Thursday, December 15, 2011

Still beats digging ditches

I was signing and distributing books a couple days ago at Barnes & Noble and the first customer to approach me seemed like a sure sale; talking about how he read A Land Remembered in one sitting and how he just loves Florida books. In retrospect I'm thinking he loves them almost as much as a good old Klan rally.

So there he was, holding my novel on his way to purchasing one and he says he just has to ask me one question: Did I vote for the current president of the United States? When I heard that I knew, from experience, that he would not like my answer.

The fact is, I don't vote except when I'm on the ballot but my boys, disenfranchised by age as they are, asked me to help Obama in their stead. Had they, in their impotence, required of me a McCain vote, I might have girded my loins and granted that. So I said to the prospective customer I sure did, to which he responded by putting my novel back on the stack and walking away.

Not an author to tolerate rudeness, especially from a non-buyer, I said, “That's awfully fascist of you.”

He said, still walking away, “I just don't want it.”

To which I said, “This is America, isn't it? You're not supposed to punish people for the way they vote.”

“Now that I know where you're coming from,” he said, turning half around, “I just don't want to expose myself to your writing.”

There you have it. I can understand if people don't want to expose their brain to crap, because every word you read goes in there and who knows what damage it can cause? I mean, look at this sorry lot of us that got exposed to at least twelve years of reading school curriculum. I'm pretty sure there's a connection. Think about it – only animals that can read go to psychiatrists.

My problem with this guy is, I'm pretty sure he regularly exposes his precious brain to crap of an order I never could dream of achieving. Maybe, like many of those worshiping at the altar of crap, he was simply afraid to contrast it with anything else.

Monday, December 12, 2011

Just say "yes" to coffee

Wholesale hypocrisy: This caffeine-addicted society advising kids not to absorb drugs.

Friday, December 09, 2011

More stupid media-speak

Unfortunately exposed again to a television news broadcast and heard the guy say "Our facebook page is blowing up." Would that that were really true. Whatever that would be.

Friday, December 02, 2011

Stupid media word of the month

Activist: one who is very skilled in being active; adherent to activism; in modern media-speak: nameless, soulless, unloved, indistinct entity protesting inanities perpetrated by any government (example – two dozen activists were shot in Egypt today...); cultural activist: enzyme enlisted in the perpetration of yoghurt.

Friday, November 04, 2011

Driving on the phone

Americans have agreed that hundreds of thousands will be slaughtered on behalf of the automobile industry and we're all pretty used to that. And since driving is fun, we accept the risk. But the auto has a new accomplice in mayhem, the cell phone, use of which killed 12,000 teenagers last year and maimed many more than that, not to mention the people incidentally run over while the teens were killing themselves. The communications industry has such power that cell phone use, more deadly than drunk driving, is legal in many states. In Tenneessee, where it is illegal, the fine is fifty dollars.

It is outrageous that this is allowed to continue. Since the government lacks the moral terpitude to address the situation, Americans should show that we don't. You want to protest something meaningful and easy? Instead of protesting Wall Street while texting your friends, protest the existence of cell phones. Put or throw them away until cell phones are incapable of working in a moving vehicle. Boycotting is easy, especially when boycotting something totally unnecessary. Just do it, America. Take a real stand for a change.

Monday, October 31, 2011

Rewriting history under our noses

In a recent accidental exposure to a television news broadcast, I heard that the Iraq so-called War "started during the George W. Bush presidency." Quite a difference between that and "was started by George Bush." They're doing it already.

Monday, September 26, 2011

Euphemism of the month

Euphemism of the month -

Substance abuse: the overuse of drugs purchased by nice people in stores – as distinguished from drug abuse, engaged in only by messed-up derelicts in alleys.

Friday, September 23, 2011

Tony Bennett

I find it interesting that in this land of highly touted free speech and all, nearly ninety-year old Tony Bennett was required to affirm his patriotism because of a foreign policy opinion he expressed on a radio talk show. Where have you gone, Joe McCarthio?

Monday, September 19, 2011

9/11

After the media mourn-fest attending the anniversary of the United States' chickens coming home to roost, I am left with some observations. It is interesting that most Americans consider it an attack on America. In the cause of accuracy it was an attack on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon, two building complexes near the eastern edge of the vast piece of land we call the United States, geographically insignificant. In the media parlance of today, the victims were not the targets, they were collateral damage. The United States then went ahead and attacked itself. And Iraq of course. This country in fact never has been attacked from outside. The bombing of Pearl Harbor, a military base in the South Pacific, was extrapolated into an affront upon the entire continental United States. Many historians believe the American blockade of Japan left the Japanese no choice. For Korea and Vietnam, of course, the U.S never was attacked, only her dominoes. So apparently there is an aspect of human nature that embraces catastrophe of people thousands of miles hither because we pay the same tax collector. Therefore some farmer in Nebraska feels attacked when really, he was not. No doubt the people running the show understand this and mine it to justify having a war.

