A memorable one. Too much cold beer and good companionship and too little time to thoroughly enjoy the day. Melford hit town and we spent the day at the fish farm. After another teardown of the beaver dam, we took a walk around the place. Peaceful. We fed the Dorito cat. She does not have a name, but she loves Black Pepperjack Doritos. Could not get enough of them. I think the cat has dain bramage!
Sitting and talking. Two aging vets reminiscing about the happy times. Mostly about the college days at Millsaps. Melford's a swabbie, but not too bad, as they go. We laughed throughout the day. Caught and grilled some catfish. Dorito cat was not interested. I guess she filled up on her namesake.
Let me assure any of our friends who might read this post - NOTHING negative was spoken about any of you. ALL of you were fondly remembered on Veterans Day 2009. And some of you are even veterans!
Floy, Cindy, Bread, Shellie, Darrelyn, Rusty, Martha, Jane, Diane, Kathy, Mary, Joe Pat, Cossack, Boo, Richie, Gorgo, Jack, Geno, Sabu, Dupee, Janice, The Archbishop, Skybird, multiple Johns, Stan the Man, Debbies, Marla, Mikes, Donna, Schulte, Rowan, Bobby, Patti, Tube Jockey, and many others. I could go on and on. It seemed like we laughed about all our friends and how much they meant to us.
Then we spent some time remembering the good things about those who are no longer with us: Brett, House Mouse (aka: The Poster Poster), Dwight, and Lance, and Dr. Priddy. And those with whom we have lost touch, and know not if they are still with us or gone: Ronnie, Bret, and Jersey come to mind.
After spending the day, and with night falling, I headed home. The guilt started. I had spent an entire day with a good friend, fellow thespian and former housemate. We laughed and talked and discussed and fondly remembered our Millsaps friends and lovers. Two veterans on Veterans Day. And we had not spent one moment remembering our service friends - those who are still with us and those who are not. I know he agrees with me...our service buddies won't mind. Not at all. This is how we chose to spend Veterans Day 2009.
As I lay in the bed. In the dark. No sounds except those wafting through my open windows. The sounds of night. A quiet night. Then I thought of those who are no longer with me. Larry and Niv and Paul and The Nose. I'm going to visit them at The Wall online in just a minute. I know they will heartily approve of how I spent Veterans Day 2009. I only with they could have been with the two of us...
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Not Just The Black, But ALL Women
Leonard Pitts, Jr. is a columnist whose ramblings appear on Sunday and Wednesday in the Miami Herald. He seems to carry a chip on his shoulder, but I still find some of his writings to be quite interesting...and thought provoking. This being the case, I'm sure he would be pleased.
Today's (11/1/09) entry concerned black women who whiten themselves up. If you click on the link above, you can read his entire column. I found it interesting, but I see the same instances of appearance-changing in all races. I do see his point about black women straightening or weaving their hair and how they, and others, spend $9 billion (yep! that's what Chris Rock says) yearly on stuff to affect the change. And how "black folks" own very little of the industry. Seems like a huge waste.
I am a fan of women. All women. I find them fascinating. They are much better than my sex. They have so much more to offer the world. I love most aspects of women. They are the nurturers. The givers. Most ask for so little in return. Many ask for nothing. But they also seem, and I know I should not deal with generalities, to be insecure. And none of them should be.
I was particularly moved by the end of Pitts' column. So much that I left a Sunday PM football game on TV to sit down and blog. As I said earlier, I find some of his writings very interesting. He is a gifted wordsmith. I close with the portion that caught my attention...and caused me to reread it three times. I can't think of anyone who has ever stated this truth more eloquently:
"I am your brother, your father, your husband and your son. I've seen you in church with big hats on, giving children the evil eye. And at the jail on visiting day, shoring up that wayward man. And at the bus stop in the rain on your way to work. And at the dining table with pen and paper, working miracles of money. When I was a baby, you nursed me, when we were children, I chased you through the house; when we were dating, I missed half the movie, stealing sugar from you. I saw you born; I took you to your prom; I glowed with pride when you went off to school. I have married you and buried you. I love your smile. A million times, you took my breath away.
You are the rock and salvation of our people, the faith that remains when all hope is gone. So if it's about the need to be beautiful, maybe it's time somebody told you:
You already are. You always were. "
Today's (11/1/09) entry concerned black women who whiten themselves up. If you click on the link above, you can read his entire column. I found it interesting, but I see the same instances of appearance-changing in all races. I do see his point about black women straightening or weaving their hair and how they, and others, spend $9 billion (yep! that's what Chris Rock says) yearly on stuff to affect the change. And how "black folks" own very little of the industry. Seems like a huge waste.
I am a fan of women. All women. I find them fascinating. They are much better than my sex. They have so much more to offer the world. I love most aspects of women. They are the nurturers. The givers. Most ask for so little in return. Many ask for nothing. But they also seem, and I know I should not deal with generalities, to be insecure. And none of them should be.
I was particularly moved by the end of Pitts' column. So much that I left a Sunday PM football game on TV to sit down and blog. As I said earlier, I find some of his writings very interesting. He is a gifted wordsmith. I close with the portion that caught my attention...and caused me to reread it three times. I can't think of anyone who has ever stated this truth more eloquently:
"I am your brother, your father, your husband and your son. I've seen you in church with big hats on, giving children the evil eye. And at the jail on visiting day, shoring up that wayward man. And at the bus stop in the rain on your way to work. And at the dining table with pen and paper, working miracles of money. When I was a baby, you nursed me, when we were children, I chased you through the house; when we were dating, I missed half the movie, stealing sugar from you. I saw you born; I took you to your prom; I glowed with pride when you went off to school. I have married you and buried you. I love your smile. A million times, you took my breath away.
You are the rock and salvation of our people, the faith that remains when all hope is gone. So if it's about the need to be beautiful, maybe it's time somebody told you:
You already are. You always were. "
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Deaddy Teddy
My dislike for Teddy is previously documented on my blogsite. My opinion is that the world is a much better place now that he is not a part of it. I don't know the origin of the following email. In the spirit of fair play, I have linked the title to a snopes.com entry that covers the email facts. They are true, although some are inaccurate. Check out the link for the complete story.
1. He was caught cheating at Harvard when he attended it. He was expelled twice, once for cheating on a test, and once for paying a classmate to cheat for him.
2. While expelled, Kennedy enlisted in the Army, but mistakenly signed up for four years instead of two. Oops! The man can't count to four! His father, Joseph P. Kennedy, former U.S. Ambassador to England (a step up from bootlegging liquor into the US from Canada during prohibition), pulled the necessary strings to have his enlistment shortened to two years, and to ensure that he served in Europe, not Korea , where a war was raging. No preferential treatment for him! (like he charged that President Bush received).
3. Kennedy was assigned to Paris , never advanced beyond the rank of Private, and returned to Harvard upon being discharged.. Imagine a person of his "education" NEVER advancing past the rank of Private!
4. While attending law school at the University of Virginia , he was cited for reckless driving four times, including once when he was clocked driving 90 miles per hour in a residential neighborhood with his headlights off after dark. Yet his Virginia driver's license was never revoked. Coincidentally, he passed the bar exam in 1959. Amazing!
5.. In 1964, he was seriously injured in a plane crash, and hospitalized for several months. Test results done by the hospital at the time he was admitted had shown he was legally intoxicated. The results of those tests remained a "state secret" until in the 1980's when the report was unsealed. Didn't hear about that from the unbiased media, did we?
6. On July 19, 1969, Kennedy attended a party on Chappaquiddick Island in Massachusetts . At about 11:00 PM, he borrowed his chauffeur's keys to his Oldsmobile limousine, and offered to give a ride home to Mary Jo Kopechne, a campaign worker. Leaving the island via an unlit bridge with no guard rail, Kennedy steered the car off the bridge, flipped, and into Poucha Pond.
7. He swam to shore and walked back to the party, passing several houses and a fire station. Two friends then returned with him to the scene of the accident. According to their later testimony, they told him what he already knew - that he was required by law to immediately report the accident to the authorities. Instead Kennedy made his way to his hotel, called his lawyer, and went to sleep. Kennedy called the police the next morning and by then the wreck had already been discovered. Before dying, Kopechne had scratched at the upholstered floor above her head in the upside-down car.
The Kennedy family began "calling in favors", ensuring that any inquiry would be contained. Her corpse was whisked out-of-state to her family, before an autopsy could be conducted. Further details are uncertain, but after the accident Kennedy says he repeatedly dove under the water trying to rescue Kopechne and he didn't call police because he was in a state of shock. It is widely assumed Kennedy was drunk, and he held off calling police in hopes that his family could fix the problem overnight. Since the accident, Kennedy's "political enemies" have referred to him as the distinguished Senator from Chappaquiddick. He pled guilty to leaving the scene of an accident, and was given a SUSPENDED SENTENCE OF TWO MONTHS. Kopechne's family received a small payout from the Kennedy's insurance policy, and never sued. There was later an effort to have her body exhumed and autopsied, but her family successfully fought against this in court, and Kennedy's family paid their attorney's bills... a "token of friendship"?
8. Kennedy has held his Senate seat for more than forty years, but considering his longevity, his accomplishments seem scant. He authored or argued for legislation that ensured a variety of civil rights, increased the minimum wage in 1981, made access to health care easier for the indigent, and funded Meals on Wheels for fixed-income seniors and is widely held as the "standard-bearer for liberalism". In his very first Senate roll, he was the floor manager for the bill that turned U.S. immigration policy upside down and opened the floodgate for immigrants from third world countries.
9. Since that time, he has been the prime instigator and author of every expansion of an increase in immigration, up to and including the latest attempt to grant amnesty to illegal aliens. Not to mention the pious grilling he gave the last two Supreme Court nominees, as if he was the standard bearer for the nation in matters of "what's right". What a pompous ass!
10. He is known around Washington as a public drunk, loud, boisterous and very disrespectful to ladies. JERK is a better description than "great American". "A blonde in every pond" is his motto.
How about an 11? Covering for his nephew during the investigation of a 1991 rape. What a role model, huh?
"Palm Beach police asserted that Kennedy had obstructed justice by misleading police early in their investigation. When police arrived to investigate, they were told Kennedy and Smith had already left the area. Later investigation of travel records indicated Kennedy probably was still in the mansion at the time." http://www.answers.com/topic/edward-m-ted-kennedy
1. He was caught cheating at Harvard when he attended it. He was expelled twice, once for cheating on a test, and once for paying a classmate to cheat for him.
2. While expelled, Kennedy enlisted in the Army, but mistakenly signed up for four years instead of two. Oops! The man can't count to four! His father, Joseph P. Kennedy, former U.S. Ambassador to England (a step up from bootlegging liquor into the US from Canada during prohibition), pulled the necessary strings to have his enlistment shortened to two years, and to ensure that he served in Europe, not Korea , where a war was raging. No preferential treatment for him! (like he charged that President Bush received).
3. Kennedy was assigned to Paris , never advanced beyond the rank of Private, and returned to Harvard upon being discharged.. Imagine a person of his "education" NEVER advancing past the rank of Private!
4. While attending law school at the University of Virginia , he was cited for reckless driving four times, including once when he was clocked driving 90 miles per hour in a residential neighborhood with his headlights off after dark. Yet his Virginia driver's license was never revoked. Coincidentally, he passed the bar exam in 1959. Amazing!
5.. In 1964, he was seriously injured in a plane crash, and hospitalized for several months. Test results done by the hospital at the time he was admitted had shown he was legally intoxicated. The results of those tests remained a "state secret" until in the 1980's when the report was unsealed. Didn't hear about that from the unbiased media, did we?
6. On July 19, 1969, Kennedy attended a party on Chappaquiddick Island in Massachusetts . At about 11:00 PM, he borrowed his chauffeur's keys to his Oldsmobile limousine, and offered to give a ride home to Mary Jo Kopechne, a campaign worker. Leaving the island via an unlit bridge with no guard rail, Kennedy steered the car off the bridge, flipped, and into Poucha Pond.
7. He swam to shore and walked back to the party, passing several houses and a fire station. Two friends then returned with him to the scene of the accident. According to their later testimony, they told him what he already knew - that he was required by law to immediately report the accident to the authorities. Instead Kennedy made his way to his hotel, called his lawyer, and went to sleep. Kennedy called the police the next morning and by then the wreck had already been discovered. Before dying, Kopechne had scratched at the upholstered floor above her head in the upside-down car.
