So my last post was about soccer, and now I’m taking you to the Home and Garden page of the New York Times (errr, it came up in my news feed?).  Blame it on the a-a-a-alcohol fact that politics (and the news in general, really) has left a lot to be desired this summer.

In case you haven’t heard, there’s been an oil spill.  On.the.front.page.of.the.newspaper.every.day.

And this week, hysterics over “racism” from more than twenty years ago.  Nearly a year since Obama’s notorious beer summit, it seems we may need a sequel, or at least a realization that our society couldn’t be further from “post-racial.”  The specter of racism engenders paralysis among those who might possibly have maybe once been insensitive towards someone of another color, and disingenuous accusations are hurled from both sides of the aisle.

As much as oil-coated pelicans and whispers of racism thrill me, I thought houses might be a better topic.  This year you can find me in Branscomb, but after that, when I’m ready to restore my digs to a Commons-esque level of opulence, here’s a place the roomie and I will be mulling over:

Rokeby – an 1815 treasure in New York’s Hudson River Historic District.  With 43 rooms, there should be plenty of space for Thursday night festivities (and a futon, to boot).

I won’t steal the New York Times writer’s thunder, but the historic estate, though its financial foundation may be shaky, boasts character that a corner office at Goldman can’t buy – as much a characteristic of the assorted residents as of the 43 rooms.  As Richard Aldrich, the home’s owner, puts it, “Maybe we are the museum.”

What I love about Rokeby – it’s a home, in the true sense.  It’s been lived in, worn down, loved, restored.  As an investment or even a place to live, it may be completely illogical – outdated, in need of expensive maintenance, too big for any real person to inhabit.  More than 43 rooms or 420 acres, though, it boasts an uncanny appeal to the emotions.  If you’re at all susceptible to nostalgia, it’s a captivating property.  I can appreciate that, and I’ve never seen it in person (but then maybe I’m just trying really hard not to write about the oil spill).

Rokeby is no McMansion.  It’s not a cookie cutter house, and as a place to live, honestly, it probably doesn’t make much sense.  And that’s the best part.  As this $75 million eyesore in Florida demonstrates, money doesn’t buy class.  And it certainly cannot guarantee the brand of character that defines Rokeby.

But for the commute, I’d be scheduling a showing.  Now that the Vandy Vans are getting GPS, I figure it’s not long before we’ll be able to put down payments on the card.

Skip to 1m 10s. Did he really just say that? NASA’s foremost priority right now is improving relations with the Muslim world?

Once again President Obama just can’t get priorities straight. While there’s nothing wrong with inspiring kids in science and getting international support for the space program, it’s perplexing that those would be the top priorities for the National Aeronautics and Space Administration. Those sound like jobs for the Departments of Education and State. No wonder NASA has decided to cancel the Constellation Program which would build rockets for reaching the moon. I guess we can’t do that by ourselves. We must need international support and approval first. With all due respect to the president and NASA, if we are going to compete with countries like China, who have their own ambitious space plans, we are going to need to be a little bit more aggressive and self-reliant.

If you have a pair of eyes, access to a television, and a heartbeat, you will agree – of all the superlatives, none captures the United States’ 1-nil win over Algeria in the FIFA World Cup better than “breathtaking”.

With the bitter taste of two draws lingering in their mouths and the specter of an English lead over Slovenia haunting them for most of the game, it seemed increasingly possible that the Americans would leave South Africa heartbroken, having failed to clear the group stage.

An all-too-familiar feeling set in during the 21st minute, when Clint Dempsey’s goal was called back as offsides, though replays demonstrate that Dempsey was on. Though perhaps less devastating than Koman Coulibaly’s disallowal of the winning goal to Maurice Edu in the 85th minute against Slovenia, the call was frustrating for players and fans alike. For a second time, it appeared, the United States would be robbed of the point they had rightfully earned.

It is to the credit of Team U.S.A., however, that they channeled their frustration into a disciplined effort to best Algeria. As the game continued, the Americans – forward Jozy Altidore chief among them – played with evident hunger. As the second half progressed, however, a terrible knot tied in stomachs across the nation as the U.S. failed to land itself on the scoreboard. With 20 shots taken by the Americans, 8 of them on goal, and clear control of the game, each minute expiring on the clock seemed to lend greater weight to the inevitability of an American goal. They would score. They must. An early exit from the World Cup would be a bitter disappointment.

Finally, in the 91st minute – deliverance.  A goal by Landon Donovan off Clint Dempsey’s rebound that can only be described as pure, unadulterated sporting bliss.  This kind of moment – heart-stopping, exhilarating, beautiful – was one Hollywood couldn’t beat.  It’s why we watch sports, why we care about 22 men kicking a ball around a field.

For a nation besieged by crises too many to count – a devastating oil spill, a faltering economy, two long wars, and a precarious diplomatic milieu, for starters – Landon Donovan gave us more than a pass into the round of 16.  He gave us a gift – escapism in the purest sense.  A moment in which our pride to be Americans overtook even our heartbeats and we were lost in the bare humanity of the sport, united for a second in the same joy as millions of our countrymen the world over (until, of course, we realized that we were hugging the drunk, sweaty, bearded men sitting next to us, at which point we disengaged and composed ourselves).

