The Enemy is Us

It bothers me we humans waste so much time, money and focus on the petty, the "never should have been a problem" problems, all the while ignoring or worse, denying the more than likely Humanity Ending calamities heading our way.

Maybe there is nothing we can do about the climatic tragedies, the over grazing, and out of control polluting. But then maybe we can. To not try harder to mitigate the upcoming damage is giving up. Status quo token efforts just won't do. We either go all in with our attempts to save what we have or we are done. It is no longer if, but when. The window to affect any change is closing at a faster rate than ever before. 

What do humans focus on while they exploit the planet to the point when the planet can no longer support our stupidity?  Their focus is on what can they buy that will help them stay erect, what can erase those lines etched in their faces and surely losing one's hair is more of a crisis than watching a desert grow where trees once stood. 

Based on our self-infatuated lifestyles, we know there are more important issues than saving the Race. Besides, we have plenty of time. And BTW, short term goals always upstage long term planning. Living for now is so much more important and easier than living with our children's futures in mind. Leave them lots of money if we can, the only plan. Besides the price we might pay for our efforts now will probably be painful. And we all know pain sucks. And besides, we have plenty of time.

The politics of saving ourselves should not be complicated. The problem is not complicated; the solutions are. Yet, the opposing sides of this issue would rather waste their energies pissing on each other's feet than pulling together to meet the biggest challenge we will ever face. 

One side wants to continue our reliance on old polluting technologies and keep their heads shoved up deep into their respective asses using denials and yo momma, fuck you, we don't care policies. Their opposites wring their hands and while supporting efforts to change, their worries about the inconveniences and disruptions to their pampered lives make them hesitant. And besides, there's plenty of time left.

Pointing fingers at everyone else without calling out my own planet saving efforts or lack thereof would be disingenuous. And while I often get on my high horse and look down my nose at the careless and ignorant people who have no clue or feel no need, no obligation to help us save ourselves, .... I have some cred, but I could and should do more, give more, and put a bigger dent in my personal carbon footprint. There is always room for improvement.

Is there plenty of time left? .......................... We'll see.

Keep it 'tween the ditches ........................................

<><><><><><><><><><><><>

The song for the post I found well before I finished writing the post. I was listening to a YouTube Blues compilation. I think the song is a cover of Lightening Hopkins, "One Eyed Woman". It is performed by Gary BB Coleman who used to back up Hopkins near the end of his career. Pour yourself a shot or two of sour mash before you punch it up.

 

Poor Man's Cafe Mocha

When I was young and numb, caution was not something I practiced when abusing drugs. I often "over medicated" and was then left to deal with unconsciousness or at the least incoherence. There are sizable blank moments in the replays that flit through my mind of those substance abusing days in the 1960's and 1970's. If one hit of LSD was fun, two hits the next time had to be better.  

To be fair to the hallucinogens I ingested back in the day, I never had a bad trip. I had a few unpleasant trips, but never any "wrap me up in a strait jacket" kind of trips. I will say though, tripping while baby sitting Snake's great grandmother as she muttered in her coffin came close to putting me over the edge. Thankfully, Snake and I only had to sit with her for a couple of hours. We had been tasked with sitting with her longer, but we were caught having too much fun when a more somber and respectful temperament was indicated. It is very hard to keep a straight face in a crowd of funeral attendees.

I wish I could remember the conversation I had with her, but well, I don't. 

Okay it's 50 years later now and it is apparent I survived. How many brain cells I brought with me is open to question, but around age 30, I began to gear it down with the drugs and alcohol to a point where joining the Human Race was all I had left. All in all, these many years of being quasi-sane have been a hoot. But there are moments I .................... Well, there are times I have fond memories of being stupid.

Since I am retired  now, I don't have to be a responsible adult 24/7 anymore. I can and have mastered the art of doing nothing and being okay with it. Problem is, one of the more aggravating realities of being older is my proclivity to fall asleep at inopportune moments. I can have three coffees in me and if I sit for more than 15 minutes, I might settle into a full mouth open snore. Of course half of the fat joint I toked with those three coffees might bear some of the responsibility.

If I was a logical man, a man of common sense like I was when I found sanity enough to raise a family, own a business and walk and chew gum at the same time, I would cut out the joint or at least only take a few tokes. But why settle for a light buzz when a couch locking buzz from half that joint .......... remember the abusing rule,  if one hit is good, two must be better. So it goes for tokes also.

One morning as I sat with my first coffee, I looked at the doob I had rolled to kick off my day. I decided to forgo the joint and just drink the coffee. A caffeinated pot buzz was great, but hey fella, take a fuckin break. Just coffee this morning.  The result -My usual three cups with no joint and I still fell asleep on the couch before 1:00 PM. I only sat down for a moment. At least that was my intention.

Cutting out my "wake and bake" doober did not increase my chance of making it too late afternoon without a nap. What to do? For the next week or so as I returned to my daily dose of cannabis and coffee, I pondered how I could beat this old fart fatigue routine I had fallen into. 

