It’s pretty sickening the way the left has reacted to the defeat of Hugo Chavez’s bid to turn Venezuela into a full fledged dictatorship rather than the authoritarian government he currently enjoys leading. And my-oh-my are they all puffed up about Chavez being so gracious in defeat – just like a regular politician in a democratic country.

Of course, lefty commentary on the vote tends to leave out just a few, minor details – like the desperate effort by the opposition at CNE (the electoral commission in charge of the vote) headquarters early this morning to hold Chavez to his word and carry out some semblance of a fair count of the ballots. Apparently, the NO! forces were being denied access to the totals – a clear violation of the law and pretty suspicious to boot. There were reports that scuffles broke out as the opposition tried to exercise their right and the Chavistas tried to stop them.

It apparently took a personal TV appearance by former defense minister and former Chavez ally General Raul Baduel who appeared late in the evening and demanded that the results – which were electronically counted and should have been available within a couple of hours after the polls closed – be released immediately.

It’s a story that will probably dribble out in the next few days as Venezuelan students – who took the place of international poll observers because Chavez didn’t allow them in for this vote – will add up their “hot audit sheets” from each district and see just how close this election truly was.

Most pre-election polls had NO! winning by 55% or greater. For those on the left who are sneering about the fact that Chavez didn’t try and rig the election, I would suggest you wait a day or two. There certainly were some strange things going on at CNE headquarters in the wee hours of the morning.

And one rumor is the final margin of victory for the opposition was actually negotiated between the two sides so that Chavez could save face with a razor thin loss rather than the 57%-58% that some polls were showing prior to the vote. That particular rumor seems wildly off base – until you remember we’re talking about Chavez’s Venezuela where after the last presidential election, half full ballot boxes disappeared for hours only to turn up later stuffed to the brim with votes for Chavez.

Anything is possible.

Buttressing the idea of vote manipulation is that the government cancelled its victory celebration for the following day around 9:00 PM - more than 4 hours before the tally was finally announced. And if it had been an honest vote, why didn’t Chavez demand a recount? The margin of victory for the opposition – 1.7% – was small enough that a recount request would not have been out of line.

So a strange night in Venezuela indeed. But not if you’re reading lefty blogs today. In the cockeyed world of liberal blogs, all that matters is that Chavez has “proved” he’s not a dictator:

“It’s nice that some countries believe in limiting executive power. Now compare that with things like…” (Bush, the dictator)

Last time I looked, Bush wasn’t ruling by decree. Nor was the President nationalizing industries, using para-military militias to shoot and kill his opponents, close down the New York Times or CNN because of their negative coverage, or any one of a dozen “limited” powers exercised by Mr. Chavez.

“The Bushies have called Venezuelan President Hugo Chávez a dictator and a tyrant… but since when do dictators lose elections?”

Since the margin of their defeat is so big they can’t get away with vote rigging.

He’s a left wing populist with an authoritarian streak, but no matter what they say it’s “left wing populist” which makes the Villagers froth, not the authoritarian part. There are plenty of dictators around the world which get respectful treatment from our media, and the anti-Democratic authoritarian actions of our own president disturb them not at all.

An “authoritarian streak?” (See above). More like a meglomaniacal, power hungry, demagogue with a mean streak. Besides, some people like to differentiate between those who purport to be our “friends” to one degree or another (Saudi Arabia, Pakistan) and those who are declared enemies like guess who. That sort of real politik formulation doesn’t sit well with our moral betters on the left. But then, when one is a “leftist populist” all manner of sins are forgiven – especially if he’s an enemy of the United States.

“I would be the last to claim that Hugo Chavez is a saint, or even a politician worth emulating. But I do find it interesting that when faced with the will of the people, Bush ignored that will and Chavez bowed to it. One we are told, is a vile threat to the freedom of his nation becasue of his incessant power grabs and disdain for democratic process. The other is a great leader of men, fully committed to democracy in his home country and abroad. If I hadn’t attached names to this story, could you tell which was supposed to be which?

