Peoria's 15 minutes of fame (infamy)

Bishop Jenky of Peoria, Illinois has redesigned homily. His pulpit has been turned into a lectern. In a big nut shell, his complaint with Obama, embellished with a nonsensical and irrelevant comparison to Hitler and Stalin, revolves around the insurance  coverage of contraceptives, making it sound as if the governmental mandate required all Catholics to use them. I wonder what Jenky thinks of the insurance coverage of AIDS victims? Would he expect the insurance companies to investigate each case and offer coverage depending upon cause, as long as the church accepted the activity?

Ted Nugent

First of all, Ted Nugent is about as much of a threat to the current administration as he is to national security, which is zero, and our hard earned tax dollars are being wasted on any Secret Service investigation that may or may not be instituted. I know the SS is talking to him. I hope they leave it at that.


For the record, I like Nugent. He is a musician. His political affiliation is well documented as a Republican. To my knowledge he has never held office. While he is relentless, caustic and radical when interviewed, it is merely another example of his personality, the first demonstrated when he took the stage. I also believe he is a one point star when it comes to his political view no matter what he says- he wants to keep his guns.


Ted is merely an occasionally recurring sound byte, little to worry about, legless and loud. The world would be less exciting without him, certainly less amused.


A suburb of Indonesia? Where did that come from?

Santorum out

Santorum has effectively guaranteed Romney the nomination. I wonder if he'll endorse Mitt while secretly voting for Obama, like he said.

The Supreme Court- unbiased? Yeah, sure.

Sitting presidents select Supreme Court Justices. If not for the presidential term limit, a popular Republican or Democrat could nominate an entire court during his tenure provided enough of the older Supreme folk died or retired. Currently, there is no term for a Supreme Court Justice. While I don't question their credentials, I am concerned that someone placed on the court by Richard Nixon might be better equipped to be playing with his great grand children than disposing justice as the final say in America. Many would claim an advantage lies in the freedom to dispense decisions without peer or conflict, without competition other than within the fold, but to me, a finite term of some kind would be preferable. 

If anyone out there thinks that the Supreme Court is unbiased, consider how many decisions are defined along political lines. We need to reinvent the process of placement or invent a new system altogether that would mix the sand between conservative and liberal viewpoints. Today's political concept between Reps and Dems of "us and them" is bleeding into the court. And don't give me that baloney about the court upholding the Constitution. The Supreme Court is no less responsible for misinterpretations than any office holder in the land.

On music, culture, the blues

Just over a week ago, my wife and I attended the Dallas Blues Fest, likely not the only festival of the genre but certainly a particular take on the subject. This was the 8th annual and I will, barring anything unforeseeable, be there next year. An inside event. 8 bands with short sets. Always a front man (or woman), the supporting casts consisting of seasoned professionals, many likely hired guns. Top quality support. Performance for the leaders leads the way while staying on tune was tough for a few. 

This was advertised as a blues show, but rhythm and blues might have been more accurate. Evangelical episodes intermixed with raw sexual narrative peppered most performances. Not a single guitar solo.

The crowd was awesome. They stood, they cheered, they rocked, they danced and after a while they moved in and crammed together at the stage, singing and dancing, dressed to the nines, unabashedly flaunting and grooving. We had front row seats. The coolest time ever.

A detail- of the 5,000 or so attending, I'd be stretching the truth if I were to tell you I saw more than 10 white people. One was a guitar player. We number 2. I'm telling you, this was an eye opener to me. I used to be involved in the blues society back in Peoria and the numbers there would have been reversed. I thought I knew the real deal. I experienced it last week. 

I will still search out the SRV  type bands with long guitar solos backed by the old 1-4-5 and will still love it, but now I will long for an integration.

Santorumclause and the Obama gift

I'm not the brightest bulb in the pack so maybe I got this wrong, but it appears that Santorum would vote for Obama if Romney were to win the Republican nomination. He did say Obama would be better than an Etch-A-Sketch Romney- also, Romney apparently feels a copy and paste campaign would work well against the president. It's scary to be a Republican these days........ ever since Sarah Palin.. or maybe Bush Junior.

In Dallas, not of Dallas

I will never produce Dallas rhetoric any more than I produced Peoria rhetoric, but I will certainly display my professional opinion when considering construction differences as I see them. It seems, however, that the farther south one travels, the farther south is the craftsmanship. I'm just sayin'..................

The vestiges of prejudice

Vestiges? So I'd like to think. Too bad that prejudice is alive and well in America, in the world. Until the population, down to the last individual, smartens up and regains independent thought, we as a society will continue to be encumbered by bigotry. To date, bias and judgment rule the world- visit any racially integrated southern community and choose your church, the white Baptist congregation or the black Baptist congregation. Don't tell me the separation is made based upon concepts regarding music and dance.