Yesterday, I sat at the kitchen table finishing my first coffee. I looked across the table to the set in nook that has become a catch all for some of the bits and pieces accumulated over time. There, among the flotsam and jetsam, I noticed the box of caffeinated chocolate pieces my wife keeps around to take to her office. She is having some trouble with fatigue also. These chocolate pieces are called "Awake". We have tried several different brands, but Awake pieces are the tastiest and most effective ones we have come across. 

Up until yesterday I had left them mostly alone as they were for my wife and they are also too easy to eat. Eating just one is almost as hard as eating just one potato chip. They are some tasty and will wind me up if I eat more than a couple.

A Eureka moment slowly developed before my eyes as I sipped my coffee and looked at the box of caffeinated chocolate pieces.  What would it taste like if I plopped one of the "Awake" pieces in a coffee cup, poured in the coffee, tossed in some sugar and over did the cream? Would that be akin to anything I could get at Starbucks? I did not know the answer. I have only been in a Starbucks a few times in my life. But I asked myself anyway.

As it turns out, my Poor Man's Cafe Mocha  is a sensational hit. Yesterday I didn't snooze until after supper. And today so far, I'm still wide eyed and bushy tailed, and its closing in on two o'clock in the PM. I think I may just fix myself another for the Bills/ Bengal game coming up at three. 

I had remembered the lesson from my  LSD days ........ If one hit is a good trip, two hits must be an even better trip.

Keep it 'tween the ditches ....................................

___________________________

A song about coffee is what I was looking for. The first song I came across was, "The Coffee Song", as only Frank Sinatra could sing it. It is a real toe tappin, swingin jazz tune. You're welcome!

A Conversation at the Kitchen Table

Not sure why I did not post this back on Dec. 13, 2011 when I originally wrote it. I didn't and so it goes. I did save it I guess so I could find it later; like a written time capsule of sorts. Here we are eleven years later and Life is still "Same Shit, Different Day". 

I was reading old blog posts about this and that.  For some reason focusing on angry political posts did nothing for me.  Some pissed me off.  Others I agreed with.  I gave my usual responses, but without my normal level of righteous indignation. A few caused me to stop for a second and really ask myself how I felt instead of kicking it into automatic knee jerker mode and ripping off a few hundred angry words.

The past few years have found me wondering why I see political situations in certain ways.  I ask myself if I had the strength of backbone to actually be the one who decides an outcome or direction to resolve one of the million, Ka jillion problems facing us at any given moment.  In that I have an over blown trust in my ability to handle what comes at me, I thought I could.

Ten seconds into this self induced ego boost, I realized I had no clue whether I had the intelligence to first of all, make a good decision, or second of all, the discipline to follow through with it.  My life has been sprinkled with moments of grand failure to perform as advertised.  Trying to not beat myself up and not end up in a weeping pile of crippling disappointment, I did not look very hard.  Still, some glaring moments of falling well short of the goal line still jumped off the index card I keep in my mind just for nostalgic moments like this.

I was about to fall into one of my loser, nobody likes me, I'm going to eat some worms routines and work hard to create for myself a lousy day.  My lovely wife and a conversation not three weeks earlier crossed my mind.  Suddenly all was right with the world.  Instantly my spirits were lifted as I replayed our brief encounter.

She was sitting at the kitchen table when I came home from the bike shop.  I had been beaten up several times that day by disappointment, frustration, and failure to have the right answer when the phone rang.  Nothing had gone right that day.

"Hey"

My wife stopped eating.  "Hey Yourself".  She looked at me.  "What's wrong?"

What is it with women; they can pull from the word "Hey" that something is wrong?  

"Uh, well, I had a shitty day at the shop.  Everything I touched turned to shit.  I feel like such a loser."

She dropped her fork on her plate, turned slightly in her chair and stared at me.  I wasn't sure, but was that the beginnings of a gleam in her eye or was she..........

"You are a loser.  But buck up.  You aren't as big a loser as you were this time last year."

She picked up her fork and shoved it under a piece of pot roast that had been basking in well cooked juices.  She took a bite and smiled at me.

When she's right, she's right.  That is what I am - not as big a loser as I could be or have been.  

It was indeed a good day after all.

Keep it 'tween the ditches ................................

__________________________

The music accompaniment for this post has to be " Loser " by Beck. 

Does He Eat Dogs?

Vlad the Invader has decided to once again bully his way into Ukraine. Why should America even care?  That is what many Winger pundits are asking. 

Tucker Carlson has indicated that the collective we, who make up the American public, have been trained to hate Putin. Two days ago on Fox News he asked:

"........ since it is getting pretty serious: What is this really about? Why do I hate Putin so much? Has Putin ever called me a racist? Has he threatened to get me fired for disagreeing with him? Has he shipped every middle-class job in my town to Russia. Did he manufacture a worldwide pandemic that wrecked my business and kept me indoors for two years? Is he teaching my children to embrace racial discrimination? Is he making fentanyl? Is he trying to snuff out Christianity? Does he eat dogs?" 

