“The end of an empire is messy at best.”
— Randy Newman

Jon Stainbrook’s post at the Lucas County Board of Elections (BOE) is not an empire; it’s more like a sandbox with one petulant kid trying to commandeer everyone else’s toys. But things are clearly getting getting messy for the contentious political power broker wannabe.

On March 4, after longtime urging by the Ohio Secretary of State’s office, Meghan Gallagher was replaced as director of the BOE.

Stainbrook lobbied hard to keep his pal Gallagher, but the other three board members disagreed, naming board secretary Gina Kaczala to director by a 3-1 vote. Dan DeAngelis was retained as deputy director, with Stainbrook again the lone dissenting vote.

A Toledo Free Press photo tells the story. As Kaczala is being sworn in, Stainbrook is seen leaving the meeting, by all accounts carrying his anger and frustration out of the ceremony as fast as his sneaker-clad feet could carry him.

“I have absolutely no confidence in Gina Kaczala being capable of running this election for the primary in May,” Stainbrook said. “Gina has no management skills, no professional ability and is incapable of telling the truth. The voters in Lucas County deserve better.”
That’s a fine, cooperative note for the county GOP chairman to strike with the new director, isn’t it? It is also one of the great examples of the pot calling the kettle black you are likely to see enacted in politics.

It is no secret that the root problem at the BOE is not just the people he has maneuvered into place, but Stainbrook himself. Watching some of his former allies assert some actual independence in opposition to Stainbrook bodes well but is just a start; as long as he remains at the BOE, there will be, not healthy debate and discussion, but squabbling and confrontation.

Removing Gallagher, who will be less than a footnote in the history of Lucas County politics, is an encouraging step.

As we have since the beginning of this sad and sordid journey, we continue to urge Secretay of State Husted’s office to closely monitor Stainbrook and facilitate his removal from this crucial yet untrustworthy entity.

It has been 18 months since the bariatric sleeve surgery that marked the beginning of my new life. I shed nearly 200 pounds and kept it off through a diligent daily exercise regimen and a disciplined approach to eating. There have been mistakes and backslides, especially during the holiday season, but they were thankfully minor and easily shaken off.

The culture shift for me has migrated from focusing on losing weight to focusing on maintaining the lifestyle required to keep the weight off. It’s not great insight that it’s more fun watching the needle on the scale drop than it is seeing it vacillate within a 5-pound range.

The payoff manifests itself with literally every breath I take. I am too deep into middle age and comfortable in marriage to be overly stressed about aesthetics (as anyone who has been treated to my revolving wardrobe of football team hoodies and comic book T-shirts will attest) but there is an element of ego gratification in the compliments when people notice that my hard work has paid off.

Yet the real treasures are the simple ones. There are new freedoms: not being tired all the time, not being a moth to fast food light boxes on highway exits, not being a liar when it comes to shuffling money to pay for secretive food indulgences.

I love the long outdoor walks, the increased activity with our young sons and the renewed intimacy in my marriage. Add in the health benefits of no longer trying to fill the space John Candy used to occupy and I do not have an iota of regret about forfeiting 85 percent of my stomach via medical science.

At my one year checkup in September, my doctor asked if I was considering the follow-up surgery for skin and remaining fat removal.

During my era of changing dietary habits,  I was an avid viewer of “Man vs. Food,” the TV show starring Adam Richman in which he travels the country participating in eating challenges, such as chewing through a bucket of what looks like 3,000 chicken wings in 45 minutes or eating a chocolate fudge sundae with enough ice cream to fill Sofia Vergara’s halter top. It was a vicarious thrill to watch somebody eat their way through eight feet of Philly cheese steak when the most I could nosh at one sitting was a half of a grilled chicken breast. But as I morphed from losing to maintaining weight, I discovered another gastric freak show to watch: “My 600 Pound Life.”

On that program, people undergoing gastric bypass surgery are documented for one year. Each episode starts with a somber black screen that informs viewers that fewer than five percent of such patients successfully keep the weight off.

