Passings...

Our last living Gramma, Palma Hoover, passed away peacefully in her sleep on Wednesday, May 30th. She was 97 years old. Palma did a lion's share of raising Monica when she was a little girl in Washington State.

She was born Palma Solvang in Norway, on the family farm, one of 11 children and the last born in Norway before the family emigrated to the US; she was still very young when they came over. She was the last surviving member of her Norse family. Her father moved the family to a 480 acre homestead he had proved in the Tolt river valley, near what is now the town of Carnation, (Palma's dad and his brothers had gone to Alaska during the gold rush and did quite well: Working in those conditions was not such a long stretch for farm boys from northern Norway...) She remembered with great clarity walking miles to the eastern shore of lake Washington, where they would catch a ferry, and then on the far side, a trolley to the city of Seattle.

She was educated through the Washington State schools system and received her teaching credentials in 1930. Shortly thereafter, she married Joe Hoover of Centralia Washington. They moved around the state for a few years, and Palma taught in one-room school houses. In 1933, they moved to Centralia, where Joe joined the Police force and Palma resumed teaching. Joe passed away in 1992 having spent several decades on the P.D.

Palma lived in the same house until she went into hospice care a few weeks ago. She always had an amazing garden, full of vegetables and flowers. Her large yard is planted with apples, plums, and grapes that she and Joe made wine from. She could tell you where each tree came from and when it was planted; some of the apples had been transplanted from the family's homestead and were still thriving.

I loved talking with Palma whenever we got together. While her hearing deteriorated, her mind certainly did not. She remembered pretty much everything from her life vividly and was happy to discuss them with someone who was genuinely interested. There is much more I wish I could have asked her.

Palma was tough, loving, smart, and just a wonderful woman. We will miss her greatly. We're glad she went peacefully after a long, full life. May she live now in that land of peace where this no pain and only joy.

Horror and Context

I really don't know what to say that hasn't been said about this week at Virginia Tech. Anger, dismay, hopelessness, fear, anguish, all those things come and go. I've prayed and will continue to pray for the folks who were impacted, and I'll continue to ponder what could possibly poison a human to the extent that they'd do such a thing.

I'm aghast that none of the events in this young man's life leading to this tragedy clued in the powers that be, but then again, as an ex-cop, I'm not surprised. I'm blown away that a 'right to privacy' dictates that warnings can't be effectively heeded, and yet again, I'm not surprised.

had they kicked Cho Seung-Hui out of Virginia Tech, would it have stopped what happened? I'm afraid not: He'd have done it at a community college, or a business, or a library, or a McDonalds. His fate was set, and short of locking such a person away in solitary, we're not likely to come upon something that's going to derail this kind of thing. It is a sad, but probably true statement that this kind of savagery, this kind of anger and violence is all too often at the core of human hearts, and when it can do so, it will come forth.

It is also not lost upon me that, a couple of days after Cho's bad craziness, a truck full of explosives in a Baghdad market kills 128 people and wounds over 300 more. The primary difference, of course, is that over there, this sort of thing happens almost every day: In fact, almost every day, a massacre of the magnitude of Virginia Tech is happening in Iraq, Afghanistan, Sudan, Nigeria, Sierra Leone, Ethiopia, Eritrea, Rwanda, The Democratic Republic of Congo, Somalia and too many more to name now.

In Africa alone, it's estimated that something like 9.5 million people have died violently, as a direct result of conflict and war. Globalissues.org points out that, were this to be occurring in Europe, "then people would be calling it World War III with the entire world rushing to report, provide aid, mediate and otherwise try to diffuse the situation," and they're absolutely right. Why that is the case, and why things aren't being done is a subject for another time.

Here and now, I'm writing all this because these are the thoughts and considerations running through my head. What happened at Virgina Tech is a horror, plain and simple, and I have no doubt that things will be done, steps will be taken, laws will be made or changed, to try and stop such things from ever happening here again.

And yet, I gotta say: The heart of darkness is spread all over this world, so what about everywhere else? Cops have a saying about burglary: If a bad guy really wants to get into your house, he's gonna find a way. In other words, locking the door ain't gonna cut it.

He is risen, Alleluiah!

"We are witnesses to all that he did both in Judea and in Jerusalem. They put him to death by hanging him on a tree; but God raised him on the third day and allowed him to appear, not to all the people but to us who were chosen by God as witnesses, and who ate and drank with him after he rose from the dead. He commanded us to preach to the people and to testify that he is the one ordained by God as judge of the living and the dead. All the prophets testify about him that everyone who believes in him receives forgiveness of sins through his name."

Acts 10, 39 - 43

To all, a Happy and joyous Easter - Pray for peace in our world, in our time.

Molly T Ivins 1944 - 2007

She was born Mary Tyler Ivins on August 30th, 1944, in Monterey, California. She grew up in Houston. She earned a Degree in Journalism at Smith College, in my home Commonwealth of Massachusetts. After that, in the mid ‘60’s, she wandered to Minnesota and got her first reporting job, as a police reporter for the Minneapolis Tribune. How many great journalists started in the police beat, anyway?

She tired of real winters, (As did Monica and I), pining for the warmth and by spice of Texas food and politics. She moved to Austin and became the Co-Editor of the Texas Observer, a paper famous as the “Liberal conscience” of Texas. According to her long time friend, Nadine Eckhardt, she soon became a regular in the Austin political and party scene. "That's where she became the Molly Ivins as we've come to know her," said Eckhardt, “Molly was always right in the middle of everything."

She most certainly had a way with words, and regardless of one’s political bent, nobody could or would deny that fact. Next came a stint with The New York Times, where she even penned the obituary for Elvis in ’77. She later admitted that the toney Times wasn’t her cup of tea: New York sensibilities simply don’t mix well with Texas common sense, Ivins style…

So in ’82, she returned to Austin and started writing for the Dallas Times-Herald. She hooked up with her buddy Ann Richards, who would later become Governor, and Bob Bullock, the hard-drinking state Comptroller who would eventually become the Lieutenant Governor.

Her column gave her wide freedom to speak as she saw fit, and that she did. I’m proud of what are referred to as ‘Ebenisms’, but I don’t hold a candle to her in that regard. To call her language colorful would be putting things mildly: She referred to Ross Perot, as a "runt with an attitude." And perhaps most famously, she dubbed Gubernatorial candidate George W. Bush, the "Shrub," and never grew tired of calling him that. "Whomper-jawed," meant surprised, and getting P.O.’d was "throwin’ a walleyed fit."

She never married, and never had kids. She got breast cancer in ‘99, and let everybody know it in her inimitable style: "I have contracted an outstanding case of breast cancer, from which I fully intend to recover," she wrote, "I don't need get-well cards, but I would like the beloved women readers to do something for me: Go. Get. The. Damn. Mammogram. Done."

She wrote three books and co-authored a fourth. She was a three-time finalist for a Pulitzer Prize and served on Amnesty International's Journalism Network. Given all that, she said more than once that her greatest honors were being banned from the campus of, (The quite conservative), Texas A&M University, and having been named the Mascot Pig of the Minneapolis P.D..

She’s survived by a sister, a brother, two nephews and two nieces.

Here’s a smattering of Mollyisms for the uninitiated:

"I believe politics is the finest form of entertainment in the state of Texas: better than the zoo, better than the circus, rougher than football, and even more aesthetically satisfying than baseball."

"Yes, I've called myself a little-'d' democrat. I am a populist, maybe even a left-wing Libertarian. It used to be if you didn't have a hyphen in your definition, you clearly had not thought about it."

"He (Democrat Jim Mattox) was a wonderfully good attorney general. And somewhere underneath all that ruthless-pol, no-holds-barred fighter stuff there lurks a decent human being."

