The Unicycle

Once again the fine online novel Maggy has provided me with food for thought. Dredged up memories I might prefer to stay on the bottom.

" “Santa” did not bring me what I wanted, but left me a note, explaining why I couldn’t have what I really wanted. ..........

“Dear Peggy,

I am sorry I cannot give you the things you asked for this year, but I’m giving you the things you need. Even though you have been a good girl, for the most part, you can’t always have what you want.

Sincerely, Santa "

(I am not sure if Utah Savage will mind me poaching this small drib from her chapter, "Christmas Tradition", but well, I would assume positive attention from a stranger far away might not be a problem. I will attempt to secure her permission before posting though.)

Do we ever outgrow this? This disregard for what we need against the things we want? And why do we seem determined to force our idea of what another person in our lives needs over what they claim they want.? Somehow, we know better than they what they should have and then proceed to follow up with unrequested action.

A Rolling Stones tune immediately came to mind.

"For you're own good" comes to mind.

Yet as a child I remember sitting there wondering what was so wrong about wanting that unicycle. I knew there must be something wrong after finding a game, clothes and another sweater from my Aunt Helen instead under the tree.

I wanted that unicycle. It went way beyond selfish gratification. To complete the picture I had of my immediate future, a unicycle was an integral part. To know that my parents did think of me as more than just an inconvenience and reminder of how unhappy they ended up. I had clothes, games and trains. I needed no more. I had lobbied hard for that unicycle starting months earlier providing the brand, model, and the store where Santa could find it. I wanted to feel that the presents I found under the tree had been given the consideration of a loving parent not just a parent going through the motions.

I was not a child to voice my displeasure in overt tantrum like ways. That tendency had been smacked and brow beaten out of me years earlier. We were a stoic family. Suck it up type clan. If Life didn't go your way, you might sulk. But only as long as Mom did not notice.

That Christmas I flew off the handle. Lost it. I laid into them with intense anger and hate. I will always remember the shock on the half in the bag faces of my parents as they nursed their fourth or fifth drink. I stomped out into the cold Christmas Eve night and did not return for several hours. They may have turned me towards stoicism, but in the process I learned to shoulder a big chip also. A chip that would haunt me for many years to come. It was an ugly scene.

It was a night I remember well when something pops up that digs it out from the suppression file.

As I shivered outside without a jacket and walked random circuits in the neighborhood, I realized it was more than the damn unicycle. I was angry because Christmas was always a sad time for me. My father never handled it well. His functional alcoholism seemed to reach some kind of pinnacle, some threshold he crossed into mean depression. The scenario was always the same. We celebrated Christmas carefully and without authentic cheer. The normal good tidings replaced with a process of building defenses for what I knew would be coming.

I remember a 12 year old's tears freezing on cheeks chapped and numb. I remember watching and then lurking as some carolers full of joy sang off tune in front of houses occupied by people I would never know. I followed them for a short while. Their spirited singing did not help. What I wanted and what I needed were the same. And their happy singing was not it. I realized for the first time... No, I came to grips with the notion that both what we want and what we need are not always there for us. I grew up some that night.

As the days progressed and I got over the idea that the World revolved around me, I came to understand two things. I was not to expect anything handed to me anymore. And the fact my father was not handling retirement from the Air Force very well had more to do with my situation than my presence in his life. For he had opened up to me when I came home from my cold walk. Sure he was shitfaced but he was coherent. He was always coherent. He told me it was not me, but him. He told me it was the relationship he had with my mother, it was not me. He felt bad I had to be there, but there it was. I had to suck it up and deal with it.

At what age do we start acting as adults and stop acting as children? I have tried to pinpoint the seminal moments in my life when this process moved forward. I think this was one of them. And though it was not a pleasant experience, I am grateful it came sooner than later.

Arlington Cemetery

A new blog I found a while back posted about their birthday and a mix they had created of "Cake" tunes. Stick (I will call him that because his blog name is too convoluted for me to remember) Anyway Stick mentioned Cake's cover of "War Pigs" and how he had liked it, but did not include it in his mix. The mix was I guess for him and his son L, who's birthday fell on the day before his. Okay fine, G rated for the wee ones. I can dig that.

This will make some sense to you and maybe me in a moment or two. And connections to the point of this post will be made clear.

So Stick mentions "War Pigs". It fires up a memory of a post of mine from last year and I go searching the blog archive. I find my post. Titling it "War Pigs" did make it easier to find among the 600 plus posts in this over filled bag of words. In short, in case and most likely because you do not want to visit that post, in a nutshell it was a stroll down memory lane and comments in general about the tune "War Pigs" and other related and semi related garbage. The usual drivel.

Of course I could not re-visit an old post that had not one but at least two links to music videos without running through them one more time. I watched the Cake version of "War Pigs". Yes, I was right. It is a very good cover and the video was appropriate given the lyrics. Then I punched up Black Sabbath's studio version with more up to date war film attached. Proof the tune will stand the test of time and go down as a wonderful condemnation of War and those who wage it. The final scenes in the video were of funerals, soldiers and Arlington Cemetery.

Though I spent good portion of my youth at different times living and existing in and around the DC area, I have only visited Arlington Cemetery twice in my life. I once almost died at what many consider it's entrance when the car we were in did not stop after coming off the Arlington Memorial Bridge. My friend was driving his brand new GTO and wanted to see how fast he could go before we hit the end of the bridge. Up onto the circle, throwing grass and making ruts, we somehow escaped death, the cops and our own stupidity. But that is another tale.

I have been to Arlington twice. Both times to bury loved ones. First my father in 1981 with full honors. Ten years later I put my mom to rest next to him. As a general officer he and his surviving spouse were entitled to this honor.

I have mixed feelings about this. My father did not want to be interred anywhere. He said on numerous occasions he wanted his lifeless body donated to some medical school somewhere. But as it was not stipulated in his will, my mom did what she felt would get her through this I guess. Placing his remains in Arlington was one way to find some closure for her. And she insisted we put her next to the man she fought with for my whole lifetime when the time came. Hmm. I always wondered if this was just so she could continue to irritate him in the afterlife.

I have been to more than a few memorials, funerals and wakes. A military funeral is like no other. There is no celebration. No emotional hysteria. Quiet tears of friends and family while soldiers high and tight stand at attention and fire their rifles. Somber patriotism with respectful but no bullshit "get er done" competency. The words spoken are brief and to the point. Flags are removed from caskets, folded with precision and handed to grieving widows. For some reason, I witnessed this and pride for my father and my country spilled forth. Tears ran down my face in streams. Quiet streams. Falling apart emotionally would be disrespectful to the military and the man we were honoring. I could feel my back straighten up some when the rifles were shouldered to fire the first salvo. I could feel some great weight leave me as the sound of those final shots died over the Potomac. I was sure that the man I knew who wrestled with demons every day of his life was now put to rest with the honor he deserved by the country he loved.

Kodak Moments

It was driving me crazy. I knew I had pictures of my days driving the rock n roll tours someplace. I was sure of it. My father had given me his Nikon camera to use while on the road. I did not take as many pictures of things, events, and people as I probably should have. But in the rare moment when I was clear headed and aware, I did manage to squeeze off a few pictures.

Today I tore into several dark nooks that had not seen the light of day for at least 20 years. I found some slides. The many prints I took are still missing in action. At least there is some photographic record of my time behind the wheel of a rock n roll truck. It really was not a fig newton of my imagination.

The above picture is my truck backed up to some stage somewhere and either unloading or loading. It looks like a stage call (unload). Many of the halls were able to accommodate our rigs inside.

What was interesting and challenging about getting this picture and many more from slides to digital is the rube goldberg way I did it. The end product gets the point of the picture across, but lacks the rich color and sharp focus of the original pictures.