Tucker is a smart guy who never crosses the line between reality and fantasy. His evening diatribes are always well thought out and the charges he makes against those awful Democrats are always spot on. .......... Right?

Yes, his questions might seem reasonable to his target audience. 

But as usual, he uses a classic distraction of comparing apples to oranges and managing once again to not make sense at the same time. What a stupid man some people look up to.

His point however about why we should not care is interesting. 

Sitting here 5000 miles or so away from the Russian invasion in a country most of us will never be able to identify without help, why should we get our panties in a bunch over this? For me, the half ass student of history that I am, well, I find it amazing that we even have to have a conversation over why it matters that Vlad has invaded another country. 

Yeah, we have our own problems. Every one has problems. We are tired of being the World's cop. ... Blah, blah, blah. 

Focusing solely on our own internal issues only allows the external problems blowing up outside our borders to mutate into situations we might be forced to confront with more aggression than if we addressed them in the beginning or better yet preemptively. 

Certainly "not caring" about what happens in Ukraine is short sighted and stupid. But that is what the Wingers want. They strive hard to keep us stupid every day with their non-stop line of anti American Bull Shit. And who better to hold up as someone to admire than Vlad the Invader.? And who better than Tucker to fill us up with the lies?

Joe Biden may or may not deserve the initial criticism he is shouldering. Personally, I am holding my own opinion for awhile to see how his sanctions and troop movements play out. I am puzzled that his sanctions hit three of Putin's buddies in the Russo-oligarch club, but so far it appears Biden has not gone after Putin personally. 

The Right falsely infuses everything they do, say, and wear with empty Patriotism. From the lapel pins to their draping themselves in the flag every moment of every day is just plain bullshit. Sadly, Tucker's target audience does not see through the bullshit. They just see the flag their GOP idols disrespect almost every time they open their mouths. It's no wonder they suck up the admiration their leaders have shown for Vlad the Invader.

Regardless, I am not helping Russia by tacitly condoning their occupation with mealy mouthed sentiments or the outright admiration shown by many leaders of the Right. Foreign policy is a board game we need to attack with a united front. The Right does not care. They only care about defeating the Democrats. And if rooting for another country to undermine a current President's efforts to find peace works in their favor; so be it. After Jan 6 this is nowhere near as serious. Fuck America, right Tucker?

Problem is, their strategy is most likely to take us all down leaving a shit pile for them to lord over.

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

_____________________________

"War Pigs" by Black Sabbath was going to be the tune for today's post. Then I googled "Anti-Russian music". This tune is called "Putin Khuylo" (Putin is a Dickhead). It emerged around 2010, was used during Russia's incursion in 2014. Russian tight asses have done their best to bury this worldwide trend and have been unsuccessful. This is but one version of many.

Down With the Sickness

I am feeling a serious and deep disconnect between the country I grew up in and the country I currently exist in. From what I gather listening to the Media industry, I am not alone. 

It does not matter which side of the aisle one hails from. It does not matter if one is a Boomer, Gen X, Millennial, Gen Z, or the latest new generation coming into their own in the next 10 years. It does not matter if one is religious, an Atheist or something in between.  And it matters not what race or ethnic origin we are. A general disillusionment with this country has us all by our mutual short hairs. 

A sizable percentage of citizens in this country are pissed off about something.

Human nature being what it is, most Americans are looking to find and are finding convenient scapegoats for why life here is so screwed up. It's not our fault, it's someone else's. I am no different I guess. I have my convenient scapegoats also.

Since the January 6 insurrection, I have cut back on my fiery rhetoric. I did this on purpose hoping to jettison some of the hate and discontent that has accumulated over the last twenty years. I hoped to find some civil equilibrium when dealing with idiots, uh, I mean, folks I disagree with. 

I have been somewhat successful in finding some conversational balance. I have yet to see any progress in my efforts to pry loose the entrenched hate and discontent rooted hard into my brain pan. Every day the idiots, uh I mean,  the folks I disagree with come up with a new button to push and I have all I can do to just smile and hold my tongue.

But holding my tongue is the first step in moving on to more fruitful interactions with the idiots, uh I mean the folks I disagree with. Facing off with someone who is as angry as I have been these past many years is an exercise in futility. I see that now. I understand that now. I am working on it, this stepping back from the edge thing. But it is so much easier and satisfying to fly off the handle than to remain calm in the face of observed stupidity.

This post was originally to be about the hypocrisy of the Right. Specifically their constant harping that the Left is the cancel culture. ......... 

But I reached the fork in the road where one split takes me down the dark road of angry words and the other takes me down the path that reminds me none of this shit matters in the long run. We either get our act together or we don't.

To that end I will continue to battle my inner demons who want me to rhetorically demolish idiots, uh I mean anyone who disagrees with me. Wish me luck.