The Kennedy family began "calling in favors", ensuring that any inquiry would be contained. Her corpse was whisked out-of-state to her family, before an autopsy could be conducted. Further details are uncertain, but after the accident Kennedy says he repeatedly dove under the water trying to rescue Kopechne and he didn't call police because he was in a state of shock. It is widely assumed Kennedy was drunk, and he held off calling police in hopes that his family could fix the problem overnight. Since the accident, Kennedy's "political enemies" have referred to him as the distinguished Senator from Chappaquiddick. He pled guilty to leaving the scene of an accident, and was given a SUSPENDED SENTENCE OF TWO MONTHS. Kopechne's family received a small payout from the Kennedy's insurance policy, and never sued. There was later an effort to have her body exhumed and autopsied, but her family successfully fought against this in court, and Kennedy's family paid their attorney's bills... a "token of friendship"?
8. Kennedy has held his Senate seat for more than forty years, but considering his longevity, his accomplishments seem scant. He authored or argued for legislation that ensured a variety of civil rights, increased the minimum wage in 1981, made access to health care easier for the indigent, and funded Meals on Wheels for fixed-income seniors and is widely held as the "standard-bearer for liberalism". In his very first Senate roll, he was the floor manager for the bill that turned U.S. immigration policy upside down and opened the floodgate for immigrants from third world countries.
9. Since that time, he has been the prime instigator and author of every expansion of an increase in immigration, up to and including the latest attempt to grant amnesty to illegal aliens. Not to mention the pious grilling he gave the last two Supreme Court nominees, as if he was the standard bearer for the nation in matters of "what's right". What a pompous ass!
10. He is known around Washington as a public drunk, loud, boisterous and very disrespectful to ladies. JERK is a better description than "great American". "A blonde in every pond" is his motto.
How about an 11? Covering for his nephew during the investigation of a 1991 rape. What a role model, huh?
"Palm Beach police asserted that Kennedy had obstructed justice by misleading police early in their investigation. When police arrived to investigate, they were told Kennedy and Smith had already left the area. Later investigation of travel records indicated Kennedy probably was still in the mansion at the time." http://www.answers.com/topic/edward-m-ted-kennedy
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Woodstock and the hippie nation
I am a hippie. I don't apologize for that fact. Today is my 61st birthday. Forty years ago, I had the chance to be at Max Yazgur's farm in upstate NY. David Nonnemaker, one of my roommates at the house on North West St., had heard about the concert and wanted me to go with him. We would hitchhike. It had been a little more than a month since we had returned from the Atlanta Pops festival. I had two jobs and, much to my chagrin, decided not to go. The trip would have probably taken four or five days each way, depending on how long it took us to catch rides. I would have been gone for two weeks or more. I needed money. In retrospect, it was a good decision. Atlanta was much closer and the Pops Festival had been over the July 4th holiday.
I wish I had been there to witness and partake in the happening. People were there from Thursday through Monday. No fights. People sharing everything they had with total strangers. The citizens of Bethel feeding the concert attendees and telling the national news outlets how well-behaved the hippies were throughout the weekend. This is the "hippiedom" to which I ascribe. Not the crap that emanated from San Francisco during the "Summer of Love". Those 10,000 were mostly Manson (Charlie not Marilyn). They were street people, much as you would find in any large city today. Unwashed. Thieving. Belligerent. Confrontational. NOT hippies. They were more like a mob of freeloaders who converged on the Haight-Ashbury neighborhood and became freeloaders.
A true hippie is one who practices ideals. Look for the best in everyone. Help those in need. Make love; not war. It's not about a style of dress, although I still love the tie-died T-shirts, no underwear, no socks, shorts and my long hair. Buffett and his parrotheads are hippies. You don't have to be poor. You don't have to give away all your possessions or wealth. You do need to take a shower at least once a day! And don't be a poseur. Like Abbie Hoffman. The way Pete Townshend bitch-slapped Hoffman around on the stage at Woodstock is a thing of beauty. I just wish someone had film. And, in that vein: Does anyone even remember John Sinclair? Not many folks. But most remember Pete threatening Abbie Hoffman (and EVERYONE at the festival) with a sound thrashing if they interrupted The Who again. Still hilarious stuff.
Hippies are misunderstood. Those who flaunt their hippiness are similar to flaming queen gays. One of the tenets of being a hippie is doing good deeds without any fanfare or expectation of any reward. We work every day. We pay our taxes and raise our children. Many of us are conservative. Some even go to church. We laugh at the derisive attitude that many people take of us. We were the campus rebels who sat in with our friends from Jackson State on the day after the Gibbs and Green shootings. We were peaceful. But we were upset and angry. Only ten days prior to these shootings, the Kent State massacre took place. Yes, we were naive. We wanted to change the world. Our black friends at Millsaps were headed to Lynch St. to meet with their friends. Some of us were asked to accompany them because they felt that some white kids in the mix might cause the Jackson police and Mississippi National Guard to act in a restrained manner. Some of us were Lynch St. regulars because of the Paradise Club and Percy, the proprietor. We used to go there on Sundays because you could sit and watch a football game and drink beer. You could not do that in the white neighborhoods. Our sit-in had no purpose other than to show the world that we cared. We were still pretty raw from Kent State. To this day, I am still terribly bothered by Kent State.
We protested the war. But, when it was our time to go, most of us went. I did. I was married, a father, and a college graduate. But I served my time honorably. We were also more rounded than our parents. I was an athlete and a thespian and a hippie. I saw no contradiction. I still don't. I'm still a hippie and I will be until I die. I am an organ donor. I was a bone marrow donor volunteer until age 55, when I was drummed out of the program due to my age. I gave blood. Upon my death, I have donated my body to UMC. I pay my bills. I am fiscally conservative. I don't believe in Iraq and Afghanistan, just like I did not believe in Vietnam. But I support every one of our troops with no hesitation. We need to keep our money at home and let these religious factions fight it out with each other, just as they have been doing for a few thousand years. I don't believe in god or religion, but I'm not bothered by those who promulgate on TV and radio.
I am terrified by Obama and Pelosi and what they can do to our country. But I support human rights. I don't care if some guy wants to parade around town with a blow-up alligator impaled on his tallywacker. He's not hurting me. I don't like radicals of any style. I quit watching and listening to idiots like Limbaugh and Olbermann and O'Reilly and Coulter. They raise my blood pressure.
I fish and hunt, but wish Vick had been put in a ring with a dozen of his own pit bulls, after he had been drenched in fresh blood. I play golf but don't like watching it on TV because it's so boring to watch. I can't stand opera, but I love most types of rock, soul and reggae. I raise some of my own vegetables, but am not adverse to consuming something that is not "free-range" or "all natural" or "heart healthy". I don't believe in global warming...or Al Gore!
In summation, being a hippie is a good thing. It's a lifestyle that can't be defined, but you know it when you meet one of us. And, chances are, you won't know it when you DO meet one of us. That's the way we like it.
I wish I had been there to witness and partake in the happening. People were there from Thursday through Monday. No fights. People sharing everything they had with total strangers. The citizens of Bethel feeding the concert attendees and telling the national news outlets how well-behaved the hippies were throughout the weekend. This is the "hippiedom" to which I ascribe. Not the crap that emanated from San Francisco during the "Summer of Love". Those 10,000 were mostly Manson (Charlie not Marilyn). They were street people, much as you would find in any large city today. Unwashed. Thieving. Belligerent. Confrontational. NOT hippies. They were more like a mob of freeloaders who converged on the Haight-Ashbury neighborhood and became freeloaders.
A true hippie is one who practices ideals. Look for the best in everyone. Help those in need. Make love; not war. It's not about a style of dress, although I still love the tie-died T-shirts, no underwear, no socks, shorts and my long hair. Buffett and his parrotheads are hippies. You don't have to be poor. You don't have to give away all your possessions or wealth. You do need to take a shower at least once a day! And don't be a poseur. Like Abbie Hoffman. The way Pete Townshend bitch-slapped Hoffman around on the stage at Woodstock is a thing of beauty. I just wish someone had film. And, in that vein: Does anyone even remember John Sinclair? Not many folks. But most remember Pete threatening Abbie Hoffman (and EVERYONE at the festival) with a sound thrashing if they interrupted The Who again. Still hilarious stuff.
Hippies are misunderstood. Those who flaunt their hippiness are similar to flaming queen gays. One of the tenets of being a hippie is doing good deeds without any fanfare or expectation of any reward. We work every day. We pay our taxes and raise our children. Many of us are conservative. Some even go to church. We laugh at the derisive attitude that many people take of us. We were the campus rebels who sat in with our friends from Jackson State on the day after the Gibbs and Green shootings. We were peaceful. But we were upset and angry. Only ten days prior to these shootings, the Kent State massacre took place. Yes, we were naive. We wanted to change the world. Our black friends at Millsaps were headed to Lynch St. to meet with their friends. Some of us were asked to accompany them because they felt that some white kids in the mix might cause the Jackson police and Mississippi National Guard to act in a restrained manner. Some of us were Lynch St. regulars because of the Paradise Club and Percy, the proprietor. We used to go there on Sundays because you could sit and watch a football game and drink beer. You could not do that in the white neighborhoods. Our sit-in had no purpose other than to show the world that we cared. We were still pretty raw from Kent State. To this day, I am still terribly bothered by Kent State.
We protested the war. But, when it was our time to go, most of us went. I did. I was married, a father, and a college graduate. But I served my time honorably. We were also more rounded than our parents. I was an athlete and a thespian and a hippie. I saw no contradiction. I still don't. I'm still a hippie and I will be until I die. I am an organ donor. I was a bone marrow donor volunteer until age 55, when I was drummed out of the program due to my age. I gave blood. Upon my death, I have donated my body to UMC. I pay my bills. I am fiscally conservative. I don't believe in Iraq and Afghanistan, just like I did not believe in Vietnam. But I support every one of our troops with no hesitation. We need to keep our money at home and let these religious factions fight it out with each other, just as they have been doing for a few thousand years. I don't believe in god or religion, but I'm not bothered by those who promulgate on TV and radio.
I am terrified by Obama and Pelosi and what they can do to our country. But I support human rights. I don't care if some guy wants to parade around town with a blow-up alligator impaled on his tallywacker. He's not hurting me. I don't like radicals of any style. I quit watching and listening to idiots like Limbaugh and Olbermann and O'Reilly and Coulter. They raise my blood pressure.
I fish and hunt, but wish Vick had been put in a ring with a dozen of his own pit bulls, after he had been drenched in fresh blood. I play golf but don't like watching it on TV because it's so boring to watch. I can't stand opera, but I love most types of rock, soul and reggae. I raise some of my own vegetables, but am not adverse to consuming something that is not "free-range" or "all natural" or "heart healthy". I don't believe in global warming...or Al Gore!
In summation, being a hippie is a good thing. It's a lifestyle that can't be defined, but you know it when you meet one of us. And, chances are, you won't know it when you DO meet one of us. That's the way we like it.
Friday, July 3, 2009
My Personal Litmus Test
The title link takes you to a You Tube video capturing one of the most powerful lines in John Grisham's "A Time To Kill". Jake Brigance's closing argument. It ends with: "Can you see her? Her raped, beaten, broken body, soaked in their urine, soaked in their semen, soaked in her blood -- left to die. Can you see her? I want you to picture that little girl. Now imagine she's white." Powerful. Compelling. A major eye-opener. It will bring tears to the eyes of grown men. It sent shivers up my spine when I read it. I stopped reading and gasped. Then I reread the line. DAMN! All I could think about was - what if someone did this to one of my children? Then I delved deeper into what I thought Grisham meant.
There are certain watermarks in the life of every person. I remember the approximate time of day and in which chair I was sitting when I read the line. It haunted me for days. Then I began to explore it. That's when I discovered I could use the line as a litmus test for fairness and equity. Grisham totally reversed the mood in the courtroom. He altered perception and reality for all who heard Jake Brigance speak the words. "Now imagine she's white." Polar opposites. Black and White. Suddenly everyone was given a new perspective from which to view the facts. I like that. That is powerful. It's also defusing. It seems to return the Ph to neutral. It makes one do a 180. OK. Ah, yes. Now, I see.
I recently used it in the context of the Justice Department Civil Rights Divison's investigation of Ike Brown and his ne'er-do-wells in Noxubee county. If this had been, as I admit it has been in the past, Caucasians disenfranchising blacks, Uncle would have stepped in and conducted a thorough investigation. OK. This one passes the litmus test. What's good for one group is good for the other.
Would Sonia Sotomayor's "Latina woman" remark, if uttered by a white or black judge to espouse some intangible insight inherent in a specific racial group, have caused an immediate loss of presidential support? Duh? Of course!
What is the purpose of the organization RBI (Reviving Baseball in Inner Cities) is a program designed to encourage minority children to play baseball. It is sponsored by Major League Baseball. OK. MLB is currently approximately 60% White, 29% Hispanic, 8% Black, and 3% Asian . The U.S. Census Bureau estimates that 2008 numbers show the population is: 80% White, 15.1% Hispanic, 12.8% Black and 4.4% Asian. Seems like we might have to start RBS (Reviving Baseball in the Suburbs) or RBC (Reviving Baseball in Chinatown) too. And maybe the NBA, MLS and NFL need to step up. Way too many blacks and too few whites, Hispanics and Asians. Is RBI another Jackson/Sharpton blackmail (no pun intended) job? (And, by the way, the Duke lacrosse team is still waiting for your apology.)