We all judge, myself included, a terrible trait, yet we await our day to be judged, also, by the way, a terrible concept. We as a society have never strayed from our prejudice, we have simply cloaked it with passive acceptance, deception, under our breath. There is no ignoring the prejudice in America. To many here, Obama is crucified for his policy, for the perception that he could be, despite continually correcting the ignorant, a Muslim, but the underlying truth is that to a generation, to others, he is a black man, and that is a horror to them.


Prejudice involving sexual orientation has long been supported by the Christian right. If they use the Bible to support their bias, they run into a hundred contradictions on the subject. I am willing to believe that if every bedroom door in America was opened, we would find about half a dozen couples who only have sex to procreate, the rest doing whatever they do for fun and pleasure and a healthy percentage crossing a line that would place them in their own hot seat when they considered their homophobic views.


This is simply a basic view of prejudice. Books have been written on the subject, and while we understand it, we still practice it. Sometimes the bigotry changes form but never does it disappear.

Politics and Religion

Let's get something straight- this country was not founded on Christian principles. Our founding fathers, some Deists, purposely left Christ out of the equation in order to preserve the sanctity of freedom of religion- all beliefs, not just Christian beliefs. Separation of church and state was designed to avoid the problems inherent in countries with combination governments. Freedom of religion also includes freedom from religion and its potential restraints and influence. The conversation within and without the Republican party emphasizing and focusing on Christianity, Mormonism, Islam and Catholics simply fractures and weakens the party by spending time on a subject best left on the back burner. I'm much more interested in policy than in a candidate's religious motivations.

A story, pulled from the tendrils of my mind

Do not read this if you believe, even for a second, that I see this story as anyway near to reality. Many people can visit lala land. I live in lalalalalalala world, the source of my upheaval.

As posted on als-whaticantellyou.blogspot.com I feel it necessary to warn of bad words, a bad man and an  appropriate conclusion- the only thing appropriate in the whole mess extracted from my cerebral cortex.

            The day was particularly bright.

            Rare sunlight burst through the doors as the keeper swung them wide, bathing the room with a natural glow for the first time in a thousand years. There was, of course, no scream from the hinges as they folded open, no skirling of dust as a breeze was inhaled, and no freshening of the centuries old air. None of this came as a surprise to the keeper as he rounded the doors- modern in design, well-oiled and perfectly true, silent and smooth. When he entered the sunlight, he did not squint. The brightness did not affect his eyes. He showed no emotion at first. After a few seconds, however, his brain began to change. Something about the sun, a sun he had never seen, had never felt, began a transformation. Wonderment filled his mind. It suddenly occurred to him that he never should have thrown the bolt, never should have turned the knobs, never should have exposed his world,……… but he had no regrets. As the sunlight touched his skin, pallid and gray, he could feel life’s energy absorb into every pore, drench every cell. It felt like electricity coursing through his veins, yet he knew nothing about electricity even though the area of his keep was drenched in light emitted by countless fluorescent fixtures, controlled by nary a switch. He had no idea that Pandora’s box now lay, strewn about, in pieces; its contents already infusing into reality- a reality soon to become a nightmare of epic proportions.

            The room was flayed open.

            The keeper never should have opened the doors to an outside world, a world where physics existed in harmony with nature and life ran like a clock- a clock wound and set by the happenings within the room. The keeper, a man programmed to perform a minimum of functions, designed with a minimal skill, a minimal intelligence, a minimal experience, had acted on an unexpected impulse and had swung the doors wide, both actually and figuratively, on universal chaos.

            The dim bulb that was the keeper’s mind brightened as he stood in the doorway. For the first time in his life, he was aware of his surroundings. He looked out on a new world. A sidewalk, a street. Traffic lights flashing yellow. If he had any notion at all, he would have recognized the area as an industrial park. He had never seen a human being. He had no point of reference for anything and very little understanding seeped into his brain. While thought processes had begun to develop, his cognition was still low. In his mind, all he saw were things. That was, until he caught movement out of the corner of his eye as he turned back toward the room. His feeble brain barely registered the distant figure, a man, moving erratically closer, a few blocks away- not quite a curiosity.