Also noteworthy is no mention of domestic responsibility for the 9/11 attack, like the idea, for example, that American military activities abroad might make people angry enough to perpetrate such acts. As one American soldier in Iraq said on tv, “If we busted into your house and tore everything up and pushed you around, you'd be out there the next day planting bombs by the road. Unless you're a wuss.”

Americans might see things more clearly if they try thinking about them in an unpatriotic way. And then they might notice that this now media event was nothing to what the United States military did to the people of Iraq, a country which truly was attacked. The last body count I read as the result of the American invasion was half a million, a significant percentage of the population. It seems a bit indulgent to sit and watch 9/11 again and remember where we were and how effected we were when so many Iraqis can't remember where they were when they were attacked because they're dead. As Americans mourn, they might mourn the likelihood that their tax collecting entity operates in a way that would cause this.

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

Classical Gas

Against the advice of all higher cognitive functions I attended a film version the other day of Mozart's Magic Flute opera at the Enzian. How it delightfully surprised me, actually laugh- out-loud funny whenever this one big guy would speak gravely with a straight face in that goofy language. Why people didn't just crack up over Hitler with his Charlie Chaplin mustache to boot, I'll never know. Maybe you have to be German not to recognize stand-up when you see it. Also it was refreshing to get a heroine who could have picked her teeth with Twiggy. Far from requiring rescue, she looked quite capable of defeating the villain herself. Or being the villain. Since Placido Domingo's attraction to her was entirely skin deep, and there was plenty of it, maybe that's how it was in the day.

Wednesday, August 03, 2011

People are naturally inquisitive

People are naturally inquisitive, always hoping to solve the mystery, understand the hidden meaning, learn the back-story. Not satisfied with our sensory look at the world, we must analyze its composition down to atoms. Yet it is the fate of modern man, casually connected to all worldwide malevolence, that he is almost daily made aware of events he cannot bear to contemplate.

His office is to shoulder the burden of evil without even the luxury of understanding it. Imagine modern man of a mere few hundred years ago, aware only of his own travails and those in his immediate vicinity; unenlightened by news of the most recent depredation placed upon members of his species, of anonymous sadness he can mourn only, never console or prevent. He has not been afflicted by history lessons poisoning his outlook with the knowledge of every god-awful horror ever perpetrated on a scale grand enough to be remembered by strangers. He was not weighed down, his days drained of their sunshine, by hundreds of years of misery. Imagine how lovely to live unaware of genocides occurring halfway around the world to people unknown to us beyond their terrible fate. How delightful not to toil under the weight of World Wars, knowing that multitudes suffered yet ignorant of the actual suffering. How excellent not to measure our happiness by the millions outrageously denied it. How much finer not to live in the age of information. Let’s face it. Humans aren’t newsworthy anymore.

Thursday, July 14, 2011

In the Footprints of Bartram

It was the best of times. It was the worst of times to go outdoors. Yet she did it, barely considering the consequences of her action. Yes, from the middle of our society ridiculous with people afraid to walk beyond the front door to the driver door, scared to drink non-plastified water, loathe to breathe unconditioned air, a hero has risen.

I found her in the unlikely pages of Lifestyle Magazine, which the mailman had shoved unsolicited into my box. This publication is a local horror that usually features gripping cover stories like "Orlando’s Ten Best Dentists." She is the editor but not for long. I believe Tarre Beach soon will be getting a call from OUTSIDE Magazine.

I would like to quote from her front piece: “Inspired by our piece on local waterways, I decided to check out the lake in my own backyard.”

Here we have it. Just like that, after living there ten years, well, let me quote again the source: ‘Without really thinking about it, I just put on my sneakers and walked myself down to the water’s edge.”

No sooner does she notice the lake in her backyard, then BAM! She’s thrown off the gum boots she stalks the perimeter of her house in and applied mere sneakers for swiftness and agility that she might survive the trek, but still guaranteeing nothing.

Standing amidst the shin-high grass, the intrepid woman posed jauntily for one final photo in her bright-white pants and blue top, before …once again, in her words: “Moments after the photo you see here was taken by remote release (Absolutely alone she was forced to use ‘remote release’), I fell in.”