I'm proud of my litmus test. You can use it in various ways. When you hear or read something that makes you think, just replace certain key words with polar opposites and see if you still feel as you initially felt. Try it.
There are certain watermarks in the life of every person. I remember the approximate time of day and in which chair I was sitting when I read the line. It haunted me for days. Then I began to explore it. That's when I discovered I could use the line as a litmus test for fairness and equity. Grisham totally reversed the mood in the courtroom. He altered perception and reality for all who heard Jake Brigance speak the words. "Now imagine she's white." Polar opposites. Black and White. Suddenly everyone was given a new perspective from which to view the facts. I like that. That is powerful. It's also defusing. It seems to return the Ph to neutral. It makes one do a 180. OK. Ah, yes. Now, I see.
I recently used it in the context of the Justice Department Civil Rights Divison's investigation of Ike Brown and his ne'er-do-wells in Noxubee county. If this had been, as I admit it has been in the past, Caucasians disenfranchising blacks, Uncle would have stepped in and conducted a thorough investigation. OK. This one passes the litmus test. What's good for one group is good for the other.
Would Sonia Sotomayor's "Latina woman" remark, if uttered by a white or black judge to espouse some intangible insight inherent in a specific racial group, have caused an immediate loss of presidential support? Duh? Of course!
What is the purpose of the organization RBI (Reviving Baseball in Inner Cities) is a program designed to encourage minority children to play baseball. It is sponsored by Major League Baseball. OK. MLB is currently approximately 60% White, 29% Hispanic, 8% Black, and 3% Asian . The U.S. Census Bureau estimates that 2008 numbers show the population is: 80% White, 15.1% Hispanic, 12.8% Black and 4.4% Asian. Seems like we might have to start RBS (Reviving Baseball in the Suburbs) or RBC (Reviving Baseball in Chinatown) too. And maybe the NBA, MLS and NFL need to step up. Way too many blacks and too few whites, Hispanics and Asians. Is RBI another Jackson/Sharpton blackmail (no pun intended) job? (And, by the way, the Duke lacrosse team is still waiting for your apology.)
I'm proud of my litmus test. You can use it in various ways. When you hear or read something that makes you think, just replace certain key words with polar opposites and see if you still feel as you initially felt. Try it.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Some Deaths Aren't Worth Mourning
As if the news about an HBO special on Terrible Teddy was not enough to ruin a good year, now I have to endure all this gushing and crying because a damned pedophile has died. People??? What the hell are you thinking? The real world will miss Jerko about as much as it misses Ted Bundy or any number of Catholic priests. The guy was a race and gender confused pedophile. What's to miss? I believe that all energy was created at the time of the "Big Bang" and, according to the first law of thermodynamics, energy cannot be created or destroyed. But, energy can change form. Therefore, I can hope that whatever reincarnation of Jerko occurs, it is an infinite improvement on the original. Hell, it HAS to be an improvement!!
This waste of chromosomal comingling spent the majority of his life living as he desired, thumbing his oh so pretty nose at the law and morals and never facing the dire consequences of his actions that would have landed a common "person" (I was unsure if the use of the word "man" was appropriate in this context) in jail. He was able to buy his way out of trouble time and time again. Hum...sound a lot like Terrible Teddy and the rest of his clan.
Jacko-ff's death made the front page of the Jackson Clarion Ledger. The deaths of Farrah Fawcett and Ed McMahon were relegated to second citizen status in the same newspaper. As far as I can remember, neither of these people had ever been accused of doing anything to hurt an innocent child. Leading a good life must be its own reward.
If you have not done so, read my earlier post on Terrible Teddy. I include references to bolster my position that this man has spent his life doing harm to the innocents and that he should die a painful death. Had he ever, EVER expressed any remorse for his cowardly behavior, I might be inclined to cut him some slack. But, he's a Kennedy; they don't apologize. And now Hollywierd is going to pay tribute to him. I'll be Whoopi and Basinger and The Brothers Baldwin and Cage, etc. will all be there to kiss his massive ass, either figuratively or literally. The Wicked Witch of the West (West? Like Hollywierd?) was right - "What a world; what a world." In retrospect, maybe part of that speech is what Jacko-ff uttered as his life flashed before his pointy nose - "I'm melting!"
This waste of chromosomal comingling spent the majority of his life living as he desired, thumbing his oh so pretty nose at the law and morals and never facing the dire consequences of his actions that would have landed a common "person" (I was unsure if the use of the word "man" was appropriate in this context) in jail. He was able to buy his way out of trouble time and time again. Hum...sound a lot like Terrible Teddy and the rest of his clan.
Jacko-ff's death made the front page of the Jackson Clarion Ledger. The deaths of Farrah Fawcett and Ed McMahon were relegated to second citizen status in the same newspaper. As far as I can remember, neither of these people had ever been accused of doing anything to hurt an innocent child. Leading a good life must be its own reward.
If you have not done so, read my earlier post on Terrible Teddy. I include references to bolster my position that this man has spent his life doing harm to the innocents and that he should die a painful death. Had he ever, EVER expressed any remorse for his cowardly behavior, I might be inclined to cut him some slack. But, he's a Kennedy; they don't apologize. And now Hollywierd is going to pay tribute to him. I'll be Whoopi and Basinger and The Brothers Baldwin and Cage, etc. will all be there to kiss his massive ass, either figuratively or literally. The Wicked Witch of the West (West? Like Hollywierd?) was right - "What a world; what a world." In retrospect, maybe part of that speech is what Jacko-ff uttered as his life flashed before his pointy nose - "I'm melting!"
Saturday, May 23, 2009
My ADD in action
Sometimes, I just have to laugh at myself. At other times, I talk to myself, but that's another subject. The following episode happened a short while ago.
First, let me apologize to my sons if I have passed down any of my ADD characteristics to them. I don't think so because all three of them seem to be stable, level-headed, clear-thinking men. Me, on the other hand...
It all started with a trip to the kitchen to get a piece of gum. Simple enough endeavor, you assume. That's how it usually starts. Innocently. Anyway, while perusing the flavors of gum available to me, I noticed a "rug stopper" on the kitchen island. A "rug stopper" is one of those tacky (sticky - not ugly tacky) that you put under a throw rug to keep them from sliding around. I remembered that I needed to install the rug stopper. I forget about the gum.
I go back to the living room and lift one corner of the rug. I notice dust and dirt under it. I go to the staircase leading down to my shop/garage/laundry room and get my broom and dustpan.
I sweep from under the rug. I notice that the kitchen and breakfast area both could use a sweeping, so I sweep them, too.
When dumping my dustpan into the trash, I notice an empty box of Ritz crackers. That reminds me to add Ritz to the grocery list.
Adding Ritz to the list reminds me that I need to stir the grilled chicken pasta salad that I had made earlier today. (When I eat the salad, I plan to eat some Ritz with it. So there is SOME order to my madness.) I take the pasta salad from the fridge and stir it. I turn around and try to remember what I was doing before stirring the pasta salad. Oh, yes. The rug stopper.
But, wait a minute. The floors look nice and clean; don't they? I figure that, as long as the floors are freshly swept, I may as wall Swiffer mop them. Back to the staircase to get my Swiffer mop.
I keep a pair of flip-flops by the staircase. I use them if I'm going outside for a minute. I notice that I have tracked in some dirt on them so I get the broom again and sweep the threshold. I figure as long as I'm sweeping the threshold, why not sweep the entire stairway leading down to the garage/laundry room/shop. So I do.
Now I stop for a second to assess my situation. Why am I sweeping the stairwell? Oh, yeah! I need to install the rug stopper. Back to the living room.
I move a recliner to free the other corner of the rug. There is dirt under the recliner. Back to the broom and dustpan. I then figure I may as well sweep under the other recliner, too. I do so.
Now I install the rug stopper, reposition the rug and recliners and walk to the kitchen, being careful not to step on the freshly-mopped floor, I walk on the runners down the hallway.
Then, the absurdity of it all hits me. I laugh and ask myself what the hell I was thinking? I have jumped from one task to another to another, all while watching and listening to an SEC baseball tournament game on the TV, and I still don't have a piece of gum. Since the floor was still wet, I decided to send this email to my family and friends. Maybe they understand why I'm like I am!!
First, let me apologize to my sons if I have passed down any of my ADD characteristics to them. I don't think so because all three of them seem to be stable, level-headed, clear-thinking men. Me, on the other hand...
It all started with a trip to the kitchen to get a piece of gum. Simple enough endeavor, you assume. That's how it usually starts. Innocently. Anyway, while perusing the flavors of gum available to me, I noticed a "rug stopper" on the kitchen island. A "rug stopper" is one of those tacky (sticky - not ugly tacky) that you put under a throw rug to keep them from sliding around. I remembered that I needed to install the rug stopper. I forget about the gum.
I go back to the living room and lift one corner of the rug. I notice dust and dirt under it. I go to the staircase leading down to my shop/garage/laundry room and get my broom and dustpan.
I sweep from under the rug. I notice that the kitchen and breakfast area both could use a sweeping, so I sweep them, too.
When dumping my dustpan into the trash, I notice an empty box of Ritz crackers. That reminds me to add Ritz to the grocery list.
Adding Ritz to the list reminds me that I need to stir the grilled chicken pasta salad that I had made earlier today. (When I eat the salad, I plan to eat some Ritz with it. So there is SOME order to my madness.) I take the pasta salad from the fridge and stir it. I turn around and try to remember what I was doing before stirring the pasta salad. Oh, yes. The rug stopper.
But, wait a minute. The floors look nice and clean; don't they? I figure that, as long as the floors are freshly swept, I may as wall Swiffer mop them. Back to the staircase to get my Swiffer mop.
I keep a pair of flip-flops by the staircase. I use them if I'm going outside for a minute. I notice that I have tracked in some dirt on them so I get the broom again and sweep the threshold. I figure as long as I'm sweeping the threshold, why not sweep the entire stairway leading down to the garage/laundry room/shop. So I do.
Now I stop for a second to assess my situation. Why am I sweeping the stairwell? Oh, yeah! I need to install the rug stopper. Back to the living room.
I move a recliner to free the other corner of the rug. There is dirt under the recliner. Back to the broom and dustpan. I then figure I may as well sweep under the other recliner, too. I do so.
Now I install the rug stopper, reposition the rug and recliners and walk to the kitchen, being careful not to step on the freshly-mopped floor, I walk on the runners down the hallway.
Then, the absurdity of it all hits me. I laugh and ask myself what the hell I was thinking? I have jumped from one task to another to another, all while watching and listening to an SEC baseball tournament game on the TV, and I still don't have a piece of gum. Since the floor was still wet, I decided to send this email to my family and friends. Maybe they understand why I'm like I am!!
Friday, April 10, 2009
Just some general "stuff"
Yesterday I watched a Tom Brokaw documentary on The History Channel titled "1968". It got me thinking. I was born at a really good time in history. I listen to the lyrics to Jackson Browne's "Running on Empty" and see that we are the same age. One (is that all??) major difference is that he shared the sack with Daryl Hannah. Lucky S.O.B.
Back to the initial thought. In 12/68, Apollo 8 became the first spacecraft to take humans to the moon and safely back to earth. Jim Lovell, Frank Borman and William Anders took the Christmas trip. Now get this. (I get chills just thinking of the magnitued of the event.) They were the first humans to ever see the earth "rise". As they circled the moon, the earth rose on the moon's horizon. Billions of people have lived and died during the history of the earth and they were to first three to see this event. The following summer (7/20/69), I watched TV as Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldren from Apollo 11 walked on the moon. Less than a month later, I blew off a trip to upstate New York with a friend from New Jersy. It would have taken us three days to drive that far. Atlanta only took about 10 hours and we had been there over the 7/4 holiday to catch the Atlanta Pops Festival. Some really good photo coverage of the bands (including a very young Led Zeppelin!) and the 200,000 folks who attended. Too soon to hit the road again. Life is full of missed opportunities...
Wuzzup with some of these Hollywood "actors"? The clown from CSI Miami, David Caruso, leaves Hill St. Blues to pursue feature films. Yeah. Hey, Davey! How did that work out? Now his ass surfaces on TV with his faggy little sunglass drop and head tilt ad nauseum!! If this guy is an actor, I'm Barack's first cousin! He is one of the few people who can make me skip watching a TV show because he screws up everything on the show - with his mere presence!! Unfortunately, CSI Miami is not enough of an ensemble show to make up for his presence.