Soccer – football, really – is more than just a diversion, though.  It’s the world’s game.  One needs only step foot in a stadium during an international game to appreciate the madness – the body paint, the turbulent emotions, the incessant buzz of the vuvuzelas.  Never a soccer nation, the United States has not quite caught the fever that grips the globe.  Which is why syndicated columnist Norman Chad’s suggestion that it would be a blessing if the U.S. lost in the World Cup – as a diplomatic gesture to those with whom we are unpopular – is so asinine.  No one will respect us any more for losing; if they respect anything, it is talent, determination, and fair play.

This is why Landon Donovan’s goal was so uplifting (enough to inspire such a long post).  On a technical level, it wasn’t especially remarkable – a simple, well-placed punch into the back of the net.  (Hats off, however, to Cristiano Ronaldo’s incredible goal against our friends with no fans).  It was a goal without pretense, the long-due reward of a tireless effort by the U.S. in the second half to bring home a victory.  Donovan said it best himself: “We embody what Americans are about. … We kept going, and we believed.”

In days when faith in this nation has been weakened, Donovan and company have indeed given us something to believe in.

He means business. After four years of Obama, I’m sure someone aggressive like Chris Christie or even Dale here will seem quite refreshing.

How funny is it when he says “facebook?”

Arizona is causing quite a stir lately. This time it’s at the hands of an unlikely culprit: Sister of Mercy, Sister Margaret Mary McBride. She has not only been reassigned from her position at St. Joseph’s Hospital and Medical Center in Phoenix, but she has been excommunicated as well.

For a nun to be excommunicated, something big must have gone down. What actually happened isn’t as “big” to critics to the excommunication, as it is controversial. Sister Margaret Mary (do I call her that still? I will because she’s still probably 10 million times holier than me), made a life and death call that resulted in the abortion of an unborn baby. A patient was 11 weeks pregnant and experiencing pulmonary hypertension. If the pregnancy continued, the hospital said the mother’s life was highly at risk. Sr. Margaret Mary concurred with the hospital’s ethics committee, and they decided to save the mother and get rid of the “problem” child.

Sound reasonable? Bishop Olmsted of Phoenix, the excommunicator, didn’t think so.

The direct killing of an unborn child is always immoral, no matter the circumstances, and it cannot be permitted in any institution that claims to be authentically Catholic.

We always must remember that when a difficult medical situation involves a pregnant woman, there are two patients in need of treatment and care, not merely one…The unborn child’s life is just as sacred as the mother’s life, and neither life can be preferred over the other.

The act was performed in a Catholic institution, and according to Bishop Olmsted, the decision to abort the baby was against the guidelines of the “Ethical and Religious Directives for Catholic Health Care Services.” Sr. Margaret was guilty of violating this, and her call to obedience…something that is a part of the mission of most, if not all religious orders. The Sisters of Mercy included.

Passing judgement on a religious woman was not on my agenda for the day. BUT not many people are defending the decision of Bishop Olmsted, who made the right call. Children should not be seen as illnesses or medical problems in any respect, and workers at Catholic institutions are called to recognize the dignity of all lives being dealt with.

Dartmouth’s Natalie Colaneri just shot down the “hook up culture” like I shot my first raccoon out of a tree.
No. big. deal.
I wish CNN could have made me sound that cool.

Mike and I are graduating Friday, so this is my final post here at Vandy Right (I will, however, be blogging here). If I don’t see you around the internet, have yourself an excellent summer/life. Anyway, in the sterling tradition of this blog, I’ve done two things I said I wouldn’t, and now I’m going to tell you about them:

The first, of course, was creating this Cornelius “we are nashville” business at right, because the whole “We Are [Proper Noun]” trend lights no fire under me, except confusion with the grammar and redundancy of it. But for you, Nashville, I will participate.

Second was donating to Vanderbilt. That is, I donated to the Vanderbilt flood relief fund. Over 1100 Vanderbilt faculty and employees were affected by the flooding. ELEVEN HUNDRED. If you don’t go to Vandy or don’t live in Nashville, you will have to trust me on this, but people who work at Vandy are pretty much uniformly easygoing, good people. In every office, every lunch counter, really anywhere, you find pleasant people just doing their jobs. And 1100 of them were affected by the flood.

When we drove out to Bellevue for dinner late last week, we could see exactly where the Harpeth had flooded on the trees — in some places, like, eight feet high — and just piles and piles of belongings, sorted like Metro asked, out in the front yards of house after house. That was just on Highway 100. Between downtown where business and history got slammed, and down south of Nashville, where homes in Bellevue, Franklin, and then in East Nashville got wrecked, the damage defies belief.

So, if you’re looking for somewhere to donate money to the fine people of Nashville, give the Vanderbilt employee flood relief a good hard look right here.