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

________________________________

For this post I picked Disturbed and their take on losing anger, "Down with the Sickness" 

Paradise Revisited

Over the past several months I have not listened to "Paradise" by John Prine. Every time I tried to listen to John after he died, I would tear up. So I put his music on the bench for the foreseeable future.

This morning I was ripping a Nitty Gritty live album that featured acoustic Country and Blue Grass music from my past. Jerry Jeff Walker, Allison Krauss, Jackson Browne, John Prine and others joined the Nitty Gritty Band and rocked the house somewhere in front of some very lucky fans. And thankfully NPR taped it.

If I had remembered John Prine was on the CD, I might not have listened; just ripped it and walked away. But it caught me listening and I could not not listen. And yea dammit, I teared up one more time. 

Midway through the song though I realized around the second refrain or so it was not John's untimely death that made me turn on the tears now. It was images of strip mines, dead cities of the Rust Belt and Smog hovering over Los Angeles that created the deep sadness in my mind. The song just sparked my sadness. What are we doing to ourselves?

"And daddy won't you take me back to Muhlenberg County
Down by the Green River where Paradise lay
Well, I'm sorry my son, but you're too late in asking
Mister Peabody's coal train has hauled it away"

I am a card carrying member of the Boomer generation. My peers were instrumental in establishing the "Save the Planet" campaign sixty plus years ago that still chugs along today. While our efforts have been less than the success we had envisioned so many years ago, I cannot imagine where the collective we would be now without those early efforts. For my own sanity, I have to believe we helped even if it may not have been enough in the long run. 

Are we doing enough now? Or is it too little too late. 

Time and the planet will be sure to let us know. Bet on it.

Keep it 'tween the ditches ................................... 

God & Government

Tina commented this morning on Facebook. Her comment was a reaction to the new Anti-Abortion, Pro-Birther law passed recently in Texas. She wrote:

"Different hats, same goal, the Taliban have taken over Texas."

Hmm.

This is what happens when religious extremism mingles with politics. And while the Christian Evangelicals will cry unfair, not true, and become righteously indignant at being compared to suicide bombing losers from a religion they hate, there is credibility in the claim that the two religions at their core are not that far apart. And it is ironic that they do not see that they agree more than they disagree. But such is the nature of the average fanatic.

Abortion long ago stopped being about abortion and some false claim of protecting the sanctity of Life. Abortion is the spear that leads the charge of the Dominionists of White Christianity to force theocratic law into our everyday lives. The movement has had legs as long as there has been Christianity. Its influence has peaked and cratered at various times over the last two millennia. At this point it seems to be growing within the ranks of existing White Christians while at the same time White Christianity membership has shrunk from its super majority of 80% in 1976 to a new stable population of 44%. There are less of them overall, but the ones left are certainly an angry and dedicated bunch.

This scary supposition by an avowed Dominionist is replicated in various ways in articles and books by most of the Dominion advocates. If we are not believers, we have neither the intellect nor the moral right to govern ourselves. We need God to show us the way.

Again, like abortion, the Dominionists are just using Biblical interpretations they made up to hide their true intentions. They lurk behind a facade of religious ooga booga fire and brimstone gobbledygook they may or may not believe themselves. Their quest is to gain power and wield it without any question. It is that simple. 

Combine this new twist in Texas, all the other abortion twists in other states, the assault on voting rights and it seems we are headed to becoming a country ruled by a tyrannical white minority who use religion to hide their true intentions.

Be wary of all politicians, but be really afraid of those politicians who wield their Bibles in public. They do mean us harm.

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

Factory Defects

On Facebook this morning I ran across the image to the right. My usual routine is to read a comment or two before moving on with the more important duty of finding something truly deserving to be righteously indignant about.

This comment from Daryl caught my eye:

" Without it we cannot think, ........ "

Daryl was right of course. At first I felt a twinge of annoyance at the fact he felt it necessary to point out the obvious.  

My response were the first words that came to me after my knee jerked:

"Apparently there are many of us walking around with it either not installed or not turned on."

I would not normally share the off the cuff remarks I made on some social media site, but my words stuck with me. 

This meme helped me find some clarity regarding the current period of rampant stupidity that has apparently befallen the Human Race. I decided four decades ago that while technology was always going to innovate, the Human Species was not.  We were trapped in an evil spiral of devolution which has created a revolving scenario that causes us to make the same mistakes time and time again.

And now finally, I know why. We are re-populating the species with factory defects. Many are being born with no brains installed or the brains installed are not turned on before deployment. Either way means disaster unless headquarters gets it shit together. Time is running out.

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

Arguing With Myself

Earlier today I was mousing my way down Facebook Lane and not paying much attention to the meme's that passed by.  I must  have been distracted or just deep into my FB Daze earlier than usual.  Suddenly I stopped my scrolling.  It dawned on me that it was nothing but muscle memory that had me wandering aimlessly around Facebook at 5:30 in the morning.