And what about Ice-T or Ice Cube or Black Ice or whatever the guy's name is that plays a Polynesian detective on Law & Order SVU? (At least L&O IS an ensemble show so he appears much less than little Davey.) This guy could be reading the Starkville phone book or reciting lines from King Lear or ordering ham hocks and turnip greens at the KKK Kafe and the delivery would be THE SAME!! He thinks he's some kind of a cross between Huey P. Newton and Farrakahn and that people actually buy into that "all black guys are real bad-asses" crap!! You could shoot this guy in the 'nads with a nail gun and the response would be the same as if he were delivering a line to Capt. Kragen!! And while we're on the subject of stereotypes, any male who has ever played sports and showered with his teammates can tell you that there is another myth about black men that is total crap! Oh, yeah...some white people CAN dance!!
Now let's talk about Ghost Hunters. Whether generic or "International". Have these hunters actually ever, EVER found anything? What a bunch of Geraldoesque losers!
While we're on the subject of TV, what kind of people actually watch and enjoy a bunch of fat people stabbing each other in the back and crying while they make excuse after excuse? Yes, I did some research. I watched it for about ten minutes once. That was enough for me!
Well...I feel better; how about you?
Back to the initial thought. In 12/68, Apollo 8 became the first spacecraft to take humans to the moon and safely back to earth. Jim Lovell, Frank Borman and William Anders took the Christmas trip. Now get this. (I get chills just thinking of the magnitued of the event.) They were the first humans to ever see the earth "rise". As they circled the moon, the earth rose on the moon's horizon. Billions of people have lived and died during the history of the earth and they were to first three to see this event. The following summer (7/20/69), I watched TV as Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldren from Apollo 11 walked on the moon. Less than a month later, I blew off a trip to upstate New York with a friend from New Jersy. It would have taken us three days to drive that far. Atlanta only took about 10 hours and we had been there over the 7/4 holiday to catch the Atlanta Pops Festival. Some really good photo coverage of the bands (including a very young Led Zeppelin!) and the 200,000 folks who attended. Too soon to hit the road again. Life is full of missed opportunities...
Wuzzup with some of these Hollywood "actors"? The clown from CSI Miami, David Caruso, leaves Hill St. Blues to pursue feature films. Yeah. Hey, Davey! How did that work out? Now his ass surfaces on TV with his faggy little sunglass drop and head tilt ad nauseum!! If this guy is an actor, I'm Barack's first cousin! He is one of the few people who can make me skip watching a TV show because he screws up everything on the show - with his mere presence!! Unfortunately, CSI Miami is not enough of an ensemble show to make up for his presence.
And what about Ice-T or Ice Cube or Black Ice or whatever the guy's name is that plays a Polynesian detective on Law & Order SVU? (At least L&O IS an ensemble show so he appears much less than little Davey.) This guy could be reading the Starkville phone book or reciting lines from King Lear or ordering ham hocks and turnip greens at the KKK Kafe and the delivery would be THE SAME!! He thinks he's some kind of a cross between Huey P. Newton and Farrakahn and that people actually buy into that "all black guys are real bad-asses" crap!! You could shoot this guy in the 'nads with a nail gun and the response would be the same as if he were delivering a line to Capt. Kragen!! And while we're on the subject of stereotypes, any male who has ever played sports and showered with his teammates can tell you that there is another myth about black men that is total crap! Oh, yeah...some white people CAN dance!!
Now let's talk about Ghost Hunters. Whether generic or "International". Have these hunters actually ever, EVER found anything? What a bunch of Geraldoesque losers!
While we're on the subject of TV, what kind of people actually watch and enjoy a bunch of fat people stabbing each other in the back and crying while they make excuse after excuse? Yes, I did some research. I watched it for about ten minutes once. That was enough for me!
Well...I feel better; how about you?
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Taking Chance
"I didn’t know Chance Phelps before he died,” Strobl wrote, according to the news release. “But today, I miss him.”
The final line from an excellent movie. I just watched it this morning. Found it on HBO by accident. Started watching it and could not stop. If you have ever lost a relative, friend, classmate or fellow soldier, it will tear you apart. But it is worth the mental trauma.
Based on real-life events, Lt. Col. Michael Strobl (Kevin Bacon), a volunteer military escort officer, accompanies the body of 19-year-old Marine Chance Phelps back to his hometown of Dubois, Wyoming. Karma created the detail. Strobl thought that Chance was from HIS hometown in Colorado, but that was just where he enlisted. The technical details are interesting. The film shows the handling of the deceased remains from the time he fell until his final internment. The actions of those who Strobl met along the way and when he arrived in Dubois are what make the movie. Americans showing honor to a 19-year-old kid that they never met. Treating him like the hero that he was.
I spent a lot of time thinking of The Nose and Niv and Greenie and Tuna and all the others that I knew and with whom I served that also did not make it back. This blog entry is purely cathartic. In retrospect, I guess they all are, but this one more so. I needed to get this out of my mind. Maybe the blogging will help.
During the Vietnam era, soldiers were not held in such high esteem. Those who had to use civilian airports were called "baby killers" and had blood thrown on them. Even in military towns, it was not a good idea to wear any part of your uniform off base. We were unpopular because the war was unpopular. We were serving because it was our duty. We didn't want to be there. This was prior to the "all-volunteer" service.
I think the treatment of the Vietman-era soldiers is a direct cause of the patriotism shown today's Iraq/Afghanistan veterans. We know what it was like to be lepers; we don't want today's soldiers to suffer the same stigma. We're proud of them and we want them to know it. This one-minute commercial (with no dialogue) says it all.
I can't find the genesis of the saying so I'm entering it without credit: "Old men start wars. Young men fight them. Wise men avoid them." Having served, I am very much anti-war. Hell, I was anti-war before I got drafted and the entire time I served. But, I did serve. Not like the chicken shit Cassius Clay (His Momma named him Cassius Clay! If it be's good enough for his Momma; it be's good enough for me.!) who used some bullshit religious objection stay out of the service and still earn his living. And, now the gutless piece of shit is some kind of American hero! Bullshit on chicken shit!!
Sorry. I digressed. I am totally against all war, unless it involves someone invading our shores. That is NOT to say that I don't support our troops. I do. They are giving up everything to fight in a useless, no-win war. A year after we leave Iraq (if that long) the country will be back to it's civil war state with each of the three sects fighting against each other. We would have accomplished squadoosh! Good men and women would have died. Unnecessarily.
The final line from an excellent movie. I just watched it this morning. Found it on HBO by accident. Started watching it and could not stop. If you have ever lost a relative, friend, classmate or fellow soldier, it will tear you apart. But it is worth the mental trauma.
Based on real-life events, Lt. Col. Michael Strobl (Kevin Bacon), a volunteer military escort officer, accompanies the body of 19-year-old Marine Chance Phelps back to his hometown of Dubois, Wyoming. Karma created the detail. Strobl thought that Chance was from HIS hometown in Colorado, but that was just where he enlisted. The technical details are interesting. The film shows the handling of the deceased remains from the time he fell until his final internment. The actions of those who Strobl met along the way and when he arrived in Dubois are what make the movie. Americans showing honor to a 19-year-old kid that they never met. Treating him like the hero that he was.
I spent a lot of time thinking of The Nose and Niv and Greenie and Tuna and all the others that I knew and with whom I served that also did not make it back. This blog entry is purely cathartic. In retrospect, I guess they all are, but this one more so. I needed to get this out of my mind. Maybe the blogging will help.
During the Vietnam era, soldiers were not held in such high esteem. Those who had to use civilian airports were called "baby killers" and had blood thrown on them. Even in military towns, it was not a good idea to wear any part of your uniform off base. We were unpopular because the war was unpopular. We were serving because it was our duty. We didn't want to be there. This was prior to the "all-volunteer" service.
I think the treatment of the Vietman-era soldiers is a direct cause of the patriotism shown today's Iraq/Afghanistan veterans. We know what it was like to be lepers; we don't want today's soldiers to suffer the same stigma. We're proud of them and we want them to know it. This one-minute commercial (with no dialogue) says it all.
I can't find the genesis of the saying so I'm entering it without credit: "Old men start wars. Young men fight them. Wise men avoid them." Having served, I am very much anti-war. Hell, I was anti-war before I got drafted and the entire time I served. But, I did serve. Not like the chicken shit Cassius Clay (His Momma named him Cassius Clay! If it be's good enough for his Momma; it be's good enough for me.!) who used some bullshit religious objection stay out of the service and still earn his living. And, now the gutless piece of shit is some kind of American hero! Bullshit on chicken shit!!
Sorry. I digressed. I am totally against all war, unless it involves someone invading our shores. That is NOT to say that I don't support our troops. I do. They are giving up everything to fight in a useless, no-win war. A year after we leave Iraq (if that long) the country will be back to it's civil war state with each of the three sects fighting against each other. We would have accomplished squadoosh! Good men and women would have died. Unnecessarily.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
The Rapist and The Death Grip
Click on the tirle to get some audio. I love it!
This is an account of a 1993 incident during which 81 year-old (the article says she was "middle aged"!)
Curtescine Lloyd of Edwards, Ms handled an attempted rape in a rather unusual fashion. You Go, Girl!!
This account was transcribled from radio station KGO, Newstalk radio 810. Enjoy...and laugh your ass off as you picture Granny Curtescine in action!!!
"Poetic Justice (Granny Gets Her Gun)Curtescine Lloyd? You never heard of her? Well, she is my choice as one of the most amazing and heroic women of our times.
Ms. Lloyd is a middle-aged nurse who lives with an elderly aunt in the rural hamlet of Edwards, Miss., near Jackson. This is her story, most of it taken from a court transcript.
One night, Ms. Lloyd was awakened by a sound. She thought it was h er aunt going to the bathroom.Suddenly a man stepped into her bedroom. Terrified, she sat up. He shoved her back down and said: "You better not turn on a light. You holler, you're dead. You better not even breathe loud.
"He declared his intentions. which were to rob her and commit sexual assault. Of course, he phrased it far more luridly.Then he took off most of his clothing and jumped into her bed.
Here is what happened next. according to court records:Ms. Lloyd: "I got it. I grabbed it by my right hand. And when I grabbed it, I gave it a yank. And when I yanked it, I twisted all at the same time."(Need I explain what Ms. Lloyd meant by "it"? I think not.)"He hit me with his right hand a hard blow to the head, and when he hit me, I grabbed hold of his scrotum with my left hand and twisted the opposite way. He started to yell and we fell to the floor and he hit me a couple of more licks, but they were light licks. He was weakening already.
"With Ms. Lloyd still hanging on with both hands, squeezing and twisting, they somehow struggled into the hallway."He was trying to get out, and I'm hanging onto him, and he was throwing me from one side of the hall to the other. I was afraid if I let go, he was going to kill me."So I was determined I was not going to turn loose. So we were going down the hallway failing from one side to the other, and we got into the living room and we both fell. He brought me down right in front of the couch and he leaned back against the couch, with me."He says. 'You 've got me, you've got me, please, you've got me.' I said. 'I know damn well I got you.' He said: 'Please, please, you re killing me. you're killing me. I can't do nothing. Call the police, call the police.'"I said. 'Do you think I'm stupid enough I'd turn you loose and call the police?' He said, 'Well, what am I gonna do" I said, 'You're gonna get the hell out of my house.' He said: 'How can I get out of your house if you won't let me go?' How can I get out?'"I said: 'Break out. Son of a bitch. You broke in didn't you? And I was still holding him."He said, 'Oh. you've got me suffering, lady, you've got me suffering.' I said, 'Have you thought about how you were going to have me suffering?' He said, 'Well, I can't do nothing now.' I said, 'Good.'
"Ms. Lloyd, still twisting and squeezing, dragged the lout to the front door, which had two locks, and told him to unbolt them.It was a difficult process because he kept collapsing to the floor and she kept hauling him back to his feet."When he finally unlocked the door, he screamed, 'I'm out, I'm out.'" But Ms. Lloyd, now confident that she had a full grasp of the situation. said: "No. I'm taking you to the end of the porch. And when I turn you loose. I'm going to get my gun and I'm going to blow your (obscenity) brains out, you nasty, stinking, low-down dirty piece of (obscenity)."And when I did that, I gave a twist, and I turned him loose. He fell off the steps, jumped up, and limped around the back of my aunt's car and started down the hill."And I ran into my aunt's room, got her pistol from the nightstand, ran back to the porch and I fired two shots down the hill the way I saw him go. Then I ran back in he house and dialed 911.