I’m not sure exactly how to respond to this idiocy except perhaps to say that if we had a President who governed solely by “the will of the people,” chances are pretty good we’d have all manner of interesting social and political baggage that the gentleman would no doubt find disgusting. Slavery? Perhaps not. It certainly wouldn’t have died as a result of the civil war. And Jim Crow would have died a lot later than it eventually did. Would women have the vote? Vox populi, vox dei makes for a nice campaign slogan but horrible government.

To be fair, a couple of lefties got it right. Kevin Drum:

So the constitutional changes were rejected (good); Chavez didn’t try — very hard, anyway — to rig the election (also good); and apparently he’s willing to accept the negative results (yet more good). All in all, a satisfying result so far. We’ll see what comes next.

As far as “accepting the negative results,” that’s true – today:

However, Chavez promised to continue his pursuit of the defeated proposals.

“Not a single comma of this proposal will be withdrawn,” he said, holding up a small red book containing the text of the proposed changes. “I will continue proposing this to the Venezuelan people. The proposal is alive, not dead.”

It makes one wonder whether Chavez will try another way to get these proposals enacted or whether he’ll simply wait a few months or a year and try again. He’s got more than 4 years to get the SI! vote he wants.

And Booman also analyzed the situation intelligently:

This is how things should be. I have no problem with Venezuela staking out its independence from America. But they should keep their Constitution and the balance of powers. When Chavez fulfills his term it will be time for someone else.

We can only hope.

The smug, self satisfaction, however, evident in many blog posts from the left leave little doubt that liberals will put up with a lot from an authoritarian socialist – just as long as he “speaks truth to power” by calling Bush childish names and sticks it to the rich. By doing that, he can get away with ruling by decree, attacking and intimidating his political foes, shutting down opposition media, and generally acting like a bully and a thug in the eyes of the rest of the world.

For most of my adult life, I lived away from “home” which, for the Moran clan, was first Mount Prospect and then Barrington Hills, Illinois. The two suburbs of Chicago are about 15 miles apart, 4 stops separating them on the old Northwest line of the C & NW Railroad. (My current home of Algonquin is only about 7 miles north of Barrington Hills.)

For many years, the Wednesday before Thanksgiving was a travel day for me. Living in Des Moines, Washington,D.C., and St. Louis meant airports, luggage, interminable flights, and the inevitable stress and strain that goes with travel.

All the feelings of frustration would fall away once I boarded the commuter train that would take me home. In those days, a taxi from the airport to Barrington Hills was considered an extravagance. So I would take a cab to the Des Plaines train station where a commuter would be along every 10 or 15 minutes at rush hour to pick me up for the nice, leisurely half hour trip to Barrington.

I used to love those old trains. In recent years, they redesigned the interior of the cars so that they’ve become much more sterile and unfriendly places. Back in the day, such was not the case. You could flip most of the seats so that they faced each other. People would take advantage of that by playing cards or just chatting. Many of the passengers obviously knew each other from taking the same train home for years. The atmosphere was usually festive thanks to the fact that everyone had Thanksgiving off.

But if you wanted to be alone with your thoughts, that was fine too. I’d spend the half hour looking out the window, finding familiar landmarks, and then passing through my boyhood home of Mount Prospect; seeing the familiar downtown with its familiar store names and streets. Pulling out of the station, we’d pass my old dentist’s office where old Doctor Heck treated me after the trauma of having three of my teeth knocked out by a baseball bat swung in a game by a playmate. I was all of 8 years old and the amount of blood scared me. Old Doc Heck fixed me up good, though, saving the roots so I could get fitted for false teeth.

From Mount Prospect, the train paralleled Northwest Highway. And the trip from there to Arlington Heights always brought back a flood of memories. I must have travelled from Mount Prospect to Dryden Street in Arlington Heights down Northwest Highway more than 3000 times over the years. St. Viator High School was just a couple of blocks down Dryden and between school, athletic events, and other activities I got to know every inch of that expanse.

