat. Ditto with a local minister, a professional driver, the owner of a carpet cleaning company, and an Avon representative. All of these people likewise challenged all others in their occupational groups to open their wallets.

And that's just the folks who went public on one radio show, in just a couple of hours of airtime. You know people around the Loucountry are a) digging deep and b) taking a few verbal shots at the anonymous person who sent out these bogus checks. Recession or not, people are pitching in.

See, despite our own every-man-for-himself natures, people can be okay after all.

###

Dressing for weather becomes an obsessive science

It's getting to the cold part of the year in coastal South Carolina, with the occasional blasts of rain, so it's time for me to prepare.

Like figuring out how to dress. Or remembering how I did it last winter.

I know you folks Up North are laughing at this. As I write this it's 39 degrees outside, the high is expected to hit 53, and the temp is supposed to bottom out at 31 tonight. Shoot, that's what all of y'all would call a heat wave Up There. See, there's a reason why I'm Down South.

Yesterday I had to run some errands, a series of short lobs, easy bicycle runs. Except for the cold and the rain, it wasn't bad, but some preparation was needed.

I don't do cold weather very well, because I was raised in desert climates and because I don't have a lot of body mass. I don't have that padding you can only get from a lot of supersized fries and Big Macs (some hate my guts for that), so this preparation is crucial.

Before setting out yesterday, I had to really plan out the layers I was to wear. Admittedly there's a little obsessiveness-compulsiveness at work here; things have to be just so.

I have heavy-duty rain pants that I wear on the road for those rainy days. Even when it's not raining, the bike will kick up all the water that's already there, drenching me and splattering me with mud. These rain pants are thick, high-visibility orange, designed to be abused. The question is when to put them on.

If I put the rain pants on last, they're the quickest thing to remove. But I might as well forget about unzipping my jacket, or going into my pants pockets.

Then there's the issue of keeping my upper body warm and dry. I opted for a pullover sweatshirt, with a hooded jacket on top of that. Over all of this I had a cheap vinyl rain jacket. All good so far, but then I wanted to wear my long scarf. What was problematic was deciding where among the layers to put it.

Off with the rain jacket. Off with the hooded jacket. Put scarf on. Put jacket back on. Put rain jacket back on. And if I'd put the rain pants on last, that's another thing to deal with just to put the scarf on.

Then there are the usual carry-around items that I need quick access to. Wallet. Note pad. Pen. Cell phone. When I need these items, I need them right now, and I don't need to be feeling among all the layers to find them. Plus, when it's buried in all these clothes you can't hear the phone ring. Those went in my raincoat pocket, dry and accessible.

Finally, I'm good to go. Put the hood up on my jacket and raincoat. Put on my backpack, and hit the road.

One of my stops was at the bank. It's a local credit union where everyone knows everyone and the tellers greet you by name. My kind of place. I was telling the tellers about the preparation involved in bundling up, and one of them dropped the conversational bomb:

"How do you go to the bathroom?"

I hadn't even thought of that. Now, a day later, I'm still obsessing for an answer.

###

Sanford's security clearance pulled for a week

As if we in South Carolina don't have enough problems with bizarre behavior from our elected officials, it turns out Gov. Mark Sanford's security clearance was pulled by Homeland Security after admitting his South American adventure.

His clearance was reinstated a week later.

From the Charleston Post & Courier:

... in a certified letter to Sanford dated July 1, Katherine Janosek, chief of the Homeland Security Personnel Security Division, wrote that the "Office of Security has suspended your access to classified information" ... she explained that the "suspension is based on recent actions and statements by you that raise questions about your judgment, lack of candor, reliability, trustworthiness and ability to protect classified information" ...

Ugh. Much as I like Sanford (he's really more libertarian than Republican) and respect him as a smart man in politics, he's awfully forgetful about other, real-life stuff. Like, if you find yourself in a hole, you don't keep digging.

Young blogger tells senator off in town hall

Senators Lindsey Graham(R-SC) and John McCain (R-AZ) held a town hall at 9 a.m. Monday here in town, and I didn't go. Could have, but I had some making-a-living things to do.