If you’ve never read any of her stuff, go find it, get a bottle of bourbon, pour one, crack the book, and dig in. She’d like that.

This I Believe

Is a radio series that began in 1951 under the auspices of Edwin R. Murrow, and recently revitalized by NPR. Since they were inviting entries, I thought I might as well throw one in. The theme is familiar to anyone reading this blog; here it is:


“I have fought the long defeat and brought other people on to fight the long defeat, and I'm not going to stop because we keep losing.” So says Doctor Paul Farmer, a wonderful human profiled in Tracy Kidder’s book, Mountains Beyond Mountains.

While Doctor Farmer’s statement might be considered radical, or even inflammatory, to me it was an awaking of hope and a call to action. His words reflect a straightforward acceptance of purpose and conviction in the face of overwhelming resistance that I find deeply moving. In a world where it is all too easy to find signs of decay and despair, Farmer’s statement is a clarion call to salvation. Because of his example, I believe humankind will survive.

The hard truth is that the world is a mess. In such circumstances, it is easy to speak of hopelessness. I have questioned myself, my faith, and human nature in search of the cause, the root of what makes us drive ourselves to the brink of destruction. Finding no answers, I was in dire need of hope, and in response, God moved in mysterious ways and lead me to Kidder’s book.

It is truly hard to find hope and sustain it in this world: Doctor Paul taught me that the fight is fought no matter what, that we never quit, even if we’re loosing. To not fight is to give in, and giving in is unacceptable. After reading Mountains Beyond Mountains, I heard of Bill Gates and Warren Buffett contributing much of their wealth to causes such as Dr. Farmer’s Partners in Health. I learned of U2 lead singer Bono’s One Campaign, and the U.N.’s Millennium Development Goals. From these wellsprings came fresh energy, focus, and hope.

And finally, the lessons sunk in and ushered me to action. What can an itinerant writer and guitar maker from Fort Worth do to contribute to the cause? He can make guitars and donate them to people who have none, or sell them and donate the funds to charity. He can organize an U2charist service at his church, raising funds for Episcopalians for Global Reconciliation. He can help facilitate a benefit concert for a church and a community in Mississippi wiped out by Hurricane Katrina.

And he can have hope, and sustain hope, and believe that we all can make a difference. Just as Partners in Health ministers to the poorest of the poor, and not to governments or agencies, so we all can hope and help and believe, one by one; and in so doing, we can change the world. This I believe, that as Doctor Farmer noted to friends in Haiti, the invitations for what to do are there for the taking, if we, “Listen to the messages from angels.”

Serious Deja Vu

I used to fight wildfire, way back when, in my adrenaline junky days… Looking back, it’s amazing how blessed I was with cool things to do for work in really beautiful places. I would start my year in Grand Canyon, first at the south rim, and then usually we’d wander over to the north rim to do stuff over there. From there, we’d head north to Yellowstone in the late summer, for Montana’s fire season. When that was done, it was off to Santa Monica for the California fall fire season. Yeah, Santa Monica, as in Santa Monica Mountains National Recreation Area: We lived at a former Nike missile site converted to barracks for us and a training facility for L.A. County Fire. The Santa Monica pier was right down at the bottom of our road. Debby Reynolds’s house was at the top. Chris Christopherson ran with us a couple of times. Weird, huh?

And it was there that I experienced one of the weirdest incidents of déjà vu I’ve ever had.

There was actually a fire, you see, in the Santa Monica Mountains in ‘82, and we were sent to work it. We were digging line through the Manzanita and whatnot, working up and across a little hill through what was pretty much uninterrupted brush with some little paths than here and there. We took a brief break to assess where we needed line to go, so the Crew Boss and I walked to the top of the little hill to see where we were headed. Down below us was an area on the right which had been partially burned over, with unburned brush to the left. We looked at the site and got the ‘I’ve Definitely Been Here Before’ feeling. We were kinda staring at things, trying to figure it out, when one of the sawyers came up and said, ‘Holy shit, it’s MASH!”

And indeed it was. We were working on the Malibu Creek State Park, which was also known as the Paramount Ranch – Yeah, that Paramount Ranch, which had been donated to the state some time previously. In front of us was the familiar rock circle where the flagpole stood, the outlines of the tents. the whole shebang…

We had been here before, many times in fact. The fire was actually incorporated into the final episode, since, to use the familiar outdoor sets, they didn’t have a bunch of choice, did they?

Somalia

How much do you know about Somalia? As we say here in Texas - I’ll tell you whut: If y’all ain’t aware of their history, listen up…

Oddly enough, Somalia has been occupied predominantly by Somalis for the last 2500 years or so. Islam became prominent long ago there, and Mogadishu was founded around 900 as a result thereof. Then, in the 1500s, a long-term war broke out between Somali and Ethiopians and things really started to unravel. The Somalis won, initially, but that prompted the Portuguese to come help, and the once strong central Somali state crumbled. The land wasn’t colonized with any vigor, however, until the late 1800s.

Then came the Brits, the French and the Italians in the late 1800s. In keeping with the colonial spirit, all three took a chunk of the poor country and stamped their brand on the locals, none of which went over very well. National hero Mohammed Abdulah Hassan rose to prominence during the long war for colonial independence, which lasted over 20 years. Unfortunately, superior military technology won out and the British kept their fiefdom until World War II, when Mussolini’s Fascists took over briefly. In a sick twist of fate, the fledgling U.N. assigned Somalia to Italy as a protectorate, where it remained until it declared independence in 1960, (Sort of; the Brits and French kept their little chunks out of spite, malice, or pride, depending on who you ask, and didn’t give ‘em all up until 1977)

The period following 1960 can be called, unfortunately, the age of coups. As is all too common in many small, poor countries, military takeovers began, culminating in the rise to power of Mohamed Siad Barre, who declared himself leader kin ’69 and stayed there until ’99. Though he was brutal and ruthless to opponents, he did some good works, building a national infrastructure and raising literacy rates. In the late 70’s, Somalia fought a war against neighboring Ethiopia, ostensibly to regain lands lost during the colonial period, but probably realistically started due to age old animosities. Originally backed by the USSR, the Somalis did quite well, maybe too well, because in mid stream, the Soviets changed sides and the Somalis suffered greatly as a result. As the Soviet block fell, the Somali government became more and more dictatorial, and that, as it often did, lead to a very active resistance movement.

In the early 90’s, the country began to split up as factions declared independence, and the U.N. stepped back in trying to help – Those efforts failed miserably, and the whole scenario has spiraled into horrific internecine fighting that continues to this day. On top of the manmade problems, Somalia suffered from the great Tsunami of 2005, and has experienced debilitating floods since then.

Hence, the bottom line is that this place is a complete mess, and the ones who have suffered, as usual, are the people, who have little or nothing to do with wars and politics, and who’s interests are focused on surviving; where do they find food, water, shelter, and medicine, in a place where even the U.N has given up?

Well, all is not lost – There are NGO’s, (Non Governmental Organizations), who, thank God, fill in to the best of their ability when everything else fails. The Somali Support Secretariat is a collection of agencies trying to do what no one else will do.

And we can support the outfits and people who sacrifice much to do this work, and we can pray for the people of Somalia – Both are really good ideas.

2007

I wish everyone a new year of peace.
May it bring changes for the better.
May those who are truly in need, be heard and served.
May your world be a better place.

Turn left, NOW!!!