Random memories would fire and it was quite pleasurable to allow the montage of images and feelings to present themselves for nostalgia’s sake. Every once and a while, some awful memory from high school would intrude on my reverie (everybody has them, I’m sure) but it was easy to ignore the pain that threatened to interrupt the warm flow of reminisces simply by clearing the screen in front of your mind’s eye and waiting for the next tableau to appear.

Then it was through downtown Arlington Heights out to Arlington Park racetrack – closed for the season but still a big commuter stop because of all the development that had sprouted surrounding the edifice with little office parks and tract homes dotting the landscape. And then a slightly longer trip to Palatine, still hugging Northwest Highway and still recalling other memories from high school as we passed several eateries where we used to hang out.

The trip between Palatine and Barrington was the longest. Here, civilization ended and the “country” began. The route was dark and nothing was visible except the trees on either side of the tracks. Often, there was sufficient snow on the ground that an eerie glow would light the way as the moonlight reflected off the trees.

Finally, Barrington. In those days it was at the outer reaches of the northwest suburbs, only recently graduated from a glorified “milk stop” where dairy farmers would send their product by rail to Chicago. One of my brothers or sisters would be waiting to pick me up and take me the last 3 miles to Barrington Hills and home.

Today, home is where my heart is. Both my parents are gone, the house in Barrington Hills sold. Our family is spread out all over the country – both coasts and several states in between. I wrote about the last time we got together here, a little more than two years ago. Everyone has their own lives and families, their own traditions at holiday time. It’s not like it was when we all made a supreme effort to travel to our parent’s house for the holidays. Back then, most of us didn’t have the complications of spouses or in laws or small children to get in the way of our goal of reuniting.

But that’s what memories are for. They remind us of what was once good and happy in life and hold out the promise of more to come.

James Barrie, the creator of Peter Pan, said “God gave us memory so that we might have roses in December.” In this, the December of my life, it gives me an inordinate amount of pleasure to remember those roses and that nurturing them will continue to give me joy until the day I no longer am.

I didn’t want to write about the SCHIP imbroglio again today but frankly, I find it fascinating that simply by writing about it, I am accused of “smearing” or “swiftboating” a 12 year old boy.

Are many on the left brain dead? If you don’t say anything negative or snarky about a 12 year old boy and, in fact, express concern over his condition, would someone please explain to me how that constitutes a “smear?”

A “smear” is a lot more than simple criticism – something no one has directed toward young Graeme Frost. A “smear” is “a usually unsubstantiated charge or accusation against a person or organization” according to Webster. Very well. Let’s give the left the benefit of the doubt and say that the original round of criticisms of Mr. and Mrs. Frost (not Graeme or any other child) were “smears” in that the Freeper who googled up the information that most conservative blogs relied on to originally comment on the issue was incorrect and flawed. Of course, it was “substantiated” to the extent that the Freeper supplied links to his information much of which was later proved to be false or exaggerated. But let’s ignore that little detail and acknowledge that the information was incorrect and further, was disseminated in order to show up the Frost’s and, by extension, the Democrats.

Where does the smear of little 12 year old Graeme Frost come in? Did anyone question his injuries? Did anyone say he was faking it? Did anyone anywhere on conservative blogs write anything that could possibly be construed as an “unsubstantiated accusation” – or any accusation at all – directed against Graeme Frost?

I’m serious about an answer because even today, I’ve gotten several emails and have seen several headlines on liberal blogs that are accusing the right of “smearing” a 12 year old kid when my investigation yesterday revealed not one single conservative blog had said one single word against Graeme Frost.

So far, no one on the left has bothered to explain how conservative blogs are smearing Graeme Frost. They use the term in their headlines and the body of their posts. They use the word in comments left far and wide on righty blogs. They use the word as if it is simply a given, as if “the smear of Graeme Frost” exists naturally in the universe and needs no explanation – sort of like the sun coming up every morning.

This would be mindless stupidity – if there wasn’t a purpose behind it. And since the intent all along was to cut off debate on the fact that the Democrats wish to expand SCHIP eligibility to include adults and people who by any stretch of the imagination would be seen as middle class (or even upper middle class), it has worked like a charm. The Democrats set a trap and the right has fallen into it. They used the Frosts as human shields and for exactly the same reason that terrorists use them – to make sure that any attack against them would also hit the civilians (Frosts). As I have said, it was a brilliant political ploy. I’m only sorry that the Frosts weren’t informed of the strategy prior to their becoming embroiled in the debate. They may have had second thoughts about becoming involved.