"The police came and examined the man's clothing. Inside the trousers was written the name Dwight Coverson. They found Coverson, 29, at home, in considerable pain and wondering if he could ever be a daddy.A one-day jury trial was held. As Coverson's court-appointed lawyer put it, "The jury was out 10 minutes."And the judge gave him 25 years in prison.The defense lawyer also said that Ms. Lloyd was recently on a local Mississippi TV news show and mentioned that she had been contacted about a possible movie of her story.That is a film I would pay to see."
This is an account of a 1993 incident during which 81 year-old (the article says she was "middle aged"!)
Curtescine Lloyd of Edwards, Ms handled an attempted rape in a rather unusual fashion. You Go, Girl!!
This account was transcribled from radio station KGO, Newstalk radio 810. Enjoy...and laugh your ass off as you picture Granny Curtescine in action!!!
"Poetic Justice (Granny Gets Her Gun)Curtescine Lloyd? You never heard of her? Well, she is my choice as one of the most amazing and heroic women of our times.
Ms. Lloyd is a middle-aged nurse who lives with an elderly aunt in the rural hamlet of Edwards, Miss., near Jackson. This is her story, most of it taken from a court transcript.
One night, Ms. Lloyd was awakened by a sound. She thought it was h er aunt going to the bathroom.Suddenly a man stepped into her bedroom. Terrified, she sat up. He shoved her back down and said: "You better not turn on a light. You holler, you're dead. You better not even breathe loud.
"He declared his intentions. which were to rob her and commit sexual assault. Of course, he phrased it far more luridly.Then he took off most of his clothing and jumped into her bed.
Here is what happened next. according to court records:Ms. Lloyd: "I got it. I grabbed it by my right hand. And when I grabbed it, I gave it a yank. And when I yanked it, I twisted all at the same time."(Need I explain what Ms. Lloyd meant by "it"? I think not.)"He hit me with his right hand a hard blow to the head, and when he hit me, I grabbed hold of his scrotum with my left hand and twisted the opposite way. He started to yell and we fell to the floor and he hit me a couple of more licks, but they were light licks. He was weakening already.
"With Ms. Lloyd still hanging on with both hands, squeezing and twisting, they somehow struggled into the hallway."He was trying to get out, and I'm hanging onto him, and he was throwing me from one side of the hall to the other. I was afraid if I let go, he was going to kill me."So I was determined I was not going to turn loose. So we were going down the hallway failing from one side to the other, and we got into the living room and we both fell. He brought me down right in front of the couch and he leaned back against the couch, with me."He says. 'You 've got me, you've got me, please, you've got me.' I said. 'I know damn well I got you.' He said: 'Please, please, you re killing me. you're killing me. I can't do nothing. Call the police, call the police.'"I said. 'Do you think I'm stupid enough I'd turn you loose and call the police?' He said, 'Well, what am I gonna do" I said, 'You're gonna get the hell out of my house.' He said: 'How can I get out of your house if you won't let me go?' How can I get out?'"I said: 'Break out. Son of a bitch. You broke in didn't you? And I was still holding him."He said, 'Oh. you've got me suffering, lady, you've got me suffering.' I said, 'Have you thought about how you were going to have me suffering?' He said, 'Well, I can't do nothing now.' I said, 'Good.'
"Ms. Lloyd, still twisting and squeezing, dragged the lout to the front door, which had two locks, and told him to unbolt them.It was a difficult process because he kept collapsing to the floor and she kept hauling him back to his feet."When he finally unlocked the door, he screamed, 'I'm out, I'm out.'" But Ms. Lloyd, now confident that she had a full grasp of the situation. said: "No. I'm taking you to the end of the porch. And when I turn you loose. I'm going to get my gun and I'm going to blow your (obscenity) brains out, you nasty, stinking, low-down dirty piece of (obscenity)."And when I did that, I gave a twist, and I turned him loose. He fell off the steps, jumped up, and limped around the back of my aunt's car and started down the hill."And I ran into my aunt's room, got her pistol from the nightstand, ran back to the porch and I fired two shots down the hill the way I saw him go. Then I ran back in he house and dialed 911.
"The police came and examined the man's clothing. Inside the trousers was written the name Dwight Coverson. They found Coverson, 29, at home, in considerable pain and wondering if he could ever be a daddy.A one-day jury trial was held. As Coverson's court-appointed lawyer put it, "The jury was out 10 minutes."And the judge gave him 25 years in prison.The defense lawyer also said that Ms. Lloyd was recently on a local Mississippi TV news show and mentioned that she had been contacted about a possible movie of her story.That is a film I would pay to see."
Saturday, January 31, 2009
White Guilt
My fictional nemesis, The Right Rev. Dr. Louis Jesse Sharpton, has profited mightily from this concept. First, let's establish a definition for the term.
According to Shelby Steele, white guilt is "a form of self-congratulation, where whites initiate "compassionate policies" toward people of color, to showcase their innocence to racism.[3] Steele has put the term in the context of American history and society in his book White Guilt: How Blacks and Whites Together Destroyed the Promise of the Civil Rights Era (2006):
"Whites (and American institutions) must acknowledge historical racism to show themselves redeemed by it, but once they acknowledge it, they lose moral authority over everything having to do with race, equality, social justice, poverty and so on. [...] The authority they lose transfers to the 'victims' of historical racism and becomes their great power in society. This is why white guilt is quite literally the same thing as black power."[4] (My italics)
Look again at the portion of the quote that I italicized and boldened. Read it again. Now you understand why The Right Rev. Dr. Louis Jesse Sharpton loves the concept! Get some white people to feel guilty and you serve two purposes: You diminish their moral authority and you increase your own power. WOW!
I may have strayed somewhat from my intent but I wanted to highlight certain parts of the term. I also wanted for guilty white folks to take a logical look at the term. Now, let's get back to my original intent.
In my blog on Reverse Discrimination I touched on sin eating. The same philosophy applies to White Guilt. You, me, him, her, them, anyone. NOONE is responsible for the actions of the ancestors. Again...NOONE! Each of us is responsible only for our own actions. If you want to be involved with a certain group, organization, club or substrata of the population, that is your perogative. Because of an illness experienced by one of my sons, I am involved with the Lukemia and Lymphoma Society. I am also a sponsor of nature and animals. I support these causes freely and willingly. My support is in no way related to guilt. I have not harmed nature or any animals; at least not knowingly. I have no guilt in these areas. I support these causes because I want to do so - and for no other reason.
Stop taking any action based on some ill-conceived, illogical, feel-good, phychobabble, liberal emotion that has no basis in fact. Take responsibility for your own transgressions and misdeeds. The responsibility for those of your ancestors ended when they drew their last breath.
[3]. ^ Will, George F.. "White Guilt, Deciphered", MSNBC, June 5, 2006. Retrieved on 2007-09-30">
[4]. ^ [1] Google books exerpt from Steele, Shelby, White Guilt: How Blacks and Whites Together Destroyed the Promise of the Civil Rights Era Chapter 4: Certain Knowledge, p 24, HarperCollins: 2006, accessed September 30, 2007
According to Shelby Steele, white guilt is "a form of self-congratulation, where whites initiate "compassionate policies" toward people of color, to showcase their innocence to racism.[3] Steele has put the term in the context of American history and society in his book White Guilt: How Blacks and Whites Together Destroyed the Promise of the Civil Rights Era (2006):
"Whites (and American institutions) must acknowledge historical racism to show themselves redeemed by it, but once they acknowledge it, they lose moral authority over everything having to do with race, equality, social justice, poverty and so on. [...] The authority they lose transfers to the 'victims' of historical racism and becomes their great power in society. This is why white guilt is quite literally the same thing as black power."[4] (My italics)
Look again at the portion of the quote that I italicized and boldened. Read it again. Now you understand why The Right Rev. Dr. Louis Jesse Sharpton loves the concept! Get some white people to feel guilty and you serve two purposes: You diminish their moral authority and you increase your own power. WOW!
I may have strayed somewhat from my intent but I wanted to highlight certain parts of the term. I also wanted for guilty white folks to take a logical look at the term. Now, let's get back to my original intent.
In my blog on Reverse Discrimination I touched on sin eating. The same philosophy applies to White Guilt. You, me, him, her, them, anyone. NOONE is responsible for the actions of the ancestors. Again...NOONE! Each of us is responsible only for our own actions. If you want to be involved with a certain group, organization, club or substrata of the population, that is your perogative. Because of an illness experienced by one of my sons, I am involved with the Lukemia and Lymphoma Society. I am also a sponsor of nature and animals. I support these causes freely and willingly. My support is in no way related to guilt. I have not harmed nature or any animals; at least not knowingly. I have no guilt in these areas. I support these causes because I want to do so - and for no other reason.
Stop taking any action based on some ill-conceived, illogical, feel-good, phychobabble, liberal emotion that has no basis in fact. Take responsibility for your own transgressions and misdeeds. The responsibility for those of your ancestors ended when they drew their last breath.
[3]. ^ Will, George F.. "White Guilt, Deciphered", MSNBC, June 5, 2006. Retrieved on 2007-09-30">
[4]. ^ [1] Google books exerpt from Steele, Shelby, White Guilt: How Blacks and Whites Together Destroyed the Promise of the Civil Rights Era Chapter 4: Certain Knowledge, p 24, HarperCollins: 2006, accessed September 30, 2007
African American?
Not being someone of olive, brown or black skin, I have never had occasion to call myself "African American". However, if we believe anthropologists, ALL people on The Big Blue Marble are of African descent. That would make anyone born in a country located on either the North or South American continents an "African American". So all you Mexicans, Canucks, Peruvians and Aleuts need to take a second look at your ethnicity. Yeah. I know what you're saying. I say "let them eat cake". That's not my modest proposal.
Manny Otiko, a gentleman born in Africa, penned an interesting article "African American or Black American - Which Term Is Accurate?" It is worth reading no matter your views on the subject.
My contention is that this divisive term is totally inaccurate. The fact that we ALL are, in some way, African Americans, is a given. When I hear some race-baiter spout vitriol under the guise of a perceived offense, frequently infusing the diatribe with "African American" references, a smile comes to my face. I then try to discern whether their views are based on ignorance or innocence. If you look at the term "African American" and, in a scholarly and objective way, dissect it, you arrive at a totally different meaning than the generally accepted one. Let's discuss it. The definitions used in the discussion were obtained from The Free Dictionary.
"African": (1) A native or inhabitant of Africa or (2) A person of African descent. Hum? OK.
"American": (1) Of or relating to the United States of America or its people, language, or culture.
(2) Of or relating to North or South America, the West Indies, or the Western Hemisphere.
(3) Of or relating to any of the Native American peoples. Interesting.
OK. Based on the first definition of "American" I might be willing to let my friends who were not born in the US off the hook. But the second and third definitions only muddle the discussion. Now "Native Americans" must be added to the picture. (The fact that they are called "Native Americans" is no longer a given. Recent anthropological discoveries seem to prove that the first Americans may have come from Scandinavia rather than Siberia or the Orient.)
Another variable to discuss. Technically, a native of The Republic of South Africa is an African. They are as white as white can be. They may have practiced or been a proponent of the practice of "apartheid". They may have participated in the active discrimination of "black" peoples in the RSA. Some were responsible for burning homes, churches, schools. Some practiced torture. By the actual definition of the terms used, they are "African American".
Don't fall victim to the racial rants of those like Rev. Dr. Louis Jesse Sharpton. Just because someone says something ad nauseum, does not make it so.
Manny Otiko, a gentleman born in Africa, penned an interesting article "African American or Black American - Which Term Is Accurate?" It is worth reading no matter your views on the subject.
My contention is that this divisive term is totally inaccurate. The fact that we ALL are, in some way, African Americans, is a given. When I hear some race-baiter spout vitriol under the guise of a perceived offense, frequently infusing the diatribe with "African American" references, a smile comes to my face. I then try to discern whether their views are based on ignorance or innocence. If you look at the term "African American" and, in a scholarly and objective way, dissect it, you arrive at a totally different meaning than the generally accepted one. Let's discuss it. The definitions used in the discussion were obtained from The Free Dictionary.
"African": (1) A native or inhabitant of Africa or (2) A person of African descent. Hum? OK.
"American": (1) Of or relating to the United States of America or its people, language, or culture.
(2) Of or relating to North or South America, the West Indies, or the Western Hemisphere.
(3) Of or relating to any of the Native American peoples. Interesting.
OK. Based on the first definition of "American" I might be willing to let my friends who were not born in the US off the hook. But the second and third definitions only muddle the discussion. Now "Native Americans" must be added to the picture. (The fact that they are called "Native Americans" is no longer a given. Recent anthropological discoveries seem to prove that the first Americans may have come from Scandinavia rather than Siberia or the Orient.)
Another variable to discuss. Technically, a native of The Republic of South Africa is an African. They are as white as white can be. They may have practiced or been a proponent of the practice of "apartheid". They may have participated in the active discrimination of "black" peoples in the RSA. Some were responsible for burning homes, churches, schools. Some practiced torture. By the actual definition of the terms used, they are "African American".
