Category Archives: Social Commentary

What it says.

Words from an Old Anglo


An Old Anglo Takes a Selfie

I’m glad it’s okay to talk about racism again. Of course, the problem of racism in America boils down to one simple fact: Whiteness. Oddly, perhaps, before my forebears started enslaving Africans, there were no white people. Didn’t need ’em. My forbears started calling those poor Africans “black,” or as they said at the time, “Negro,” Spanish for black, or even “Niger,” Latin for black. That last word got distorted a bit and today I won’t use what it’s become, outside of talking about Huckleberry Finn, but originally it just was a way to indicate that somebody was “black.” Of course, there’s a pile of guilt involved with enslaving somebody who was probably just minding their own business when somebody nabbed them. And, sure, other Africans did the grabbing, but only because Europeans provided a ready market. The Portuguese, in particular, made a tidy profit buying people in Ghana and shipping them to the West Indies, or North or South America. That guilt is why you hear excuses about how “it was blacks that enslaved the blacks. They’re the culprits.” Nope. Sorry. And that guilt is why it was necessary to make those poor Africans seem inferior in every way. And if they’re blacks, then my forbears, the enslavers, must be as far from black as one can get. In fact, they invented the White Race.


Slavery has engendered a lot of guilt amongst “white people.” I used to wonder why Texans seemed to have a chip on their collective shoulders over their state. Heck, it seems like a nice enough place, lots of resources, modern enterprises, Ewing Oil, what the heck? Then I found out why they fought the war of independence from Mexico. It seems Mexico outlawed slavery, and the Texans wanted the freedom to keep on buying and selling people. Crimony! Later, of course, they joined the United States, but then joined the Confederacy in yet another effort to keep slavery alive. They failed in that one, but good gravy, how about we say “fuck the Alamo,” raze the place, and put up a Juneteenth Museum where it now stands? That seems more reasonable to me than idolizing a bunch of yahoos out to keep the freedom to be complete dicks.

And that guilt is why it is so damned important to some “white people” to defend against any sort of effort to eliminate racism. Maybe not the one-on-one sort of ugly actions that even those “white people,” with a few notable exceptions, will say is  wrong, but the built-in, long-term assumptions of white superiority and white privilege. Yes, I grew up white, and I’ve lived a privileged life. The only difference between me and most whites is that I know it. Many of my fellow Anglos have no idea. “I’m not at all privileged,” they’ll tell you, and they’re right, if you compare them to other “white folks.” As to what people of color go through, they have no idea. If you try to counter that institutionalized and internalized racism, you’re “playing the race card.” Shit. Obviously, “black” folks are a lot more forgiving than I am. If it was me, I’d want to kill those mofos. They only mess with me, of course, if I do something to remind them just how phony their whiteness truly is. You know, something like writing a blog post about racism from the point of view of an Anglo.

Why Anglo? Well, for one thing, that’s the polite term used by Native Americans and others to refer to those of us who might call ourselves “white.” It’s just an ethnic reference, and it’s basically correct. And unlike “white,” it doesn’t carry boatloads of uncomfortable baggage. And, maybe too, it lets me distance myself, just a teensy crack, from that whole iceberg of racism. Maybe. As for writing this post, it’s the only sort of thing I can do to counter the centuries-old behemoth that is whiteness.

How does this relate to writing? Well, everything else does, why not this?

So Here’s My Problem

Weird Al Yankovich performing in Henderson Nevada, fall 2014.

Weird Al looks like he certainly has a problem. The poor man has no face! I picked this picture deliberately to go with this post. This post is about my real problem as a creative individual (I hope.) Weird Al wrote and performs a song titled First World Problems, wherein he outlines such tragedies as having to brush his teeth manually when the batteries die in his electric toothbrush. I relate to that, I truly do. Because, I, too, am besieged by First World Problems, and not much else.

It’s taken a lot longer than I’d hoped to put up the shed I bought at Sam’s Club last Winter. My hearing aid batteries only last 4 or 5 days. My dog sometimes poops in the house. My house is so big that it’s almost impossible to keep clean. My optometrist recently moved far away and I have to find a new one. My local supermarket stopped carrying my favorite 35 percent fruit muesli in bulk. See what I mean? I could go on and on.