How I did it-

I plugged in the floor lamp with the 3 power light bulb. Took the shade off so just the translucent glass globe was exposed. I set up my tripod and screwed my digital camera on it with the camera about 6 inches from the light. Using a single slide viewer, I put a slide in and then held it up to the digital camera. I snapped the picture. It worked better than I expected.

Now that I have found the slides, I am going to pick the best of the bunch and have them digitized professionally. Until then, this is as good as it gets.

I do believe this is the Electric Light Orchestra Show at The Spectrum in Philadelphia. Looking from the stage into the crowd. Tough tour. Long - 3 months long. 70 shows or so in 90 days? I also jack knifed on some black ice heading into Erie, Pa. Went over a guard rail and down into a ravine. I still made the show though. Hired every wrecker I could find and we yanked my truck out of there. The show in Erie started 2 hours late, but it did happen. I went from being a scum sucking loser to hero in the space of a few hours. The Green Shingle Truck Stop just outside of Erie had a great 6 egg omelet. I insisted we stop on our way out of town. The other drivers were impressed.

I also found what remained of the thousands of slides my father took not ruined in the "Great Basement Flood of 1964". Below are some samples.

My dad in Alaska in 1954


Main Street - Anchorage, Alaska - 1954

Yours truly decked out in his finest and whupping up on the Mann's daughter in a game of cards. Probably at our house in Hawaii around 1957 or 1958. I had to adjust the color to B&W as this slide really did not take kindly to being copied as crudely as I copied it. Please take note of the careful and correct use of the holster lashing.


My mom at one of the many cocktail parties she enjoyed so much. There are few pictures of her without a butt in her hand or in her mouth. She eventually quit in the 1970s, but this is how I remember her. Colorado Springs around 1953 I would guess.

Dumbest White Boy on the Planet

I wanted to get a reaction to the election from some of the racist sites over the election. So I googled "skinhead" and this image popped up. My first reaction was to laugh out loud. Almost made my stomach hurt. This has to be about the dumbest white boy on the planet. But I am sure his friends are duly impressed.

After the spasms of laughter had died and tears had been wiped from my eyes, I looked at this image without humor and seriously considered it. It is not a funny picture. I find it sobering. It underscores that no matter how far we think we have come, white people have some serious racial flotsam to rid ourselves of. The insidious boil that is racism still festers out there. No matter how much we deny our racist roots and prove it by passing laws and opening our homes and our hearts, there will always be assholes like this guy to remind us there is still stupid hatred out there. Hatred that erupts for no other reason than someone does not fit into some narrow view of who is acceptable. And I guess what bothers me, is I would be considered acceptable by this guy based on my race and Euro/Christian background. I don't want to be considered anything but the enemy by this guy. He is not doing me any favors. His goal to purify the race is more akin to wishing it to become putrefied.

I feel that anyone who would discriminate based on any reason is not furthering any cause that will benefit Mankind in the end. We are comprised of different colors. We are comprised of different religions. We are a species comprised of differences. That we allow these differences dictate how we interact only points out how much more needs to be done before we all can truly be free.

Afterthought - This post has been simmering for a week or so now. Hanging out in Draft limbo. Each time I re-read it and considered whether I should post it or not, something bothered me. Where was my tolerance for boneheads like this? Was I not feeding the racist stereotype by judging this fellow based on appearances? Yes I was. Yes I am. He could be a choir boy now who was unfortunate to have been led astray earlier in his life. He could be full of remorse now. A reformed and now tolerant skinhead. So I will make no assumptions about this fellow specifically, just the signs he so carelessly tattooed on his noggin. That alone makes him the dumbest white boy on the planet.

Useless Heroes

I opened the new post election issue of "US News & World Report" this morning. For some reason I always read letters to the editor first in a magazine and then I read the rest by jumping here and there. A feature series entitled "The 44th President Commentary" right after letters caught my eye. Short and sweet comments by I guess people I should know. Of the four commentaries listed, I found comments by Terry Edmonds to be interesting.

Former director of speech writing for Bill Clinton, Mr Edmonds is also a black who managed a "first" for his race. He was the first Black director of presidential speech writing ever. An older black who dealt with, witnessed and I am sure felt the racial hatred from years ago admitted he was wrong. Wrong because he never thought America could rise above it's petty prejudices and step outside of their box. Apparently he was stepping outside of his box also when he wrote this. Good for him.

But what I focused on was his insinuation that the blame these last 40 plus years was an all white cross to bear.

"And if we really wanted to know what the majority of Americans thought about us, we only had to look at the bulging black prison population, the double rate of black unemployment, and the portrayal of African-Americans on TV shows like Flavor Flav's Flavor of Love ."

I hold to the idea that no matter what cards we are dealt, how we turn out is mostly up to us. And rhetoric like this only feeds the idea that everything is someone else's fault. I have always considered this racial crap as a two way problem and not so one sided as many on both sides would have us believe. If the majority of Americans think that all blacks are rapping wannabes, gangstas, and jocks, it is only because up until now, that is the image they have chosen to push to the front. Anybody of any worth, white or black, knows that a culture is not defined by it's stars unless that culture decides to embrace the image.

A majority of Americans following the lives and habits of a Flavor Flav is not a white thing or a black thing. It is an American thing. We have become enamored by the lifestyles and habits of people who live lives outside of the norm of our culture. Our culture has become saturated with meaningless heroes who do nothing to better our self image or the image we project abroad. The useless hero list is endless and I am sure if we broke it down, the majority of them would not be Black, Latino, or Asian. The majority would be White folks who have no business being held in such high regard.

On the fourth of November, something happened. Yeah we elected a black president for the first time. That unique and historical moment cannot be understated. But something else happened. For the first time in my life I witnessed our country stepping up and deciding at least for a moment that it was time to look for a hero of worth. Barack may or may not be that hero. But he certainly represents our faith that one does exist. And because of that I think maybe we are a country that can still be great even though for most of my lifetime we have been trying hard not to be.

An Awards Show

Hmm. Yeah that's right, just hmm.

I often begin this way when I have no clue where to begin. Sometimes it is because the brain pan is vacant, the cupboard is bare. No subject comes to mind. Other times like this one are that I have something to say, but have no clue how I feel or how to say it until I write it down. So bear with me here.

Early this morning I was rifling through one of those drawers we all have kicking around our homes. One of those receptacles we fill with past memories. Old photos, awards, news paper clippings it made sense at the time to clip and save. A drawer filled and promptly forgotten. Like a time capsule, it sat patiently for me to rediscover it's whereabouts. Today I did.

I pulled everything out of it. I was looking for something, I just did not know what. Forty thousand ga-gillion pictures of my daughter as a wee one being a wee one. Some made me smile and reflect about how much I miss her being a wee one. Pictures of me and my wife sporting different bodies and darker hair. A shoe box of swimming ribbons and awards for breaking this team record or that team record. My daughter was and still is quite a jock. Old pictures of ancestors I don't even know or recognize. Pictures of family distant and close. The memories spread out on the couch reinforcing my existence.

And then I found what it was I must have been looking for. One of my old report cards from the Third grade. The school was Gorrie Elementary School in Tampa, Florida. I had transferred there mid year from some school I cannot remember in Maryland. Swapping schools was no big deal for me. By this time in my short life I had already attended four or five different schools.

So I opened the report card. My teacher was one Mrs Gillette. I'd like to say we called her Razor, but I can't. My memory is not that sharp. My grades were fine. It was her rather detailed documentation of my progress or lack thereof I found interesting. When I first got there she found me mouthy, I couldn't/wouldn't follow directions, but I was decent in math and I loved to read. Her final entry for the last quarter seemed to indicate that I had won her over. I was passed on to fourth grade (another school again). I had learned to follow directions and she was impressed with my writing. She said I just loved writing assignments.