For in the end, that was the entire point of the political exercise; to make sure that as little light as possible was shed on SCHIP, obscuring the debate by hiding behind the Frosts and generating fake outrage when the inevitable questions would arise about the family’s choices which prevented them from being able to afford insurance for their children.

As such, those choices have been attacked by many on the right as selfish. Is that a smear? Their “choices” can be substantiated by what is already on the record regarding their assets. The fact that there are tens of thousands of families – perhaps many times that – who make sacrifices so that the family is insured before any tragedy strikes them and who are being asked to subsidize the choices made by the Frosts opens up the question of fairness.

And therein lies the debate. Not whether the Frosts have too much money to enjoy the coverage supplied by SCHIP but whether any family can make choices that force other families to pay for them. Yes, in order to afford insurance for their children the Frosts at the very least may have been forced to sell their rental property and perhaps even have one or both parents get a job where an employer provides health coverage. But there are thousands and thousands of families who are faced with those choices all the time and choose to make sacrifices so their kids are covered. Now those families are being told that, in effect, they’re a bunch of chumps for making those sacrifices because others who may even be better off are “smart” enough to avoid the responsibility and get coverage via SCHIP.

Where is the left’s outrage at this injustice? Where’s the hand wringing about the inequality of this situation?

The liberal answer to this unfairness is not try and make private insurance more affordable or come up with some other private alternative but to expand the program even further thus trapping more people into a dependency that prevents them from keeping the benefit if their income exceeds a certain amount. The disincentives in the program are obvious. It may make for good politics but it’s lousy policy.

I’m glad Graeme Frost didn’t have to suffer for his parent’s shortsightedness. And the left is right – we should leave little Graeme out of the debate. Let’s talk instead about fairness and how best to insure those who have problems getting coverage in the private sector.

Just let me know when you’re finished smearing conservatives by accusing them of something they’ve never done.

The Rick Moran Show will go live in just a few minutes at 2:00 PM - 3:00 PM Central time on Blog Talk Radio.

Call-in Number: (718) 664-9764

Join me as I go live one hour early and welcome some of my BTR hosts for a discussion of the upcoming GOP debate.

You can catch the stream here. A podcast will be available after the show.

UPDATE

The podcast is available at the links above or you can access it on the player below.

UPDATE II

Due to technical issues, the podcast of today’s show is unavailable.

This is the second time this has happened and I am no closer to any answers than I was before. I hear the intro so I know that I’m logged in properly. After that, I don’t have a clue why nothing records.

I apologize for the inconvenience.

I had a good time talking to Melanie Morgan and Brian Sussman of KSFO’s popular morning program out in true blue San Francisco.

We talked about the now scuttled Ahmadinejad trip to Ground Zero among other things. If you’d like to listen, you can stream or download the podcast here.

C’mon, America. Lighten up!

President Ahmadinejad being escorted to Ground Zero in New York City shouldn’t get everyone’s panties in a twist. Didn’t you hear? This is the guy who is going to end the Iraq War and allow the boys to come home. If he wants to visit Ground Zero – even though he and his rogue nation are terrorist sponsoring scum – then by God the Bush Administration and all of the Iranian apologists in this country are going to make sure he gets his wish.

In a move that has stunned New York, the Bloomberg administration is in discussions to escort the Iranian president, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, to ground zero during his visit to New York next week, Police Commissioner Raymond Kelly said today.

The Iranian mission to the U.N. made the request to the New York City Police Department and the Secret Service, which will jointly oversee security during the leader’s two-day visit. Mr. Ahmadinejad is scheduled to arrive September 24 to speak to the U.N. General Assembly as the Security Council decides whether to increase sanctions against his country for its uranium enrichment program.