This young woman got into a frank discussion with Graham, who is one of those Republicans who quacks and waddles like a Democrat. Here's part of the exchange:

... so as soon as the meeting was over, I practically ran over to the swarm of people surrounding the senators, elbowed my way through, and as he grabbed my hand to shake it and give a fake smile, I stopped him and said, "Senator Graham, you did not answer my question." He stopped, looked at me, and said, "Are you a Ron Paul supporter?" to which I replied, "I am, but you still didn't answer my question from earlier ..."

Should have gone to the town hall, just to see that.

No wonder nobody's working: ESC automated

Been to the unemployment office lately?

For me, this is a relatively new thing. I hadn't set foot in such a place in more than 22 years, so we're talking about some serious learning curve.

This visit to the Employment Security Commission became necessary after I was laid off from work. I'd mentioned this in another post (and in Twitter). Kind of a bummer, but let's move on, shall we?

Now, the unemployment line isn't on my Top Ten Favorite Places To Go. To put it bluntly, I'd rather gargle razor blades than visit that place. I don't care for government offices in general, but off my experience the unemployment office is probably the worst of the worst in Civil Service Land. Last time I was in the unemployment line was in San Bernardino, and I spent most of that time standing up and wondering if the line would move any time soon. Just for fun I'd calculated how many feet I had to travel from back to front of the line, noted the time I was there, and figured out how many miles per hour I was moving. Actually, hours per mile. Back then, you wrote out your claims on paper and mailed them in, and the staff showed great aptitude and unmatched creativity in screwing things up.

This time, I came in prepared. Had my laptop with me. A bottle of water. Cell phone. MP3 player. "Divine Justice," the latest of David Baldacci's Camel Club series. At 523 pages, I was ready for some serious waiting.

My first act going in was to take a number. I had #917. I looked at the screen up front; now serving #880. Only 37 to go. I just might finish that novel, I thought.

To my amazement, my visit was much quicker than expected, and the staff was actually helpful. That's the good news. I really didn't see anyone, though I'm not sure whether that is good or bad news. I'm not even sure I got anything done. The only one who interviewed me was a computer.

I guess if you're computer-illiterate, you're really going to need a paddle when going for unemployment benefits. For a minute I considered amusing myself by telling the staff I was Amish (which I used to do in grocery stores during those off hours when the only open checkstands were the self-serve automated kind), but the MP3 player and headphones hanging from my neck would have blown my cover.

Seriously, in the public area I only saw three employees. There was a receptionist at the front desk, and two people -- one male, one female -- in the room where I applied. All of them looked about 12 years old, and none of them seemed to mind working with the public (I thought the redhead who guided me through the application database was particularly cute even though I've got a few decades on her). I never saw the other office, the one with the cubicles populated by aging timeserving civil servants and all the accoutrements you usually find in unemployment offices. Don't want the walk-in public to see the thumbscrews and branding irons, I reckon.

Once you get the knack of entering your stuff on the database, you're doing all right. It takes very few minutes to get your claim in. All the garbage. Where you worked, why you're no longer there. The real time eater is registering for work through the South Carolina Job Bank, a required step. Figure a little less than an hour to get all that stuff in.

(Which reminds me, I've never heard of anyone actually getting a job through job services at the unemployment office. I'm taking it on faith, though, that it does happen.)

It turns out that in South Carolina you can do the whole application process online, and not even see the inside of the unemployment office -- at least not in the early going. In fact I started to do this during my lunch break on Friday, but was stopped short when asked to enter my driver's license number. I never can remember it, and I never carry my license. When on a bicycle I'd rather use something else for identification if I need it.

The last page view of the database was an information sheet with my confirmation number (which I wrote down; it looked important) and instructions to the next step in the process. It's printable, so I hit PRINT and waited.

And waited.

And called the cute redhead over one more time.

"OK, joke's over. I'm waiting for this to print. What's the story?"

"It's not hooked up to a printer," she told me.

Oh.

She handed me a manila envelope, which has all the phone numbers and Web addresses to file the weekly claim. That's the next step. My day to call is Sunday, any time. Even at 4 a.m. It's automated, the cute redhead explained.

And it is. I'm looking at the instructions right now:

- Call the TelClaim computer.

- Enter your social security and PIN numbers.