I began to internalize and an argument with myself broke out about me always being sucked into useless endeavors that had no real importance in the scheme that was my life.  Yeah, I began to give myself Hell. Then, totally out of character for me, I stopped arguing with myself.  I realized, not only was I deep into another round of useless mental masturbation, now I wanted to argue with myself the merits of said useless endeavor.

"Screw this, I'm taking Maggie over to Mary's Woods, sparkin up a doob while I stretch our legs and forget Facebook even exists, if only for a brief moment or two."

Smart choice.  Wake n Bake to the rescue again.

He Walked the Walk

As part of my coming to grips with the racism in my past, I remember when Muhammad Ali refused to be inducted into the Army.

I was just a kid of 14 or 15 who echoed the hateful admonishments of the White people in my small circle. We called him a traitor. We said he was just another uppity N****. We hurled all sorts of insults at a man who had more balls than the whole American White Race combined. He stood against the Vietnam war and stood tall for his race. And we punished him for it. I am so sad I had any part in that.

Years later, I came to admire Ali. I came to look past his bluster and tried to understand where he was coming from. Ali, Malcolm X, and the Rev. King became my trusted teachers of how to treat all men, not just a chosen few.

__________________________________

A Facebook posting about his arrest for refusing to be drafted inspired the above BoZone post.  

Ali is quoted in the post:

“I ain’t draft dodging. I ain’t burning no flag. I ain’t running to Canada. I’m staying right here. You want to send me to jail? Fine, you go right ahead. I’ve been in jail for 400 years. I could be there for 4 or 5 more, but I ain’t going no 10,000 miles to help murder and kill other poor people. If I want to die, I’ll die right here, right now, fightin’ you, if I want to die. You my enemy, not no Chinese, no Vietcong, no Japanese. You my opposer when I want freedom. You my opposer when I want justice. You my opposer when I want equality. Want me to go somewhere and fight for you? You won’t even stand up for me right here in America, for my rights and my religious beliefs. You won’t even stand up for my right here at home". 

Word !

A man worthy of admiration by all of us.

Later Gator ................................................................

Brainwashed Culture

The following  is a post I placed on my Facebook page.  A Facebook bud from Texas decided to ignore its thrust and attempt to criticize me for criticizing my own race.  Not sure he meant it, but he completely lost my point when he posted a silly image in the comment section.

My post ran like this....

"The years under my belt have turned me into a cynic. The trend of White Exceptionalism has taken many hits over the years and yet it is still with us, buried even deeper within the systems White Folks created to mask its existence.

Every decade or so minority anger has flared up. White platitudes and empty promises of reform only amounted to the echoes of those promises blowing out to sea.

When I am wearing my cynic's jacket I often wonder why we should consider this time any different. Promises spewed from the lips of our leaders have never lived up to their hype.

But then my anger at leadership's inability to bring about real change diminishes and I become hopeful once more that maybe this time it will be different.

Hope does indeed spring eternal. I am proof of that."

I was saddened to realize that not only did he not get my point, his focus on race pride was even more disturbing.  My message being lost as he knee jerked himself to defend the "White Race" told me many of us White Folks are being deliberately and willfully ignorant.

Unless someone reminds me, accuses me, or I look in a mirror, I rarely think of myself as a member of any race.  My racial curse or my racial blessing means less than nothing to me.  And until it means nothing to everyone else on the planet, no matter their race, religion or ethnic ancestry, this country, this world will continue on its way as a crippled species that cannot get out of its own way.

Hate the haters, don't hate the victims ................................. Later Gators.

Panic in the Pucker

I was confident I had not gotten sucked into the over the top panic that has our country and the World by the short hairs. I was sure I was being cool and aloof, totally resistant to the out of control anxiety sweeping the land.  Then I saw a Facebook post from a local creamery that offered five pounds of butter for $20. That's all it took for me to become " that guy ", the guy who throws common sense out the window and drive miles to score something he may not now need, but will surely need in his not too distant future.

The offer was simple enough.  Drive 30 miles to the creamery on Sunday noonish and between the hours of 1:00 and 2:00 PM , the nice folks there will give me a five pound bucket of lightly salted butter for $20, cash only, thank you very much.

A no brainer, right?  What could go wrong?  Polite civilized folks coagulating under the bright afternoon Sun would be surely be a pleasant encounter.  And who knows, new friends might be found.  The problem, as it turned out, was the creamery and myself did not consider that panicked folks are not prone to being sensible or pleasant at any given moment.

So happy as if I had a brain, I gathered up Maggie and we headed to Arundel, Maine.  All the way there I congratulated myself on getting over on the system.  Yeah, I was full of myself until I rounded the last sweeping curve on Rte. 111 before the creamery and was stopped dead in my tracks.  300 yards up at the creamery entrance, east and westbound traffic was at a standstill. Bumper to Bumper as far as the eye could see.   Rte 111, a crucial east-west artery in our parts, was clogged hard.  All in the name of butter.