Heavens to Betsy! One would expect this photograph to be the last we see of Ms. Beach, yet she fights for life though “scratched up by nasty thorns, bitten by mosquitoes and had a near panic attack when I heard a big splash behind me.” She writes so casually about a big splash behind her. How many of us would keep cool as she did, avoiding a full blown panic attack? In the entire account not once does she tell us she shat herself, in this day of confessional writing, admirable in itself whether she did or not. The thing is, she didn’t subject us to the image of it. Again…”Back on shore and cleaned up I decided to learn more about Trout Lake.”

She did what most of us would have done in the first place and Googled it, learning that the lake “is 80.5 acres large.” Largeness pretty well tells it all anyway.

Finally, this magazine editor ventured toward a lake with no regard for her own safety that she might save us: “Stick to known waterways”, she warns, “that have parks and boat rentals and other amenities. Let my wet, itchy, scary water adventure be a lesson to you.”

Monday, January 10, 2011

Letters from the Politically Correct

Acme Athletic Gear
Ronconcomo, New York
Public Relations

To whom it may concern:

How can you, in good conscience, continue selling knee guards in this enlightened time? It is the most knee-guardly thing I've ever heard of.

Appalled,
Christopher Robin

# # #

Dear Mr. Robin:

We are presently looking at a plan for restructuring the company. Your letter has inspired us to redouble our efforts. Thank you for your interest.

In your debt,
Joe Acme

# # #

Politically Incorrect
Bill Maher
3-15-99

Dear Mr. Maher!

I'm a frickin' American and I'm as white as Jesus' ass. This whole country's made up of frickin' Americans. Why is it only the black race is referred to on your show as a frickin' American? It happens over and over again. What makes all your guests so damn afraid to call someone else a frickin' American? The name of your show should be Demographically Incorrect.

Sincerely,
A frickin' American, God dammit

# # #

Dear Honky:

It's African American. And what you don't get, is there's a fine line between being hailed as politically incorrect and being perceived as ignorant. An ignorant person cannot be politically incorrect. He's just ignorant, like you, and that's not what my show is all about. It's about informed people having the courage to sound ignorant. Once my guests have used the current terminology to isolate the darker races, they can say whatever they want, short of queer bashing.

Candidly,
The Star

# # #

Virginia Clarion
3/12/99
letters to the editor

Dear editor:

I'd just like to know what's wrong with being niggardly anyway. My father was a Niggard, his father before him, and right on down the line, all Niggards and proud of it. What the Hell'd we fight the Civil War for?

Fightin' mad,
Niggard Lee VI

# # #

Crisp-Coon Funeral Home, Lake Alfred, Florida
Mr. Crisp/ Mr. Coon
3/12/'99

Dear Whoever:

I can no longer contain the revulsion I feel driving by your sign on my way to work at Cypress Gardens. In our prevailing moral climate, it's a wonder your establishment has not been put out of business or forced to a name change. I'd like to help: The more appropriate Crisp-Coot comes immediately to mind. Crisp-Loon doesn't offend anybody who would care. Crisp-Moon doesn't say much, but that's the idea. Crisp-Toon has a happy sound. I hope you choose one of these immediately and erase this highly visible blemish upon our town.

Sincerely,
Wannaweewee Buttcant

# # #

Dear lady:

Believe me, we've tried. Here is our list: Crisp-Colored Person - sounds somehow archaic. Crisp-Darkey - seems a bit overstated, or overdone, if you like. Jungle bunny on a spit - too crude. Nobody likes to think about spit.

Crisp-Negro - too stuffy. Crisp-Nigger - rhymes with trigger - we don't want to be promoting guns; it looks too self serving. Crisp- Spook sounds too afterlife. You can see the problem we've had.

Thank you for your suggestions. We never thought of those and should make a decision soon.

Yours truly,
The Head Figger

# # #

Ted Koppel
ABC News
Monday

Dear Mr. Koppel:

When did they start callin 'em niggards? I gotta say I like the direction things is goin. I quit keepin up when they got to Afro-American. Where's the fun in that?

"Hey! Afro-American! Get over here and wash my hub caps."

That just don't work for me. But I can sure live with niggard. Finally got somethin to make me glad I lived this long. Shoulda knowed they'd run outta names sooner or later and come back round to the start.

I didn't know you had it in you, boy. We're havin a membership drive shortly, hopin to see you.

Rejuvenated,
John Baumgartner
Imperial Wizard, Orlando, Florida

# # #

Dear John:

Please stop watching Nightline.

Best wishes,
Ted