Ever seen animal hatred manifested in humans before, first hand, up close and personal? It’s a very hard thing to understand. I’m not talking about a drunken fist fight, or nasty words and flying fingers during the morning commute – I’m talking about the offended party following the perceived offender until they stop, and then shooting them, point blank, in the head, for cutting them off in traffic. I’m talking about stepping out of a car with an automatic weapon on the campus of your soon-to-be-ex wife’s college campus and indiscriminately cutting loose at anything living. I’m talking about wanting, more than anything, to kill someone because they’re of a different faith, or color, or nationality, or political affiliation: That kind of hatred - I have, and I don’t understand it at all. I don’t think that anyone really does. This is the kind of hatred and violence that dismays God…
There are many, many books written about these things, past and present – The holocaust, the Middle East, the Balkans, Darfur, Stalin’s pogroms, Mao’s social cleansing, and on, and on, and on… There are first hand accounts, scholarly treatises – I’ve read some of them. The first-hand accounts are shocking, sickening, and heart breaking. The scholarly accounts strike me, (In general, with a few notable exceptions), as exercises in presenting the intelligence and wisdom of the author, rather than vehicles for change or healing… I’m sure that a few tenured positions have been won on the merits of these works, but what does that do for us in the big picture view? Not much, apparently – Granted, it’s vital to be aware of it, to acknowledge it and to the best of our ability, try to understand it, if we are to make any serious efforts to keep such things from happening again.
Writing about the Bosnian conflict, the military historian John Keegan, called it, "A primitive tribal conflict only anthropologists can understand:" That to me is probably about as intellectual as one can get regarding such events and still be on the mark.
What does this say about human beings, that when the facade of civilization is stripped away and we are reduced to our basest instincts, our predilections are for violence and homicide? How do we counter, fix, or help fellow humans who truly believe that if they act in this way, the world will be a better place? What’s the cure? Is it science, or faith, politics or diplomacy, or some alchemical mix thereof? Whatever the cure, if we’ve genuinely been seeking it, we’ve not found it yet.
I’d love to be able to point at our sick society, the ills we’ve plagued each other and the earth with, as the culprit for this, but it ain’t necessarily so – This kind of horror has been visited on humans and human society since the get go – It’s older than our current problems, without question. It’s apparently ingrained in humankind, like our forgotten 6th sense and vestigial tails…
So, is there a way out? Well, in fact, I believe that there is – And in fact, I think that we can indeed blame this problem on society, or civilization, or to be more precise; a distinct lack thereof. See, I think the reason we’ve never outgrown this horrible manifestation is that we have never actually formed the society or civilization along the lines of the one we are truly called to be. I think that the answer is so simple, it’s just plumb evaded us all these millennia – I think a lot of other people know this, too.
Here it is, although, actually, I’ve already mentioned this here, in a rant about politics: It’s called a human civilization, or a humanistic civilization, if you prefer: It’s called a world where we care for each other: A world where the aim is to live with and for one another. A world where we take aim at our problems; hunger, disease, poverty, and ignorance, and we fix them. A world where what we do is not strive for more profit, more waste, more politics, more business, more this and that and everything, but a world where we realize we can feed everyone if we work at it. A world where we aim to do what we’re called to do – To cure the sick, feed the hungry, clothe the poor, and end the hatred - To care for this earth and everything on it.
Now, go ahead, call me simplistic, naïve, ignorant, blah, blah, blah – But you know what? If that’s what you believe, you’re wrong; dead wrong. Not believing it is why we are where we are. Not believing it is why we don’t try. Not believing it’s necessary is why we’ll kill this planet and go the way of the dinosaurs as a species. Not stopping all this soon and very soon and changing course radically is why Darfur, and Bosnia, and Auschwitz will happen again, and will keep happening, popping up here and there and everywhere, until we do get a clue - or not...
So what, you ask, got me on this rant this morning? Well, let me tell you – It was an NPR piece about the competition between two top American research labs to produce the newest nukes for our submarine fleet. They are going to design these without having to test them. One of the spokesmen called the design they were working on, “Classic,” and “Elegant.” A nuclear device – Elegant and classic – I’m sorry, but how completely fucking sick is that?
So, ask yourself this; do you want to keep going merrily down the path we’re on, or is it time for a hard left turn?

Christmyth Time

OK, as mentioned numerous times, I are a devout Christian. That said, this does not mean that I’m not aware of the machinations of politics that lead to Christianity as we know it today. This is especially true when it come to the celebration of holidays, and probably nowhere more than around Christmas.

Perhaps the first controversy that comes to mind is the day itself, December 25th. Historically, there’s no indication whatsoever that Christ was born on this day, of course. The current date of Christmas was supplanted from earlier faiths, without a doubt – Many peoples and cultures celebrated winter solstice, and in the 4th century, the early Christian church snagged the holiday to knock down Mithras and all them other Pagan upstarts.

Interestingly enough, Christmas didn’t take hold right away in America - Our forefathers, the Puritans, disdained the common celebration of Christmas as "the heathen traditions," and railed against all things Yule log, holly, mistletoe, etc. The late, great Oliver Cromwell preached against Christmas carols, decorated trees and any joyful expression that desecrated "that sacred event." The celebration itself was briefly illegal in my birthplace, the Commonwealth of Massachusetts.

Ok, so how about this Xmas thing? I can’t count how many Christians have expressed disdain at this, “Modern bastardization of the Christian holiday.” How wrong y'all are, eggnog breath! Xmas actually derives from the Greek word for Christ, Xristos. So, the fact is, it was waaaay back in the 16th century when Europeans began using that first initial of Christ's Greek name in place of the word Christ as a shorthand expression of the holiday. UNfortunately, somewhere between then and now the dark ages erased knowledge of Greek and the origins of this shorthand, and "Modern Christians" now mistake Xmas as a sign of disrespect...

Next come trees - Christmas trees, that is. In the last 24 hours, on NPR, I have heard a Christian conservative knock them because they’re “Clearly a Pagan symbol,” and a Rabbi do the same because they’re, “Blatant Christian symbolisms.” - So, who’s right? Well, potentially both, or neither, actually… Fact is, the Pagans did not cut down trees, drag them into the house, and decorate them: They revered nature, and doing the tree thing would have been antithesis to their reverence. They would, however, decorate trees with metal and such, and put boughs in their homes during winter solstice as homage to the gods and a celebration of all things living. Now, in the Middle East, centuries before Christ, trees were cut down, carved into images of the Gods, and gilded and such. Such habits things mightily pissed off the prophet Jeremiah, as he attests herein:
"Thus saith the LORD, Learn not the way of the heathen, and be not dismayed at the signs of heaven; for the heathen are dismayed at them. For the customs of the people are vain: for one cutteth a tree out of the forest, the work of the hands of the workman, with the axe. They deck it with silver and with gold; they fasten it with nails and with hammers, that it move not."
Jeremiah 10:2-4
The fact is, Christmas trees as we know them didn’t really come into vogue until the 19th century, around 1850, which also happens also to be the point in American history wherein the first White House Christmas tree appeared, courtesy of President Franklin Pierce, (President Who? Don’t feel bad, nobody else remembers him either – Suffice it to say that for a bunch of reasons, he is generally considered one of the worst presidents in our history – Right there with Millard Fillmore – But I digress…). Fat boy Calvin Coolidge performed the first National Christmas Tree Lighting Ceremony in 1923.

Oh by gosh by golly, it’s time for mistletoe and holly, which are indeed blatant rip offs from Paganism - Centuries before the birth of Christ, Druids used mistletoe to celebrate the coming of winter. Scandahoovrians dug it as a plant of peace and harmony associated with their goddess of love, Frigga: The kissing under the mistletoe thing most likely came there from. And Holly, you ask? Well, it's those pesky early Christians again: They banned the use of mistletoe for the reasons detailed above, and suggested holly as an appropriate substitute greenery.