Mr. Kelly said the NYPD and Secret Service were in discussions with the Iranian Mission about the logistics for the possible visit, and whether it will take place at all. He said that for safety reasons related to ongoing construction at ground zero Mr. Ahmadinejad would not be allowed to descend into the pit.

Wouldn’t you like to have been a fly on the wall in the White House when the Secret Service told the President that Ahmadinejad wanted to visit Ground Zero?

The White House will deny the President was informed of the tour but I would be monumentally shocked if Bush weren’t told within 5 minutes of the request being made. Somebody somewhere somehow had to give the go ahead for such planning to occur, especially since you have so many security services involved.

I’ve been wracking my brain trying to think of what anyone could imagine would be a bigger insult to the dead of 9/11. Yassar Arafat laying a wreath in Shanksville? How about Nasty Nasrallah being invited to tour the new wing of the Pentagon, rebuilt after the attacks?

There is no imagining what would be a bigger insult because there wouldn’t be one. The fact is, there is no more wrenching, rage inducing, fist-through-the-wall event that could take place in this day and age than allowing the President of a state that equated the 9/11 attacks with our attack on Hiroshima to visit Ground Zero.

It would be no different than if we had allowed Tojo to visit the Arizona Memorial.

THE LEAST SURPRISING UPDATE IN THE HISTORY OF THIS BLOG

Evidently, the New York City police have nixed the idea of an Ahmadinejad drop by at Ground Zero:

Earlier today, Police Commissioner Raymond W. Kelly had said that Iranian officials had made a “formal request” that Mr. Ahmadinejad be permitted to visit ground zero and that the department, in coordination with the Secret Service, was discussing the matter with officials of the Iranian Mission to the United Nations…

A short while later, around 4:15 p.m., the Police Department’s spokesman, Paul J. Browne, said that Mr. Kelly had misspoke and that police commanders had already decided that a visit to ground zero by Mr. Ahmadinejad was not feasible.

Bush washed his hands of the responsibility for the incident faster than Pontius Pilate:

President Bush, moving quickly to respond to news that the Iranian president, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, has asked to visit ground zero, had a spokesman issue a statement aimed at Mayor Bloomberg that said – in so many words — deal with it.

“This is a matter for the City of New York resolve,” a spokesman for the National Security Council at the White House, Gordon Johndroe, said. He added pointedly: “It seems odd that the president of a country that is a state sponsor of terror would visit ground zero.”

Odd? ODD? Holy Christ what a moron! Fire that flunky immediately.

Allah, by the way, has the definitive wrap-up on this mini-storm that will now probably die down, and adds this:

If it happens, if this Holocaust-denying terrorist filthbag is allowed to use the remains of the Trade Center for a photo op, the rage on the right will burn so white hot that even the anti-amnesty activism this summer will pale by comparison.

The tone deafness of that crew at the White House when it comes to the base – on up to and including Bush – never ceases to amaze me.

There is something mildly depressing about the day after Labor Day. Summer is officially over even though the calendar tells us we’ve still got a few weeks left – a trick that science and nature have combined to play upon our Midwestern sense of time’s passing. Here in the heartland, the clock likes to take the long way around the dial, or seems to anyway. It is an illusion born of a belief that the pace of life should mirror the miracle of nature’s timetable for the growth of living things; slow, stately, and with due regard for the sacred trust vouchsafed those who tend, till, or simply love the land.

The lines of demarcation between summer and fall are sharp and noticeable. Evenings are already generally cooler than they were just a few short weeks ago. Dawn brings a slight nip to the air, a reminder and portent of what is soon to come. The leaves shake nervously on the trees with every breath of wind, mindful that soon it will be time to clothe themselves in Autumn’s spectacular raiment.

Speaking of clothes, Sue has already gathered much of her fall wardrobe and is preparing her annual couture auditions, evaluating and making her selections as if she were casting a blockbuster motion picture. Which outfits still fit? Which ones are still in style? Which ones go in the box marked “Salvation Army?” Not a clothes horse but born with the fashion sense of a classy American lady, my Zsu Zsu’s good taste (and mastery of the clothing budget) allows her to appear in public always looking like a million dollars.