Boo-hoo, I hear you saying. I say that too, but this really is a problem. I have observed, and psychology backs me up on this, that the most creative efforts arise from relatively tortured circumstances. The one time I wrote a good poem was just after a break-up. It really was a good poem, but it’s gone forever because I lost whatever media it was on. (Another first world problem, I know.) It’s so bad that I actually got a comedy bit out of the situation. It’s a bit that ends with a song that I wrote, a song that is the only blues that I can legitimately sing. The song is called the I Ain’t Got No Troubles Blues.” And that’s the trouble with me. I’ll record it and post it to YouTube sometime, and put a link to it here while I’m at it.

Meantime, for my own version of Imposter Syndrome, I worry that I may never sell any significant amount of fiction because I’ve just lived too easy a life!

That’s probably another first world problem, huh?

What Would Jesus Say?

Sunset over Las Vegas

Not a religious piece, I promise. Instead, I am speculating about how original meanings can be distorted and lost over time. In 2009 one Stephen Mitchell published a book he titled, The Gospel According to Jesus. Yes, he knows that Jesus never wrote a word. The guy was illiterate, a not uncommon condition in his time and place. But it’s a catchy title for a scholarly work.

The story of the book is that the original documents which became the Christian New Testament were subjected to the sort of linguistic analysis that is used when they find what may be a new sonnet form Shakespeare. Word use, spelling, sentence length, style and voice, all are subject to computerized analysis. After doing this, the oldest, and presumably most authentic, bits of the Christian gospel were uncovered. These bits were written probably sometime in the fifties. (Not the nineteen-fifties; the fifties.) The idea being that the authors of these bits may actually have met Jesus, or at least heard him preach. Many parts of the New Testament were written much later, decades, even a century or more. So now we have it: the oldest, presumably most authentic, “Good news about Jesus.”

I’m going to assume you’re familiar with at least some of the story of Jesus’s birth, death, and afterlife. If not, feel free to read a contemporary version of the Christian New Testament after you read this. You’ll be surprised.

This oldest gospel opens with John the Baptist. Then Jesus comes down to the river to be baptized. (This is all in the orthodox bible, of course.) What’s missing is anything preceding baptism. No birth story at all. No magi, no shepherds keeping watch over their flocks, no star, no manger, no Bethlehem. As a matter of fact, the Jesus birth story is amazingly like the story of Buddha’s birth, which precedes Jesus by hundreds of years. The chief difference is that Buddha also rated an earthquake. Somebody saw fit to add that birth story later on. Don’t care why because this isn’t that sort of post. It was done, is my point.

When he hears of John’s arrest, he leaves town. He picks up some posse at Galilee, and proceeds to wander around Judea preaching. He taught at the Synagogue at Capernaum.  Here is an excerpt from his preaching in the villages:

And someone asked him, “When will the kingdom of God come?” And he said, “The kingdom of God will not come if you watch for it. Nor will anyone be able to say, ‘It is here’ or ‘It is there.’ For the kingdom of God is within you.”

He wandered Judea for a while, teaching and healing. The crowds got larger. One day he went up a hill and gave what is known as the Sermon on the Mount. Most of the beatitudes are there, as is most of the rest of the sermon. What isn’t there is the story of the loaves and fishes. Here is an excerpt that is there:

You have heard that it was said, You shall love your neighbor. But I tell you, love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, and pray for those who mistreat you, so that you may be sons of your Father in heaven; for he makes his sun rise on the wicked and on the good, and sends rain to the righteous and to the unrighteous.

I had a friend tell me flat out that Jesus never said to love your enemy. In the gospel, the passage above is part of a quotation from Jesus. Maybe you begin to see my point. Just one more quote, again from Jesus’s sermon on the hill:

Be careful not to do your righteous acts in public, in order to be seen. When you give charity, don’t blow a trumpet to announce it, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, so that people will praise them. Truly I tell you, they have their reward. But when you give charity, don’t let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, and keep your charity a secret; and your Father, who sees what is secret, will reward you.

A couple paragraphs later, he talks about prayer, which he also insists should be a private thing. He offers what the Christians call “The Lord’s Prayer” as an example of what to say to “your father” “in secret.” This is not your grandfather’s Christianity. Nor is it what is mostly heard from today. And there is one more significant thing missing from this oldest, presumably most authentic, gospel. The book ends when, at about three in the afternoon, (Jesus) gave a great cry and died. Full stop. The end. Finito. No burial, no resurrection, no reappearance, nothing. In this, the oldest and presumably most authentic gospel, he, as we all must, died and disappeared from the earth.