So, how about Poinsettias? Well, like good Tequila, they’re native to Mexico. The plant was named in honor of America's first ambassador to our southern neighbor, Joel Poinsett, who brought ‘em back north with him in 1828, (No, I ain’t makin’ this up - He was an avid amateur botanist!) The Mexicans of that age, (Having been forcibly converted to Catholicism by the gentle hand of the Conquistadores), thought the plants were symbolic of the Star of Bethlehem, and there you have your Christmas connection. By the way – The flowers of said plant ain’t big and red or white – they’re small and yellow – The big red and white things are leaves surrounding Mr. flower, not petals.

And candy canes? Well, frankly, this here candy has been around for centuries, but it wasn't until around 1900 that they were decorated with red stripes and bent into the shape of a cane. They were sometimes handed out during church services to keep the brats quiet. One story often told about the origin of the candy cane, this deal about a 17th century Indiana candy maker who wanted to express the meaning of Christmas through a symbol made of candy, blah, blah, blah – Whatever…

Okay, best for last – Sandy Claws: Ok, fact, as we know it – Around 270 ad, St. Nicholas was born in Turkey. He devoted his life to Christianity and became widely known for his generosity to the poor. He is especially noted for his love of children and for his generosity. In 16th century Holland, Dutch children would place their wooden shoes by the hearth in hopes that they would be filled with a treat. The Dutch spelled St. Nicholas as Sint Nikolaas, which became corrupted to Sinterklaas, and finally, in Anglican, to Santa Claus. In 1822, Clement C. Moore composed his famous poem, "A Visit from St. Nick," (Which transmogrified into "The Night Before Christmas.") Moore is generally credited with creating the modern image of Santa Claus; the jolly fat man in a red suit. There is some consensus that the first department store Santa in this country appeared in the 1840’s in Brockton, Massachusetts. R.H. Macy began creating his famous window displays in the early 1870’s, and in 1873, Louis Prang made the first American Santa Christmas card. Norman Rockwell followed suit in 1922, and in 1931, Coca Cola ran their first Santa ad campaign. The rest is history...

So there you go – Ho Ho Ho!

Fingernails on a Chalkboard

Everyone has met someone whose voice just absolutely grates on you, right? Of course you have; in fact, each of us is probably one of those people for somebody else – It’s a prevalent phenomenon… Now, for me, there are certain strategies involved in dealing with such people: If the person in question close to me, say, from church or work, I will make a real effort to curb whatever autonomic function that stirs up such a reaction within me. If, however, the person is somebody with whom my relationship is casual, I’ll just avoid contact with them like I would a plague rat. This latter strategy is effective for people like Rush Limbaugh, Fran Drescher, the guy who sells Oxyclean on TV, or, say, our President and Commander in Chief.

Why, you ask, would I raise a blog with such a topic? Because on the way to work this morning, I was subjected to the President’s press conference, that’s why. At first, I was just gonna put it on ignore, but suddenly recalling James Baker’s adage that it is important to communicate with your adversaries, I decided to listen in. And then I started taking notes based on what I heard…

The first thing that struck me is was the reason that The Shrub’s voice bothers me so much, (Which is probably the reason that John Stewart has such a good time poking fun at it): It is, quite simply, because the voice of our President, the leader of the greatest super power in the world, always sounds strident, pissy, rude, and petulant, although not necessarily in that order. I listened to Dubyah speak to the reporters, wondering if he had any of their names right, or if they just roll their eyes and ask anyway when he appears to be pointing at them. I heard him get a question he didn’t like, to which The Leader of the Free World responded, “Nice try,” and “You think you can just ask whatever you want.” Uhhh, I thought, is this a trick press conference? Is this the U.S. of A.? Do we have a free press? You mean our reporters aren’t allowed to ask whatever they want? Really? Dang, I feel silly now, I mean, heck, I’ve been buying this openness bullshit for some time now!

I listened also to see if he would actually answer any of the questions, and of course, he didn’t – Oh, don’t get me wrong – He spoke after a question was asked, but it was done in latter days Reagan style; “What a beautiful country is this land of ours…” When asked if he was concerned about the fact that public opinion seems squarely against our involvement in Iraq, he worked that into a statement indicating that failure in Iraq will doom future generations of Americans to lives filled with terror… He then added that, regardless of what the poles say, he was only “Interested in the path that leads to victory,” and that “Most Americans believe that we can win in Iraq,” and that said conflict is, “The calling of our generation.” Now, other than from deep up his Presidential ass, I have no idea where he came up with those “facts.” A question about what specifically he intended to do to keep the economy on track in light of the huge costs generated by the Iraq conflict brought a rambling response about how nuclear energy was “Renewable,” and ‘Generates not one greenhouse gas, that commuting Americans “Don’t drive more than 20 or 40 miles,”, and how new battery technology will allow those commuters to travel, “Without using any gas.” What all this illuminates, clearly and brightly, is that our Fearless Leader is dangerously delusional and completely out of touch with reality: There are, of course, other possible analyses, but my supposition seems, sadly, to be the most accurate scenario.

There was more, but it was, for the most part, similar to this… What this tells me is that it is dangerous for us to discount this man, and to not pay attention to what he is saying and doing. Those that made him will not go quietly into the night. They will find another stooge to throw up in ’08, and if we want to get out of this house of horrors, we’d best pay close attention and be ready to act. It may be like listening to fingernails on a chalk board, but nonetheless, we’d better listen.

I Miss Glenn Mitchell

I really do. It’s been over a year now since he passed away, and I feel his loss every day. I suppose that’s strange, considering I never met him in person, and as such, never knew him personally. I was, however, a loyal listener and a regular caller, especially to the Friday Anything You Ever Wanted To Know shows. I believe that Glenn recognized me as a caller, and knew that when I was calling, I had something genuine to contribute – He had the ability to make you feel that way, even if you were just a caller – That’s probably one of the reasons he was such a celebrated interviewer.

If you’re not from the Dallas – Fort Worth Metroplex, you probably don’t know of Glenn. He hosted his radio show from KERA for many years. His interviews were always excellent; the only person I can think of who comes close in preparation or knowledge is Terri Gross of Fresh Air. His interests, experience and education were eclectic, and his interviews reflected that: He might go from a Harvard scholar to a leading author to a local musician in one week – In each instance, he would know more than enough to not only ask excellent questions, but to have an uncanny knowledge of his guest's place in things as well. Glenn’s long time friend, Don Mason, said Glenn was, “An incredibly deep, well-rounded, thoughtful man. It’s important to understand the depth of this guy. He can cover a baseball game or write an essay or do a brilliant interview with another smart person. Combine all that with a great and wicked, and often quite sick, sense of humor, and you have a pretty remarkable package.” That’s an honest to goodness Renaissance man, indeed.

Fridays were always Anything You Ever Wanted To Know shows, the origin of which outlines Glenn’s humor and smarts – in the early 80’s, while covering for another KERA host, his guest, Linus Pauling, stiffed him at the last minute. rather than panic, Glenn calmly invited listeners to “Call in with any question and I’ll answer it.” This wonderful diversion became a much loved regular event, wherein people might call to ask the origin of a word, the best Indonesian restaurant in Fort Worth, or what those people are doing in the grassy area beside a local highway interchange. On occasion, he’d host the Friday shows live from the Dallas Public Library, allowing him to add “Professional Smart People” to the show's mix.

His Annual Christmas Blockbusters made that holiday an extra special treat. A mélange of music, interviews, commentary and features, the Blockbuster was always unique and never boring. In keeping with his sense of humor, Glenn seemed to delight in finding the worst possible renditions of popular Christmas songs that he could, (And believe me, he could find ‘em), nowhere else could you hear so many songs that would make you cringe and laugh at the same time…

Glenn grew up throughout the American heartland; Missouri, Oklahoma, Texas, New Mexico, Kansas, and Illinois, tagging along with his Registered Nurse mother and sister. He chose SMU for college because it was the farthest away from his Chicago area home, (As did I with the exotic University of Washington).