Don't fall victim to the racial rants of those like Rev. Dr. Louis Jesse Sharpton. Just because someone says something ad nauseum, does not make it so.
Monday, January 26, 2009
What are GRITS?
What Are Grits? Nobody knows. Some folks believe grits are grown on bushes and are harvested by midgets by shaking the bushes after spreading sheets around them. Many people feel that grits are made from ground up bits of white corn. These are obviously lies spread by Communists and terrorists. Nothing as good as a Grits can be made from corn. The most recent research suggests that the mysterious Manna that God rained down upon the Israelites during their time in the Sinai Desert was most likely Grits. Critics disagree, stating that there is no record of biscuits, butter, salt, and red eye gravy raining down from the sky, and that God would not punish his people by forcing them to eat Grits without these key ingredients.
How Grits are Formed: Grits are formed deep underground under intense heat and pressure. It takes over 1000 years to form a single Grit. Most of the world's grit mines are in South Carolina, and are guarded day and night by armed guards and pit bull dogs. Harvesting the Grit is a dangerous occupation, and many Grit miners lose their lives each year so that Grits can continue to be served morning after morning for breakfast (not that having Grits for lunch and dinner is out of the question). Yankees have attempted to create a synthetic Grits. They call them Cream of Wheat. As far as we can tell the key ingredients of Cream of Wheat are Elmer's Glue and shredded Styrofoam. These synthetic grits have also been shown to cause nausea, and may leave you unable to have children.
Historical Grits: As we mentioned earlier, the first known mention of the Grits was by the Ancient Israelites in the Sinai Desert. After that, the Grits was not heard from for another 1000 years. Experts feel that the Grits was used during this time only during secret religious ceremonies, and was kept from the public due to it's rarity. The next mention of the Grits was found amidst the ruins of the ancient city of Pompeii in a woman's personal diary. The woman's name was Herculaneum Jemimaneus (Aunt Jamima to her friends.)
The 10 Commandments of Grits:
I. Thou shalt not put syrup on thy Grits
II. Thou shalt not eat thy Grits with a spoon or knife
III. Thou shalt not eat Cream of Wheat and call it Grits, for this is blasphemy
IV. Thou shalt not covet thy neighbors Grits
V. Thou shalt use only Salt, Butter, and red eye gravy as toppings for thy Grits
VI Thou shalt not eat Instant Grits
VII. Thou shalt not put ketchup on thy Grits
VIII. Thou shalt not put margarine on thy Grits.
IX. Thou shalt not eat toast with thy Grits, only biscuits made from scratch .
X. Thou shalt eat grits on the Sabbath for this is manna from heaven.
How to Cook Grits: For one serving of Grits: Boil 1.5 cups of water with salt and a little butter. Add 5 TBsp of Grits. Reduce to a simmer and allow the Grits to soak up all the water. When a pencil stuck into the grits stands alone, it is done. That's all there is to cooking grits.
How to make red eye gravy :Fry salt cured country ham in cast iron pan. Remove the ham when done and add coffee to the gravy and simmer for several minutes. Great on grits and biscuits.
How to Eat Grits :Immediately after removing your grits from the stove top, add a generous portion of butter or red eye gravy. (WARNING: Do NOT use low-fat butter.) The butter should cause t he Grits to turn a wondrous shade of yellow. (Hold a banana or a yellow rain slicker next to your Grits; if the colors match, you have the correct amount of butter.) In lieu of butter, pour a generous helping of red eye gravy on your grits. Be sure to pour enough to have some left for sopping up with your biscuits. Never, ever substitute canned or store bought biscuits for the real thing bec ause they can cause cancer, rotten teeth and impotence.Next, add salt. (NOTICE: The correct ration of Grit to Salt is 10:1 Therefore for every 10 grits, you should have 1 grain of salt.) Now begin eating your grits. Always use a fork, never a spoon, to eat Grits. Your grits should be thick enough so they do not run through the tines of the fork. The correct beverage to serve with Grits is black coffee. DO NOT use cream or, heaven forbid, Skim Milk.) Your grits should never be eaten in a bowl because Yankees will think it's Cream of Wheat.
Ways to Eat Leftover Grits: (Leftover grits are extremely rare) Spread them in the bottom of a casserole dish, Cover and place them in the refrigerator overnight. The Grits will congeal into a gelatinous mass. Next morning, slice the Grits into squares and fry them in 1/2' of cooking oil and butter until they turn a golden brown. Many people are tempted to pour syrup onto Grits served this way. This is, of course, totally unacceptable.
SOUTHERN BLESSING BEFORE EATING GRITS
May the lord bless these grits,
May no Yankee ever get the recipe,
May I eat grits every day while living,
And may I die while eating grits.
AMEN
How Grits are Formed: Grits are formed deep underground under intense heat and pressure. It takes over 1000 years to form a single Grit. Most of the world's grit mines are in South Carolina, and are guarded day and night by armed guards and pit bull dogs. Harvesting the Grit is a dangerous occupation, and many Grit miners lose their lives each year so that Grits can continue to be served morning after morning for breakfast (not that having Grits for lunch and dinner is out of the question). Yankees have attempted to create a synthetic Grits. They call them Cream of Wheat. As far as we can tell the key ingredients of Cream of Wheat are Elmer's Glue and shredded Styrofoam. These synthetic grits have also been shown to cause nausea, and may leave you unable to have children.
Historical Grits: As we mentioned earlier, the first known mention of the Grits was by the Ancient Israelites in the Sinai Desert. After that, the Grits was not heard from for another 1000 years. Experts feel that the Grits was used during this time only during secret religious ceremonies, and was kept from the public due to it's rarity. The next mention of the Grits was found amidst the ruins of the ancient city of Pompeii in a woman's personal diary. The woman's name was Herculaneum Jemimaneus (Aunt Jamima to her friends.)
The 10 Commandments of Grits:
I. Thou shalt not put syrup on thy Grits
II. Thou shalt not eat thy Grits with a spoon or knife
III. Thou shalt not eat Cream of Wheat and call it Grits, for this is blasphemy
IV. Thou shalt not covet thy neighbors Grits
V. Thou shalt use only Salt, Butter, and red eye gravy as toppings for thy Grits
VI Thou shalt not eat Instant Grits
VII. Thou shalt not put ketchup on thy Grits
VIII. Thou shalt not put margarine on thy Grits.
IX. Thou shalt not eat toast with thy Grits, only biscuits made from scratch .
X. Thou shalt eat grits on the Sabbath for this is manna from heaven.
How to Cook Grits: For one serving of Grits: Boil 1.5 cups of water with salt and a little butter. Add 5 TBsp of Grits. Reduce to a simmer and allow the Grits to soak up all the water. When a pencil stuck into the grits stands alone, it is done. That's all there is to cooking grits.
How to make red eye gravy :Fry salt cured country ham in cast iron pan. Remove the ham when done and add coffee to the gravy and simmer for several minutes. Great on grits and biscuits.
How to Eat Grits :Immediately after removing your grits from the stove top, add a generous portion of butter or red eye gravy. (WARNING: Do NOT use low-fat butter.) The butter should cause t he Grits to turn a wondrous shade of yellow. (Hold a banana or a yellow rain slicker next to your Grits; if the colors match, you have the correct amount of butter.) In lieu of butter, pour a generous helping of red eye gravy on your grits. Be sure to pour enough to have some left for sopping up with your biscuits. Never, ever substitute canned or store bought biscuits for the real thing bec ause they can cause cancer, rotten teeth and impotence.Next, add salt. (NOTICE: The correct ration of Grit to Salt is 10:1 Therefore for every 10 grits, you should have 1 grain of salt.) Now begin eating your grits. Always use a fork, never a spoon, to eat Grits. Your grits should be thick enough so they do not run through the tines of the fork. The correct beverage to serve with Grits is black coffee. DO NOT use cream or, heaven forbid, Skim Milk.) Your grits should never be eaten in a bowl because Yankees will think it's Cream of Wheat.
Ways to Eat Leftover Grits: (Leftover grits are extremely rare) Spread them in the bottom of a casserole dish, Cover and place them in the refrigerator overnight. The Grits will congeal into a gelatinous mass. Next morning, slice the Grits into squares and fry them in 1/2' of cooking oil and butter until they turn a golden brown. Many people are tempted to pour syrup onto Grits served this way. This is, of course, totally unacceptable.
SOUTHERN BLESSING BEFORE EATING GRITS
May the lord bless these grits,
May no Yankee ever get the recipe,
May I eat grits every day while living,
And may I die while eating grits.
AMEN
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Dwayne Stomp PSA - try these links
I understand that some of my followers have had a problem accessing the Dwayne Stomp PSA. Here are a few suggestions. All worked for me. The only difference I can come up with is that I was signed in to youtube.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zULzbiGNTyI
Dwayne Stomp
or go to youtube and type in "stomp public service" and it will bring it up. Or try this link
It is worth the effort.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zULzbiGNTyI
Dwayne Stomp
or go to youtube and type in "stomp public service" and it will bring it up. Or try this link
It is worth the effort.
A rational view of love
I'm currently reading The Reason For God by Timothy Keller. It was a Christmas gift from my oldest son. It is a book specifically for Agnostics like me. So far, it has been an interesting read. I would recommend it to any Agnostic, Atheist or Skeptic. It is not preachy.
I just finished Chapter Three (Christianity Is a Straitjacket). A few quotes caught my brain and necessitated re-reading.
In The Four Loves, C.S. Lewis wrote:
"Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket - safe, dark, motionless, airless - it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation."
That struck me as enlightening and profound. One of my first feelings was a feeling of awe that someone could put pen to paper and express such a deep thought. And that they would be willing to bare their soul and share the thought.
Keller writes:
""When you fall deeply in love, you want to please the beloved. You don't wait for the person to ask you to do something for her. You eagerly research and learn every little thing that brings her pleasure. Then you get it for her, even if it costs you money or great inconvenience. "Your wish is my command," you feel - and it doesn't feel oppressive at all. From the outside, bemused friends may think, "She's leading him around by the nose," but from the inside it feels like heaven.""
I guess we're back to the standard about "better to have loved and lost". Or that love makes you do stupid things or act like a fool. My opinion is that most of us have some humanity within us. Our individual collective (that is NOT an oxymoron if you take a minute to think about it) personal history has forged what we interpret as important enough or worthy of our love. What matters is that we don't fall prey to the "safety" of disdaining love or, to paraphrase Lewis: The alternative to the tragedy of a painful love is damnation. If you're going to be damned if you do and damned if you don't, you may as well gather some pleasant memories that will bring a smile to your face when you're 88 and sitting in that rocking chair in the sun room.
I just finished Chapter Three (Christianity Is a Straitjacket). A few quotes caught my brain and necessitated re-reading.
In The Four Loves, C.S. Lewis wrote:
"Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket - safe, dark, motionless, airless - it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation."
That struck me as enlightening and profound. One of my first feelings was a feeling of awe that someone could put pen to paper and express such a deep thought. And that they would be willing to bare their soul and share the thought.
Keller writes:
""When you fall deeply in love, you want to please the beloved. You don't wait for the person to ask you to do something for her. You eagerly research and learn every little thing that brings her pleasure. Then you get it for her, even if it costs you money or great inconvenience. "Your wish is my command," you feel - and it doesn't feel oppressive at all. From the outside, bemused friends may think, "She's leading him around by the nose," but from the inside it feels like heaven.""
I guess we're back to the standard about "better to have loved and lost". Or that love makes you do stupid things or act like a fool. My opinion is that most of us have some humanity within us. Our individual collective (that is NOT an oxymoron if you take a minute to think about it) personal history has forged what we interpret as important enough or worthy of our love. What matters is that we don't fall prey to the "safety" of disdaining love or, to paraphrase Lewis: The alternative to the tragedy of a painful love is damnation. If you're going to be damned if you do and damned if you don't, you may as well gather some pleasant memories that will bring a smile to your face when you're 88 and sitting in that rocking chair in the sun room.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Colonoscopy Pre-Procedure Nursely News
OK. I'm lying on the table in one of those "open ass" gowns, covered by a sheet. Just finished watching the pre-procedure video telling me that nothing goes bad and that this is a very safe procedure...except for some possible side effects. They include rectal tear, partial paralysis, loss of sphincter function or death. Funny how they wait until you have fasted, drunk the drink, come to the office, checked in, disrobed and laid yourself on the gurney before telling you of the possible outcomes.
Anyway...I'm lying there and letting my mind drift. There is some staccato noise emanating from somewhere else in this pre-procedure wing. I let it remind me of a song. It does. Landslide by Buckingham Nicks. I start softly singing...
"I took my love. I took it down. Climbed a mountain and I turned around."