I commend the book to your attention. It’s copyrighted, so I can’t just give you a link to read the oldest gospel for yourself. But you can probably find the book at a library if you can’t afford to buy a copy for yourself. My point being that, other than that oldest gospel, the rest of the gospels were written later, by people who had no chance to have ever heard Jesus speak, but who did have various agendas which they were pursuing. Instead of “Love your enemy” and “Pray in private,” we get divisiveness and “thoughts and prayers.” Instead of the liberating “Kingdom is within you,” we get a hierarchy that doles out religious truth as it sees fit. Whether there was an actual Jesus or not is irrelevant. There was certainly an initial book of “Good News About Jesus” that was, over the next few centuries, modified and added on to until the original could barely be seen, although, in truth, it is still in there.

I’m not preaching, nor speculating as to why this is so. Maybe in a later post. For now, I’m just noting how wildly different the meaning of a book can be after enough people add to and reinterpret it. Amazing, isn’t it?

What? Me Worry?

Somewhere Along the Gulf Coast (Alabama or Mississipi.)

Well, I worry some, because, well, after all, what if I’m wrong? But, in general I worry less than many about the current state of the Nation, Politics, and the Effects on My Creativity. As a public service, since I know many writers tend to be sensitive new-age liberal type people, here is why I’m not overly worried.

For more detail, a lot more, check out the book, Generations: The History of America’s Future, 1594 to 2069.  (The link goes to Amazon.) The authors make a reasonably compelling case that in a free society, history proceeds in a cyclical fashion. It might interest you to know that the book predicts that Boomers will be very conservative these days. No one can predict exact events or behaviors, but a pattern of attitudes and behaviors, especially when dealing with millions of individuals, is solidly predictable. It’s basic probability. The number of Americans is large enough that things truly will chug along the regression line of arithmetic average (mean) in terms of general zeitgeist.

As you can imagine from the title of the book, the history covers a number of total cycles. Not to scoop them, but there are four basic types of generation, two dominant, two, um, not dominant. Boomers are Idealists. The other dominant type is represented by Millennials, who are Civic. In between Civic and Idealist are the Reactives (Generation X,) almost always a cynical bunch (which doesn’t help things much.) In between the Idealist and the Civic are the Adaptives. The upcoming “Generation Z” or whatever they’ll be called is an example, but maybe if you consider the “Silent” generation of the 20th century you’ll understand them better. Think of James Dean in Rebel Without a Cause, rebelling, but, in the end, wearing his father’s coat. I pity the non-dominant generations. The “Silent” generation fought for, and gained, civil rights legislation, invented rock and roll, changed the very nature of our society, and who gets the credit? (If you’re screaming at that, you’re part of their problem — a Boomer.)

Every generation, of course, thinks that the world is as it seems to them when they come of age. Sigh. You’re a writer. You know better. The world is a lot of things, but not whatever a cohort of 10-year old kids think it is, and that’s for certain.

Now to the point: Every cycle, roughly every 80 years or so, something happens that makes society question its very existence. Something comes up that threatens the very fabric of society, to the extent that survival of the world as we know it is, frankly, not a certainty. And every time, in a free society, what seems afterwards to be an obvious reorganization and realignment of society results in a world that everyone, especially the Civic generation (who take the credit for what the Reactive generation before them actually accomplished,) thinks is a whole lot better than the world as it was before the crisis. So far at least, every time. Some examples of crises would include (this is not an inclusive list) The American Revolution, the Civil War, World War Two, and what is happening, or about to happen, now.

The new world will need stories from the old, stories from the struggle, and stories from the aftermath, and you and I are the ones to tell those stories. You hear that? Harbingers of a new world! Because we’re humans, and that’s how we roll. Sure, politically there has been some damage, maybe. And the planet needs some quick attention or we’ll be up the well known polluted estuary, (thank you Professor Hurst) but we’ll do what we need to do and things will be so much better when it’s over that nobody in their right mind will want to return to those old, dull days.

And that’s why I don’t worry so much as some people.

Objective Reality

A Hot Day in Henderson Nevada
A Hot Day in Henderson Nevada

When I think of objective reality, I think bleak. Really bleak. Bleaker than, well, consider the following.