Glenn worked for KERA from the day it opened until his passing, with a couple of years’ hiatus at a local am station. He loved radio for what it best offered, what he referred to as, “The immediacy of broadcasting.” He listened to his own station, but also haunted the local sports am station, which notably hosted Howard Stern. When asked how a guy like him could listen to such shock jock schlock, he answered, “That intellectual stuff is a bunch of bullshit; I don’t see why you can’t listen to The Ticket in the morning, read Proust in the afternoon and go to a ballgame at night. I’ve never understood that kind of attitude.”

Maybe that’s why he could always make you feel welcome, and a part of his world.

Into The Wild Blue Yonder

My parents were political, and by that, I mean they were staunch Democrats in the staunchly Democratic state of Massachusetts where I grew up. In fact, one could call them Liberals and not be casting aspersions. My father, an Economics Professor at a pretty liberal school, (Harvard), was once accused of being a Communist at a Fellows dinner. I don’t know what it was he said to elicit that response; he never told me that: He only allowed a sour expression and stated, unequivocally, that the accuser was, “A horse’s ass,” and that was the end of story.

I grew up in this environment, in the 60s, (Kennedy, Nixon, Vietnam, Summer o’ Love, Etc), thinking that my folks were pretty cool and right on politically, and I still do. I do admit to probably being the most conservative member of my family. I have been called before, (More than once), by a sibling on the eve of a national election to, “Make sure you’re not going to vote Republican,” which, despite my predilections, I find somewhat insulting. There is strong probability that my dad, of all people, actually voted for Ronnie Rayguns his second time around, (He wouldn’t admit it, but he wouldn’t deny it either, which is the strong probability part…) I do not vote straight party ticket, ever, although you can in Texas. I don’t know if that’s unique in these 50 United States, (Probably not), but it was to Monica and I. Just check Democrat, Republican, Independent, or Libertarian at the top of your ballot and you’re done. Oh, and for the record, no, I never have voted for a Republican presidential campaign, but I might have if Bob Dole, Libby Dole, or John McCain had ever made it that far… My first Presidential election was 1980, and I got in my beater Datsun and drove 20 something miles into Forks, Washington to vote for Carter, even though that was the year that the press screwed the whole thing up and he’d already conceded before the western states poles were closed. I still find it hard to understand how even democrats say Carter was, “A bad President.” This was a man who was honest, forthright, Christian in his manner and bearing, who spoke his mind, was kind, caring, and compassionate, and he was a “Bad President?” That tells me that the problems lie not with the man in question, but with those who form the criterion of good and bad as far as Presidents are concerned…

And so although I was only 12, I remember vividly election night in 1972, when our hopeful household became a sea of woe as state after state declared for Nixon. Our little Commonwealth, Massachusetts, became the “Lonestar state” that year, because we were the only ones to weigh on for George McGovern. I did not know much about him then, other than that my parents and their friends approved of him. I knew that what I saw and read and felt, I liked.

When I was a cop, I was formally introduced to the concepts of “Loud thinkers” and “Cop 6th sense:” These are nothing more than attuning one’s senses to the lingering manifestations of traits all humans once had and shared with the other animals: The ability to perceive another’s general intentions, bearing, and mood based on subtle signals that we all most definitely radiate, but few are able to receive any more. If you doubt these things exist, try this simple experiment: Go out and try to shoot a crow or a magpie. Be as sneaky as you like; you’ll get the idea…

Anyway, I’ve always been able to hear and sense perfectly well on a subliminal level, and at the time, I knew without question that George McGovern was a good man; honest, calm, caring, forthright and intelligent. In other words, like President Carter, McGovern possessed all the traits that would assure that he was to loose in a landslide to one of America’s most crooked and notorious politicians.

But what I didn’t know at the time, because it was virtually unmentioned, is that he was a decorated World War II B-24 pilot. Oh, yes, there was mention that he was a vet, and I recall him being accused of having been a coward by the far right, (An accusation that was quickly shot down, no pun intended). The gist of the matter is that McGovern did not want to use the fact that he had flown bombers and received the Distinguished Flying Cross as a political tool. He wanted the campaign to be about the times, the issues and the men in question – Who they were and what they stood for then, not about past laurels. A unique idea, indeed, for American politics, and one that obviously fell flat on its face.

I bring all this up because I just finished Into the Wild Blue Yonder, Stephen Ambrose’s book outlining McGovern’s time in the U.S. Army Air Force, flying B-24s out of Cerignola, Italy in ’44 and ’45.

I don’t know if you’re aware of the B-24, and if you’re not a buff as I am, you’re probably not. There were more B-24s produced than any other World War II aircraft, but unlike the others, they were not poular and there are very, very few left: Three fly, and 2 are in museums, and that’s it. Unlike the relatively celebrated B-17 and B-29, the B-24 was not pretty, although you’d probably best not say that around the men who flew them. With it’s twin tails and boxcar like profile, the B-24 was utilitarian, built to bomb, and that’s what it did. It carried more bombs and flew farther than any other bomber in WW II, but they were largely scrapped immediately after the war. McGovern, in Ambrose’s postlude to the book, recalled seeing the very plane he had flown the most in a scrap yard being smashed by a caterpillar, on a news real shortly after the war: He said he almost stood up in the theater to tell people how wrong that was it bothered him so much.

McGovern’s experience was probably no better or worse than most of the aviators who survived the war. He flew through flack, fighter attacks, malfunctions, accidents, and pilot errors that almost killed him and his crew, and did in fact get others killed. He nursed more than one badly wounded B-24 back to the field, and in 35 missions, his men never had to bail out of an aircraft. He never failed to bring everyone home when they flew with him. As I’d seen in ’72, this serious, thoughtful, conscientious son of a preacher took his job very seriously. According to the men who flew with him, he was always calm, never panicked, never even raised his voice in the heat of battle. This while flying though what more than one A.A.F. vet described as “Hell on earth.” Flack, or Anti Aircraft Artillery, is basically a high explosive charge surrounded by steel that is designed to turn into razor sharp shreds of metal, which, when exploded, are basically moving at the speed of sound or faster. In the WW II era, when planes were basically think aluminum shells, flack could and did shred aircraft like a hot knife through butter. Issued flak vests after the early war years, savvy veteran flyers sat or stood on them when in combat, since most of the danger came from below… As the war progressed, high altitude bombing broke into two camps, one British, and one American: The Brits carpet bombed at night, as was being done to them, and as such used bombing to cause general terror as they did to hit specific things. The Americans “Precision Bombed,” meaning they flew in broad daylight and tried to hit specific targets. As things got worse for the Germans, they contrived more efficient ways to hit aircraft with flak. The scariest of these was The Box: The Box entailed shooting a specific amount of flak into a box 2000 feet high and 2000 feet wide, filling that area with hot, fast moving twisted steel. They would overlap the boxes around a target, and trust the Americans to fly right into it, which indeed they did. On a bomb run, there’re no evasive maneuvers of any kind; you made the turn at a designated turning point, and then following the lead plane, you flew straight into hell…

McGovern did that 35 times, as did all the A.A.F. fliers in W.W. II. He did so keeping in mind his responsibilities: bring everyone home alive, and drop bombs where they’re supposed to go, which also did.

I imagine that politics, while potentially as stressful at certain times, cannot have matched the terror of combat. I also easily believe that he might have found Presidential campaign politics in ‘72 less savory even than flying into The Box.

War! Huh! What is it good for?

