The Horrors of Home Renovation

(Original publication date:) Tuesday, November 01, 2005

My fireplace is laying all over the back deck.

No, our home did not sustain a massive earthquake with our address at its epicenter. What we are suffering is the dreaded “Home Renovation.”

Twenty-two years in the same house bring some interesting challenges. The structure is showing its years and, like me, it is not aging gracefully. Built in 1975, our home embraces many (formerly) charming features we see in other Morgan Hill homes of the 70s such as the brownish fake rock adorning fireplaces and random exterior wall surfaces. As for the “avocado green” and “harvest gold” decorators of that era lavished all over the place…well, let’s just not go there.

In the last couple of years my adrenaline level has shot up as I noticed more and more homes in Morgan Hill undergoing some pretty heavy-duty transformations. Thanks to low interest rates and high homeowner equity, remodeling projects have become all the rage. In our neighborhood, marvelous exterior makeovers are popping up, sleek new windows gaze elegantly street ward, and even soaring add-on porticos are possible, bringing stylish curb appeal to older homes.

When I bring up the subject of “re-doing” a portion of our house, my husband typically staggers about in full Fred-Sanford-heart-attack mode, but I learned that if I leave him alone he eventually settles down and listens to reason. While a couple of rooms at our house are on their second or third incarnation, the old family room fireplace looked just a tad bit tired, and no amount of painting, re-flooring or new throw pillows was going to rectify the situation.

Hence, we jumped into the remodeling fray, and the brownish fake rock fireplace was my latest mission. Cleverly, I reminded my husband that he’d need to purchase at least a couple of absolutely indispensable new tools vital to this project to add to his growing collection in the garage. Shrewdly, I explained how I would be “happy” to help him, such as in laying out the new (and also fake) river rock fireplace design - hoping he’d forgotten about the joint wallpapering project several years ago that required serious post-papering marriage counseling. And with all the craftiness I could muster, I reminded him of the appreciation factor - how this one tiny little project will elevate our home’s value to stellar new heights.

Having finally won this particular skirmish, I was excited to see all the lovely rocks - boxes and boxes of rocks - delivered to our house. Confident that the project would soon be underway, I took a short trip to visit family and friends and returned to…nuclear winter.

Deciding to “surprise” me while I was away, my husband took sledge hammer in hand and battered and hacked away many pounds of 1970’s era rock. The result was a thick layer of powdery gray mortar dust that settled far and wide throughout the entire house.“You’ll probably want to clean that up pretty soon,” he announced brightly as I stood there, mouth agape, suitcases suspended lifelessly in each hand.

Needless to say, that clean-up project was a full three days long.Which brings me back to our fireplace and what it is doing out on the deck. Recalling my helpful offer of a few weeks ago, my husband built a tidy 12x7-foot frame in exact replica of the fireplace. He deposited said 12x7-foot frame on the rear deck - surrounded by boxes and boxes of fake river rock, and he is letting me have at it.

I don’t know, but do you think there may be a bit of an ulterior motive here?

Gale Hammond is a 22-year resident of Morgan Hill and a new columnist at the Morgan Hill Times. Reach her at galehammond@aol.com.

Is My Cat Deductible?

Today we have urgent breaking news: your taxes are due. Yes, friends, April 15 is right around the corner and if that doesn’t scare your socks off, I suggest it’s time to up your medication.

At this very moment you are undoubtedly deep in the midst of filling out those annoying tax returns, scratching your head and pondering ways to count “Kitty” as a legitimate tax deduction.

No, there is nothing existing in today’s government that is quite as challenging as the Tax Code. The Tax Code is one ginormous tome, a publication that nobody – least of all the current heads of the Treasury and other budget-focused departments – seems to know diddly-squat about. I mean, if correctly paying the total amount of taxes a person owes was a requirement to being a high-powered appointee in government, Washington D.C. would be a ghost town. But still.

This ambiguity of the Tax Code does not excuse the average tax payer – that would be you and me – from knowing all the various and intricate “ins and outs” of the Tax Code and what is currently allowed in terms of tax-deductible expenditures as in, “No, your dental adhesive is not deductible.”

Take your aforementioned cat and her deductibility-worthiness when it comes to preparing your tax return. Yes, I realize you’ve spent more on Kitty and her bi-weekly dialysis than on the college tuition of all your children combined. Kitty still does not qualify for a medical deduction on this year’s tax return. And, I know, that is so not fair.