- "Did you work?" Press 1 for YES or 9 for NO. To repeat a question, press 0. If you worked, enter how much you earned and press the STAR key.

- "Did you quit a job or were you dismissed from a job since filing your claim?" Press 1 for YES, 9 for NO.

- "Were you able to work, available for work, and looking for work as instructed by the claims office?" Press 1 for YES, 9 for NO.

- Press 1 if all these answers are correct. Press 9 if you want to change an answer.

- If these answers are correct, do not hang up until the computer tells you, "your claim has been accepted."

Gee, no wonder no one's working.

Despite those disquieting anticlimactic feelings, I was in and out of there in about 90 minutes, which was about half the time I'd expected. I only got to page 54 of the novel -- and that's only because I read some on the bus.

When I left, I didn't bother to check whether #917 was called yet. Probably not.

Oh, by the way ... "Divine Justice" is good so far. But then, I recommmend the whole Camel Club series.

M.O. in hard times: Ready, fire, aim

I don't know what's going on these days. I mean, it's got to be a full moon or something.

Whatever the cause, tempers are getting short. People are going off the deep end, shooting from the hip without aiming first.

I'd reported the first part of this before; the outburst of Congressman Joe Wilson (R, SC) during Barack Obama's speech to a joint session of Congress last week. Whether he was right or wrong in calling Obama a liar is moot, but the man did go off in a most public and undignified way. Earlier today, Wilson told local radio show host Rocky D that he "had a Town Hall moment." Says it all.

Then, there's Serena Williams. For at least a decade she and her sister owned women's tennis. Up against Kim Cljisters in the U.S. Open last week, she went nuts after the ref called her on a foot fault. Got loud and said something about where she'd like to shove the ball.

And on Sunday, Kanye West went bonkers. Now, I don't really know who this Kanye West is; I'd have to ask my younger friends who are more hip to this pop culture thing. But during an MTV music video awards ceremony, West got on stage and interrupted Taylor Swift's acceptance speech with a rant using lots of words beginning with the letter F.

Maybe these folks, who don't exactly have holes in their shoes, are feeling the pinch of the times too. It's a little hard for us working stiffs to understand what kind of pressure the Williamses, Wests, and Wilsons may feel, but it's there regardless.

I know that here on the mean streets of Anywheresburg, USA, people are getting slap crazy, as we say Down South. Short with other people. They're on edge, and sometimes completely over it. Watching out more for Numero Uno than before. And that's understandable. Times are squirelly. Those who have jobs are wondering how long they'll keep them, and those with a little money in the bank or a 401(k) are watching their balances shrink.

As our economy gets more uncertain, tranquilizer darts become essential survival gear.

We had a batch of layoffs at work last week, and I was one of four casualties in a small shop. OK, that's a personal thing, and my own situation doesn't really play into this topic. But for a 10-day period -- from the time my boss announced that layoffs were coming until the day the ax finally fell -- nobody was worth a flip at work. Everybody on the ol' totem pole guarded his own hindparts, from the lowest to the highest. No one was really sure where the cuts were to occur -- bottom or top. Also under scrutiny was whether the railroad company might shut the whole ramp down, as it incurred heavy losses in the past eight months or so.

Because of this uncertainty, all of us were on edge. There were one or two guys we were especially worried about. One guy was a crane operator, running heavy equipment, and we were concerned he might attempt to carve a whole new lane right on top of the office. He was chosen as Most Likely To Go Postal in our informal staff poll, and we had our escape routes mapped out in case we heard that crane engine roar.

For that week and a half, very little work got done. But once the ax fell, things started getting back to normal. Layoffs were announced Thursday, and three of those casualties showed up for work Friday to finish their terms. Kind of a sad scene -- Handshakes and hugs all around as the newly-minted ex-employees clocked out for the last time, and the folks in my department bought me lunch and gave me a nice card. But for all of us the pressure was off. For now, anyway.

Among truckers, this mess our politicians call an economy had them under the gun for several months and tempers were quite short there, too. More haulers were driving like idiots than before, cutting one another off in line, scaring people on the freeway, screaming that they were in a hurry to make some coin while it's still there. One trucking company -- the one most affected by the railroad's loss of its biggest client -- is likewise in a precarious position. I expect to see many of its drivers laid off within the month, and now they're getting crazy.