Absolutely nothin’, say it again… So why am I so fascinated by war? Not sure, really, but it is the history I tend to read more than any other. Dan Brown in the Da Vinci code had a character state that history is written by the winners, but I don’t think this is always true. In the olden days, when the victors basically wiped out the losers, Brown’s contention is substantially true, but in the last few centuries, not so much so… Nowadays, war history is written by people on all sides, or not on any side, or somewhere in between. Look up the Battle of the Bulge, and you can find accounts by Americans, English, French, Belgians, and Germans, to name a few: Read them all and you have a pretty good idea of what really happened.

Of course some of the most fundamental flaws that can impact the writing of history are the unknown biases and practices and skills of the historian/author: Do they have an agenda they’re forwarding and using the book as a platform for such? Are they lazy, or presumptive? Is their first-hand research really that? How accurate and thorough is the job they’ve done? Sometimes we know and sometimes we don’t…

This brings me to one of the most powerful books of history I’ve read in a long time, and one that largely bypasses those concerns. It’s called War Letters, and it was written by Andrew Carroll. War Letters is just that; letters from people in and around American wars, from Revolutionary to Desert Storm. Not all are from soldiers. Some come from peace activists and conscientious objectors, others from politicians and civilians – But most are from soldiers, and needless to say, not all of them survived. The content is poignant, shocking, sad, joyous, funny, thought provoking, and never dull. Writers run the gamut from semi-illiterate to polished, educated to not, and come from all classes and races. Their words reflect the pride, fear, hate, disgust, wonder, doubt, love, and anguish that war brings: Their sights are amazing, the insights are stunning, the reflections terrifying and fascinating. I’ve not read anything like it before.

It is surprising, or perhaps not, that people seem to have changed very little over 200+ years of history. Their fears and desires remain pretty much the same, although their words and surroundings change somewhat. A young soldier from the Revolution was no less scared than one crossing the Iraqi desert. The technology of war changed, but the combatants really didn’t notice that, per se – They noticed their own fears and concerns, and those of their buddies. And one thing certainly remained the same throughout – The group, be it platoon, regiment, flight crew, or artillery company – The group is key. Whether the people beside you came from your neck of the woods, level of education, or strata of society meant nothing – It really didn’t matter if you liked them or not – You trusted them, and they you, because without that, you wouldn’t survive.

War in and of itself reflects the worst of human society; within war, actions may and have reflected the best of humankind: War Letters is all that and more.

Hear Yer, Hear Ye!!

Da Dem’s Got Da Powah!! Now this’ll be a test, indeed… See I am a Democrat, always have been, although specifically speaking, I am socially liberal and fiscally conservative, for what that’s worth.

Nonetheless, I have been generally disaffected and disgusted with all politics and politicians, as you might have guessed from me li’l blog here. But I must admit, somewhere within my internal Chamber o’ Smugness, I am pleased that the Dem’s got the house, and as I write, maybe the senate. Oh, and for the record, my man Kinky didn’t win here in Texas, but he fought a good fight – The Empty Suit was reelected, which is too bad, but as I noted previously, if it’s true that all one needs to be a Governor is to look good and maintain a very low profile, Rick Perry is your guy!

Of course, the shift in House and possibly Senate occurs with Da Lame Duck Shrub in da White House, so it’s unlikely that anything will happen – Not that it did or does in any other circumstances, mind you… It will be interesting to see, from an experimental perspective, if anything different actually happens at all. From my jaded view, this simply means that the folks at the top of the heap switch places with those below, but the shit still flows downhill, ya know?

It’s depressing when you’ve lost faith in The Two Party System, because it really doesn’t matter who won the fight… I think that politics simply mirrors politics, and not the people, places and things they are supposed to represent – And as such, they don’t really have a function other than feeding themselves, caring for their future, and performing an ongoing series of really bad theater…

Now if one were to wax philosophical, I guess the question would be, does politics work at all, in any form? Winston Churchill is widely credited with having said, (In paraphrase), that Democracy is the worst form of government imaginable, except for all the others that have been tried, but I think you could say that about any and all forms of the game. Democracy, Theocracy, Oligarchy, Monarchy, Socialism, Militarism, Dictatorship, Fascism, Communism, Plutocracy, Anarchy, take your pick – Do any of those strike you as desirable? Not me – And while I am glad and proud to be of and for this country and its people, I’m not proud of our government and have not been for a long time.

Ok, you say, whiner boy – What do you want? Bitch, bitch, bitch, all you do is bitch and point out what you don’t like from your pseudo-intellectual stream of drivel –What’s your solution? What should our government be doing, Eben, to make you happy?

Oh, heck, that's an easy answer; thanks for asking. I believe in government of and by and for the people. I believe government should provide those things that we really need in an ever-deteriorating world. Our concerns should be to save a planet that we’re destroying by leaps and bounds – To use technology and smarts to repair and save this fragile planet and not to blow it away. Our concerns should be for the people – All people, everywhere, because if we are a First World Country and a World Power, then we owe the world our power to heal, save, feed, teach, care for, and safeguard – Everyone, everywhere. People should be our business, and nothing else. Adopt the Millennium Development Goals as a party platform and run that up the flagpole for your next campaign. Cure the world’s ills, heal its sick, feed its hungry, clothe its naked, teach its unschooled, provide food and clean water and shelter for everybody who is here and coming.

That’s what politics can do to make me happy – That’s politics for the future – if you need a name for it, let’s just call it Humanism.

Move Over, Andy Rooney...

Yes, I Am a Curmudgeon…

Other people’s kids, I swear… OK, is it a sign that I’m getting old that I find some of the habits of this current 20-Something generation incredibly annoying? And do they have a moniker yet? By my reckoning, they’d be either generation Z, or maybe A, depending…

I know a lot of folks make this determination by critiquing the styles and habits of their own children, but I’m at a loss in that regard – My youngest’,(The only one left at home), haircut doesn’t bother me, he’s polite, smart, and funny, gets good grades, and listens to great music.

It’s the one’s I work with that irk me, habit-wise… Here are a few of my peeves:

When did it become OK to be habitually late to work? These guys show up anywhere from a couple of minutes to a half hour late, almost every day, and they get annoyed when somebody jumps them about it – When did it become de rigueur to write your own schedule? I know it pisses off my 20-Something Boss, be he doesn’t do anything to them in response – he yells about it from time to time, and tells them it really bothers him, and they just keep doing it – Is it some kind of game I don’t get? As a Manager, I would kick serious ass for habitually tardy workers, and even fired some for just that alone – If you can’t be depended on to be on time, then you can’t be depended on for more complex things, OK?

Texting –What the hell is with this texting thing? I was having a dramatic relationship story told to me recently, and the young lady kept saying, “So, he texts me that blablabla, so I text back and…” I stopped her and asked some clarifying questions – “OK, this is your boyfriend, right?” “Yes” “And you were both in the same bar, right?” “Yes” “How far apart?” “A couple of tables…” E’scuse me? Are we that dysfunctional that we cannot look eye to eye and speak with human voices? These kids I work with spend all day texting back and forth on cell phones or little texting do dads – My company thinks they’ve nipped wasted production in the bud by limiting internet access – Wrong!!

Piercing is out of hand – Every day, in my professional workplace, I am treated to pierced eyebrows, noses, tongues, lips…. This looks professional? I am told we allow this in the workplace because it is a recognized form of free expression. E’scuse me? Free expression? If I am a client whom you are trying to convince that you are the professional choice I should make, and you are sporting multiple piercings, you loose – End of story.