So, this was Monday. I walked downtown then and took photos with my iPhone (DSLR is at home), and finals held me up from posting here. But: If you are not here, you cannot believe how much water is downtown, out in the Opry Mills area, out in Bellevue, out in Franklin, and in parts of East Nashville. Midtown and the Vandy area didn’t get hit badly at all (excepting some fairly serious day of flooding near the Children’s Hospital that forced some traffic to be redirected). Now, among other things, the critical thing is water conservation. Last night, all Vandy students received this email from Dean of Students:

During the recent flooding, Metro Nashville lost one of its two water treatment plants.  Water reserves are dwindling rapidly. On Monday, Metro’s water reserve was at 67% of capacity. It is now down to 37%. Please reduce your water consumption. Please limit your water usage to drinking, food preparation and basic hygiene.

Shower every other day.
Limit showers to 3 minutes.
Do not wash your car.
Do not do laundry.

Fortunately, the second water treatment plant avoided flooding, and water conservation efforts are going well.

The national media has covered basically nothing on this. Nashville had the misfortune of having a major disaster at pace with the oil spill in the Gulf, the Times Square Bomber situation, and the tragic murder at UVA, but still. Tonight, finally, Anderson Cooper will actually broadcast from Nashville and somebody will cover the worst flooding in Middle Tennessee in at least 70 years. As Ed Morrissey wrote last night, this is kind of the forgotten disaster (not to critique them, but they weren’t exactly Johnny on the Spot either), but the video featured makes an excellent point: There has been no looting, no crime, nothing. Nashville is a good place, trying to take care of its major problems. Also: Piranhas are not, apparently, swimming in Opry Mills. SORRY TO KILL THAT DREAM. More photos under the jump.

This is the general direction (well, to the right about 90 degrees) that the Country Music Hall of Fame and Bridgestone Arena are in. They’re about five or six blocks up from the river, as they got flooded from below — because of the drainage system being overwhelmed. Also, as water gets pumped out of basements, businesses and parking garages, the strain increases on that drainage system. Also, there’s a Toyota underwater by those meters. So, that gives you a perception of the depth here.

This is courtesy Matt Radford, designer for Vandy media, out at Cornelia Fort Air Park in East Nashville (other side of Opryland).

I can’t remember what’s across the street here, but at left, that’s Joe’s Crab Shack. A woman I passed right after this was unconcerned by this development as she hadn’t even been to Joe’s Crab Shack in six months. So don’t worry. She’s going to pull through, y’all.

McFadden’s probably won’t, though. Nor anything else on 1st Ave. At least for a long time. No more 18 & Up Thursdays for you, Vandy underclassmen!

Again, what should be a street. More photos from me at my Flickr account, and some video shots from Chris McDonald at InsideVandy.

It can’t be said enough how majorly this impacts Nashville’s tourism economy. On the one side, at least many of the truly historic sites (Ryman, Music Row, etc.) are untouched. But Opry Mills outlet mall and Opryland will be out of commission for at least 6-8 months and probably more like a year. The Country Music Hall of Fame has major flood damage. LP Field, where the Titans play, flooded up to the first row of seats. People in Franklin, Bellevue, and parts of East Nashville are dealing with anywhere from some water, to seven feet in their basements, to entire floors of their homes underwater. Mayor Karl Dean estimates $1 billion expected in damages.

Finally, Kenny Chesney’s house flooded. SAVING MOST IMPORTANT FOR LAST.

You know that part in Batman Returns, when Michelle Pfeiffer…well, there are a lot of parts of that movie where you end that sentence “looks like she’s going to kill someone,” “kills someone,” “comes back from the dead,” “laughs at things that are not funny,” “cries at things that are not sad,” “forgets who she is,” “terrifies you.”

If you haven’t seen Batman Returns, this photo of Jacqueline Kennedy in her working girl days captures that glory.

Because GOOD LORD. “Let me take your picture…and steal your soul, so I can carry it around in my pocket and it can jingle around with loose change and the rattlesnake I keep there.”

Anyway, this is all thanks to another Huffington Post College slideshow: First Ladies in College. Naturally, it serves up this gem about Barbara Bush:

She dropped out of Smith College when he returned from a tour in the Navy.

Because apparently we all really needed two fingers on the pulse of whether Barbara crossed all the t’s, but no such similar update on Rosalynn Carter. Is Rosalynn there? I really like her. Anyway, the whole thing does a good job of only making you want to hang out with Ladybird, Pat Nixon, and Laura Bush. Which, let’s be real, is a pretty accurate jaunt through the First Ladies of the past century.

It’s like a baroque prank. The only team Washington has had in nearly two decades that lockdown dominated, that assassinated, that crushed opponents into submission, and they lose. They lose badly. It’s Murray State and Vanderbilt all over again, everyone screaming “NO” and then the 30 seconds of disbelieving silence, like it all might change if you just give it a few seconds to right itself — except this is really the only thing Washington has. This was it.

Alex Ovechkin can’t carry a team, and he’s our Russian hero. It’s like 57 varieties of despair: We all love the Redskins, so much so that the Caps and the Bullets exist as footnotes that only spark up into insanity when they’re good enough to disappoint us like this. The Caps sparked expectations — an unfamiliar concept in Washington.

True to tradition, the Caps choked. It’s almost worse this way. It’s just hockey, but it was winning, and Washington’s forgotten what that looks like. We’d up and fly if we had wings for flying.