However, perhaps there is a way around the “deduction-ality” of your cat’s health care. Or perhaps your cat doesn’t even require health care. Suppose you keep your cat around because coming home from a hard day at the office and being greeted by your standoffish cat is, well…a stress reliever of sorts. Isn’t that a good thing?

Of course it is! A happy, unstressed worker is a healthy worker. And a healthy worker, well…works! Therefore, in order to perform your job in an efficient manner and earn a good salary so you can PAY ALL THOSE TAXES, you might argue that your cat is an integral part of the compulsory accoutrements in the performance of your daily job requirements. (Did you understand that? I’m fairly certain I didn’t.) So your cat is – Bingo! Tax deductible! Right? RIGHT??

Well, you would think. Personally, I would argue that this sort of deduction ought to fly in any IRS tax audit, but I am sad to tell you that not all CPAs or IRS agents would agree. That’s right, some of those tax folks can be downright picky and ill humored when it comes to allowable expenses.

Take, for example, another mandatory item for achieving stellar work performance: shoes. Suppose you are a professional woman and you want to propel your career ride upward on the fast track. To fracture that glass ceiling, you are in need of a substantially sharp stiletto such as the 4” covered heel found on a pair of red Manolo Blahnik Patent Strappy Sandals (price: $745), freshly imported from Italy. Well. What IRS agent would be so callous as to suggest that the aforementioned sandals are not fully tax deductible?

Yes, but it happens, taxpayers! Tragically, not even the French have figured out a method of manufacturing a tax-deductible pair of shoes. Need a snappy pair of red-soled Louboutin Mary Jane platforms ($965) to impress your boss and soar ahead of the corporate melee? Sorry, ladies, even those greedy AIG executives haven’t figured out a way to deduct these Parisian beauties. Bonuses? Maybe. Stilettos? Not a chance.


Even playful Jimmy Choo shoes won’t cut it in the tax deduction department. Not that you can’t try. I mean, somewhere out there exists an IRS auditor sympathetic to the needs of sharp career-minded girls who know that all it takes to jump ahead in the world of movers and shakers is a swingin’ little pair of Jimmy Choo Peep-Toe Platform Pumps ($750) matched up with the large Jimmy Choo Leopard Zip Hobo bag ($3,150). Yes, in these pressing economic times, you have to look under every rock to unearth those valuable tax deductions – assuming you have, you know, a job and all.


So whether it’s cute shoes or your snooty kitty, as an alert and informed journalist, I’m telling you those tax deductions are out there, people! And if you claim these worthy deductions on your tax return and the IRS starts getting all, like, fanatical about it, you just tell them to come and see me. That’s right. I’ll be happy to give them a piece of my mind. Just tell them to call and ask for me: Barbara Walters. That’s right. Ask for Babs. Yep. That’s the old tax-deduction ticket.

Surviving the recession: A report from the front lines

Mar 18, 2009 By Gale Hammond


Today some urgent news: we are in a recession! Yes, I know this is probably not a shock to you, but since this financial mess isn't going to be resolved within the next, say … day or two, it is time to have a heart-to-heart discussion about your marriage.

Yes, this icky (a highly technical financial term) economy and marriage go together like Mother Teresa and crack cocaine. They don't. Go together. At all.

Ladies, if you're sporting a rock the size of a grapefruit on your left hand's fourth finger and your hubby isn't happy unless you're shopping up a storm, good for you. This column is not for you. And guys: does your wife refuse to spend a penny on herself? Does she cut her own hair? Do her own nails? Wearing shoes she bought in 1982? Then check her driver's license, pal, because you've married an alien, and I don't mean an alien originating anywhere on Planet Earth.

But if you're suddenly feeling that your marriage wasn't exactly made in heaven and financial woes are causing a few new rifts in your matrimonial world, you are not alone. Couples usually begin their lives together with a few opposing opinions on the best way to handle a dollar. Save it? Invest it? Spend it? The old "opposites attract" rule is never more apparent than it is in today's economy, and what may have been endearing behavior a year ago is suddenly not so much. Even if you have cash out the wazoo, a poopy (another highly technical financial term) economy can cause even the happiest marriage to wobble a bit.