It was odd reading comments about me from so long ago. I do not remember much from my time at Gorrie School other than it was an old three story school surrounded by a dirt playground in the middle of Tampa. Shooting Marbles was hip and I had a silent crush on the cute girl who sat next to me. The stuff Mrs Gillette was concerned with had long ago been lost in my not important file of memories. That was school work. The stuff I had to do to please the adults around me.

I put the report card, all the pictures and awards back into the drawer and forgot about it. Forgot about it until some minutes ago when I visited Randal's blog, l'ennui melodieux.

Randal Graves is a superior wordsmith. His writing often blows me away. He is scatterbrained, plays loosy goosy with the mother tongue, and is creative to point of making me jealous. I like his blog. It always entertains me. Imagine my surprise when I found he had bestowed upon me the award you find at the top of this not yet real long post.

This is where my quandary begins. This blogging culture often confounds me. Umpteen million "look at me" people all trying to get someone to pay attention to them. All sorts of tricks to secure an audience abound. Meme's, Polls, Link lists, Follower lists, comments, and yes awards. All of them seem to be part of someones strategy to gain a larger piece of the audience pie. The thing is though, at some point, these tricks become more than bait and take on a life of their own. They become part of the culture. Instead of casting a jaundiced eye on them now, I realize what they are after their release into the Internet ether. They are compliments. They are another blogger telling you they like what you do. To ignore them in my opinion is not only rude, ignoring them or worse dissing them detracts from the idea of blogging. Bloggers like to connect with people.

So with this in mind and my teacher's assertion that I do enjoy writing reading and yeah even 'Rithmetic, I gratefully accept Randal's nod in my direction and a nod to Mrs Gillette who recognized my infatuation with the written word. Coming from someone whose writing I admire is indeed more than a trick. Randal doesn't need to draw more folks in. They seem to find him. But don't tell him that. His noggin is already pumped up big enough as it is. And he's from Cleveland. That should tell you all you need to know.

Naturally there are rules in accepting this award. Another one of those blogging things that confound me. But there it is. So here they are taken from the host site, The Scolastic Scribe:

~Each Superior Scribbler must in turn pass The Award on to 5 most-deserving Bloggy Friends.
~Each Superior Scribbler must link to the author & the name of the blog from whom he/she has received The Award.
~Each Superior Scribbler must display The Award on his/her blog, and link to This Post, which explains The Award.
~Each Blogger who wins The Superior Scribbler Award must visit this post and add his/her name to the Mr. Linky List. That way, we'll be able to keep up-to-date on everyone who receives This Prestigious Honor!
~Each Superior Scribbler must post these rules on his/her blog.

Okay, three of the five rules have been met. Site giving award linked, award displayed, and rules dutifully posted for all to see. Now I have to pick five deserving souls whose blogs I enjoy for whatever reasons. This is the hard part. This demand that I be exclusive instead of inclusive. But in the spirit of the game, I always follow the rules.

Middle Ditch - Monique has one of the most interesting blogs out there. An audio-serial blog about life in a small English Village. She has been at it for quite awhile and each post tickles me to no end. The work in producing it must be tremendous.

Weldable Cookies - Wonderful writing with an in your face attitude I find refreshing

El Cerdo Ignatius - A real Conservative. A man who keeps my lefty pinko leanings in check on a regular basis. His comments and blog cut through the crap but with class and no animosity.

Demeur - Tenacious Liberal( I can call you that I hope. Obama says it is not a dirty word anymore) dedicated to progressing our station in life.

Snave - Another Liberal (again consider this tag a compliment) who presents liberal ideas without spewing and drooling with his eyes all bugged out. Moderate in his approach, but definite in his points.

I believe I have now completed the necessary requirements to call this puppy spanked. All I need do is visit Scolastic Scribe and link to their list of others who have been graced with this award to end all awards. Yeah right.

Later..............

Veteran's Day

Defiant Infidel, a very conservative blog here in Maine, emailed me yesterday. They were asking their readers to forward some pictures of family and friends who had served or were serving in the armed services. It was their desire to put together a video on Veteran's Day honoring the many vets who are found in and around all of our lives. I thought, "Damn what a nice gesture." So I sent them a picture of my father and one of my nephew.

I have other relatives/friends, close and otherwise, who have served. But of them all, Bobby, my nephew strikes deep into my soul. He died in 2005 serving our country in the recent conflict in Iraq. My father(pictured here as a new full colonel in the mid 1940s) stands tall in my mind because he not only gave 31 years of his life defending our nation, he is my father.

I honor them today by remembering them not for their connection to me but for the duty they performed in the name of our country. No matter how I feel about the stupidity of war, I cannot be anything but grateful and proud of their sacrifice.

Soldiers die in wars. Soldiers kill in wars. That we even need them in our World is a sad statement on how we humans interact with each other. But they do exist and to not take a few minutes once in awhile to remember them without judgement or rancor is the very least I could do.

Take moment of silence. Or be loud and be proud. But on this Veteran's Day thank any vet you know for what they gave up in the service to our country.

Highway of Heroes

I have often wondered why in recent years, the US government has found it necessary to not allow public viewing of our dead coming home from Iraq or Afghanistan. Some trumped up excuse about consideration for loved ones, blah, blah, blah. Dying in the service of my country makes me a loved one also. Shrouding their return to this country behind flimsy excuses does nothing to honor their sacrifice. We know they are dead, we should have the right to honor their return. As unpopular as the War is, some kind of public display seems the right thing to do.

I am absolutely floored by what ordinary Canadians do for it's fallen soldiers. The War is unpopular up there also, but at least the government allows the citizenry the right to honor the dead by announcing their return. People by the thousands line Highway 401 and stand silent as the procession takes the dead from the airport to the morgue. What a nice gesture for the loved ones who have just lost a son, a daughter, a friend. In my opinion, Canada does it right. We could take a lesson from them. We could take quite a few lessons from our friends up north I guess.

Trust

A recent issue of trust and losing it has made me aware just how personal I take the concept of Trust. Friendships, relationships, interactions of many kinds are based on the mutual use of trust. When the trust is not mutual, the relationship can suffer. As it has for me recently.

That I feel I have done nothing to justify losing their trust, their trust in me has diminished. And because I feel I did not deserve to lose their trust, my trust in them has taken a hit. The whole idea of trust has been dealt a blow from both sides now. There is indeed something to the idea that if you cannot trust me enough to even tell me why you do not trust me, then it makes me wonder how far I should be trusting you.

Lack of communication

It would seem that by not communicating we have both allowed this negative crap to invade our friendship, our relationship, whatever it is we have between us. I am guilty here for sure. I haven't aired my concerns or questions. But I never withheld my trust. Now I find out you have. Or maybe I just percieve it.

My question is this. Should I reciprocate? I mean, without bringing it up for us to chew on together, should I also withhold my trust in you now?

Obviously I should not if I feel there is anything worth salvaging. I should not if I consider regaining your trust is of any importance to me. The ball is in my court. What should I do I wonder?

I have been chewing on this more than I should I guess. I cannot force someone to trust me. I cannot fix it if I have no clue why it happened in the first place. Yes, a distance has come between us. But why it seeped into and spoiled the trust we had indicates the result has been more profound for you than me.

This is an odd post I almost did not post. But this blog is a vehicle I use to find my way through thorny issues besides the normal drivel I usually come up with. Since beginning this blog I have found that writing about Life's oddities and concerns makes the process of understanding where I have been and where I am going a bit easier to comprehend. And yeah, I could have just written this and left it unpublished. But I didn't. I needed to get back on the blogging horse and this post is the one I am using for that purpose.