Energy drinks – The legal crack of the Zed generation – Not only are these people glued to cans of this stuff all day, the local Zip Trip has it on tap, so they get the 44 oz. buckets of the stuff on ice – It’s like being around a bunch of speed freaks all day – No wonder they go to the bar every night - They need to get liquored up just to come down from the all day, every day energy drink buzz.

Dressing like Schleps: I like casual as much as the next guy, and I appreciate that I don’t have to wear a monkey suit every day. But – I wear nice shirts and pants, clean and pressed, and I take some time to coordinate the whole wardrobe. And in walk these… People with mangled, wrinkly shirts, baggy, shapeless pants, ratty, dog-eared shoes, t shirts and sneakers on casual Friday….

Which leads me to – backward ball caps – I used to have a phrase for this when I was the Bus Depot Cop – “Son, there’s only two groups of people who wear their caps backwards, that’s welders and catchers, and you don’t look like either of those to me...” Do these kids not realize that once everybody is doing or wearing it, it’s not cool, hip, happenin’, fashionable, or cutting edge any more? You just look like the other schlubs doing the same thing and hoping to be different… You wanna be different? Wear the f’ing cap the right way; now that’d be unusual!

Much of the rest of the behavior I see is just what people this age do and have done for ages, so there’s really nothing else to rant about – But don’t get me started, OK?

Rant & Roll

This rant started internally when my wife, my best friend, my partner, casually tossed out over the Sunday paper, “I think you should rethink voting for Kinky…” RETHINK it, she says! Man, oh man… She wants me to vote for Chris Whatshisnutz, the Democratic shill lookin’ to boost Rick Perry… If all you need for politics is money, good looks, and a willingness to lie, cheat, and steal, Perry is going to, in the immortal words of Moe Howard, “Moidah the bums.” I mean Chris is only sporting one of those three vital qualities, ya know? (By the way, he ain’t good looking and his wallet ain’t fat, if you catch my drift, and I think you do...)

I am afraid that the love of my life is bowing to the pressure of actually wanting to WIN. I believe she’s under the delusion that a Good Candidate running a Fair Campaign can WIN… Well, I’m here to tell y’all that it ain’t happenin’: Babe, I love ya more than anything or anyone, always have and always will, will be with ya for as long as you’ll have me, BUT - You're WRONG, honey, dead wrong...

Why? Because winning in politics doesn’t have anything to do with right and wrong, justice, The American Way, or the ideals and fervent wishes of Our Forefathers. And Chris Bell is no better than Perry frankly – A rose by any other name is still a rose, or in this case, a stinkbug politician. Winning in politics takes money, connections, a general suspension of morals and ethics, and the unabashed ability to prostitute yourself to not one, but many factions with whom you share little to naught. Rick Perry and Carol Keaton “Granma Shotgun” Strayhorn are perfect examples of the genre. The only reason that I would vote for anyone other than Kinky is if it were necessary to keep Strayhorn out of office. Perry is annoying, but he's also stupid and relatively harmless - Strayhorn is malignant - I have witnessed more sincerity from a squirrel than I have from these present and former politicians, and certainly more brains.

I am not a conspiracy theorist, in any way, shape, or form; that said, consider this: I believe that the last two presidential elections were rigged. I believe that the owners of the two companies that make most voting machines, who are hardcore right-wing Republican Power Brokers, are in the pocket of the RNC, or vice versa. I believe the Democrats won Florida and Ohio. I think that it can be said with little or no reservation that, among currently serving politicians in this country, a majority are little better than criminals, and are running this country as a criminal enterprise solely to the benefit of themselves and their companies, holdings, interests, pals and cohorts.

I will vote for Kinky because he is not a politician, and because he accurately reflects to me the outrage and frustration intelligent citizens feel toward American politics in this day and age. I would vote for him for that reason if no other. I don’t care how much he knows personally, although it is my impression that he is a good deal smarter than any of the other candidates: I trust that he will hire good people who know how to do what they’re called to do. I don’t care if he smokes cigars, farts, sweats, or occasionally fires off amazing malaprops – So do I, so does everyone I know. It’s called being human!

Only politicians are so obsessed with ludicrous attempts to appear pristine and fault free. Only politicians spend so much time and energy wiping the reality from their worlds in order to maintain their illusions. I am sick and tired of smoke and mirrors, bullshit apathy, false concern, imitation commiseration, faux sincerity, and ignorance wrapped in power. These assholes covered up a fucking pedophile in their midst, about who’s actions they were fully aware! They did it to cover their own asses, and to avoid tarnishing their half-assed façade of legitimacy! They speak of the invasionn of Iraq as if it was someone else’s fault! They completely screw the lower and middle classes as a matter of routine, and ask us to thank them when they’re done bending us over! The Chief Architect of the current political model has said, straight out, that his intention is to break the government, to bring it to it’s knees unable to rise again, so that it can be replaced with his preferred model, (And if you don’t know who that is or what it means, then I’m sorry, but you really need to wake the fuck up!) They screw the old, the young, women, any and all non-whites, and anybody else they feel like in the name of lining their pockets, and those of the corporations and companies they claim to be regulating. They crawl from corporate officer to politician, lobbyist to consultant, in a never ending incestuous train wreck. They are ugly, obscene, embarrassing, stupid, boorish, ignorant, oblivious, and absolutely beyond the pale.

I can’t think of anything more to say about politicians just now…

I am tired of being embarrassed by my government. They are akin to the stock market in 1929 - Prone to collapse because they no longer represent the things they were meant to represent - They reflect only themselves, and that is a particularly empty and soulless view. I am tired of tolerating rampant stupidity and dangerous arrogance. I don’t care what stripe in comes in, I’m not playing any more.

I Love Texas...

I really do, and here’s why – In fact, dang, I don’t know that I’ve ever written about this before!

The first time the weather cools after a Texas summer, it’s as if spring has just come to the desert. All the plants that were barely holding their own breath a collective sigh of relief and start growing like crazy. The view of rolling hills, mesquites, and oaks shrouded in low fog, and the sun rising across that long, deep view is magical. When its 65 during the day and 45 at night, its paradise. Truth be told, summers suck in Texas, but there’s 9 great months in between ‘em, ya know…

Monica and I came from Washington State, and I came from Massachusetts before that. Now, people in New England are not what you would generally refer to as warm and fuzzy; taciturn and aloof might be more appropriate… People from Washington used to be quite friendly, but as the state has grown and changed, they’ve become significantly less so. Washingtonians like to present themselves as friendly and laid back, when in fact they’re really wound quite tightly. If you smile and say hello to somebody in Seattle, they move farther away on the sidewalk and assume you're panhandling, nuts, or a criminal.

And then we moved to Texas… Now, down here, people say “How are you doin’” all the time – All kinds of people – Strangers, even. They do it in stores, and on the street, and when you’re doing business with them – And they expect you to answer, because they genuinely mean it when they say it. I learned, over time, that even with the grocery checker, you have to stop what you’re doing, look them in the eyes, and say “Good thanks, and you?” because it’s the polite thing to do.

People hold doors open for other people in Texas. When somebody in a store realizes they’re in your way, they say “Oh, excuse me,” and they mean it – I had to learn to stop doing the Washington You Oblivious Idiot look to such folks, because here, they notice, and they genuinely weren’t trying to be in the way, and they genuinely mean they’re sorry. If you do the pissy thing in Texas, they will stop and get stern, and ask “Is there a problem?” Because we don’t pretend that there’s not down here…

If a routine business transaction takes longer than it should, the clerk, teller, cashier, etc, notices your discomfort, looks you in the eyes and says, “I’m sorry this took so long,” and you’re expected to say “That’s OK,” because it is, and it’s the polite thing to do.

