What’s Up With That?

I keep seeing all these reports on books written about people reveling their abusive childhood.

OK, I can do that.

So here it is.

Yes, I survived the 50s (also the 60s, 70s, 80s, 90s….), but those are other books.

So all these folks who are saying how difficult their childhood was, think about this….

I grew up with the threat of a foreign country shooting missiles at me that would blow up the entire planet. So as a small kid I learned to get into the hallway of my school and lean up against the tile wall and squat down with my head in my hands.

What was that going to do against a nuclear attack?

The classrooms of the undiversified schools had rules. And the kids obeyed the rules. Women taught us by writing white chalk on blackboards. Report cards; sent home to be signed by our parents were returned to our teachers. We pledged allegiance to the flag every morning with our hands on our hearts and for recess, went out on the blacktop to play four square and tether-ball with our classmates, always looking up for that big bomb to come crashing down on us.

Bad haircuts, goofy high water pants and striped t-shirts did not increase our self-image. Our hero’s were cowboys and the big wars left over soldiers who always won after much stress and conflict and no violence.

Shoot, I didn’t have an eight inch black and white television in my room until I was ten. I could stay in my room and watch a president die to get out of class.

And the music was, less appealing than the flash, bam, and thank you mama of today. The scratchy tiny radio produced country western barn dance local yokel tunes and poor big band covers presented by goofy announcers filling the time, later to be called DJs. The first transistor radio was only AM and the size of a beer can.

Telephones had these long curly cords attached to a plastic dial that turned and it was attached to the wall. Even other people could talk on the line at the same time.

No one traveled by plane, only on two lane rough roads at speeds of 30 miles per hours.

AND NO REST STOPS! You just learn to “go” on the side of the road.

You see, life was tough on all of us, so don’t rush out and purchase these paperbacks of celebrities talking about their hard times.

Instead, buy my book.

It’s full of all kinds of exciting secrets that corrupted the youth of America and created the powerful politician, military leader, educational instructor, technology wizard, and some other folks who I forget.

And yes, the 50s were rough, but I survived.

For a price I’ll tell you all about it. What do you say?

Ruffled Feathers

Recently, a comment came in from a friend which will remain nameless....oh, let's call him Captain America....on a blog post I had made. The section and comments follows:

"This is a very silly statement:
"Doesn’t anyone see the common sense method of smaller government? Don’t pay for it. I pay my taxes and the salaries of all my friends from my meager funds. We all do. And if we didn’t, government would come to a halt. No more laws, no more rules, no more hand-outs, no more building projects, no more space investigation, no more (dare I say it) wars."

Let me know when you want to debate. As a start, remember how glad you were to have trash pickup. Isn't it nice to have paved roads to ride your mini-mobile machine upon. Have you gotten to a place in your life where it is OK to let the needy suffer?

Just askin' ol pal...

And yes, I make a Very Good Living from your taxes. And I work Very Hard for that Very Good Living. "

When I asked Captain America if I had ruffled some feathers, he responded:

"Some things can be privatised, easily. Tour taxes pay for trash. I pay for trash to a company... get good service too.

roads? a little more complicated... you need to pay for the street roads you ride on and the sidewalks you walk on... Should you also have to pay for the interstate? You don't bike on it... But your food comes on it, and the silver bullets too... I pay three tolls every day to ride on the roads too/from work... I wonder how many toll stops would it take to reduce efficiency?

Everything can not be privatised.

You get Social Security (woo-hoo). I don't know what you get, but likely around 20K. Wait! you say, "I paid that money in - it's mine". Yes you did... Add up ALL your FICA payments... On average you break even before three years. Count interest, within five... Then somebody else is paying for you.

Ruffled feathers? Nah. Not over the substance. I just do not like slogans taken for truth without proofs. As Menchen said:

For every complex problem, there is a solution that is simple, neat, and wrong

So I get ruffled when folks say, for example, taxes are too high -- when taxes, as a percentage of income, have not been this low since 1950. One needs to get the facts before one distorts them."

So I responded:

"The problem with privatizing everything is there are no consistencies One company does shoddy work, another offers fast service but charges more, while another get half the job done and leaves. Regulations help (not solve) to level the playing field.

Yes, your kids will pay for my retirement, but probably not for too long. Like the benies you get, some of these entitlements will end because people just won't want to pay for them.

Raise taxes. Sure. Somebody has to pay for this stuff. When it hits home and the people feel it in their pocketbook, that is when the reactions take place. But the government has good accountants who can make pie charts and bar graphs and shuffle figures around and around so that in the morning the lights will come on and all will be right in the world.

Then again people don't figure how everything they do is nickled and dimed away with a tax associated to it. Like fees, if you can't get your money one way, go a different route. I predict as inflation grows the saving trend created by this fiscal crisis will end. Then you can only buy two guitars a year or only take a vacation in the Hamptons during off seasons.

Getting the fact? Doing research? Like accounting, the facts...that is the REAL reality is what each of us see, hear, feel, and are personality effected everyday. With the daily blast of information (some true, some crap) one can only make reality decisions to accomplish personal goals. Make yourself happy. The rest will go on around you.