As you might imagine, my spouse and I are not immune to the challenges of the economy. And of course we have a lot of company. I mean, when your 401(k)'s bottom line is best described as "down the crapper," it causes a few anxious moments in most marriages. So a decision is made to tighten up the purse strings.Now this means different things to different people. To me, this might mean reducing the number of lattes I purchase in a week from seven to, well … five perhaps. Now that's what I call belt tightening! But my spouse, who I'll refer to here simply as "Mr. H.," sees things a little differently:

Me: "What's the good of having saved money all our lives if we're not going to spend it? My perfect plan is to die with zero cash in the bank, credit cards charged to the max and all of my payments are due.
"Mr. H: "Sure, and with my luck I'll still be alive."

Well. You see what I'm up against here, people. Of course he may be a little apprehensive because when we got married 34 years ago, he had a savings account and I, well … didn't. In fact, you might go so far as to say that he married the national debt because I was a working girl and, you know, we working girls had to look cute. So in my 20s, needing to make bold fashion statements while being short on actual cash, I discovered credit cards. They looked so pretty in my billfold, all lined up like trendy little soldiers. I made the rounds and acquired fun cards from all sorts of department stores including many that are now extinct: both the Magnin's ("Joe" and "I."). Roos/Atkins. Rhodes. The Emporium. And each store showed us the way to instant gratification with that ultimate bargaining tool: the "revolving" charge account.

Of course I eventually revolved myself into a pretty deep hole, but I recognized the error of my ways in, you know, 25 or so years and cleaned up my act. So I didn't get it when I made a teeny little request the other day and got this negative reaction:

Me: "I love the new dresser we bought for the guestroom, but wouldn't it look nice with different drawer hardware? What do you think about getting new drawer pulls for the dresser?"
Mr. H: "Replacing brand new hardware on a brand new piece of furniture is a total waste of money. You're not thinking logically here, Gale."
Me (huffily): "Well, you know my thinking has never been hampered by logic."

So while this episode demonstrates that my spouse and I are not always on the same page when it comes to money, we're working on it. Why, just the other day I came home after a hard day of stimulating the economy. With my arms filled with bags containing a few new (and absolutely necessary) purchases, he said to me wistfully, "You know, Gale, I wish we had the kind of money you think we have." Hey - that sounds like a great place to start.

Put on your Big Girl Panties

Mar 4, 2009 By Gale Hammond

Yes, I know, the headline is shocking. Just shocking. And that was precisely my reaction, too, when I received a message with the above subject from my e-mail friend, Linda. But before you charge Linda with being an insensitive girl, perhaps I'd better explain.

Linda, who I met long ago but have not seen for years, recently challenged me to a 10-pound weight loss competition. Nothing unusual in that, right? Well, you wouldn't think. However. Visualize a petite little thing like Calista Flockhart, for example, challenging Queen Latifah to a weight loss challenge. Wouldn't you kind of be going, "Huh???"

So when Linda and I re-connected recently via e-mail and she was e-chatting about "comfort zones," and "undies" and the purchase thereof and how she'd like to knock off a few pounds because of, well, said comfort zones, next thing you know I'd signed on to engage in a friendly "Biggest Loser" competition for a cup of skinny coffee a couple of months hence.

Now the thing is, I would venture a guess that Linda doesn't weigh a hundred pounds, sopping wet. On the other hand, I personally could stand to shed some excess tonnage. When you step into my closet you find yourself in a virtual department store containing every sized article of clothing available in the free world. Yo-yo dieting? Think express elevators at the Empire State Building.

Don't get me wrong. I have come to the realization I will never be a Calista Flockhart/Linda type girl and have adjusted to my Queen Latifah/Gale facade. I've never been one of those petite, wraith-like individuals that can wear anything and be a knockout. But I would like to be capable of turning around and walking away without leaving behind (so to speak) a view of what appears to be a couple of feral cats thrashing it out in a gunny sack.

So I took Linda up on her challenge. I wasn't going to quibble about WHY she wanted to acquire an extra micro-millimeter or two of comfort zone. Hey - I know my way around those elastic waistbands, too.

Now the critical thing about getting into a serious weight loss competition is that before doing so you have to "prepare." And you know what that means, people. Yes, in the days prior to entering an acute weight loss program you must consume every speck of epicurean goodness that exists on the planet because God knows you're going to be banished from those yummy foods for practically forever. This is why before engaging in any weight loss program you proceed to the nearest Cheese Cake Factory (or its equivalent) and order pages six through nine of the menu. Never mind that it is humanly impossible to consume every last crumb in one or six sittings, leaving you with enough to-go boxes to feed a couple of third world countries.

So the other day when I got a message from Linda I was totally taken aback when she revealed she had already lost two pounds. What?? I mean, that is so not fair. Due to my mandatory preparation, I had suffered a setback of approximately 2.8 pounds. Yikes!