From outside the curtain I hear...
"I saw my reflection in the snow-covered hills till the landslide brought me down."
She's singing as she opens the curtain. She can't even be 30 and here she is...familiar with Buckingham Nicks.
I smile and compliment her on her knowledge. I ask her if she's been listening to her parents old vinyl records. She tells me "Nope. Most of the music I listen to was recorded before I was born. I just like it better."
Then she continues as she's hooking up the drip.
"Mirror in the sky. What is love? Can the child within my heart rise above?"
I join her for...
"Can I sail through the changing ocean tides? Can I handle the seasons of my life?
Then she pats me on the thigh and tells me that another nurse will be with me shortly to take me to the procedure room.
There and gone. But, another example of the thought that NumbaTwoSon and I share. There ain't nothing like good lyrics. They are ethereal.
Anyway...I'm lying there and letting my mind drift. There is some staccato noise emanating from somewhere else in this pre-procedure wing. I let it remind me of a song. It does. Landslide by Buckingham Nicks. I start softly singing...
"I took my love. I took it down. Climbed a mountain and I turned around."
From outside the curtain I hear...
"I saw my reflection in the snow-covered hills till the landslide brought me down."
She's singing as she opens the curtain. She can't even be 30 and here she is...familiar with Buckingham Nicks.
I smile and compliment her on her knowledge. I ask her if she's been listening to her parents old vinyl records. She tells me "Nope. Most of the music I listen to was recorded before I was born. I just like it better."
Then she continues as she's hooking up the drip.
"Mirror in the sky. What is love? Can the child within my heart rise above?"
I join her for...
"Can I sail through the changing ocean tides? Can I handle the seasons of my life?
Then she pats me on the thigh and tells me that another nurse will be with me shortly to take me to the procedure room.
There and gone. But, another example of the thought that NumbaTwoSon and I share. There ain't nothing like good lyrics. They are ethereal.
Goa'uld Up The Virgin Pipeline
Turns out that this was a big nothing. In all aspects. I'm as healthy as can be. Drinking that "prep" stuff was not all that bad. I added some pineapple flavoring and, since the solution has a salty taste, pretended to be drinking pineapple margaritas.
The sedation was supposed to be some kind of "twilight" deal that would allow me to interact with Dr. Sones as he was colon mining. Yeah. Just like that weed that was dusted is basically the same as the unaltered variety. When the nurse-dude told me he was going to administer something to make me drowsy, I believed him. My next memory is waking in recovery with Kay and some nurse-babe.
Never felt a thing. I did find out that my sleep apnea is cause for concern - for everyone except me. Seems like I stopped breathing several times during the 15-minute procedure. Dr. Sones is going to let Dr. Eddie know all about it. I can see my third sleep clinic overnight visit in the near future. It will probably be followed closely by mandated use of one of those sleepy masky thingies.
Maybe my real problem is that I don't like to use more than my share of the air. I use the minimum to keep the heart pumping and I take frequent rest breaks. As long as I resume breathing at some point, I don't see the problem.
One by-product should be reduced snoring. This will make some female acquaintances happy. It should also help my checkbook. I won't have to book two hotel rooms just so my date will have a place to sleep in peace and quiet. Hell...this masky thingie may actually pay for itself.
The sedation was supposed to be some kind of "twilight" deal that would allow me to interact with Dr. Sones as he was colon mining. Yeah. Just like that weed that was dusted is basically the same as the unaltered variety. When the nurse-dude told me he was going to administer something to make me drowsy, I believed him. My next memory is waking in recovery with Kay and some nurse-babe.
Never felt a thing. I did find out that my sleep apnea is cause for concern - for everyone except me. Seems like I stopped breathing several times during the 15-minute procedure. Dr. Sones is going to let Dr. Eddie know all about it. I can see my third sleep clinic overnight visit in the near future. It will probably be followed closely by mandated use of one of those sleepy masky thingies.
Maybe my real problem is that I don't like to use more than my share of the air. I use the minimum to keep the heart pumping and I take frequent rest breaks. As long as I resume breathing at some point, I don't see the problem.
One by-product should be reduced snoring. This will make some female acquaintances happy. It should also help my checkbook. I won't have to book two hotel rooms just so my date will have a place to sleep in peace and quiet. Hell...this masky thingie may actually pay for itself.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
The First Colonoscopy
Yep. Tuesday 1/20/09. 10:15AM. Sedation will be involved. I have to bring a designated driver with me. No enemas. Now they take the "do it yourself" approach. I suppose that's better than having some guy run copious amounts of liquid up your Whoosis.
Can't really use the Star Trek intro because a man has gone here before. NO! I play for OUR team! My family doctor's probing phalanx has penetrated just enough to check Mr. Prostate (as opposed to "prostrate" which means lying prone).
Actually I had a previous colonoscopy. That was way back in 1980 or so. Seems that some super-hot home made stir fry, washed down with some home made muscadine wine and, on a bet, a quart of Milwaukee's Best Light caused the discomfort. Things like that happened at The Ghetto. This was between marriages. When my sons went to visit their mother for the weekend, I usually did not sleep between Friday afternoon and Sunday morning. The Ghetto was Jerry's house. Located across from the bible college. We frequently ended up there after the bo-ray game at The Bloody Bucket (Sue's Place on 35 South) broke up. But, I digress.
I went to my family doctor because of some discomfort and, to use a female term, spotting. This same doctor would later become my son's father-in-law. There goes that digressing again. Slap. Focus, Samantha! OK. Back on point.
There was a new diagnostic tool in town and he was itching to use it. This was a Monday. I was to report to the hospital Tuesday AM for colonic cleansing and the "procedure". Since my gut was still adversely reacting to hot sauce, Mongolian stir fry, Milwaukee's Best and tequila, it seemed like a good idea to me.
I arrived as previously scheduled and was sent to a room. The only piece of furniture in the room was some kind of potty that looked like a contraption that might have first been used at Salem. Soon thereafter, I had my first meeting with a rather large black gentleman who was minus his neck. I "assumed the position" and the fun began. The KFC that I had for lunch the previous day now seemed like a really bad idea. After an hour or so of colonics, I was pronounced "ready" for the procedure. I was led to a table in one of the emergency room "suites".
My doctor then asks my permission to allow the other doctors in his group, as well as their nurses, and a few nurses who worked at the hospital, to observe my penetration. It was then that I found out that this was the first time the diagnostic machine had ever been used at good old MJMH. How could I refuse?
I was positioned on my left side. My gown was opened. I was greased up for ease of penetration. At no time was I given anything to "dull", "sedate", or "twilight sleep" my bare ass. My only assumption is that someone did not read the instructions all the way to the end. They, like most men, found the part that shows how the thing works and focused on that part.
Now I was on my side watching a monitor as a probe began its entry into almost-virgin territory. I say "almost" because I had spent four years in the service. In addition to "short arms" inspections, they also conducted "bend over and spread 'em" inspections. After a period of many years, I was reminded of the sensation while watching an episode of Stargate SG1. In this episode, a Goa'uld symbiote is implanted into Jack or Sam. Anyway, it wriggles its ugly ass into their body. I wondered if they felt as I did. Again with the digressing.
OK. I have the Goa'uld trekking through uncharted territory up my intestinal tract and, as a man who plays for our team, as opposed to one who may shout "Armageddon" http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KNYl4aU0w0w I was feeling that basic male need to tighten my cheeks. (Finish reading and then you can click on the link.) It was then that I realized the identity of the nurse assisting my doctor. Friends? No. Adversaries is a better description. I umpired both church and open league women's softball. (Hell, I was single and it was a good way to pick up chicks!) She pitched for both the First Baptizin' Church and one of the better women's open league teams. She liked to argue. She came by it honest because her husband was a Mississippi politician. Anyway, I had tossed her smart ass from numerous games. Suffice to say that we did not trade Christmas cards. Now she's stroking my right cheek and telling me to relax as the probe heads for Deep Space Nine. And I hear all these doctors talking about things they are seeing on the monitor. What I am seeing is something similar to the Hubble nebulae images I would see later in life. Then I recognize some other female voices and the situation hits home. Three of my friends and softball teammates have wives who are nurses at MJMH.
In actuality, this was a profound recognition. I didn't want them to think I was a wuss so I relaxed and let the Goa'uld have its way. The entire penetration probably lasted no more than 15 to 20 minutes. I found out it was worth it when, as I was being wiped and helped to a sitting position, my nemesis leaned over and whispered "nice ass" to me!
Later, I spoke to another of the nurses that I figured had been there. She had. I asked her how many folks had watched the episode. She finally remembered (at least) 6 doctors, 8 nurses and 2 hospital administrators. I should have charged admission...or they should have paid me!
Can't really use the Star Trek intro because a man has gone here before. NO! I play for OUR team! My family doctor's probing phalanx has penetrated just enough to check Mr. Prostate (as opposed to "prostrate" which means lying prone).
Actually I had a previous colonoscopy. That was way back in 1980 or so. Seems that some super-hot home made stir fry, washed down with some home made muscadine wine and, on a bet, a quart of Milwaukee's Best Light caused the discomfort. Things like that happened at The Ghetto. This was between marriages. When my sons went to visit their mother for the weekend, I usually did not sleep between Friday afternoon and Sunday morning. The Ghetto was Jerry's house. Located across from the bible college. We frequently ended up there after the bo-ray game at The Bloody Bucket (Sue's Place on 35 South) broke up. But, I digress.
I went to my family doctor because of some discomfort and, to use a female term, spotting. This same doctor would later become my son's father-in-law. There goes that digressing again. Slap. Focus, Samantha! OK. Back on point.
There was a new diagnostic tool in town and he was itching to use it. This was a Monday. I was to report to the hospital Tuesday AM for colonic cleansing and the "procedure". Since my gut was still adversely reacting to hot sauce, Mongolian stir fry, Milwaukee's Best and tequila, it seemed like a good idea to me.
I arrived as previously scheduled and was sent to a room. The only piece of furniture in the room was some kind of potty that looked like a contraption that might have first been used at Salem. Soon thereafter, I had my first meeting with a rather large black gentleman who was minus his neck. I "assumed the position" and the fun began. The KFC that I had for lunch the previous day now seemed like a really bad idea. After an hour or so of colonics, I was pronounced "ready" for the procedure. I was led to a table in one of the emergency room "suites".
My doctor then asks my permission to allow the other doctors in his group, as well as their nurses, and a few nurses who worked at the hospital, to observe my penetration. It was then that I found out that this was the first time the diagnostic machine had ever been used at good old MJMH. How could I refuse?
I was positioned on my left side. My gown was opened. I was greased up for ease of penetration. At no time was I given anything to "dull", "sedate", or "twilight sleep" my bare ass. My only assumption is that someone did not read the instructions all the way to the end. They, like most men, found the part that shows how the thing works and focused on that part.
Now I was on my side watching a monitor as a probe began its entry into almost-virgin territory. I say "almost" because I had spent four years in the service. In addition to "short arms" inspections, they also conducted "bend over and spread 'em" inspections. After a period of many years, I was reminded of the sensation while watching an episode of Stargate SG1. In this episode, a Goa'uld symbiote is implanted into Jack or Sam. Anyway, it wriggles its ugly ass into their body. I wondered if they felt as I did. Again with the digressing.
OK. I have the Goa'uld trekking through uncharted territory up my intestinal tract and, as a man who plays for our team, as opposed to one who may shout "Armageddon" http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KNYl4aU0w0w I was feeling that basic male need to tighten my cheeks. (Finish reading and then you can click on the link.) It was then that I realized the identity of the nurse assisting my doctor. Friends? No. Adversaries is a better description. I umpired both church and open league women's softball. (Hell, I was single and it was a good way to pick up chicks!) She pitched for both the First Baptizin' Church and one of the better women's open league teams. She liked to argue. She came by it honest because her husband was a Mississippi politician. Anyway, I had tossed her smart ass from numerous games. Suffice to say that we did not trade Christmas cards. Now she's stroking my right cheek and telling me to relax as the probe heads for Deep Space Nine. And I hear all these doctors talking about things they are seeing on the monitor. What I am seeing is something similar to the Hubble nebulae images I would see later in life. Then I recognize some other female voices and the situation hits home. Three of my friends and softball teammates have wives who are nurses at MJMH.
In actuality, this was a profound recognition. I didn't want them to think I was a wuss so I relaxed and let the Goa'uld have its way. The entire penetration probably lasted no more than 15 to 20 minutes. I found out it was worth it when, as I was being wiped and helped to a sitting position, my nemesis leaned over and whispered "nice ass" to me!
Later, I spoke to another of the nurses that I figured had been there. She had. I asked her how many folks had watched the episode. She finally remembered (at least) 6 doctors, 8 nurses and 2 hospital administrators. I should have charged admission...or they should have paid me!