Not Yes We Can, But Yes We Did!

It has only been an hour or so since Fox News called the game. I figured if Fox News conceded, then it was definitely over. Barack Obama, the first black to be nominated for President, has won the Presidential election.

A few minutes ago I watched as John McCain manned up and got his concession speech out of the way quickly. In my opinion a very good speech. I would say the best one I heard from him this whole campaign. Gone were the idiotic talking points, accusations, and denigrating commentary. It was a classy speech and John made me feel he meant every word. John almost looked relieved as he spoke. I honestly do not think he ran the campaign he wanted to, but was part of one he never felt at home in.

I am in wonder now. I am more than a little befuddled. Just about the time I am sure this country has really gone off the deep end, we pull a stunt like this election. I was sure we would elect a woman as President long before we elected a Black. I was sure we would probably vote in a Latino before a Black also. As it turns out I had a more negative view of White America than Barack did. He has proven to be a better man than I this day. He refused to buy into the race card when many if not most of us, white and black, had resigned ourselves to tolerance without inclusion. Obama would have none of it.

By not buying, using, or pandering to the Race Card, Barack Obama figured out how to make many of us forget his color and listen to what he was saying. He didn't care that he was Black. He expected us to not care either. And somehow he pulled it off. He convinced enough of us that his vision could be our vision. I sit here convinced that this truly Historic event is but a beginning. And even though I am not all that comfortable with one party in control of the whole ship so to speak, maybe it is time for us to throw our support behind just one for awhile. If they are smart and lucky, America may be in for good times once again.

When I was in sixth grade living in Tallahassee, Florida in the early 1960s, everything was segregated. I went to an all white public school, all fancy and new. Yet I lived just on the right side of the tracks so to speak and not far from me was the black school that taught the blacks in my area. Run down wooden building with dirt dooryard and broken playground equipment.

The Blacks had their own movie theater. I discovered this the hard way. The theater was just up the street and shortly after we moved there I went to the movies. I went in and sat down. Just about the time I noticed there seemed to be no other white folks there but me, a deep black voice behind me said, "Boy, you might want to leave this theater. I wouldn't want you to get hurt." I turned and every black face in the row was looking at me hard. They were not friendly faces. I left quickly. My racial education was just beginning.

I was ostracized at school for several reasons. One was I was the new kid. That one I could handle. I grew up always being the new kid. But the one that really got me was I had been caught hanging out with a black kid on the FSU campus by one of my classmates. The black kid was the son of one of the maids who worked at the motel my dad managed. I had to dot a couple of eyes before they let me alone over that one.

Since I lived outside the school district lines and theoretically in the black distric, I had to take public buses to school. It meant a 45 minute plus ride to and from school every day. The back of the bus was where I wanted to ride but couldn't. It was explained to me by the bus driver (a black) that white folk sat up front. "Why?" I asked him. He shrugged and mumbled something about it being the way it was. Needless to say, when I left Tallahassee I never looked back. Bigotry had been forced down my throat and I did not like it.

I discovered that every facet of life in Tallahassee was broken down into two cultures. The two cultures did not interact with each other except in the work place and very few public buildings. The Library had white fountains and black fountains. White bathrooms and black bathrooms. Even the State Capitol building was segregated. For a white boy raised in the integrated military, my year plus in Tallahassee was an eye opener.

I lived with the shame of segregation. I felt the hate of both races as I tried to understand in my 12 year old mind just what the Hell was the problem. I did not understand it then and I still don't. To me, the worst indicator of a man's character is the color of his skin. And finally a man has shown up and rammed this point home throughout all of America. Finally a man has emerged who has taken our stupid stratified society and shaken it to it's core.

So this election has special meaning to me. I never thought I would see this day in my lifetime. No matter what side of the aisle you sit on, be proud of what America did this day. That's it. Just be proud America.

Election Day in Acton, Maine

It is 7:30 AM on Election Day. I am sitting here at the computer in doodling mode waiting for the polls down the road from me to open. We will have no election mania here in Acton, Maine. Matter of fact, it might be my imagination but there seem to be less signs out in yards and on corners than there usually is. There will be no long lines. Well, I may have to wait five minutes or so if I show up when the doors open.

I have already imparted how much I love to vote at my local Town Hall. Homemade voting booths with homemade curtains and stubby pencils on strings that have seen and scratched Xs on who knows how many ballots over the years. This old school method makes me smile every time as I stand there alone in the booth with paper ballot in hand.

Maine is not a battleground state. Maine's electoral votes amount to chump change in the scheme of what is out there for grabs. Both Candidates did their obligatory swing through. Kissed some babies, shook some hands, and had many kodak moments they have already forgotten about I am sure. It might make them feel better that many Mainers have forgotten they were even here. We are used to and maybe even like being a state not considered much in political circles. Out of sight, out of mind. Obama's continued use of "From the Rocky Coasts of Maine to the sunny shores of California" as he finished the 40 thousand speeches during his campaign made some of us nervous. One fella told me he hoped this did not mean Obama was going to have a summer place here also. "It is bad enough we have to deal with that Bush family. If another President takes root here, I'm moving inland."

I pointed out to him that he already lived inland and no where near the coast where it seems rich folks from away love to take up housekeeping. I also made note that he had assumed the winner would be Obama and what about his infatuation with Palin? He said, "She's a looker alright. But we vote for the president not the vice president. McCain just looks and acts too squirrely for me. I am voting for Barack Obama even though he is black."

I let the conversation die right there. This guy is just someone I know through my business. His not so veiled racism bothered me, but why would I even think to bring it up until after the election. No sense taking a chance on driving someone over to the dark side. I took his money and gave him his change and told him to have a super day.

I just returned from the Town Hall. I walked the 1/4 mile in shorts and a Tee. Beautiful day, even if it is a tad warm. Warm Novembers seem to always be followed by payback in December and January. Anyway, I snapped some pics of the Town Hall so I could post a picture with this post. No amount of googling had been successful in finding an image online.

There was indeed a line. One fellow hit the door just in front of me and I had to wait while they checked him off the rolls. Loser. Making me wait like that. Instead of the five minute visit, it took me six. Damn inconvenient wasting my valuable time like that. But no sacrifice is too much to ensure some sanity returns to DC I guess.

So now my civic duty has been met. It is all over but the shouting. The real world awaits with it's insistent patience that no matter how much I ignore it, it is always still there when I decide to re-focus. I guess I'll go pick up the sno-blower from Shaw's Ridge Equipment. Hope that $200 they are charging me will make it run like new again. Another winter like last year and it will need to.

Later........

I Hate Polls

I hate Polls. Unless of course I like what they tell me. Then I only kinda hate them. I want to like them then, but my overwhelming hatred of polls in general dampens my enthusiasm when they show my guy or view as falling in line with some arbitrary picked from the ozone sampling of opinion found God knows where.

Why is it we like to know we are in tune with others? Why do we need to have outside confirmation that what we think is what others think? I play the contrary independent all the time in front of the Internet camera and out in public. I say, "Polls are stupid and anyone who places any weight on them is a bonehead."

Then I go to my links and what do I see? A whole freaking section devoted to polls from all over. Pew Polls, Gallup Polls, Zogby, Fox, NBC and some folks named Rasmussen are all into asking the public what they think about this or about that. All of them can appear to ask the same questions, yet come up with dramatically different results. I may hate them and place no stock in them, then why do I have a whole folder devoted to them? Methinks I am full of shit when I get into my "Polls are stupid" thing. A little hypocrisy is endearing I am told. Well okay, I just made that up. Nobody ever told me that. But maybe they should. It would help with my self image.