I immediately came out of my panic driven haze and said, "To Hell with this.  I want no part of it."  And I performed the perfect 3 point turn around and headed the 30 miles back from whence I came.

Oddly I did not berate myself.  Usual stupidity on my part is followed by several moments of self flagellation and colorful recriminations.  Instead, as I was on the road, I parked self abuse for future fun and games.  I decided to stop off at Hannaford's, a regional supermarket chain, on my way home.  Just a short detour. I wanted to verify that the empty shelves I saw on Saturday were still empty on Sunday.

Imagine my delight when I walked into a store that had seriously re-stocked.  There was still no toilet paper, Kleenex, or disinfectant wipes, but I picked up bread, canned beans, lots of fresh chicken, and last but not least, 4 pounds of butter in a cold case that on Saturday was barren.  As it turned out, I found 90% of what was on the shopping list.  It dawned on me as I put butter in my cart, my panic driven 60 mile quest for butter was a fool's errand that emphasized the need to remain calm when all others have lost their shit.

Keep it 'tween the ditches ...........................................

Covington

I have a direct connection to Covington, Kentucky.  It is a connection that draws me back to an incident from 1978 at the Cincinnati Airport which is not located in Cincinnati, Ohio but located across the Ohio River in Covington.  I did not wonder then, but I do wonder now just how my treatment at the hands of so many state cops would have turned out had I been Black.

Upon arriving by air after 7 days in the Oakland County Jail north of Detroit, Michigan, I headed directly for the first airport bar I saw.  At age 26, seven days without a drink was inhumane torture.  I proceeded to and was successful in getting blotto in about twenty minutes.  Once blotto, as was my custom, I blacked out and well, it took 5 or 6 state cops to haul me off to jail.

My first memory upon consciousness the next morning was "Damn, my face really hurts."  My second memory was ,"Where the Hell is my Peter Bilt hat?"  I loved that hat.

Someone in the dark and dingy flat bar and old stone cell said, "He's awake." I sensed several bodies sliding up to my bunk. "Now you ain't causin no trouble this morning are you?  We ain't had breakfast yet."

I peered out of the one eye not shut from impact and said something to the effect that no, I was not going to cause any trouble. "Good".  And then a fellow wearing my Peter Bilt hat slid into the dim light and grinned a minimally toothy grin.   He looked me over and said, "You're alright.  You did give the cops and then us a damn good struggle though.  Kept saying you did not want to go back to jail"  He paused and really grinned,  "You'll like the breakfasts.  They set a good table here in Covington."

The thought of food made my mouth water.  I had not eaten in 24 hours since that cheese and bread sandwich at the Oakland County jail before I was released.  Being ravenous made the few moments before the breakfast cart showed seem like an eternity.  I was extremely disappointed when on the heels of the chow cart, a guard came in and hollered my name.  "Okay Mack-Rum, you're up first."

So without any food and a stomach full of alcohol infused bile, I was led in handcuffs to the courthouse which was conveniently located in the same building as the jail.  The pain in my head and the churning building in my stomach created a beautiful moment of projectile vomit that I was able to divert from hitting the nice cop who escorted me.  It hit the wall on the stairs and we continued up.  I remember so well the look of disgust on his face.

Once in the court room, my handcuffs were taken off and I was told to stand up.  The stern looking elderly gentleman behind the bench looked down at me.  I remember not being comfortable under his gaze.  "Mr. Mack-Rum, before we get started, I want to say that you will enter a plea of guilty to drunk and disorderly, or you will be back downstairs immediately."

I have always owned up when owning up was needed and I remember nodding my head.  "Speak up Mr. Mack-Rum.  Guilty or not guilty?"

"Guilty sir."

"Okay then.  I have your record here from Oakland County in Michigan.  It appears you had not been out of jail more than a couple of hours when you found your way into ours.  Correct?"

"Uh, yes sir."  And then I thought how odd nobody had mentioned an attorney.  What kind of trouble was I in for? Visions of Cool Hand Luke passed through my mind.

He looked at me for some moments and then pounded the bench with his mallet.  "$150 fine and time served."  Still sternly looking at me he added, "Mr. Mack-Rum I would advise you to keep your stay here in Covington as brief as possible."

"Yes sir."  And it was that easy, I was free to join back up with the Genesis Rock and Roll tour I had been hauling for.

Thinking back on this "Boys will be Boys"incident from the summer of 1978, I feel that had I been black, I would not have gotten off with such a light wrist slap.  And come to think of it, had I been black, I do not think Oakland County would have set my bail for drug charges so low and then let me go since I had no ties to the local area.

I experienced and benefited from "White Privilege" but did not appreciate that fact then.  Today I do appreciate that fact.  Does this mean I have come some distance in the right direction as a White Boy?

Hmm .........................................
____________________________________________________

Inspired by an article I found on Facebook - "In Covington I was Taught to Doubt my own experiences with Rascism"

The Rock

A deliberate rock follows its predictable routine established so many eons ago.  Its groove in the Universe well worn by now.  From all appearances, a gentle chunk of rock doing what civil rocks do in this part of the heavens.

