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
Saturday, January 31, 2009
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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