Friday, January 16, 2009
The Darwin Awards - 2008
Yes, fans. It's that time again. Let's see who has improved the big blue marble for the rest of us by removing any chance they will pollute the gene pool.
Dwayne Stomp PSA
Click on the title to listen to the actual recording session wherein the legendary Blacktooth lead guitarist records a PSA on the evils and dangers of drinking and driving.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
The Best of Norm Peterson
As all fans of the show remember, Norm was always loudly greeted by the regulars when he entered Cheers. Immediately following was a witty exchange between Norm and one of the bartenders. These are the best of those exchanges.
The Best of Norm Peterson
The legendary beer hunter from TV's Cheers at his best
How about a beer, Norm?Hey I'm high on life, Coach. Of course, beer is my life.
How about a beer, Norm?Hey I'm high on life, Coach. Of course, beer is my life.
How's a beer sound, Norm? I dunno. I usually finish them before they get a word in.
What would you say to a nice beer, Normie?Going down?
What'll it be, Normie?Just the usual Coach. I'll have a froth of beer and a snorkel.
What would you say to a beer, Normie?Daddy wuvs you.
What'd you like, Normie?A reason to live. Gimme another beer.
What will you have, Norm?Well, I'm in a gambling mood, Sammy. I'll take a glass of whatever comes out of that tap.Oh, looks like beer, Norm.Call me Mister Lucky.
What do you say, Norm?Any cheap, tawdry thing that'll get me a beer.
What do you say to a beer, Normie?Hiya, sailor. New in town?
What's your pleasure, Mr. Peterson?Boxer shorts and loose shoes. But I'll settle for a beer.
Hey Norm, how's the world been treating you?Like a baby treats a diaper.
How's life treating you?It's not, Sammy, but you can!
Can I pour you a draft, Mr. Peterson? A little early, isn't it Woody? For a beer? No, for stupid questions.
What's the story, Mr. Peterson? The Bobbsey twins go to the brewery. Let's cut to the happy ending.
Hey, Mr. Peterson, there's a cold one waiting for you. I know, and if she calls, I'm not here.
What's going on, Mr. Peterson? A flashing sign in my gut that says, ``Insert beer here.''
Hey, Mr. Peterson, Jack Frost nipping at your nose? Yep, now let's get Joe Beer nipping at my liver, huh?
Whatcha up to Norm? My ideal weight if I were eleven feet tall.
How's it going, Mr. Peterson? Poor.I'm sorry to hear that.No, I mean pour.
How's life treating you, Norm? Like it caught me sleeping with its wife.
Women. Can't live with 'em... pass the beer nuts.
What's going down, Normie? My butt cheeks on that bar stool.
How's life in the fast lane? Dunno, can't get on the on-ramp.
Pour you a beer, Mr. Peterson? Alright, but stop me at one.... make that one-thirty.
How's it going Mr. Peterson? It's a dog eat dog world, Woody, and I'm wearing Milk-Bone underwear!
What's the story, Norm? Boy meets beer. Boy drinks beer. Boy meets another beer.
What's going on, Mr. Peterson? The question is what's going in Mr. Peterson. A beer please, Woody.
How's life, Mr. Peterson?Oh, I'm waiting for the movie.
What can I do for you, Mr. Peterson?Elope with my wife.
What's happening, Mr. Peterson?The question is, Woody, why is it happening to me?
Well, look at you. You look like the cat that swallowed the canary.Uh huh. And I need a beer to wash him down.
Hey, Mr. Peterson, you got room for a beer?Nope, but I am willing to add on.
How would a beer feel, Mr. Peterson?Pretty nervous if I was in the room.
What can I do for you, Norm?Open up those beer taps and, oh, take the day off, Sam.
Beer, Norm? Have I gotten that predictable? Good.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Man up, Lying Sissies!
Mike Vick made a mistake. We've all heard that statement ad nauseum. Really? The only mistake Vick made was getting caught. You and I both know that, had he not been caught, his dogfighting ring would still be fully operational. The truth of the matter is that he committed a felony. This is more important than making a mistake. Don't whitewash your guilt, Mikey. Man up! Say "I committed a felony. It was a heinous crime. I intend to do my time and return to my life." That, I could buy!
I can live with Lyle Alzado saying that using steroids (which caused his death from brain cancer at age 43) was a mistake. Technically, he committed a crime. But Alzado did not stab, shoot or beat anyone. He did not gather his posse and wreak havoc at a titty club or a Super Bowl party or conduct an armed incursion on a hotel room. These are crimes; not mistakes.
"I made a mistake in judgement."
EUPHEMISM: The act or an example of substituting a mild, indirect, or vague term for one considered harsh, blunt, or offensive.
Might I add "A chickenshit copout by someone who knows theirs is one caught ass."
What about "misspoke"? Whatever happened to taking the bullet? Misspoke? You lied!! Man up and admit it. "Yes, your honor. I admit I got caught trying to blow sunshine up Miss Chesty's skirt. I'm very sorry and I'll take whatever punishment the court dictates." Think you'll ever hear that?
Again, this is all just my opinion. To quote the irascible Fountainbleu Thrashberry: "I assure you that I am NOT the source of the moisture trickling down your lower extremity; It really IS raining!
I can live with Lyle Alzado saying that using steroids (which caused his death from brain cancer at age 43) was a mistake. Technically, he committed a crime. But Alzado did not stab, shoot or beat anyone. He did not gather his posse and wreak havoc at a titty club or a Super Bowl party or conduct an armed incursion on a hotel room. These are crimes; not mistakes.
"I made a mistake in judgement."
EUPHEMISM: The act or an example of substituting a mild, indirect, or vague term for one considered harsh, blunt, or offensive.
Might I add "A chickenshit copout by someone who knows theirs is one caught ass."
What about "misspoke"? Whatever happened to taking the bullet? Misspoke? You lied!! Man up and admit it. "Yes, your honor. I admit I got caught trying to blow sunshine up Miss Chesty's skirt. I'm very sorry and I'll take whatever punishment the court dictates." Think you'll ever hear that?
Again, this is all just my opinion. To quote the irascible Fountainbleu Thrashberry: "I assure you that I am NOT the source of the moisture trickling down your lower extremity; It really IS raining!
Fan or Frustrated Cheerleader?
We've all seen them. Maybe while attending a sporting event; maybe while watching one on TV. They may be a frustrated cheerleader or a self-appointed "leader". Maybe their mommy didn't give them enough attention or pulled the nipple too soon. Don't know why, but we definitely know who. They stand up, turn to face those fans seated behind them and wave their arms in an upward, imploring motion. You know the motion. It's the one you make when you're in deep water and you're trying to stay submerged. Or the one the preacher makes when he wants his faithful sheep to stand up and allow freer access to their wallets.
In their use of the motion, they want you to get off your ass and stand up and cheer! But, hey dumbass! You don't have enough sense to know that this is an appropriate time to stand up and cheer. Wuzzupwifdat? Is you got dain bramage or what?
It is typically the male of the species who heaps embarrassment upon himself by performing this motion. His female companion is usually nearby. Trying to stay as inconspicuous as possible. Head buried in her hands. Her lifeforce slowly oozing from every delicate pore in her body, she is soon to be the figurative equivalent of "boneyard dead" from her embarrassment. I digress.
This male fancies himself a leader of men. Others fancy him as a real goobernaut. In reality, this is the guy who never made the starting line-up. He never made the scout team. He went out and bought a team uniform and started sneaking into practice. He only got on the team because both tackling dummies were stolen. He never actually "made" the team. After several subpar seasons, the number of varsity players was the same as the number of states during the War of 1812. Then, one day, he gets to take up some space during "subfest". You know subfest. That period at the end of the game when the team was either so far ahead or behind that the outcome was no longer in doubt. In this example, it's the latter. Coach Buster Butts has seen enough for one day, so he clears the bench. Here comes our fearless leader. His team is behind by "four score and seven". Dive play up the middle even though they have 13 in the box. (The opposition coach just wants to end this barbarism before two of his guys accidentally butt heads and hurt each other.) Our "man" is the sixth guy in on the tackle of the opposing fullback. This is the fullback's first carry of his career...and he's a fifth-year senior. He just gained 23 yards. Now it's our fearless leader's time to shine!! He jumps up and struts around like Mick Jagger pantomiming Joe Cocker with a gerbil up his ass. Then...you guessed it...this is when it first happened...spur of the moment...he turns toward the home stands and does his imploration incantation. Fourteen people stand up at his behest. Twelve of them are his relatives. The other two are just standing up to see what happened. But, our hero is ruined for life.
But, hell, someone has to lead the rest of us because we're too "stoopid" to even recognize something as basic as an emotion. Oh! Something exciting happened? Something favoring "our" team? I'm supposed to stand up from my seat and express my approval? Well, why didn't someone tell me to get up and cheer? OH! I see. That's your job! Well, I feel much better now. That's a load of pressure off me! You are truly a man among men, my fearless leader.
This guy is reminiscent of a scene in Animal House. Dean Wormer has just delivered the word that the boys have been on "double secret probation". Their grades are worse than mine were first semester, freshman year. Bluto jumps up and heads for the door, imploring all to follow. Remember how many actually followed his initial move? And there is one major difference. Bluto was more of a leader than you.
In their use of the motion, they want you to get off your ass and stand up and cheer! But, hey dumbass! You don't have enough sense to know that this is an appropriate time to stand up and cheer. Wuzzupwifdat? Is you got dain bramage or what?
It is typically the male of the species who heaps embarrassment upon himself by performing this motion. His female companion is usually nearby. Trying to stay as inconspicuous as possible. Head buried in her hands. Her lifeforce slowly oozing from every delicate pore in her body, she is soon to be the figurative equivalent of "boneyard dead" from her embarrassment. I digress.
This male fancies himself a leader of men. Others fancy him as a real goobernaut. In reality, this is the guy who never made the starting line-up. He never made the scout team. He went out and bought a team uniform and started sneaking into practice. He only got on the team because both tackling dummies were stolen. He never actually "made" the team. After several subpar seasons, the number of varsity players was the same as the number of states during the War of 1812. Then, one day, he gets to take up some space during "subfest". You know subfest. That period at the end of the game when the team was either so far ahead or behind that the outcome was no longer in doubt. In this example, it's the latter. Coach Buster Butts has seen enough for one day, so he clears the bench. Here comes our fearless leader. His team is behind by "four score and seven". Dive play up the middle even though they have 13 in the box. (The opposition coach just wants to end this barbarism before two of his guys accidentally butt heads and hurt each other.) Our "man" is the sixth guy in on the tackle of the opposing fullback. This is the fullback's first carry of his career...and he's a fifth-year senior. He just gained 23 yards. Now it's our fearless leader's time to shine!! He jumps up and struts around like Mick Jagger pantomiming Joe Cocker with a gerbil up his ass. Then...you guessed it...this is when it first happened...spur of the moment...he turns toward the home stands and does his imploration incantation. Fourteen people stand up at his behest. Twelve of them are his relatives. The other two are just standing up to see what happened. But, our hero is ruined for life.
But, hell, someone has to lead the rest of us because we're too "stoopid" to even recognize something as basic as an emotion. Oh! Something exciting happened? Something favoring "our" team? I'm supposed to stand up from my seat and express my approval? Well, why didn't someone tell me to get up and cheer? OH! I see. That's your job! Well, I feel much better now. That's a load of pressure off me! You are truly a man among men, my fearless leader.
This guy is reminiscent of a scene in Animal House. Dean Wormer has just delivered the word that the boys have been on "double secret probation". Their grades are worse than mine were first semester, freshman year. Bluto jumps up and heads for the door, imploring all to follow. Remember how many actually followed his initial move? And there is one major difference. Bluto was more of a leader than you.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
The F Word
What a way to start a new year. I have read the emails about Fornication Under Consent of the King and For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge. Ridiculous! Click on the title of this rant or go to Snopes: http://www.snopes.com/language/acronyms/fuck.asp for the truth.
I've often wondered why certain words elicit particular emotions. Why is the act of intercourse not called "sprism" or "derwunk"? English, having come into existence long after other languages, relied considerably on words that had already been assigned meanings by the predecessor languages. Such is the meaning for F.
Why is it more of an unaccepted word than fornication or intercourse or boning or humping? Interesting.
Don't stop with the F word. Check out the ridiculous acronym for "golf", too!
I've often wondered why certain words elicit particular emotions. Why is the act of intercourse not called "sprism" or "derwunk"? English, having come into existence long after other languages, relied considerably on words that had already been assigned meanings by the predecessor languages. Such is the meaning for F.
Why is it more of an unaccepted word than fornication or intercourse or boning or humping? Interesting.
Don't stop with the F word. Check out the ridiculous acronym for "golf", too!
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