And then there are the people themselves – here’s a helpful travel tip: Never, ever make assumptions about a Texan based on their appearance or accent. Here’s a case in point. I sold a gun recently, an AR-15 assault rifle, in fact. The buyer sounded on the phone like a tried and true Texan, (Trahd ‘n truw), and new his guns quite well. The initial phone conversation segued from the gun to the fact that George worked at Otis Elevator, and was worried not only because he was on disability with a pending hip replacement, but because his benefits were lookin’ kinda messed up too – That’s the way conversations go down here, ‘cause this is a couple of people talking, and who you are and what’s going on counts – that’s life, and we’re all in together, so be prepared to discuss it.

I met George the next evening. He was short, sporting a big ol’ paunch, bad teeth, balding, and an accent like Boomhauer on King of the Hill. He walked into my guitar shop, which is where I’d decided to do the transaction, and immediately asked if I made guitars. When I admitted that I did, he asked if I’d ever had the privilege to see Andres Segovia play live, and allowed that he had, twice, and that is was a remarkable experience. George is not a clueless southern hick elevator repair man, folks. George ran Tai Kwan Do studios with a fairly legendary Korean master here in Texas for many years. He was the road manager for Rocky Hill, the brother of ZZ Top’s Dusty Hill and the leader of the infamous Rocky Hill Band. He was a long-time friend of Townes Van Zandt and spoke with great affection for his friend. He heard my kid’s music playing and instantly recognized Chicago’s 25 or 6 to 4, and very early Youngbloods. He likes jazz and classical, and thinks The Shrub is a moron. He was articulate, curious, friendly, and genuinely interesting. Before he left, he allowed that he’d “Like this relationship we started to continue, if you’re of a mind – I have a feeling you’ll want to shoot this gun again, and I’d be happy to load for ya just to see you do it.” I will and we will, trust me.

George is a pretty typical Texan, and that’s why I love it down here.

U2Charist

We’re one, but we’re not the same,
We’ve got to carry each other, carry each other,
One…

What’s that, lines from one of our contemporary Christian songs? Well, yes, and no – The lyrics above come from the band U2: If you’re not aware of U2, don’t worry, you’ll soon have an opportunity to get acquainted. U2 started back some 26 years ago, in Northern Ireland and quickly rose to rock prominence. They are now, and have been for some time, a band with a huge worldwide following. Why is that? Well, they are very talented musicians, indeed, but more to the point, their music is not throw-away pop. It is music laced with messages, and more often that not, messages with deep Christian roots. Lead singer Bono says that if he wasn’t wearing leather, he’d be wearing cloth, and his lyrics bear this out: There is a sense of power, passion, and serious purpose in much of U2’s music.
As fame and fortune found the band, Bono has used his to further the issues that are most important to him: He began The One Campaign, a non-profit entity that accepts only membership, not money. One is based on the supposition that if the developed world turned one percent of its gross national product toward the world’s greatest ills, poverty, hunger, and disease, we could eradicate them in our lifetime. This is a goal mirrored by the United Nation’s Millennium Development Goals – Basically, an intention by the nations of the world to do just that. In our church, that effort is spearheaded by Episcopalians for Global Reconciliation, a charitable arm geared toward funding the agencies that work toward these goals in some of the hardest hit places on earth – Africa, South America, and the Balkans, to name a few.
In searching for a way to illuminate these needs and efforts, The Reverend Paige Blaire came up with the U2Charist, a Rite II worship service powered by the music of U2 designed to awaken us to these great needs and to the role God calls us to in service of them. The U2Charist is a phenomenon that has grown and spread with great energy and passion – You only need witness the response the service raised at this year’s Annual Convention to sense it.That phenomenon has now come to Trinity. Through the efforts of a wonderful team of people, we will host an U2Charist here, on Saturday, November 4th, at 7 p.m. This event is co-sponsored by the Campus Chaplaincy at T.C.U. The service will benefit Episcopalians for Global Reconciliation, and all funds collected at the service will go to that agency. It will most certainly be an amazing and powerful experience, one not to be missed.

Find out if one is happening near you, and be sure to catch it.

It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World...

Monica and I watched the Texas Gubernatorial debate on the TV last Friday. If you’ve followed my blog, you know we are fans of catty TV, so this was a special night – We even had pizza delivered. Again, if you read this blog, you might wonder if my opinion of the candidates changed as a result this event.

The short answer is, ‘No’.

Why not, you ask? Well... Rick Perry is a Ken Doll; he looked more like a news anchor than the news anchors who were asking him questions. Carol Keaton ‘Granma’ ‘Queen Bee’ ‘Snake Eyes’ ‘Cannonball’ ‘Not In My Backyard’ Strayhorn has the fakest smile I have seen in some time; she is about as sincere as a used car salesman with an overdue boat payment. Chris… Chris… The Democrat guy – I saw him – Chris… Dang it... Hang on, I gotta call Monica – Hey, babe, how’s it goin’? What are ya wearin’? Kill your boss yet? What was the name of that Democratic fella runnin’ for governor? No, not Kinky – The Democrat… Chris Bell – That’s it! Love you, bye. Chris Bell is that exciting – Actually, much less so – The previous conversation between my wife and I, transcribed verbatim in real time, was much more exciting than Chris…. Bell. Kinky waved a cigar, wore his Johnnie Cash suit, and was refreshingly honest.

Lowlights from the Event: Rick Perry referring to various other movers and shakers as “My Good Friend So-And-So.” Chris Bell talking with absolutely zero inflection or emotion. ‘Granma’ Strayhorn saying, “In a Strayhorn administration" at all, let alone a bunch of times. Kinky waving his cigar around while admitting, “Yeah, I’ll probably still smoke cigars if elected.”

Highlights from the Event: Chris Bell trying to smile – This guy is not fun at a party, guaranteed – And he was a Congressman? In Texas? Rick Perry working his Concerned, Serious Governor Face – Kinda looked as if he was sportin' a wicked hemorrhoid and desperately needed to score some Preparation H: Bonus Perry Moment – Rick saying, with a straight face, that his roots “Are solidly on the farm”. Carol Keaton Strayhorn not having a clue as to the name of the new President of Mexico, but unraveling some totally unrelated line of bullshit about what would happen in a Strayhorn administration anyway: Bonus Strayhorn moment - 'Granma' insisting repeatedly she is, "With the people"... Kinky’s response to the question, “How much money has the lottery given to public education?” – “Well, they say $8 Billion, but I don’t believe ‘em, do you?”

General observations from the Event: I thought it was very refreshing to ask the candidates questions about real life stuff – Governor Perry didn’t have idea one about how much a gallon of gas costs currently, and as noted, Strayhorn doesn’t know her neighbors. The Phantom Democrat and Kinky scored points though. It was patently a waste to allow the candidates to ask a question of each other and get a rebuttal after the response – This is, unequivocally, putting lipstick on pigs. The MC was from Houston, and I assume was a TV news person: From his general demeanor, he’s likely a sports or weather guy, and comes from the Wink Martindale School of Hosting; he often seemed to confuse the debate for an episode of Family Feud…

Special Awards from the Event. To Kinky Freidman, The Balls The Size of Pickle Jars Award; for showing up a political mosh pit like that and doing very well indeed. To Chris Bell, The Sansabelt, Dad-n-Lad, White Bread Translucent Candidate Award; he could be sitting in the cubicle next to me and I still wouldn’t notice him. To Rick Perry, The Helmet Hair Empty Suit Award - With all due respect, he sticks to what he’s good at; Show up, look good, and not much else. And last but not least, to ‘Granma’ Strayhorn, The I’ve Never Ever Seen A Scarier Candidate Award, and that includes Grover Cleveland - Citizens of Texas, be forewarned - If you elect this woman, I will hunt you all down like the dogs that you are and put you out of my misery.

Mark my words…