            The keeper turned back and assessed, with a new understanding, infantile yet growing, the only environment he could remember before opening those doors. The room- seemingly endless in all directions- made no sense to him. He knew he was a keeper yet he couldn’t remember what he kept. He knew, somehow, that he wasn’t the only keeper yet he had never met another soul. All of his new revelations came to him in waves. He knew he was responsible for something yet he couldn’t recall much of anything. It seemed the more his mind began to function, the less he could recall. He started to look around - in his estimation- for the first time.  With any comparable reference, the sight within the room would have set new standards for strange. Every few seconds, the silence was interrupted by a crash, most distant, some closer, all punctuated by a tinkle of broken glass. Before today, the keeper could not recall ever hearing anything. A new word popped into his head as he looked, seemingly for the first time, at what filled the room. Symmetry. Then another- perfection. Lined up in both directions, for as far as the eye could see, were small round tables. At the center of each table stood a glass, a Champaign glass, (had he known), empty and glistening. Suspended, in mid air, over each glass was a hammer, a small sledge. A massive array of fluorescents overhead managed, somehow, to light each table with an individuality that made it appear as the center of its own universe. Apropos, as it turned out.

            Within sight, a hammer dropped, smashing the glass below to smithereens and scaring the keeper half out of his developing mind. Little did he know that at the very instant the hammer crushed the glass a four year old girl, Lindsay, (unfortunately named after Lindsay Lohan), died upon impact with a Silverado

            Taz Williams, known lovingly by his bar buddies as the Tasmanian devil, was feeling particularly good, though lost and loaded as he lurched and swayed to the whiskey beat. The night had been kind to him, what with the friendly idiot, some new guy, buying drinks and trying to sell lame conversation; buying the good stuff, Crown and such, normally above Taz’s pay grade. It was too bad he’d already hitched a ride with the bastard before he found out the bum was queer. Now he was God knows where after jacking the puke in the mouth and clearing out of his car at five in the morning. For a fleeting moment he wondered if the fag would have coughed up some dough to get off. Only for a moment. He wasn’t that drunk. Actually, he was. He was glad he punched the guy before he had time to consider.

            Taz was lost, and not for the first time. Little did he know it would be his last. H e usually had good directional instincts and generally found out that choosing a direction and sticking to it was sure to take you somewhere (though a couple times he got rolled by dudes just for invading their turf). Looking around he found himself in some kind of industrial abyss, where nobody was going to beat him up but just as likely an area where nobody was going to pick him up. He wondered if that guy had brought him out here to kill him. If he’d had a gun, he could’ve put a round in Taz’s head pretty as you please. Taz considered maybe that wouldn’t have been all bad.

            The Crown Royal was seeping through his skin, and the aroma, mixed with his sweat, extended his intoxication. He was reeling from the feeling. Good shit was good shit, even the second time around. Old Tazman was feeling no pain. He was also feeling no shame. The piss soaked the crotch of his Levis, rolled down his left leg and filled his Converse. Without as much as a hesitation, he continued down the deserted street. Had he been aware of it, even Taz would have marveled at a guy who could take a leak while walking. Supernatural, he would have said. Supernatural.

            Taz saw the open doors about a block ahead and decided he’d find his ride out of this wasteland. Little did he know that the keeper had never seen a car. Besides, once he encountered the keeper, a ride out would be the last thing on his mind.

            The keeper found himself wandering, exploring the redundancy in the arrangements as if they were fascinating and wonderful. At some level, his mind compelled him to believe these tables, these hammers and glasses were his children, his responsibility to protect. He was a hundred yards deep within the building when the sunlight entering the room dimmed, moved. He could barely see a shadow blocking the infusion. The keeper did not move, but instinctively grasped the table in front of him, momentarily panicked when the glass shifted ever so slightly. He had no idea that the glass held the spirit of Barrack Obama.

            Taz strode up to the open doors, the piss in his shoe pruning his toes, odor wafting to his nostrils. He glanced down at his crotch- wet on the inside but drying on the surface, the tinkle streak down his leg all but gone and his shoe stained slightly darker than the other,- inhaled deeply, sniffed an arm pit and shrugged. The Crown took over everything as he belched a tasty air bubble. Now it was time to find a guy to get him out of this hellhole. He turned into the open doorway and hollered “Hello!” without as much as a glance inside. Silence. Taz had no way of knowing that someone, standing frozen a football field deep in the building, had never before heard a word uttered. The keeper stood stock still, instantly terrorized. The booming sound, so unlike the breaking glass, came again, louder, the light from the open doors brightening again as the intruder left, or worse, much, much worse, entered the building. His building now. He was sure of it.