I definitely do not let polls change my mind. Maybe that is why I hate them so much. More often than not, my take runs negative numbers with the citizens around me. So I find myself in an odd position this election. My guy is on top in the polls. I almost do not know how to act. Polls that finally indicate a tilt in the direction I have been on for the last 28 years. Polls that say America may be pulling it's collective head out of its collective ass. Damn, I hope so.

My favorite place to visit to hate polls is Real Clear Politics. They have a compilation of every poll out there you have ever heard of and many you haven't. Well, at least I haven't anyway. Looking at the Obama Polls, I notice that not one has Obama as losing at this point. Predictably CBS has him up by 12 points and just as predictably Fox has Obama up by only 3 points. But one thing is apparent. Even with the mysterious "Margin of Error" figured in, it seems that Obama is on top by 6.9 points on average. This should make me happy. I should be thrilled to see my man ahead like this. But I have no faith in any poll but the one coming up tomorrow.

Though I often feel that voting never changes anything, I will keep doing it on the premise that one day it just might make a difference. If we don't vote, it is a sure thing nothing will change. So please go to the polls and be part of the sample poll that really counts.

Tainted Logic - A Week Lost

My wife got it also. She was positive it was because one of her clients is a doctors office. But then I pointed out that we both had just been tossed into and mixed up with 125 other people in close quarters at Brian and Esther's nuptials last weekend. And that if she, my wife, wanted to to get into a who's bug was worse, well, seems miserable is being enjoyed by both of us in equal amounts. And BTW, misery does not love company.

My post about being locked up was some kind of prophetic or something. Or maybe a be careful what you wish for scenario. It's been six days and I still feel that shooting me might just be a kindness.

I did try to post something this past week. Never made it past a couple of sentences and then the swooshy ears and the five pound sledge inside my head would kick back into gear and finding the remote became impossible, never mind taking a thought from the beginning through to some sort of logical ending.

When I get sick, I tend to fixate. Being determined to not focus on the election, naturally I picked something close by just so I wouldn't wander too far off my manic reservation. All week I have been chewing on this damn Bail Out and Health care. All week I never got past:

Why the Hell should we be expected to bail out the financial boneheads? The government and the people are strapped for cash as it is. Our homes are worth less than our new cars. Any stocks we own are worth less than our used cars. The government is what Trillions in debt as it is. And we are getting tapped into for more. Then I hear the big three auto giants are gonna need some more jingle and they are lining up for more money to keep them afloat after already getting a bail out loan not too long ago. Yet Exxon/Mobil just posted their best quarter ever to the tune of 14 plus billion dollars. And I am sure all the other oil companies have had similar good times. Seems to me if they want to keep selling us oil to pump through our cars, they might just want to ensure there are more cars to pump oil through. Maybe Ford, Chrysler and GM ought to knock on Exxon's door for a loan. Maybe the Big Business that is doing okay ought to step up and carry some of the load for their loser Big Business buds. I know it makes no sense, but hey, when you are sick odd logic seems to make sense.

Then I thought what if (remember I am sick) all of us just dropped our health insurance at the same time. Then hit up hospitals and clinics for free medical coverage provided for all the folks who don't have insurance. Overwhelm the system. Be a pretty damn good and immediate point. They could bill us, but we could just look to Uncle Sam to print some more money and bail us out. All the leaders, Credit card companies, and loan sharks expect us to be responsible, to carry our weight and theirs also. But if they expect to be saved when they are irresponsible, why should we not be treated the same way. We should be rewarded for being deadbeats also. And while they are bailing me out, please add a couple of hundred grand to my bank account so I can give myself a deadbeat bonus at the end of the year. That would be a nice touch.

A fellow I know who has no insurance gets all his health care for free. Sure he has to jump through some hoops, but they don't seem to be worse than the convoluted ones my insurance has built into my health care. He has the advantage of not having to dish out $12,000/year and I bet his sleep apnia test was covered in full instead of promising to pay for all of it, but then reneging because of fine print buried deep in in the 300 pages of rules and regulations. Wouldn't it be a kick in the butt to watch the Health care Industry in this country have a fit if everyone coming in to see the doc said, "I can't pay". What would they do?

I am still here and will be back with hopefully more coherent words in the near future. And instead of deleting one more badly composed post, I am posting this one because well, it's time has come. Just some of the below delirium level trains of thought I had as I fell in and out of sleep between hacking my lungs up and using Kleenex by the box.

I must be getting better. This almost makes sense. Or I do have one foot in the grave and this is just the run up before the main feature with the tunnel, bright light, and hovering over the operating table looking down at myself.

Vote for Change or Continue the Hate?

I need to be locked up for the next 8 days. Away from TVs, radios, Internet surfing, and protected from any visage of signs proclaiming, "Elect Me, I am better". There is no way to say it is official, but should a doctor of many letters review my case, I am sure the diagnosis would be-

"This patient is manifesting signs of intense mania. Temporary seclusion and monitoring is strongly recommended."

When I started this blog, it was partially to get away from the intense hate and discontent of the political forums I used to hang in. My blog, I told myself, was to be a tropical resort free from political poison. I managed to keep it politics free for a couple of years. And then, like a drunk waking up in someones wine cellar, the Presidential Election has lured me back to the bottle.

I am indeed becoming angrier and angrier.

Of course I have no one to blame but myself and maybe Demeur. He turned me onto a recent letter from the Christian group "Focus on the Family Action" . They have written and circulated a letter entitled, "Letter from 2012 in Obama's America".

How it boils down - doom and gloom predictions of what will happen if we elect Obama. Christian fear mongering of a magnitude only extreme religious folk could come up with. Never mind that they are attempting to instill fear of a possible future not a future fact, it is as if they wish and hope it will play out this way. If only so they can sit content looking down their self righteous noses at us poor heathens and shake their fingers at us. "We told you so".

I'd get into specifics, but the letter is there to read and I won't bore you with the predictable analysis. Just say that should Obama get elected, Christianity will cease to exist in this country as we know it. Obama and the evil Democrats will make sure that gays will legally be able to run amok and ruin all the institutions held near dear to any decent Christian. Abortions will be available to anyone under the age of 3 and preaching God's word will be illegal outside the narrow confines of Sundays between the hours of 10 to Noon.

Okay, it is not that bad and I am embellishing the facts of the letter. But keeping in the spirit of the outrageous claims of the letter, I figured I would interpret as I imagined the letter would be taken by the faithful.

Never mind that Obama is a dedicated Christian. His faith is not something he has just picked up recently to worm his way into the hearts of those who believe. The letter takes care of this little snafu by indicating there are Good Christians and Bad Christians. As good as Obama may have started out with his strong faith, he is lost now because he is a Democrat. Folks, this letter exemplifies why we should never allow religion into our government.

What is it with this proclivity of many folks on the Right to be such complete insensitive assholes by pigeonholing everyone into "If you are with us, you are Good and True. If you are against us, you are Bad and most likely really Evil." This no grey zone mentality of the Right is in my opinion their biggest weakness. Come on. Most of us are not so stupid to think the character of a person is so clear cut. I will admit that many on the Left have the same tendency, but nowhere near to the degree it has surfaced on the Right. The Right has won the battle to own intolerance this election.

People like me who enthusiastically wander from one side to the other as the situation warrants have been turned off by the recent circling of the wagons by the Republicans. There was no need to do this. Had a more reasonable issue focused campaign been waged, the middle would still be more of a battle ground. Instead, the persecution complex manifested by the tactics of the McCain campaign have only driven people away. The base was not going anywhere. The loyal will remain loyal. But I know several locally who will be holding their nose when casting their vote for McCain.

The Politics of Hate have taken over on the Right while the Politics of Change have taken root on the Left. I do not know about you but I am tired of Hating. I am due for a little Change. And it seems that my displeasure with the partisan bickering is not going to be addressed. So, I am voting for Change and going with the only group I see headed in that direction.