This year, new lightweight jackets for the both of us. A couple of pullovers for me. A sweater or two for Sue. Throw in a suit for her and a sports jacket for me and we’re done. I pity those men who fail to plan adequately for the annual fall excursion to the mall and end up helpless appendages as their wives or girlfriends race from store to store unable or unwilling to decide exactly what they want. What Sue and I accomplish in 2 hours takes most couples half the day or more.

I experienced a great sense of self satisfaction being able to sit in front of the TV on Saturday afternoon watching the start of the college football season knowing that many of the hundreds of men I saw at the mall with their wives that morning were still there, the feeling of panic rising in their throats as they watched the time, knowing they had already missed most of the first quarter of the game and praying they’d be granted a stay of execution (or prevented from committing hari-kiri) so that they could be home by halftime.

Another tradition that reminds me that summer is over is the annual wrestling match with our window air conditioning units. We have two monsters – old Gargantuas that spit out 17,000 btu’s each. Last year, we put off taking them out in favor of storm windows until November and paid for it with a heating bill in December that brought out the smelling salts. Not this year, not with the cost of energy what it is. Hence, rather than waiting until the last gasp of Summer has run its course, we have arbitrarily set next weekend for the removal of the behemoths.

It isn’t the weight of these Paul Bunyans of the air conditioning world that makes them such a pain in the ass to move. It is their bulk. Their span rivals that of the wings on a 727. One can barely grasp each end at the same time. Of course, you need someone inside and another outside the window in order to first detach and then lift the Colossus, placing the entire burden on the poor unfortunate who happens to be outside while the inside person runs like hell through the house and out the door, hoping to reach the hapless victim before the elephantine machine falls on his foot and breaks a toe.

Then it’s off to the garage where the two of us must lift these mountains of ancient technology over our heads and on to a shelf where they will be wrapped in blankets like some gigantic steel infants and forgotten about until the following summer.

I suppose we could get new, lightweight, energy saving units but then, what fun would I have writing about that?

Yes, the days are noticeably shorter now, the birds not greeting me in the morning with their cheerful lyrics when I arise. I hear them today when I’m already well into my second cup of coffee. The dawn now struggles to appear before the early news and will soon lose that battle as well. Soon – too soon – the endless and inexorable will overtake our memories of anticipation and restless impatience for the days’ quickening beat as summer gives way to fall. Not a happy time. Nor does it quite impart the sighing sadness that we feel when the leaves begin to change, then fall, and then receive their first covering of frost, causing them to appear as whitened sculptures dotting the landscape, ever so delicate and oh so lovely.

Summer may not be gone but it is certainly being handed its hat and ushered toward the door. It is this time between the light and warmth and the darkness and cold that the ancients chose to observe their most sacred ceremonies. Perhaps they too felt the cold hand of winter closing around them and fought to remain in the light as long as possible. Perhaps they just wanted an excuse for a good party. Whatever the reason, we too observe and mark this time as the changing of the seasons once again connects us to the cycle of life and reminds us of our own mortality in the face of the immutable forces of nature.

Change, neither good nor bad, simply is. Get used to it. Spring is a long, long winter’s way off.

Word has been given to evacuate my little house that I have lived in with my Zsu Zsu for 4 years.

It is not the creek that has defeated me – it is the Fox River which will crest at 2:00 AM this morning and flood downtown Algonquin. The flood authorities reckon that 4 feet of water will be in my little one story house by breakfast time. The house will be a total loss – not even worth rebuilding. At any rate, it will be uninhabitable for weeks.

We are scrambling to move our stuff – Sue’s son is coming with a truck and we are trying to save as much as possible.

We are planning to move to Ohio – a bitter pill to swallow for me. Sue’s family is there but not much else.

No idea what to do with the kitties. Red Cross will take care of them until we’re settled.

I don’t know when I will post on this space again. Please watch for updates as I will try my best to post whenever I can.

Thank you for all your expressions of concern and your prayers.

Farewell for now…

Don’t ask me. I don’t have a clue. But Larry Kudlow does:

An extraordinary money-market development has occurred in recent days. The safest liquid credit instrument — the gilt-edged 91-day Treasury bill — has seen its yield plunge.