That’s a greater failure rate than for those attempting to quit smoking.

A number of the people on “My 600 Pound Life” start their journeys at 700 pounds or more. More than a few die during their year of documentation. It is stunning to watch the depths of denial and gluttony in which some of these folks are drowning. It is a somber show, in stark contrast to the goofy hedonism of Richman’s food orgies. It’s not as simple for me as watching it as a cautionary tale to not go back to that lifestyle. It’s more of a relief that I was able to stop my catastrophic gain at 400 pounds, a number which haunts me for its irresponsibility and recklessness. I watch “My 600 Pound Life” with a pervasive sense of “There but for grace of God go Shamu and I.”

My doctor told me that although my body and skin had rebounded remarkably well from the weight loss, I undoubtedly qualified for the skin removal surgery and abdominoplasty, commonly referred to as a “tummy tuck.”

As I rapidly learned, referring to the procedure as a an abdominoplasty elicited far more gravitas than calling it a tummy tuck.

And I discovered, no matter what I called the surgery, I was tucked either way.

Next week: Compression garments, Davol drains and the 27-inch shark bite.\

I hereby freely admit to being a climate change denier. I’ve listened to all the accounts, from the news readers to the opinions of pundits, and have read some of the limited amount of scholarly work on the subject. I find nothing in this body of work to convince me the issues involved are anywhere near settled. Further, I deny that the arguments put forward on the subject appear to have any merit.

.

This is not to say I disagree that the climate is changing. Instead, I’m convinced the changes occurring are little more than trends and natural movements that occur over time. Little if any of this movement appears to be man-made nor do man’s actions seem to have any significant effect on it.

Now for those of you already composing hate mail to me or to TFP Editor in Chief Michael S. Miller and canceling your free subscription, I’m talking about the political climate.

In spite of the endless stories (especially recently) regarding this notion of political climate change, little of it seems to actually be occurring. Some insist that the apparent cooling coming from the “Alphabet Fallout” cloud of the NSA and the IRS must surely prove the theory. Others are sure the “Benghazi Effect” and what it’s done to heat things up before the next election should be proof for all to see. Still others disregard these contradictory temperature claims and instead talk about the growing holes in the “Obamacare Layer” as proof that far-reaching and permanent political climate change is imminent. Nonsense!

Some even erroneously cite so-called statistical proof, using the alarming disapproval rate earned by Congress. Such claims are greatly exaggerated. While it’s true the current legislature carries a spectacularly low approval rating of 17 percent, the dirty little secret is Congress’ approval rate has seldom risen above 30 percent in the past 40 years.

Don’t get me wrong. The political tide certainly appears to be rising for the GOP, but this movement hardly seems permanent and may be a trend that ends with the 2014 election cycle (if not sooner). Part of this is because Democrats (and their media minions) seem far better at telling their story than their opponents, even when that tale is largely fiction. The rest, however, is because of the unfailing ability of the GOP leadership to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. (Can you say John McCain or Mitt Romney?)

Scholars have for years attempted to tell us that our nation is a center-right electorate. History shows us, however, that when the current group of neoconservatives in the Republican Party wins, they celebrate by apologizing to their opponents before moving in their direction, making that victory little more than a Pyrrhic one.

Instead of becoming evidence of change, such results are more likely to prove its absence. They highlight the inability of today’s political climate to show real change, regardless of who’s in charge. This entire process is reinforced by a plurality of low-information voters who seldom look beyond name recognition in choosing candidates, regardless of party affiliation or prior performance.

Available data, as determined by the length of Congressional service, tends to support this. Rep. Marcy Kaptur’s interminable 31 years in office, for example, doesn’t even rank in the top 100 on the historical “Groundhog Day” list of service in the national legislature. Michigan Rep. John Dingell currently holds the title of Congress’ “never-ending gobstopper,” but plans to retire this year after an uninterrupted 59-year tenure. Rumor has it his legacy will likely be carried on with his younger wife (a lobbyist) attempting a move from understudy to title role, and cashing in on said name recognition in her run for the open seat.