Yet, on its surface, an over crowded and chaotic population is doing what it can to destroy the Rock.  They scorch it here, dig at it there, and pave the rest so their machines running on the remains of long dead animals can make it from here to there and back.

Blind to the damage their active lifestyles have done, they throw another rack of ribs on the barbie, park their asses in a lounge chair and sip on drinks festooned with celery or the occasional umbrella.  They may light a big fat cigar or a huge blunt.  Sinking deep into that lawn chair, they will be satisfied with their place in space.  Life can't get any better, right?

Oh sure, many of the inhabitants are aware of their parasitic behavior.  Figuring what they have, will have, or might have won't make a difference in the big scheme. Let someone else sacrifice. Besides, chosen leaders have ensured them, there is nothing to fear about melting glaciers, rising seas, and those chemicals that have enslaved them.

Consuming is good for All their chosen honchos say.  Spinning the natural into permanent trash is how its done.  Facing any future bogeymen, well, we will face them when it is too late.  Okay?

Meantime, the Rock shrugs, travels its well established path and waits patiently for these assholes to die off.
______________________________

Written while listening to Sprung Monkey.

The End is Near Again

We survived the recent Mayan Apocalypse.  We all breathed a sigh of relief when the Rev. Harold Camping was wrong, 12 times wrong, about the Biblical Armageddon breathing down our necks.  So far, the planet and its puny sentient race has managed to dodge the big bullet.  At some point though, I wonder if one of the voices from our fringes will make the correct call.

A fellow, who we will call Mr A, came into my bike shop the other day to buy a rack for his bicycle.  I have known this guy for a couple of years.  Mr A is definitely a citizen of the fringes.  I like him, but his take on Life is different than anything I could have come up with.  When we share topics regarding bikes, he is as normal and mainstream as the next guy.  When he expands the conversation with lead ins like, "Do you believe in UFOs?" - Well, I know what follows will at the least be entertaining and sometimes scary.

Cough and Hack

So the World's big wigs have assembled in Paris to feed lip service to the problem of Climate Change.  Some guy from China calls for the World to address this pressing Global problem, while back at home the sky over Beijing is no longer blue and the masses keep face masks ever ready to filter out the worst of the coal grit on their daily commute to and from work.

Some flounder from India calls for better technology in dealing with coal emissions before they hit the streets, while back home, India is constructing a new coal plant a month.

And now that Exxon and other big energy users and creators have been caught lying, the naysayers have finally stopped trying to use bad science to try and hoodwink us into thinking the climate is not changing.

Pandora's Box

"Be careful what you wish for."..........."Nothing is as simple as it seems"............."Snowball out of control" ........"Ignorance is Bliss", and last but not least, "If it ain't broke don't fix it".

All of these slogans, sayings, warnings have at different times floated through my brain over the last couple of days.

Okay, so after a decade or two of walking around the failing infrastructure of my 60 year old home, I found home repair ambition again.  If it's a wood problem or outside leaking in problem, I actually have the skill set to fix it.  Or at least understand instructions I might find while researching the problem.  I did pound nails for a living there for awhile.  Electrical, well, don't have paid experience, but I am not afraid of electricity.  I respect it.  Once you have reduced it to the basics, it is fairly straight forward.

And so far since I caught the fixer upper bug, everything I have done in the last six months has yielded positive results for the house.  No quick fixes.  Everything I did I did with the notion that this is the last time I will have to deal with that.

The one classic home owner problem I still try to avoid is the plumbing.  I have done what I had to to keep it functional, but every time I messed with it, it became a much bigger patch job than I had bargained for.

Shovel Feet

I am not sure why I have had a life long hatred of shoes.  Maybe it is the triple E feet I was blessed with by my mother's half of my DNA. She called them my "shovel feet". Maybe my shoe allergy was the result of the two years I spent as a wild child at Hickam AFB in Hawaii.  I still remember getting a tanning for throwing my shoes away on the way to school and showing up in class barefoot.  Regardless, as I grew up, I wore shoes as little as possible, even going so far as to try to go a complete year in college wearing no shoes.  I didn't make it, but I did last into December.

At some point I started wearing shoes more and bare feet less.  Seems it was around the time I got married about 33 years ago.  Marriage apparently brought quite a few changes to my lifestyle.  I would occasionally indulge in romping around the yard with no shoes, but for the most part, my barefootin days were over.  Being the responsible adult took over.  Responsible adults wear shoes.

So now it is 33 years later.  I grew accustomed to shoes.  I even had a couple of pair I really liked.  Until they wore out.  A few years ago I began to really hate shoes again.  Not the rebellion driven hate I had as a child, but the damn things became painful to wear for more than a few hours at a time.  My wife contended and still does that it is because I choose to wear bad footwear.  Flip flops, sneakers, slip on shoes, blah, blah  blah.  More sensible and higher quality shoes she said would solve my problem.