Cynical? Perhaps. It's just a way of life. I have no intention to run for public office or join groups of like-minded souls who want to change the world. I appreciate there are not tanks in the street, or gangs of hooligans roaming in my back yard and that if called, I can get help from the myriad of organizations (some I pay for directly, others I pay for through grants and loads) who are set up to assist me for better or worse.

You'll like the next series too. And if ruffled feathers are consequences to my actions, then that is good. We listen or read from others to get a different point-of-view. Some crazies will rant, but every now and then a sliver of thought emerges.

and then it fades away."

Then Captain America responded:

"An excellent and well thought out response. Post it!!!"

So I did.

I'm Going Home Alone Tonight

I say I’m not that lonely, but now I live alone

A raven beauty asked me, if she could use my phone

Engulfed in her foreboding eyes, her unforgiving smile

Another round of drinks I say, I‘m staying for a while.

I’m glad with the encounter, a companion for a night

She acts as if it’s meant to be, and so the feelings right

I act like I am thirty; she knows that I’m not

We sit together drinking, no questions, time forgot

She drinks away my money, a round of machine gun shots

Long stares into each others face, if this is all you got

I reach back into memory, to order up a round

Not wanting to believe this time, was something I had found

Last call comes way to early, toast beers to say goodbye

Stories bring tears in rainfalls, but it’s way too late to cry

The touch of a hand so warm and soft, but no ones left at home

A kiss goodbye, what could have been, but now we wander on

Our faces stare as if we knew, there could have been a way

To start again, a different time, but just another day

The darkness creeps around the look as it begins to fade

The time was brief, but the time was right, there’s nothing else to say

I’m going home alone tonight, the writings on the wall

She didn’t really matter. it was just another call

To a time when time was what it was, but quickly slipped away

The sun comes up and wakes the dream, another lonely day.

Forth Quarter

Since the games are over, yet the winter is still here, I think about what those guys must do in the forth quarter.

If the game is in your favor, you hang on to try to end it with a win. If your team is behind, this is the last chance to make your move to change the outcome.

Teams shuffle players in and out and coaches call instructions and orders to the leadership. The others follow his continuing shouts and points and tweaks, calculating their particular reaction to each second.

Sometimes the voices describing the action describe plays, then remember replays, and add up all the statistics of the most productive.

What about the right tackle?

That big lumbering lineman who is in so many plays, giving his all, huffing and puffing between each down. Beat up and torn down, he wears the same uniform, follows the assignments, but when he goes to the sideline he blends into the crowd.

No close ups, no interviews, no product endorsements. A team player that is necessary to hold the line while the stars shine.

And at the end of the game, the whistle blows.

Making or Breaking the Rules

We, as a civilized group, live by certain rules. The golden rule is a good one. Other rules to keep us in civility are the ten commandants, but like all rules, some will be broken.

The rules we form for ourselves to live are usually taught to us as children. Parents shape our evaluation of good and bad by showing us faith, social interaction, and consequences. As we grow older, being tempted by peer pressure or coveting or lusting, each of us must decide whether to listen to the values or give in.

Wishes, desires, commandments are turned into Laws by statesmen listing every nuance of the rule in great detail.

We hire these statesmen (and stateswomen) from a list of strangers who are friendly to us, listen to what we request, then promise to represent our wishes in the game called government.

Their real job is to ask for more money to spend. How many jobs offer the benefit to increase your own salary?

Each law, code and amendment these government officers construct and agree on are the rules the majority of civilization follows to maintain order on this little blue marble.

Games have rules. I was never very good at games. Perhaps I didn’t understand the rules. (I even bought a book on the rules of different games, but never read it).

Card games are one of acceptable social interactions taught to us as children. To calm a group of screaming rug rats, pull out the card table and let them play a game.

I spent hours playing “War” or “Go Fish” on the floor with groups but it was a simple diversion to pass the time. Once the games involved partners, like “Bridge”, where the rules of the game were critical to winning, I lost interest. “Poker” and other games of chance involving money became more competitive showing the darker side of the human soul, and while somewhat revealing, scared me away.

I was never a good partner in a game because I would change the rules. For an example, in “Bridge” I would raise the bid higher than what the cards in my hand indicated. When the cards were shown, it made the game more difficult, yet more exciting. That was more important than winning.

Most sports, which are supposed to be games, bore me yet are more challenging television watching than other game shows. Through repetition, I’ve learned some of the major rules of sports, but enjoy the decision making more than the colors and athletic feats under the constant chatter of talking heads.

Over all I abide by the rules. I pay my taxes, pay my bills, stop at red lights, lock myself in at night to stay away from the ones who wander in the darkness, and even vote every couple of years for a new list of strangers who will gather together with other strangers, each bringing their own experiences, beliefs, and goals to make new rules.

And like lemmings, we will follow the rules; obey the laws not because they are so wonderful and life enriching, but because it is too much of a hassle not to.

H923.18 Section 132.5-Code124.2:1-1 amendment 34.5.3.2

She’s Got Balls

Some people wonder at the power of those who will go beyond the normal boundaries we give ourselves.