Therefore, come April when this contest draws to a close, be on the lookout for a couple of weight loss buddies out on the town sipping a cup of skinny joe and yes, one or both of us may be wearing our "big girl panties" but we aren't telling because that's how we, um … roll. Just think of it as Calista enjoying a nice cup of coffee with the Queen.

Young pups "Stumped" by Westminster Best in Show

By Gale Hammond

Bring 2,500 canines to New York's Madison Square Garden, add a crowd of 20,000 cheering fans and what do you get? Well, besides an awful lot of barking, you get a Scottish terrier that had to "go" in an unscheduled pit stop, a poofy black poodle with an elaborate "do," a giant schnauzer that was actually favored to win and, oh yeah - you get "Stump" - the 10-year-old Sussex spaniel that took Best in Show at the prestigious Westminster Kennel Club's annual dog show recently.

Of course you know what this means, friends. Yes, it's a great victory for the old guy. And you would think this mellow fellow would have been content to finish out his days with some rawhide chewies and a nice warm bed by the fire, wouldn't you? Well, you'd think.

But maybe Stump (who is, remember, 70 in "people years") decided he just wasn't in the right frame of mind for retirement. For getting old. For being put out to pasture and out of touch. Maybe old Stump decided to prove that getting older isn't necessarily about getting redundant. Maybe he decided that getting older was, indeed, about getting better.

The cool thing about dogs - and probably other animals but I know more about dogs having been owned by several of them over the years - is that they don't let a little dementia get them down.

A bit of arthritis? Well, shoot - once they have stretched a minute or two, older dogs are as willing as any young pup to chase a ball or fetch a stick. And I'm guessing that dogs believe a little snow on the roof might be a good thing, too. It sure didn't hurt old Stump as he whipped those young "slumdogs" into their respective places at the Garden.

Amazingly, Stump was nearly a goner a few years ago. When he came down with a mysterious ailment that was causing him to waste away, vets at Texas A&M brought him back to health. And perhaps there's nothing like a trip to death's door to make one appreciate the sweetness of life.

So almost on a whim, five days before the show his trainer entered Stump so he could take a last turn on the green carpet at the Garden. And the thing is, nobody explained to Stump that just because he'd reached retirement age it became compulsory for him to stop working because he was, well, you know … "old."

Try telling that to people these days. We bore witness to a contest between an "old pooch" and a "young pup" recently. And what were we repeatedly told about John McCain? Yep - he was old. Older than dirt. Older than God. Never mind the political side of things. McCain was just "too old."

The neat thing about Stump, and what made him such a crowd pleaser at the Westminster, was nobody imposed society's prejudices upon him. Part of what made him such a winner in everybody's eyes was that he IS an old dog. The oldest dog, in fact, to ever win the Westminster. And Stump, the wise old gentleman with the quiet manner, plodding gait and placid brown eyes, was impervious to experts' consensus that he never stood a chance in the ring with all of that powerful competition.

And what do you suppose old Stump was thinking as he trotted around the ring in the company of some pretty high-priced competition, some of which were, relatively speaking, entire decades younger than him? Do you suppose it was kind of what any laid back elder might be thinking surrounded by a gaggle of preening, prancing, pooping youngsters?

Yep, old Stump was probably feeling a heck of a lot of relief that he had grown beyond all that stuff. Because remember back in the day when you had that drive in you that said you just had to be "cool?" One of the in-crowd? At his advanced age, Stump might have assumed the same kind of attitude that other sensible 70-year-olds adopt - the wisdom that at some point in life, sometime when you didn't even realize it, caring about that elusive "cool quotient" had simply slipped quietly by the wayside.

Imagine. Stump was no doubt looking around at all the tail sniffing and growling and hissy-fitting and thinking, "I am SO over all that stuff." He'd shake his old head with the big floppy ears, take another turn around the ring and know that he had worked hard and earned his rightful place in the sun. That folks were going to like and respect him - not because he was an old dog who had learned some new tricks - but because folks were paying attention to a few of his old ones.

So maybe Stump, the oldest winner of the 133rd annual Westminster Best in Show, was letting all of us nonbelievers out here know that triumphant aging is, after all, in the attitude and that getting older isn't such a bad thing after all. And - hey! That it sure beats the alternative.

