Jeff Cutler™ – columns, essays and opinions

When Richard Reed tried to blow up a plane with explosives in his shoes, other passengers and then security were on him in a flash. It might have taken a while for the plane to get to the ground and for Reed to be taken into custody, but nowhere did anyone fall down on the job.

Now we see an Arab journalist (for an Iraqi TV station) throwing shoes at our President at a press conference and nowhere in the frame do we see anyone from the Secret Service tackling, shooting or even glaring menacingly at the perpetrator.

Here’s the video…

Can you tell me that the brave souls in this government agency aren’t as fed up with George Bush as are the rest of the American public?

Seriously. The shoe thrower got off two shoes and some shouts before anyone even came close to him. Luckily, the President is so adept at dodging blame and playing laser tag that he deftly avoided damage from the hurled Hush Puppies.

Tell me what you think. Would Obama be quicker? Palin?

Would McCain have experienced a flashback?

What’s the deal here. I know we’re finished with this President, but do your job already. Take a shoe for the Commander in Chief. It’s your duty.

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Too many columns begin with a recap of the day’s temperature, location in the calendar or relative light or darkness. Not mine. Not today. Today I’m all about confessions. It’s the new, open and transparent Jeff Cutler. Join me as I list a few thoughts I’ve had germinating, ruminating and otherwise rotting in my skull.

I have no idea how the water heater works. Each morning, the first person in my household to shower starts off with a tepid barrage of H2O. Nary 15 minutes later, the second person in enjoys a blissful, steam-filled experience of piping hot needles of water. Shouldn’t the person who showers later have a worse experience? Early bird, worm, warm shower and all that?

Why does mail take longer to travel east than it does west? This is probably a condition of the time zones, but could it be that simple? For years, I sent letters to a girlfriend in Chicago every week or so. She sent letters back at the same frequency. Our letter-sending match of tennis had one constant – aside from the fact her letters were astonishingly heartfelt and moving while mine were drivel and simplistic. That was the time it took my letter to reach her was on average 22 hours shorter than it took her letters to reach me.

If we’re using the time-zone defense, I would think her letters would have been the fast ones. As you go west, the post office is open later and therefore can jet mail eastward later into the night than the PO’s on the coast. Whatever. We broke up for reasons that couldn’t be properly explained in a letter, so I guess it doesn’t matter.

What’s with the shell game that shoe manufacturers play? As I’ve gotten older I’ve located precious few shoes that make my dogs happy. Taking some of the blame, I haven’t been proactive enough buy multiple pairs when I find the perfect pair. But my naivety keeps me strolling down a path that tells me a shoe style might stay around longer than four months.

On my feet and in the closet right now are relics of the shoe industry. I have Merrells, Clarks, Reeboks and Johnston & Murphy shoes that are no longer being made. Don’t even start about running shoes and sports-specific styles that buzz through stores as fast as the athletes who endorse them.

You read it here first. As of today I pledge to take the second shower as often as I can, sent mail only from east to west, and stock up on shoes I love. If you see some wet guy at the mall with a batch of postcards in one hand and a shopping bag full of Merrells in the other, give him a wide berth. He’s easily confused and you don’t want to wind up in his next column.

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