Will it end in a socialistic culture that erects crosses in stadiums and hangs Christians from them every Sunday? I do not think so. Will this change mean the terrorists of the World will take over and bury us in pits up to our necks and throw rocks at us? I don't think so. But keep up this bickering internal stupidity and we will definitely have more problems than if we come together and present a united front.

We are all Americans. Right, Left, Middle, Religious, Atheist, White, Black and Brown. Who we sleep with and who we pray to is something we should be doing on our own time instead of being concerned with what or who our neighbors are doing on their own time. What we as Americans should be doing is creating and maintaining a culture that allows the many trips taken in this life to exist together with as little interference as possible. If we can do that, then I think we are living up to the ideals our forefathers set down for us in the beginning. Forcing others to our will is un-American. Inside or outside our borders.

Final Note - I have re-read this and decided that yes, I need to be locked away for the next 8 days. We will go on no matter what happens a week from tomorrow. The sky will not fall and I feel safe in saying the Rapture will not begin.

Suggestions from a Fake American

As I sit here in the outback of Fake America, I ponder the usefulness of trying to continue my fruitless effort at convincing Real America I am not a socialistic sexual deviant who thinks babies should be killed instead of being raised to become Real Americans. I can see now I am fooling no one. Pulling the wool over the eyes of those sharp as a tack minds found in Real America is an exercise in futility. They have my number. They have me pegged. I may as well admit it now.

I guess my subterfuge was really just a manifestation of my urge to belong. My deep and secret desire to be part of Real America. I know now I will never be a member of that exclusive club called "My Friends". As I gaze in envy and listen to the leader of Real America call his friends to action, I know I will not be part of it. And though it hurts to admit, I have to be honest with myself. I will never measure up.

But I guess once the pain has diminished, the reality of exclusion sinks in, and I accept who I really am, I will bounce back. Even Fake Americans like me have some worth. Not much maybe, but if enough of us pull together, we might be able to help Real America, by carrying their bags, washing their clothes, and bending over when the need for Real Americans to expunge those less than civil urges comes over them.

Though I know I am a fake and a fraud, you Real Americans own some of the blame. Your forefathers were less than specific when they did not break down the differences between Americans who were real and Americans who were fake. The Constitution is noticeably vague on this point. By design or by accident, your forefathers created the confusion we Fake Americans have to this day. I guess even a Real American can make a mistake. I never thought it possible. But there it is.

Maybe an update on the original document might be in order. A red asterisk placed next to any reference to Americans with a polite but blunt explanation at the bottom that explains your forefathers meant Real Americans when they wrote Americans or citizen, not the fake ones like me.

This won't help me. I had to discover my stigma the hard way. But making note of the differences in the Constitution now would certainly help any new Fake Americans coming up avoid the mistake of thinking they actually belong here in Real America. That but for the grace of God and Real Americans and their soft spot for us, we would most likely be shot or at the very least exported to Cuba or some other lefty leaning low rent country.

In addition to the asterisks, a brief "Real America Primer" might be a good idea to have tacked on in the back. A list of rules and regs that clearly spell out what it takes to be a Real American. Some suggestions -

~ If you live in a Blue state - You are not a Real American
This one should resolve the issue for most of the territory found within the US borders. It will quickly define the areas where you can possibly live as a Real American and where you can't.

~ If you make less than $250,000 per year, you are not a Real American
Again, this will quickly shift the numbers of Fake Americans who might live in Real America into the right category of being unpatriotic losers waiting for handouts from Real Americans.

~ If you don't go to church, specifically a Christian church, you are not a Real American
I'm sorry, but restricting admittance based on faith is not negotiable. It says so in the Bible.

~ If you are not a member of the Republican Party, you are not a Real American
And just joining will not ensure you become real, but it's worth a shot as long as the previous requirements have been met. A review board in your community will scrutinize your application. Provided you have met the base requirements, they will pass it up to regional headquarters. You may still belong to the Republican Party, but not as a Real Republican. You will be designated a RINO if this happens.

~If you have to ask what a RINO is - you definitely are not a Real American
It may be impossible for you to overcome this hurdle. Real Americans take a dim view of pretenders who can't even speak the lingo.

~ If You belong to a Union, you are not a Real American.
This is non-negotiable. Real Americans know that it was Jimmy Carter and the Unions that have ruined our economy and set the World against us. As a matter of fact, just having been a union member in your past excludes you forever from being a Real American. Rules are rules. Real Americans abide by them. Real Americans don't flirt with commies, socialists and other reprobates who are found throughout every union in this great country.

~If you have a Democrat or a homosexual in your family tree going back 5 generations, you are not a Real American.
In an attempt to keep the species of Real Americans pure and unblemished for future generations to come, this condition was installed in recent years. It is a known fact that Democrats are gay and prone to evil thoughts like sharing and stuff. According to the Falwell School of Creative Genetics, it has been determined that God created Democrats by fiddling with our gene pool. Boy doesn't the big guy have a sick sense of humor. Exhaustive study of the Bible and God's words found between the lines, have confirmed what many Real Americans knew from birth. Homosexuality is evil and only Democrats would choose to be evil.

So even though Real Americans know homosexuality is a choice, it is the Democratic gene that creates this urge to be a homosexual. And it takes at least 5 generations of breeding with Real Americans before the Democrat gene is expunged from your bloodline. Of course you have to find a Real American who will agree to exchange fluids. Sometimes around last call down to "Bubba's Old Glory Bar n Grill", a Real American can be located who is having a weak moment and will invite you home. But only if you are wearing a flag pin or a tee shirt that says "Bomb, Bomb, Bomb - Bomb, bomb Iran. Remember even Real Americans who are under the influence insist on keeping up appearances.

My list is most likely incomplete. It is after all, a list compiled by a Fake American who had to figure all this out on his own with the limiting IQ we Fake Americans are cursed with. Any help a Real American might want to bless me with to clear up misconceptions and/or add to the list would be most appreciated.

Remember when they say "God Bless America", what they really mean is "God Bless Real America". The rest of us can and will go to Hell.

Caretaker to Silent Machines

A friend/customer of mine has an odd job. It is odd in many ways.

His duties began on the floor of the old Goodall Woolen Mills when he graduated from high school thirty plus years ago. He came on after the beginning of the end that started When Burlington Mills shut down the recently purchased Goodall facility and moved the operation to warmer climes in the South. The mill was broken up as different owners from away exploited the space and the machinery to continue to produce textiles for the clothing industry. Just another piece of meat on the factory floor, my friend became the dedicated mill rat and worked his way to foreman or supervisor of one of the many departments that process raw wool into the fine fabrics America loved to wear, sleep under, and show off at church on Sunday.

The typically sad American scenario played out as the mill passed from foreign outfit to foreign outfit. With each sale, the levels of production dropped and the work force shrank. Through all these changes, my friend managed to hang on. His abilities and dedication always obvious to any new owner coming in.

Finally about ten years ago, the Mill was closed for good. Foreign competition had won. Employees were let go. Some machinery was moved out or consolidated into storage, and Mother Nature began her insistent assault on buildings left empty. Yet my friend is still there. The last soul still stirring daily in the empty shell of a once proud factory. He keeps the doors closed, the lights on, and a close eye on the place as it slowly decays and falls apart. Every day for over ten years, my friend has monitored this place. Not even taking a day off, he has been there when the Mill needed him. Cleaning up after vandals. Meeting mucky mucks who might just maybe take this fine space and turn it to production instead of gathering dust. Occasionally sweeping or cleaning up as a token effort against the insistent decomposition.