Super Bowl ads "winged" by Philly gorge-fest

Feb 4, 2009 By Gale Hammond

So another Super Bowl is relegated to the history books, and by Super Bowl standards, Super Bowl XLIII was a pretty decent game. But as in years past, the game was partially overshadowed by its many, um … accoutrements. Even NBC, who hosted the extravaganza, jumped on the Super Bowl bandwagon with a pre-game interview of a casually dressed President Barack Obama at the White House.

But the new president wasn't why Americans were tuned in on Sunday. Oh, no; and while the Super Bowl games are an American institution, two other mainstays crucial to the Super Bowl were vying for our attention: those Super Bowl ads and that special "cuisine" peculiar to Super Bowl Sunday.

Much is made of the storied Super Bowl ads. With one out of every three Americans tuned in for the big game, this is advertiser heaven and, yes, ad costs are astronomical. Going for a cool $100,000 per second, those clever "mad men" are perpetually on the hot seat to create better and more inventive ads each time Super Bowl Sunday rolls around.

The trouble is, this year brought on a slight problem or two. Besides a tanking economy and low consumer spending, no innovative products have appeared on the marketing scene recently. This spells trouble on Madison Avenue when past "Super Sundays" have hyped a cornucopia of new consumer products like the Toyota Prius, Apple's Macintosh, the Fusion razor by Gillete, the Discover card and mega drug company Eli Lilly's Cialis, all of which made their world debuts during the Super Bowl.

This year, with the economy gone bust, a few corporations wisely made some adjustments to the Super Bowl's ad roster. Notice the absence of the "Big Three" automaker commercials? Yep, the corporate suits in Detroit astutely figured out that Mr. and Mrs. John Q. Taxpayer know what a Super Bowl ad costs and would be unappreciative of their bailout funds going to pay the tab for $3 million commercials in the prime Super Bowl time slots.

Career-searching Web site ads were prevalent on Sunday. With unemployment numbers mounting, these ads were a sign of the times and took aim at the employed as well as out-of-work job seekers. If you still have a job, perhaps you identified with the office worker whose desk supported the rear portion of the large antlered moose whose body was thrust through the wall while its head adorned the swanky office of a corporate big wig. The hapless employee's desk on the other side of the wall resided at the, um … "tail section" area of the mammal where the poor fool dealt with, well, mountains of "pollution" regularly raining down on his head.

"Yep, there's my office," moaned one of the observers at our Super Bowl gathering. See what I mean? The biggest scores weren't necessarily made on the football field.

Again this year, beverage commercials were plentiful and amusing. Anheuser-Busch, with its long-term contract of product exclusivity, brought out the big guns. Not to mention the really big horses: those awesome Clydesdales. And soft drink giant Pepsi scored a coup with its deal that blocked Coke commercials during the first half of the game. Pepsi and Coke took the fun and fantasy route in their ads for the "feel good" component people seek in hard economic times.Sometimes what you don't see in an ad makes a pretty good point. When a dog food company makes a commercial advocating dog adoption without a single dog in sight, it may seem like a pretty risky move. But put assorted other livestock into the ad like a rhino, a rampaging ostrich, a large-tusked boar and even a good-natured cow that gets bonked in the nose with a Frisbee, add a wink and a nod to "get a dog" at the ad's conclusion - and you've got a dang clever commercial.

Fan favorite ads included USA Today's Ad Meter $1 million winner for Doritos (made by Indiana amateurs for a pittance), Budweiser's "Daisy" love story and Bridgestone's Mr. And Mrs. Potato Head. Me? I cracked up over Denny's hilarious "Thugs" where hard-core mafia types linger over a diner breakfast in a dismal discussion about a pair of cement shoes (so to speak) for somebody who'd had an unfortunate rift with the "family." The friendly waitress spraying whipped cream clown faces over the diners' pancake breakfast plates was classic funny business.

But if Sunday's Super Bowl ads seemed a little lackluster and your fondest activity during this year's game was the business of chowing down those scrumptious Super Bowl snacks, then have I got a news flash for you. In Philadelphia, John "Super" Squibb won the annual "Wing Bowl" by downing 203 chicken wings in 20 minutes. Think about THAT for a minute, people! "Super" walked away with a new car, a crown of miniature chickens and a $7,500 diamond ring. Oh, and a little heartburn. Yep: makes all those Super Bowl ads pale in comparison.

Deja vu: 2008, Part Deux?

Jan 28, 2009 By Gale Hammond

Years from now as historians hunch over their laptops dissecting the events of 2008, they'll be scratching their collective heads and muttering, "What the ...?"