Here’s the story: Last Wednesday, August 8, T-bills traded at 4.49 percent. On Monday they dropped to 4.74. On Tuesday, 4.63. And yesterday they fell to 4 percent. This morning they dropped another 50 basis points to 3.52 percent. What’s this mean? It means the entire banking system has turned completely risk averse and is fleeing into the safest haven possible.

It is fear. It is hording cash. It is a mountainous tremor that has seized financial markets.

In terms of funding requirements — for big mortgage banks like Countrywide, or perhaps the major money-center banks and various hedge funds — it shows financial dysfunction.

Um…okay. I sorta understand that. What should we do about it?

The Federal Reserve must lower its target rate and pour new cash into the banking system. It should float the federal funds rate and let reserve and money-market forces determine the right rate level as it injects new liquidity into the system. A T-bill rate around 3.5 percent suggests a fed funds target rate of perhaps 3.75 percent, or somewhere thereabouts.

Right now, because of the fear and hording, cash demands inside the banking system are rising faster than cash reserve supplies injected by the Fed. So the central bank should keep adding new money until the fed funds rate stabilizes in the open market. In other words, the key target variable right now should not be the Fed’s interest-rate target, but the large amount of new cash it is injecting into these markets.

Put simply, Ben Bernanke & Co. should let the money market set the new target rate. Their job is to create enough new cash to stabilize and accommodate the fear-based rush of liquidity demands.

I’m no Milton Friedman, but won’t that goose inflation?

So far, the economy looks fine. This is good. But the Fed must be the lender of last resort for the banking system. For my inflation-worrying friends out there, I say we can deal with that issue if it remerges sometime in the future. After financial stabilization, the new cash can be withdrawn and the fed funds target can be readjusted.

All I’m saying is first things first. That means stabilizing the banking system and accommodating the huge cash demands that have arisen. Right now, the system is virtually frozen.

Whenever the stock market plunges as it has in recent days, Americans get very nervous. Especially these days when more than half of us either invest directly in individual stocks or have shares in mutual funds. Our pensions are heavily invested in the market as well.

And most of us are like me; almost completely ignorant about the forces at work that make stocks rise or fall. This crisis, as I’m sure you’ve heard, is all about the sub-prime mortgage outfits who took advantage of the market when housing was booming by offering loans to marginal (“sub prime”) credit risks. Most of those people will work out fine, paying on time and staying current. But a large enough percentage of those mortgages will be a lost cause, thus precipitating a credit crunch as sub prime lender after lender goes belly up.

With the credit crunch, cash dries up. Even I know that much. Now Kudlow wants the Fed to intervene by dumping massive amounts of dollars in the banking system hoping it will reduce the panic and get everyone’s feet under them.

Whatever Chairman of the Fed Ben Bernanke does, I sure hope he acts quickly and that whatever his prescription is, works.

My latest sports column is up at Pajamas Media. It’s about the dog days of summer and the players who toil away in the heat and humidity:

These are the dog days of summer, the period 20 days before and 20 days after the dog star Sirius and the sun are in conjunction, according to the ancients. That may be. But here in the Midwest, we’ve always seen the dog days as a time that only a dog could love. Life draining, oppressive heat, sauna-like humidity and the phenomena of the late afternoon thunderstorm that appears regularly, coming out of nowhere and disappears almost as quickly, leaving behind those jaw dropping, horizon to horizon rainbows that appear so close at times that you can almost hear the laughing Leprechaun guarding his pot of gold.

In the world of sports, the dog days mean toiling away, pushing oneself physically to perform even while common sense and the thermometer tell you to sit back and take it easy. For professional baseball players, it is the period after the All Star game and before the pennant races heat up in September when going out day after day in the heat and humidity takes not only a physical toll but makes the player pay a psychic cost as well. The mental stress, the little aches and pains all players experience during the course of a season that challenge their physical stamina, and the inexorable grind of a 162 game schedule all combine to make the dog days a test of professionalism and character.