My friend took me on a walking tour of the mill a few weeks ago. It is so massive and spread out, we spent 4 hours and I am sure what I got was the quick tour. We walked past huge looms lined up and silent. We strolled through empty spaces once filled with machines that hummed 24/7. In the dye room, I saw the big vats that once handled tons of wool before it was woven into tweeds, mohair, and blankets for horses and human alike. The huge steam turbines that once powered everything are quiet now. The looms have stopped humming. I was impressed with the silence of this fact. Huge machines seem out of place unless they are running, making noise, vibrating the floors as they produce that which they were designed for. And here is 400,000 square feet of silence. Nothing but the echoes of us closing doors and stirring up dust. It was a sad walk. My friend walks it everyday. He is the last person who cares.

Dead Town, Part Three

Hick & Gravo

I worked myself out from under the Creep who had sprawled dead on top of me. Oddly, the infamous Creep stink did not make itself known. Then I looked at myself. I was a mess. I stunk to high heaven. That room I was held in must have been every bit as nasty as I imagined it. Having that room dark as a pocket may have been a lucky break after all.

I tried to locate where the cross bows had been fired from. No luck. I knew it was Gravo and probably Diddler or maybe that crazed Metal Head. Maybe all three. Gravo was fussy who went out with him. I knew how fussy. It took two months of solo hunting before Gravo even showed any interest in me. One day he just joined me for my regular tour. And even though he didn’t say much, I know taking out that Creep with my sling shot from 35 yards had to make an impression. The next day I found a tired but solid thirty aught six with a scope leaning into my locker. Gravo’s thirty Aught six. You could cut the envy with a knife when I showed up for muster the next morning with that rifle slung over my shoulder. I made sure I rubbed it in. Flaunted that rifle for a couple of weeks. Yeah, I’m the new guy. I’m better than you.

Out in the open with my hands still bound was not good. No matter where Gravo and friends were. Damn the dusky dark. I quickly scrambled up the alley and found a pile of rubble near the open street to take a peak. Looking around for anything to break my bonds, I came up empty. Okay, I would wait. Sit here and let Gravo and the boys find me.

Some ten minutes past. Starting to feel exposed with not much more than a few cinder blocks and some broken slabs of asphalt to blend in with, I turned back to the alley. Just then Metal Head came dropping out of the sky from the fire escape near the alley opening. He ran over to me.

“Did you see that last shot? Two of those suckers are mine. You didn’t take any ears yet did you? ”

I held up my bound hands and just looked at him. At my side an empty knife sheath hung. I was covered in slimy shit and must have looked as bad as I felt.

Metal Head drew up short and looked at me hard. “Uh I guess not”, was all he said.

He pulled out a tired old Leather Man multi tool from somewhere and motioned me to raise my hands. Seemed like forever before my hands were freed, but eventually the tired old tool won out over the ingenious Creep bindings made of what looked like old brake cables. It struck me that this binding was more than would be expected from minds supposedly toasted at birth. Odd.

A commotion up the street caught our attention and we both ducked down. Cautiously, I popped up to take a look. Coming at us full bore was Gravo. Gravo was no runner. His body was more suited to plodding than jogging. I was impressed with his speed though.

I turned to Metal Head, but he was already headed back up the alley. Either he was finding cover or the lure of 3 unclaimed ears was just too much to resist. Hiding here was no longer useful so I jumped up and ran to meet Gravo. He tossed me his handgun and we continued up the ruined street and into the alley after Metal head. Neither of us spoke. We were too busy using air to keep our legs moving as fast as possible. Gravo stopped, looked to the left and yanked me into an open doorway. Gravo said, “The creeps won’t follow right away. They’ll think about it first. You stay here for some cover and I’ll fetch that fool Metal Head.” He jumped out and I could hear his steps fade as he scurried across the cobblestones and debris in the alley.

I considered Gravo’s order and immediately disobeyed it. We were stronger as three than split up like this. I followed Gravo back up the alley and caught him just as he reached the three dead Creeps. Metal Head was just finishing up his trophy collecting and turned to show them off. There was glee and satisfaction in that grin of blackened teeth and split lips. He tried to hand Gravo one ear. “You keep it Head Man. I don’t get bounties anymore.”

“Gravo, there’s something inside here you need to see.” I tugged on his sleeve.

“What the Hell? I told you to cover us.”

“Gravo! Dammit, you need to come with me.” I headed back to the big forklift door and slid it open. I disappeared inside figuring Gravo would have to follow. I was right.

Dawn had given way to full sunlight and the broken skylights thirty feet up threw even more light on the cache of boxes, crates and shrink wrapped bundles. Gravo came in huffy, pissed that I was not following his lead. Twenty hurried steps in turned to more of a shuffling pirouette as he began to understand what he was seeing. He stopped.

“What’s this Hick?”

“Don’t know, but over there near that door are skids of what I think are bike boxes. Never been opened bike boxes.“

“This should not be here. The Creeps don’t do this. Where…….Jeez, “

Gravo sat on a shrink wrapped skid of some mysterious things and tried to get his mind around the treasure trove he was in the middle of. Metal Head hung antsy at the big door. He was not interested in boxes or skids. Such things made no dent in his one track mind. He wanted to head back. Head back now. Hanging here this deep into Creep land was keeping him from catching his daily buzz and the wonderful sleep that always followed.

Gravo stood up. “Let’s head. Big Boss is gonna want to know about this. And Hick, by the way, where are your weapons and your bike?”

“Gravo, I dunno. Everything went black hours ago. All I know is they pulled me out of that door there and dragged me out into the alley. You know the rest.”

Gravo just looked at me. He headed toward the door to the alley and turned back to take one more look. Metal Head slid the door closed behind us and we headed back towards the Barricades.

The hike back went quietly and without any run ins with Creeps. We did alter our course so we could backtrack to where I had been jumped. No weapons but we found my bike. In the middle of the street still intact except for that damn flat that started all this in motion. I grabbed the bike and we headed home.

Confessions of a Fence Sitter

Long ago I gave up concerning myself with what people called me. At various times I have been called a conservative and right wing loser, a stinkin gay lovin religion hatin liberal, a commie dope smokin hippie, and yes, even once or twice I have been labeled a socialist. Move over Barack. I have never been Left enough for some and no where far enough Right for many. I have two brothers and some dead uncles who feel that way.

Okay so fine. The way I look at it is this. If I am not fitting comfortably into anyone's box, I must be doing something right. If I am pissing off both sides at the same time, I must be doing something right. I do not think the answers to our problems or the definition of what and who we are can be defined by one side or the other. Relying on others to set the agenda for me just does not fit my personality. A platform created by leaders who lust after power can lead someone to supporting policy and direction that might not make them feel comfortable. Both sides play to the fears of their constituencies to keep them in power. I am a constituent who freely exercises his line item veto when picking and choosing my stand on things. I feel most workable solutions generally end up near the middle anyway, so why not start out there to begin with.

That has been my philosophy for the last 35 years or so. But I feel a change coming. I feel that as the Right attempts to save itself from itself, it is drifting ever further to the right and the scary fringes that exist there. They have taken the middle line and moved it. Their panic and mob mentality creating a new tipping point between the two sides. The same thing happened to the Left in the 1960s and 1970s.

This is what happens when a party allows minorities within it's ranks to dictate the message. What was once secular based conservatism has now been replaced with some mutated religo-expansionist drivel from a small group within the Republican party. It had to burn itself out. Apparently we are witnessing the beginning of the bonfire. Oh, this election may go their way, but their time in the Sun is coming to a close. Like the Democrats before them, a period of wound licking and self examination is in the works in the near future for the Republican Party. Any doubts I had about the pendulum beginning to swing have now been put to rest.