            Taz took a couple steps inside and let his eyes adjust to the change of light. His crotch itched and he was growing agitated. Nobody was in sight, the Crown was going sour on him and his buzz was morphing into a massive headache. The room was full of furniture. No, wait, just tables. A shitload of them. Something more… fancy glasses, Champagne glasses. Not really on the Tazman’s list of beverages, Champagne. Anyway, these glasses were empty. He picked one off of a nearby table, glanced at it, hollered one more time, heard nothing but distant crashes, rolled his eyes and let the glass slip through his fingers and tumble to the concrete floor, shattering into a million pieces. At the same time, a 56-year-old woman in Pakistan dropped dead at her kitchen sink.

            Taz started strolling down the aisles smacking glasses off tables, bitching to himself, talking out loud ”If there ain’t nobody here to help me, I’m gonna trash this dump!”. He grabbed a glass from a table just before the hammer came crashing down. The hammer hit the table with a dull clunk. Taz looked up “What the f…?!” In Delaware Pete Saban, 42, his head smashed flat under an end loader track, stood up, and when asked, said he was fine, even though his skull was shaped like a discus and his mouth was now under his ear. Taz dropped the glass and Pete fell dead. Until now, Taz hadn’t noticed the hammers, even though they glowed in the light over every table. He grabbed the fallen sledge and wielded it like a machete. Around the planet, people were dropping dead wherever Taz struck. In a matter of 5 minutes, he was a mass murderer with over 30 victims under his belt. He never saw the keeper coming….

            Rage, a brand new emotion, sprung from the keeper’s brain. He could see the intruder, wreaking havoc upon his children, his babies. Fear, another new emotion, short lived, was already a distant memory. He would have screamed at the intruder, strangely familiar, but the keeper, unknown to himself, had no vocal cords. In fact, he had no mouth. His face simply had eyes. He could hear through a hole in his temple. He was, in fact, human, but barely. He was a man, but bore no genitals. His head was small because his brain was small, though now it threatened to explode with all the recent input. His anger, oozing from his minuscule brain, set him running pall mall, a silent guardian exploding through the tables, destroying those he was determined to save, inwardly screaming in confused insanity as he torpedoed toward his enemy. A hundred souls were dashed by the time the keeper had covered 50 feet..

            Taz was coming off a drunk, not the first time, had pissed his pants, also not the first time, but still he was somebody not to be regarded lightly. He looked up, hearing the bull rush coming his way and smiled, thrilled at having gotten someone’s attention, good or bad. A freight train was coming. As Taz’s greeter closed in, a trail, strewn with scattered tables, hammers and broken glass followed. It occurred to Taz that this guy had less regard for property than himself. It also dawned on Taz that this guy might just have bad intentions. He decided to fight fire with fire. He began to blaze his own path of destruction.

            The keeper’s mind melted 100 feet from Taz. The juggernaut of his progress was now in full auto mode. About the same time, Taz actually saw what he was up against, and instantly pissed his pants again.

            100 feet away, Taz stopped cold. The man slamming through tables was no man at all. It was a monster. Its face was a blank board, a paper sack penetrated by a pair of huge eyes. No nose, no mouth, hell, it had some kind of port in its temple. Bald, lumpy, hideous. Even beyond his own complex odor, even 100 feet away, the stench was overwhelming. Death. Rot. Gray and sallow. And, obviously, pissed. The gap was now 50 feet and Taz knew he couldn’t win this one. The thing had no clothes! No balls either. Nothing to target. He thought about running, but the way it was coming……….. there was no chance. 25 feet now, nothing to do….

            In a feeble attempt to stand up to the beast, Taz, hammer in one hand, grabbed up the nearest glass……. And the creature stopped dead in its tracks. Taz raised the hammer, thinking he might have actually intimated the thing, but got no reaction. In a pathetic move, Taz pulled back to throw the glass. The thing flinched! Amazing! In its run, it must have crunched a thousand glasses. Now it cringed at the sight of a single Champagne glass in Taz’s hand.

            No fool, Taz wielded his glass but would not release it. This glass just might have been magic. The creature, now cowering 20 feet away, did not advance an inch. Taz waved the glass left and right in a taunt, the thing swayed to and fro. Finally, he put a full swing into it, only pulling up at the last second and retaining the glass. The monster went tilt, its huge eyes spelling terror. It flailed, tipping a nearby table enough to lay a glass sideways, slowly rolling toward the edge. The thing tried to catch it, but the glass shattered on the floor. Taz looked up, and the bastard was dead. Just like that. JUST LIKE THAT!

           

            Taz chucked his glass at the corpse. It bounced on the body and rolled off to the floor, intact. “Well, I’ll be a son of a bitch!” So he ran up on the glass and punted it. Taz dropped dead on the spot, and just to complete the cycle, shit his pants. Seconds later, the doors slammed shut and a broom could be heard in the distance………………

A brief on American education

Short version. 