Imagine if you will, coming home one night and finding the entire kitchen thrown out into the backyard.

Imagine if you will, all the doors in the house dismantled and removed.

Imagine if you will, leaving for a weekend and coming home to the entire house painted white.

Imagine if you will, two beds stacked on top of each other, inches from the ceiling.

Imagine if you will, a room built within a room.

Imagine if you will, a woman seeing a young man in uniform in a grocery store, walking up and hugging him while crying, without a statement or a reason, then walking away.

Imagine if you will.

Imagine if you will, living three decades with this woman.

What’s Your Cup of Tea?

I don’t follow politics regularly, but recently I’ve had more time to listen to announcers of “the news” discuss political movements, like the “Tea-Party”.

I’ve watched “it” form and blossom, presented by the media, as a “people’s movement”. I’m old enough to remember the Civil Rights Movement, the Anti-War Movement, the Get-Rid-of-Nixon-Watergate Movement; so I watch with some interest in this new “party”.

Last night there was a program on reviewing the massive resistance movement in my area during the late 50’s. Since I was only in the 4th grade, I don’t remember much about it. Looking at the black and white scenes I remember the people dressing like that, talking like that and even some of the names of the talking heads. I’m impressed with the patience and polite manner these children handled those explosive times.

I don’t remember my parents talking about integration or segregation, but I’m sure they were opposed to change. My father hob-knobbed with people in power, those who were trying to stop, what seemed to me, to be a normal situation; kids getting an education.

I lived the normal suburban milk toast dream and the only association I had with people of color was minimal. Waiter, maids, and yard maintenance people were all that I saw. “They” were always polite but aloof, and disappeared quickly from my world. By the time I got to high school, there were a few “Negros” in my classes, but they kept together, which is the way in high school, when like-minded folks form their own clubs, teams, associations, fraternities, or cliques.

The first “real” communication with a boy, who lived on the other side of Broad Street, was in a band. He went to my high school, but I didn’t know him or hang around where he did or buy my clothes at the same stores or eat at the same slop joint or go to the same movie theaters or (god forbid) date the same girls. What drew us together was music.

He provided our simple minds with the feeling, the guts of music. We had all played the notes, but he brought the soul to the sound. For a short period of time, we soaked up his influence while making our parents horrified.

After high school, he didn’t go to college like the rest of us. He was drafted and died in Vietnam.

Which brings the “anti-war” movement. This one did affect me. I wasn’t aware of how long this build up had gone on. I was aware that I was of an age to join the fray. This was not the Second World War, or the Korean conflict, this was Vietnam and the government needed young men to slog through rice patties and get shot at; none of that sounded exciting to me.

My little conservative burg that was still celebrating losing a war one hundred years earlier, didn’t discuss the actions overseas or it’s affect on their families. The boys who were too poor or dumb to get into college were drafted. Some volunteered to do the right patriotic duty, but it was mostly to get a paying job.

Having an art background and enjoying meeting girls, I would sit in basements making posters with other hippies. We would talk about ideals while under a cloak of music and smoke. A few would walk down to the state capitol and back. A few would gather in the park to sing songs and talk the talk, but we were behind the times and never became an organized force.

We didn’t march on Washington, we didn’t get tear-gassed, and we didn’t go to jail. What we did do was stay in school using a student deferment to keep our easy lifestyle going.

I was lucky, but the political awareness began while the war continued. Elected officials were being revealed for doing unspeakable acts. This behavior had probably always existed, but with nightly television repeating the same story over and over, a wave of protest started in the middle class.

It was felt the people had spoken and no one was listening. I sent money to organizations and wore buttons to show my affiliations, but still worked for a conservative media presenter. My friends could not believe I would stay in such a place, but I didn’t buy their views. It was a job.

One of my workmates enlisted me to join him and others in taking trips to Washington to lobby for good American values. We would wander the maze of opulence stating our case for a few moments time to people who, in our naive opinion, could make a difference. We prided ourselves on the effort, but saw no affects of our mission.

It’s all about the numbers. And money!

If you have enough of both, “they” will listen.

So I watch the “Tea-Party” state their cases with some disenchantment. I applaud their effort, am confused by their disjointed messages, and hope that a third party might shake things up and get this country out of its rut.

Every night people talk about the government spending too much money and should be focused on creating jobs. How can the government create jobs?? The only way governments can create jobs is hire more government. Look around. How many people you know work for some sort of governmental organization. And once all these folks are hired, what do you do with the rest of the country?

Doesn’t anyone see the common sense method of smaller government? Don’t pay for it. I pay my taxes and the salaries of all my friends from my meager funds. We all do. And if we didn’t, government would come to a halt. No more laws, no more rules, no more hand-outs, no more building projects, no more space investigation, no more (dare I say it) wars.

Yes, that’s right boys and girls; we don’t go to war with the people of another country. They are just like us. We go to war for beliefs, alliances, following banners that proclaim our side is right and better than their side.

Oh My Gosh, how did I get here? I guess, since the sun is up now, I should get off the soapbox and do my taxes.