No, friends, it won't be easy explaining "what went wrong" in 2008 that precipitated the numerous sea of changes that occurred last year such as the tanking of the U.S. economy and Oprah's 40-pound weight gain. Nor, unfortunately, are such disasters necessarily confined to a single calendar year, and 2009 is shaping up as no exception.

Yes, you celebrated the end of 2008 by gaily sipping champagne from your boss's shoe at the annual New Year's Eve office party, believing whole-heartedly along with the rest of us that the country had reached the end of the mayhem. Sadly, it was not to be, and January 2009 evolved into a prolonged continuation of 2008. So to keep you, an informed citizen, abreast of events that shaped the last month, at great personal sacrifice I undertook exhaustive research consisting of approximately 45 seconds.

As the country watched the stock market careen madly downward, more industries sought funds from the nation's government. Financial institutions and auto makers lined up at the government's door attempting to secure federal bailout, er … "recovery" funds in order to save their failing industries.

The first week of January saw yet another major American industry seeking federal assistance. Adult entertainment publisher Larry Flynt and "Girls Gone Wild" CEO Joe Francis appealed for a $5 billion bailout of the suffering porn industry. "Works for me," stated former president Bill Clinton before naming himself overseer of funds disbursement for the porn industry's bailout plan. But you probably shouldn't quote me on that.

In mid-January America looked to the skies in two separate and very different incidents involving airplane pilots. Indianapolis financial advisor and private plane pilot Marcus Schrenker, apparently spurred on by all the talk of "bailouts," faked his own death by bailing out of his personal plane before letting it crash some 200 miles from where he exited the aircraft by parachute. Schrenker's wife had previously filed for divorce after learning of her husband's extra-marital affairs along with his improper business dealings. The unregistered investment adviser so embarrassed his relatives that the family dog has reportedly turned itself in at a local animal shelter.

Also in mid-January, US Airways made an effort to ease its economic woes by debuting its long anticipated "Air-and-Water" tour when pilot Chesley B. "Sully" Sullenberger landed his Airbus A320 in the Hudson River in freezing temperatures. Although the airline has wisely elected to suspend the "water" portion of the tour, Captain "Sully" managed to answer an age-old question: How many passengers can you get on the wings of an airplane? The answer: All of them.

On Jan. 20, the country witnessed the splendid inauguration of its first black president. The event made history when news analysts all agreed that the new First Lady was "beautifully dressed" and looked "young." Outgoing VP Dick Cheney staged a "sit-in" demonstration against the new administration by arriving in a wheelchair. And the music selections played by classical luminaries Yo-Yo Ma and Itzhak Perlman went off without a hitch because they were playing to their own pre-recorded music, an instrumental "lip-sync" if you will. Meanwhile, apparently still smarting from Barack Obama's negative vote to seat him on the Supreme Court bench, Chief Justice John Roberts flubbed the new president's oath of office by inserting the word "faithfully" in the wrong place. "Next time we're lip-syncing this thing," Roberts reportedly grumbled as he left the platform.

Doubly sworn in President Barack Obama was feeling the pinch in getting his cabinet seated by his inauguration. Timothy Geithner, Obama's beleaguered pick for treasury secretary, continued groveling, er … apologizing for making a $35,000 error on his personal income taxes. The soon-to-be secretary (and head of the IRS) reportedly said he wasn't incompetent or trying to evade paying his taxes but that he had been simply "rounding down."

And it felt like 2008 all over again the last week of January when the impeachment trial of Governor Rod "Blago" Blagojevich convened in the Illinois Senate. Charged with attempting to sell Barack Obama's vacated Senate seat, Blagojevich spent his court day conducting a media blitz, following up previous news conferences where he touchingly recited poetry. Blago, stating he would be cleared of any wrongdoing when he had his day in court, spent his day in court by being a no-show.

And in the "you just can't make this stuff up" department, Blagojevich revealed that before appointing former Illinois attorney general Roland Burris to the vacant Senate position, he considered naming Oprah Winfrey to fill the seat but feared such a pick would appear to be a "gimmick."

In another poignant moment, Blagojevich compared himself to a cowboy about to be hung without a fair trial and found solace in the plight of other wrongly persecuted leaders such as Nelson Mandela, the Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr. and Gandhi. So the questions remain: Will "Wrangler Rod" be redeemed? Will he ride off permanently into the sunset? Will anybody really care?With this audacious start to the New Year, what do you say we bid this "cowboy" - and January - a speedy "giddy-up."