Friday Night at 8: Meanderings

I keep thinking, for some reason, of Patrick Fitzgerald, as an authentic American.  I remember when he would give press conferences on the Libby case and no one was able to spin what he said.

And I think his acceptance of limitation had something to do with it.

The I-Ching says (Wilhelm/Baynes edition), in the hexagram of “Kou/Coming to Meet”:

The superior man always stays where he belongs.  He comes only into his own domain.  … The inferior man has to depend on a lucky chance.

I sometimes forget that Scooter Libby was convicted on four of five charges, convicted of lying and obstruction of justice in the Plame affair.  I sometimes forget this because, of course, Mister Bush immediately pardoned him.

But Patrick Fitzgerald was able to make the case and convict Libby.

I think of the word “limitation” because of how Fitzgerald spoke during those press conferences.  He didn’t try to moralize or speak politically.  He spoke only of his job and explained what obstruction of justice meant (the notion of “kicking sand in the umpire’s face”) and stuck to the facts of what he could say.  He never deviated from this no matter what the press asked him.  So there was nothing to spin.

I think of the word “limitation,” because Fitzgerald could have done what Kenneth Starr did during the Clinton investigation, spending millions of dollars and uncountable hours looking into every stray possibility that could add to his case against Clinton, whether it had to do with “lying about sex” or not.  I remember very well the Starr Report, the pornography of it, the typical neocon perversions that lead them to view sex in such a creepy way that my mind rebelled while reading the Report.

Fitzgerald didn’t do that.  He didn’t expand upon his role and he didn’t embellish what facts he had to share.  He limited himself to those facts and basic descriptions of what his job was and that was that.

Limitation and authenticity, sort of a strange pairing, I know.

The I-Ching speaks of the hexagram “Chieh/Limitation”:

To become strong, a man’s life needs the limitations ordained by duty and volulntarily accepted.  The individual attains significance as a free spirit only by surrounding himself with these limitations and by determining for himself what his duty is.

There’s a lot that can be argued about in that statement, but what I find intriguing is the phrase “voluntarily accepted.”  It’s one thing for government to impose limitations on its citizens.  It’s quite another for a citizen to voluntarily work towards helping to create a better democracy by making choices and accepting the limitations that naturally arise when we make a choice.

I remember all the swooning on the left over Patrick Fitzgerald, the notion of “Fitzmas,” all the revenge fantasies so many of us had.

There was a great deal of pressure on him from both the left and the right.  The corrupt DOJ tried to get rid of him but they could not.  That’s a story I’d like to know a lot more about.

But the most interesting thing was they could not spin what Libby did once Fitzgerald spoke about it and explained to the American people what obstruction of justice meant, in plain language anyone could understand.

Voluntary acceptance of limitation.  Duty.  Authenticity.  Words that, sadly, do not illustrate the behavior of our elected (and selected) representatives here in the USA.

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Well it’s Friday, and it’s been another long dog days of summer kind of work week.  Subway isn’t as full as usual because so many folks have gone on vacation to far flung places.

Its getting just a tiny bit cooler which evokes feelings of autumn, just around the corner.

Saw a woman in a clown outfit walking down the hall in the big lobby of my Midtown skyscraper office building, and yesterday, when I was out on a break in front of the building, a fellow with a loudspeaker drew my attention to Radio City Music Hall.

He introduced the Rockettes, and I saw these women, dressed very casually in dark capris and short sleeved shirts of various design, walking up Avenue of the Americas in some desultory kind of synchronized fashion — I was hoping they’d do their famous kicks, but no, they just walked up the block and then back into the building.  I wondered what the heck that was about, and then realized this was a heads-up to the Christmas season.

Anyway, I kind of prefer the cancan.

Hope everyone’s weekend is grand.