It has long been apparent that education in America, when compared to other countries, has lagged behind. Explanations are many and varied. Suffice it to say that a clear solution hasn't been produced. I suggest that students here lack a work ethic comparable to that in Korea, Japan and other countries ahead of us on the list, coupled with our system of teaching that emphasizes individual test taking systems rather than group problem solving. Add to this a lack here, in many cases, of parental involvement in their children's education. Argue all you want, but we still find our education lagging. Perhaps we need to study and adopt Korea's model.

More on Occupy

What we have here is an attempt to communicate- a good thread. What we need here is for an active, knowledgeable member of Occupy to read  this blog and shed some light on their true position. I don't expect the media to dedicate much time to a movement that has an issue with the one percenters, many newscasters finding themselves in that category. Unfortunately, the Occupy movement complains about a complex problem- not like Vietnam War protesters who simply wanted the war to end, a battle that took years- that requires a complex solution, a solution that, as I see it, has not been designed. I say: Show me a plan. Show the public a plan. Sell it. 


Interesting to me is now that Superpacs are ok, Obama, who condemned them in the past, will now be embracing the money because, as he says, it levels the funding with the Republicans. The harsh reality is that money gets people elected. No matter how a candidate feels about it, money is the only static in the race for a post. A guy can be as liberal as a socialist and he may hate it but only money gets him in office. Choose the guy you want, maybe cleanse the entire cabinet, but bring your wallet and your debit card because its the only way to get him elected. Pick about 485 newbees and maybe a change can be made.




I'm not saying this is good. The bright side is that a million people donating a dollar to a campaign has more clout than one guy donating a million. The hard part is finding the right guy to back and getting a million people to do more than drop a buck on the collection plate. 


As far as Medicare, Social Security is concerned, I thank my lucky stars its there for me. I guess that makes me a tiny bit socialist.

OCCUPY WHAT?

I can imagine how huge the Occupy movement would be if the head of state were a conservative Republican. The program has legs now, while a liberal Democrat holds office, though those legs might be a bit wobbly as unemployment dwindles a bit... Their problem, as I see it is that while they have legs, I see no head  (there might be a very tiny one). 

If Occupy has a problem with the distribution of wealth in this country, I'd like to hear a proposal that would improve matters, and if the solution tends towards socialism, I'd be interested to know upon which
model it would be based.

i'm revving this site up

I posted here for a couple years, sporadically, thinning my observations toward nil as I dealt with the onset of ALS, followed by the creation of als-whaticantellyou.blogspot.com  a rapidly growing monster that put this site on the endangered blog list for months. Back in August I claimed to have plans for  revival, skewered by the fact I never acted on my pledge. Now I am here to tell you I'm not so dilapidated as to eschew detailing my opinions, telling my fiction or relating my experiences. This site isn't likely to collect as many followers as my other single thread site because this site is more of an Egyptian 800 thread count package, where some threads appeal to some folks while the whole sheet appeals to others not at all. I do not cross the line of propriety here because if I did, I would find myself in the land of proper, a world where I never felt comfortable.


To whit-


I well understand the motivations of the media in this country and can guess that the concepts are similar, at some levels, throughout the globe. The reporting of events and happenings is regarded as news, but the priorities are never in line with the relevance of the story. A typical, glaring example would be the inclusion of anything involving Donald Trump on the evening news. He is not, and never has, seriously run for political office. He is, in my opinion, pompous, arrogant and ignorant. He may be sly as a fox, but unfortunately for the rest of us who must tolerate him, has the brain of one. The only way he could find me in his audience would be if he were a contestant on Wipe Out. Though held in contempt by staffers, congressmen and Senators in DC, his hyperbole entices many to comment on his inanities when the better path would be to ignore him completely. A podium or a soap box is only effective if surrounded by a crowd.


But, you might say he is a celebrity, or, more apt, he has celebrity. Hitler was, among many evils, a celebrity. His clipped mustache destroyed the style for decades to come, his name, Adolph, plummeted off the chart of baby names. As Trump's celebrity hasn't impacted baby names in the same manner and his bouffant comb over hasn't affected the course of hair styling, his celebrity holds equal, minimal significance in the public domain, if not the public eye. On the other hand, Hitler was and should have been on the evening news because his words, his actions were providing a profound difference in the state of Europe, the world. Conversely, Trump changes nothing but his mind. After supporting Newt, now he supports Mitt. He has always claimed to go with a winner. Problem is, he can't decide on one and hasn't the clout to create one. I see him as no more relevant than the single vote he can cast. At the end of the day, important news can only be found with a sieve that washes away the nonsense that news programs feel is necessary to gather ratings. Too bad.