I bought more sensible shoes of higher quality.  Maybe there was some improvement, maybe there wasn't.  Since I have the history of bare foot rebel in my blood, I was not willing to recognize any tangible improvement that justified the price increase for the "more sensible shoes".  Shoes made my feet hurt and that was that.  Throwing $100 at a pair was not going to change anything.

Earlier this year the time line between no pain and true discomfort seemed to shrink.  Some pairs I owned I just could not wear any more.  I tried not tying the laces so tight, essentially turning the sensible shoes into non-sensible slip on's.  It was better, but I was still having issues after only a few hours with my dogs wrapped in leather and laces.

Must have been about the middle of April I began to go barefoot whenever I could.  I drove to the bike shop barefoot.  I worked barefoot.  And at home I stayed barefoot when not doing yard work or walking Stub over at Mary's Park across the road.

The result has been dramatic.  My feet have not felt this good in years.  Yeah, I've dinged them up some by stepping on some odd wire from a brake cable, or a screw carelessly dropped on the bike shop floor.  There is always something laying in wait for the fool who wears no shoes.  But cuts heal, bruises go away, and besides, the ding is local, not foot wide.  Should have done this years ago.

So this morning about 3:30 AM when I woke up and could not go back to sleep, I took a walk around my house and yard.  We had had some rain and when I walked back into the garage I left wet footprints on the garage floor.  I do not usually notice my footprints other than to acknowledge their existence.  But it was dark-thirty in the morning and with nothing else to do, naturally I thought I might as well have a Kodak moment.  The image at the top is the result.

As I had never really paid much attention to my footprints, I was struck by a couple of things.  It looks like I only have 8 toes.  The little piggies on both feet seem to have run all the way home and then past to some other home down the road.  Yet when I look down, there they are still attached in their original locations.  Guess they don't like getting wet is all.

I noticed my high arches were still high and had not fallen like so many that have walked the planet for 60 plus years.  And I assume that is a good thing.  I understand flat feet are no picnic.

I guess what I am taking away from this new found love affair with bare feet is that sensible shoes only make sense if they solve the problem.  Orthopedic shoes and their less expensive Dr Scholl insoles are only useful if they make your feet feel better.  I would say if your feet hurt and nothing else works, trying setting them free once in awhile.

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

Jersey Burns, O Man plays the HAARP

I have known for quite awhile that everything wrong with this country for the last 100 years is the fault of our foreign born Islamic President.  What I did not know was just how much evil the O Man had in his heart, his mind and apparently at his disposal.  The depths he will dive into to retain his evil grip on our pitiful souls is amazing.

There is a secret, okay not so secret facility in Alaska that is supposedly run by the US Air Force and the US Navy.  From this not so secret base stuck out there somewhere in the tundra of Alaska they manipulate the ionosphere in ways one could only consider magic....Black Magic I am sure.  They claim it is "scientific research", but we all know "science" is just a code word for Satan's Handiwork.  And the fact that Obama is currently Satan's man on the ground here in the US, he took full advantage of the "science" of that Alaskan base and used it to help him in his bid to win reelection.

He had the machines of the "High Frequency Active Auroral Research Program" (HAARP) turned up to wow and focused on the ionosphere above the East Coast of the US.  Apparently hurricanes cannot resist the come hither call of those evil machines.  And having already manipulated the Jet Stream into it's unusual new path, the stage was set for what happened these past few days along the East Coast.  Obama gets to look presidential and cool under fire.  And millions of people change their vote next Tuesday. 

What a diabolical man.  Or is he even a man?  Hmm...........At the least he is an evil wizard bent on controlling our minds by turning us gay.  Thank God for watch dogs like InfoWars and HaarpStatus, or this plan to dominate our minds and souls would go unnoticed.

After I found this nugget of Truth on the Internet, I dug deeper.  Where I dug is up to your imagination as I cannot reveal my sources because well, would you believe they do not exist?  Of course you would, yeah right.  Let's just say I know a guy who knows a guy who used fly a black helicopter.  His claim is that Katrina was a similar despicable misuse of presidential power.  Seems Bush the Lessor set Katrina in motion to pay back New Orleans for the trauma his father suffered in 1964 when he had his pocket picked on Bourbon Street.  Wow.  These Demigods can be a petty bunch.

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

AARGH!!!!!!!

On a day as dreary as today and given its somewhat noteworthy position near the edge of the year,  I should have been reflecting on past mistakes, future endeavors, or at the least contemplating my naval.  Instead, I chose to attempt one more time to do two things that have been consistent in their refusal to bend to my will.

It all started with Twitter.  I have had a Twitter account I guess for a couple of years now.  In that time I have tweeted twice, have 4 followers, and I am supposedly following two others.  Obviously I have not gotten into the Tweeting thing.  Either that, or my existence on this planet is much sadder than even I thought it was.    So this morning I decided I would take one more hesitant step into the 21st century and figure out how Twitter works.