A few other haulers saw layoffs in the past few months, and there's more a spirit of every-man-for-himself among the survivors. I began to see more predatory practices. Truckers were hauling things I'd never seen them haul before. Rather than one company handling one shipping company, the lines were blurred. As an example, Bridge Terminal Trucking (BTT) used to haul all Maersk containers. It was an exclusive contract. Now four or five companies are pulling them, and I used to rag those drivers about all the starving BTT drivers. The usual response? "Screw 'em."

Strangely enough, the one place where everyone seemed at a low key was at the unemployment office. I'm serious. At least things are a little more certain there. It's a lot easier to operate -- or at least hold your mud -- when some ax isn't hanging over your head.

Either that, or those tranquilizer darts are taking effect.

Fellow bike enthusiast sounds off on texting/driving

Here are some thoughts (with video included) on sending text messages while driving, from local bicycle enthusiast, songwriter, and blogger Dave Moulton:

I wish this video could be shown in schools throughout the US. It is the young driver, their inexperience coupled with texting and cell phone use, who pose the biggest threat, both to themselves and other road users.

I've tried texting while driving, and I don't see how it's possible. But then, chewing gum while passing gas is a little too much like multitasking for me. And since I spend a lot of time on two wheels, I can vouch for every word Dave writes on the subject.

Crescent City has golden opportunity: Ask Hugo

What's that old saw about making lemonade?

Really, New Orleans is now an urban planner's ultimate dream. Take an established city with its population and (most important) identity, flatten it, start over, rebuild with the city's own traditions and identity as a base.

That's what's happening in New Orleans now, four years after Hurricane Katrina's devastation. Here's an account from Time: (Watch it; there's a bothersome popup ad.)

... in the years since, the Crescent City has quietly embraced a new and unexpected role as a laboratory for green building. Sustainable development groups that range from the international nonprofit Global Green to earth-friendly celebrities like Brad Pitt descended on New Orleans, determined not just to build the city back, but to build it back green. "It's going to come back," says Matt Petersen, the president of Global Green USA. "But we want to build it better than it was before." No organization is doing more to green New Orleans than Global Green USA, the American arm of the international environmental organization that was founded by former Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev. That begins with the Holy Cross project, an entire sustainable village being built in the city's flood-damaged Lower Ninth Ward, with the help of Home Depot's corporate foundation. Eventually the village will include five sustainable homes, along with an 18-unit green apartment building and a community center. Three homes have been completed so far, including one that is serving as a de facto visitor's center. The point of the project is not just to provide greener homes for New Orleans's returning residents, but also to provide training for the local building community in green standards."

Twenty years ago this month, Hurricane Hugo slammed into Charleston, SC. I wasn't living there at the time, but when I arrived in 1997 some rebuilding work was still going on.

By many accounts, pre-Hugo Charleston was a mess, with falling-apart neighborhoods and a who-cares attitude. But in the years since, an interesting thing happened:

The historic old town became a blank slate, and rebuilding had a great many options. To look at it 20 years later, Hugo performed a sweep-and-clear on the town, removing the old junk. That's when the rebuilders decided to play into Charleston's strength -- a historically significant city, one of the seats of the Old South.

This was also a happy coincidence in timing, as Hugo hit in the approximately 15 minutes that the Federal Emergency Management Administration (FEMA) had a clue.

In a perverse way, Hugo was the best thing to ever happen to Charleston. And, 20 years later, more people are agreeing with that.

Photo: A house under construction in the Lower 9th Ward of New Orleans in the "Make It Right" program is designed to be extremely eco-friendly. Charlie Varley / Sipa

Sanford 'obsessed,' his wife says

They're still taking hammer and screwdriver to S.C. Gov. Mark Sanford's marital and other troubles, and the state's First Lady had some really intriguing thoughts on it, as aired in USA Today:

Jenny Sanford also told the magazine that she feels "sorry" for Maria Belen Chapur, with whom Gov. Mark Sanford has had an affair, that her husband appeared to be "obsessed" with Chapur and may have been acting out a midlife crisis.