So now I guess I will have to get used to being called a right wing loser again.

And now a comment on the latest uptick in political stupidity.

Seems Joe Biden did what many thought he would. Good ole Joe. Put his mouth in gear before his speech writers and handlers could nurse his brain into start mode. So he says Barack will be tested, challenged within 6 months of becoming President. The media and the Right have pounced on this and are busily constructing a mountain out of what is not even a molehill. Viewing this as a kink in the armor of the massive and intimidating Obama machine, like flies who rush to any stink of interest, they are gleefully gathering around waiting to pick Joe and Obama clean.

Breaking out the quotes of Joe into soundbites that fit the interpretation they want to make money on or woo voters, I am reminded once again why I hate mainstream media. I expect that the McCain campaign would seize this opportunity. Standard campaigning 101. If they did not make a big deal of it, they are missing a golden opportunity. One handed them for free by the other side.

But the media jumping all over it and selectively editing and then analyzing the comment as if there was no follow up punch line proves to me the "liberal bias" so many people believe runs the networks is bullshit. The media is in the business of selling copy, and exploiting perceived weakness in anyone is a surefire way to do that.

They focus on this:
“Watch, we’re gonna have an international crisis, a generated crisis, to test the mettle of this guy," Biden said. "And he’s gonna have to make some really tough -- I don’t know what the decision’s gonna be, but I promise you it will occur. As a student of history and having served with seven presidents, I guarantee you, it’s gonna happen.”

But down play the zinger at the end:
“They're going to want to test him, just like they did young John Kennedy,” he said Saturday night in San Francisco.” They're going to want to test him. And they're going to find out this guy's got steel in his spine.”

Every president is tested by our international "buddies". They will want to know how stiff his backbone is. Every president has their 9/11. Some handle them well, and others like our current president don't. Should McCain become president, he will be tested also. So I have to ask myself this question - Who do I want at the controls? A vindictive man who has proven to fly off the handle at the drop of a hat and will say and do things he must later regret? Or do I want a man who has proven over the last two years to be a focused man of steady and deliberate temperament guiding us through the next big crisis?

In this decision, their respective ages mean nothing. Neither one is wet behind the ears. Both have long ago established the make up of their individual characters. I have to go with the deliberate candidate. The candidate who I feel will put anger away for the sake of this country. I have to vote for the man I think will best handle what is coming at us. There is no doubt in my mind that man is Barack Obama.

Voting a Straight Ticket - An Unusual First

Demeur commented in my last post about my Independent ways. He was responding to my mistrust of either party>

".......This is not like Canada where parties must negotia(t)e for power. This is a strict two party system. I could be more objective if not all the power had not shifted to one party. As the saying goes absolute power corrupts and we are witnessing that now on a big scale. Yes I realize that the Dems could do the same things should they have as much. But can you stand back and be a mere spectator to the destruction that will affect you in a very large way?"

I am not sure if this is a rebuke or not. But his point is well taken. The Republicans need to be taken down more than a few notches. The party faithful should hang their heads in shame over the sleaze and nasty tactics their leadership has decided to use. Add in the fact that most if not all their policies from domestic to foreign to economic have left us worse off than we were 8 years ago and it is grossly apparent they have no clue how to govern. Just how to hold onto power.

My problem is, I have been looking for them to slip and fall ever since 1980. Ronnie ruined that party for me. Yet I saw little of any worth on the other side of the aisle. The Democrats had no answer nor did they seem that interested in going on the attack. Even though I voted for them, the last two Democratic Presidential candidates underwhelmed me with their lack of leadership and luke warm efforts in the face of bulldog campaigning by the Republicans. They obviously did not deserve to win. They did not want it enough.

As the years turned into one decade, then two, and are now closing in on a third, I have finally found a candidate I can be enthusiastic about. And he is not a Republican. I have also decided that this year I will withhold my vote from any Republican I can. Just a small punishment on my part to let them know, their party is out of touch and without a clue. I have never done that before. There are many good people running who are Republican. But they get squat from me this time. They do not deserve my vote because of the poison they have allowed to ruin their party.

I know voting for anyone besides a Republican is not ensuring I will get the best candidate elected. This election for me is not just about who will govern the best, but who needs to be spanked. The Republicans need a good thrashing. They need to re-examine their priorities, their platform, and their conscience. What they have been supporting the last 28 years is a sad petty selfish group of leaders who have proven they could care less about anything except staying in power and keeping their high end buds comfortable and the money flowing, but not in our direction. I hope for a sound beating across the board. Solid Democratic majority in both houses and Barack sitting in the White House. The time has come for a changing of the guard.

But I still do not trust the Democrats. They have proven they too can become full of themselves and end up strutting instead of governing with some common sense. Hopefully lessons have been learned since Newt led the Republicans as they took over Congress starting in 1994 with "The Contract with America" and then the White House in 2000. The Democratic leadership needs to approach things with more caution and not get lost in issues that have little or nothing to do with meat and potatoes issues. Energy, Economy, Healthcare, Education, Foreign Policy and our infrastructure should be their priorities. This country needs better than what the Republicans have given us. I wish the Democrats luck. For this election, I am in their corner. But I will be watching. Get it right this time.

An Observation Caught in Passing

Just a quickie today.

I forget where I saw it, read it, heard it, or caught it accidentally while telepathically eavesdropping on some brain to brain communique not meant for public consumption. But someone was opining about this recent Bail Out and made what I considered an interesting observation. An observation I keep finding with it's hand up inside the ole cranial void. The damn observation is so insistent, I will now share it with you so I can go back to being an apathetic knuckle draggin mouth breather and get it off my back.

It goes something like this. Or that. You pick.

The core conservatives (I hate sullying that time honored name by attributing it to what passes now for conservatism, but hey in the name of expediency...) Anyway the so called conservatives (read John McCain and his bud Dubya)are all about not sharing the wealth through government means. They want us to earn it ourselves and be proud of that. Somehow, government handouts to us poor slobs denigrates our soul and brings a blanket of mass self loathing down upon the shoulders of this proud and great nation. Okay, fine. Seems straight forward.

They want government to stay out of our lives they say. Okay, again fine. I appreciate their efforts on my behalf and the 95% of the country making less than what? $250 K? They say to put us all on the dole or to steal from some to give to others is another step in that evil spiral down into the depths of Socialist Hell. Okay fine, I can see their point. If everyone had the same amount of money in their pocket, that would be just awful.

So back to the observation. Got a tad side tracked there. Sorry.

They (the so called conservatives) want to protect us from socialism. Noble as it is for them to be looking out for me, I wonder then why are they introducing Socialism into the community of the 5 per-centers at the top of the economic heap? If Socialism is bad for us low lifes at the bottom, why is it good for the folks wearing Gucci shoes and sporting $20,000 face lifts? I mean come on. Is not the 700 billion dollars handed out recently just another step in that evil spiral down into the depths of socialistic Hell?

I thought about this some. I thought about it some more. I tried to put myself in their wingtips and see it from their point of view. And yeah, I guess it is indeed tough when you see next year's 16 million dollar golden parachute disappear like it never existed. I can sympathize with them knowing that without the government welfare, their limo might not be detailed as often. And why should some of the captains of industry and finance suffer when some of their buds skate? Fair is fair.

My only concern here though is this. Socialism seems to work on the idea that everyone in a set group contributes to the welfare of all in the set group. One for all and all for one. If the 5 per-centers want their socialistic pie, shouldn't their captains of industry and high finance buds foot the bill? Why is my pocket being picked? If they want to be low down stinkin socialist pinko bastards, let them pay their own way. To each his own and all that. But I don't want to pay for the lifestyle of another. Unless of course they want to give me 700 billion dollars also. That might just alter my opinion some.