The climate of politics is not something easily influenced by the rhetoric of its participants, the heat of the issues nor the apparent coolness of the electorate to its representatives. It is perhaps far too placid (if not flaccid) to have its tides easily stirred. Those of you thinking you see a sea change coming, with a permanent rise in the depth of the Republican Party (especially that of some of its conservative elements) — think again. Wild and unproven theories may continue to exist, but real political climate change can and should be utterly denied.

I knew he was different. I could see it in his eyes, in the way he looked at things. I could see it in the way he played and by his inability to communicate with us verbally. My son was not like any other child I had seen before.

.

My son was and is still obsessive. He would play with very specific things in a very specific way and in a very repetitive manner. At around 2 years old his favorite toy was the vacuum cleaner, not because of the noise it generated but because of its power cord. He was just as interested in the AV cords that connected the TV with the cable box on the back of the set as he was with watching “Thomas the Tank Engine” on the front.

He would run, hop or skip in a circle for extended periods of time as a way to calm himself. The most troubling thing we witnessed was how he reacted to discipline and being told that he wasn’t allowed to do something. It was a constant test. If we kept everything status quo then everything with him was status quo. If we tried to change even the slightest of routines or attempt a new food, all hell would break loose. He could be inconsolable.

For almost three years I thought and hoped my son would grow out of whatever was making him different, that he would become a “normal” boy, whatever that was. He never did. Looking back 10 years, I cannot imagine him being anyone other than who he is and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I am blessed to see his gift for what it is, not for the stigmas that can be associated with it.

The only thing I knew about my son’s diagnosis was what I had seen in the movie “Rain Man.”But Dustin Hoffman’s character was nothing like my son. It was confusing. I have since educated myself and choose to see these six letters differently.

I refuse to label my son with a word that sounds like an affliction, because it is anything but. This does affect 1 in 88 children and 1 in 54 boys. The word itself represents a diagnosis I believe is often misunderstood. I choose to see the beauty in the way these kids see things. My son’s brain is a gift — not a disorder.

One of these children is going to change the world because they didn’t allow emotion into the thought process or they will see something we all have missed.

The first course of action after a diagnosis was putting my son in a 30-day extensive intervention program. He had just turned 4 years old. Following this month-long course was one of the first times where I saw progress and felt a connection to my son.

This is where Project iAm makes an impact in Northwest Ohio.

Project iAm is for families like mine. The organization raises monies to help offset the cost of therapy and intervention programs for families dealing with these gifted children. All the monies raised stay here in Northwest Ohio and help local families.

One of the things that instantly drew me to Project iAm is how they incorporate music. Bands like The Killers, Green Day and Imagine Dragons have been used by my son as a calming mechanism ever since he was able to walk and hop in a circle. I have no understanding why but it’s been a miraculous tool.

Project iAm’s Acoustics for Autism happens March 9 at the Village Idiot in Maumee. It’s not just a fundraiser but rather a celebration for families with gifted children like mine. It is one of my favorite days of the year because the Village Idiot is packed like St. Patrick’s Day. The music performed is inspired, cold drinks are plenty and the atmosphere is so full of love it swells your heart.

Something magical happens in Maumee during Acoustics for Autism. The faces of those who attend hurt from smiling, our voices are strained from the constant singalongs, our feet ache from the dancing and our wallets are emptied but no one ever complains.

It has evolved into something more than an event. It’s a happening, it’s a moment. It’s beautiful.

Come and join me and experience the peace, love and understanding of Project iAm and our community. The money this day raises will help future families, possibly even yours.

It’s for the kids, man.

For more information, please visit www.aboutprojectiam.com.

Find Jeremy Baumhower on Facebook or Twitter @jeremytheproduc.