"Over the course of both pastoral and marriage counseling, it became clear to me that he was just obsessed with going to see this woman," she told Vogue. "I have learned that these affairs are almost like an addiction to alcohol or pornography. They just can't break away from them."

Personal footnote: Even though a previous column sure sounded like something out of left field when I wrote it, I was a lot closer than I expected:

Before Sanford's Wednesday afternoon news conference, I began to think his adventure had something much deeper at bottom. Although I would be reaching to suggest something like a meltdown from depression, that did cross my mind ... disappearing acts can be part of it. Impulsive behavior can be a part of it. Of course I'm reaching here, but events of the past few months could trigger a meltdown if Sanford was prone to such thing ...

The drama continues, anyway. And, even though the Sanfords probably wish it was already all over, it's not going to happen any time soon. The public likes that kind of news.

Sanford tells Rotary club he's political toast

Although he's a lame-duck governor, Mark Sanford had nothing but politcal future until two months ago.

On Wednesday, he aired his own obituary, as reported in the Charleston Post & Courier:

"This is truly not about Mark Sanford anymore," Sanford said Wednesday morning during a speech to the Twin City Rotary Club in Batesburg-Leesville ...

"A lot of folks were convinced that I was running for president. My political days are over ..." Sanford apologized to the friendly crowd for letting them down.

Jenny Sanford, kids move out

Somehow, this seemed inevitable.

According to The State, South Carolina First Lady Jenny Sanford says:

"It is with this support, and after much careful and prayerful consideration, that I have decided to move back to our home in Charleston with our sons for the upcoming school year ... from there, we will work to continue the process of healing our family."

Lame-duck South Carolina Gov. Mark Sanford recently admitted to a year-long affair with a woman in Argentina, and critics have accused him of leaving the state empty at the helm while pursuing that relationship.

This ain't Disney World, local blogger says

Although it's real easy to dismiss articles or posts from folks who are not from around here and know exactly how to fix your town, this is one of the better ones I've read. It's actually quite clear-eyed.

But I'd still want to cue up the John Lennon music before reading the whole thing ...

... imagine a Charleston with bike lanes along some of the major arteries to make its citizens feel safer? What if certain areas of Downtown became pedestrian-only? What if local zoning ordinances were modified to encourage more of the corner Mom & Pop shops? What if pedicabs were given free reign to cart our citizens around rather than restricting them to a maximum of 15 out at a time? What if we had a light rail radiating in all directions and neighborhoods and towns were built around those stops (just like in New Jersey or Long Island). What if we had an actual water taxi service with accessible docks scattered all over our waterways? (like Vancouver, BC). What if we tried Rails to Trails like DC or Atlanta ...?

OK, she does raise points worth discussing.

It's not 'Stand By Your Man'

Photo by The Washington Post

Can you imagine Hillary taking this stance with Bill Clinton in the White House? The Washington Post takes a look at the Jenny Sanford approach:

Finally, a new model for the wronged political spouse ... South Carolina Gov. Mark Sanford's let-it-all-hang-out news conference was a different approach, too. But a better one? Pick your poison: staged declaration of politically requisite contrition, or meandering mooning of a love-struck adolescent inhabiting the body of a supposedly grown-up politician. But Jenny Sanford presents a new and improved version of the betrayed political spouse -- neither enabler nor victim.

Argentine affair runs deeper than thought

Ya just can't keep a good man down ...

COLUMBIA — South Carolina Gov. Mark Sanford admitted Tuesday that he saw his Argentine mistress more times than previously disclosed, including what was to be a farewell meeting in New York chaperoned by a spiritual adviser soon after his wife found out about the affair. In a lengthy and emotional interview with The Associated Press in his Statehouse office, the governor described five meetings with Maria Belen Chapur over the past year, including two romantic, multi-night stays with her in New York before they met there again intending to break up. He said he met her two other times — their first meeting in 2001 ...

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Also ...

S.C. Attorney General Henry McMaster today asked the state Law Enforcement Division to review Gov. Mark Sanford's travel records after the governor acknowledged meeting his mistress more times than he had previously said.

Sanford told The Associated Press earlier today that he met with his mistress three times in New York during the past year, in addition to trips he made to South America last summer and earlier this month ...