Science pokes around to find out how stuff works. That’s really all it’s about. The reports people believe about science on social media and elsewhere are just that: reports by non-scientists about things they don’t really understand and which are usually reported incorrectly. In other words, they’re mostly BS. Smart reporters stick the word “may” into the headline, which covers their non-objective butts, but nobody ever pays attention to that. Hell, that whole “vaccines are dangerous” thing should never have been reported in the first place. Amongst scientists, doubt began to creep in almost immediately. Amongst the public, not so much, huh? Science never once “said” that vaccines were bad. There was one study. Vaccines “may” be bad, was all it says. Turns out that they aren’t. Science, I’m trying to say, dabbles in objective reality. And, as I said, it can seem bleak.

What seems (just seems) like objective reality in science is called a Theory. What reporters call a theory, scientists call a “hypothesis.” That’s a small bit of objective reality right there. But, here, look at a few scientific theories (believed to be objective reality.)

  • Universal Gravitation (Newton’s theory of Gravity to most.) It isn’t “what goes up must come down,” either.
  • Newton’s (quite the guy) laws of motion. You know, inertia, equal but opposite reaction, stuff like that. (Newton’s theories are so solid that many call them “laws.” No violators have ever surfaced to date.
  • Newton’s (holy cats!) laws (again, laws) of thermodynamics.
  • Einstein’s theories of relativity, general and special. The discovery of gravity waves recently put the final nail in the coffin of doubters. These theories are almost too weird to believe, but they work.

Using these theories, which are believed to represent objective reality (and so far they’ve all worked quite well) one can conclude that the purpose of life is to reverse a localized buildup of negentropy. Or, to waste energy. Long story, but it’s true. Also, in biological science, one learns that life is, after all, DNA. The survivor in all cases is DNA. Recently, when some physicists were asked to describe the causes of cancer, they figured out that cancer is a way that DNA survives when the cancerous tissue is otherwise damaged. Yep. DNA will survive. This information about life is also objective reality. The universe, from a scientific point of view, doesn’t care a fig about humans.

But it likes life, in the form of DNA. Humans are just elaborate structures built by DNA to replicate itself. And, as it happens, to use up extra energy stored underground.

See, bleaker than anything, huh?

Which explains why I like humor. Studying bleakness does nothing to make life more pleasant. If all that bleak information is true, then it’s more important than ever that we treat each other with respect and kindness, because this is what you get, folks. We can enjoy this cruise on Planet Earth, or we can be miserable. Seems to me that those most afraid of objective reality are the ones most into making things worse. I’m trying to make things better. Don’t know if I will, but I’m trying. Nothing big, just trying not to be a dick too often.

In conclusion, here are a few plainly obviously true fortune cookie fortunes, along with potential objective meanings:

  • Your wealth will be augmented within the month. (Maybe you’ll pick up a quarter off of the sidewalk somewhere?)
  • Your talents will soon be recognized and awarded appropriately. (Maybe you’ll hear, “You’re a no-talent loser and I’m canning your ass!”?)
  • Your imagination will point you in a new direction. (Maybe off a cliff?)

Just stuff to think about. 🙂

The Opioid Crisis, Solved

Zabriskie Point in Death Valley. (Zabriskie is why it's a National Park.)
Zabriskie Point in Death Valley. (Zabriskie is why it’s a National Park.)

My week to rant, obviously.

Ah, the Sturm und Drang about opioids. All the finger pointing. All the acrimony! It’s the Doctors! It’s Big Pharma! Yeah, I suppose everything has something to add to the mix, but the underlying reason is more simple, and more personal. A lot of people are hopeless wimps!!!! On Monday I had a cyst excised from my back. Absent the Latin, that means that a surgeon cut it out with a sharp knife and stitched up the edges. It didn’t start hurting until about 3am  the next morning. I got up, took some aspirin, went back to sleep. After lunch yesterday it started hurting again. By evening I took some more aspirin. Then I took another dose of aspirin when I went to bed. I couldn’t lie on my back because of the sore spot. This morning, I woke up lying on my back! Whattya know? Pain gone. I’m told that later today I can take off the bandage and take a shower. Looking forward to that, I can tell you. The surgeon did prescribe a painkiller. Generic Percocet, a dreaded opioid, which, you’ll notice, I have not used.

Here’s the thing: it didn’t hurt all that badly in the first place! I mean, yeah, I had a sore spot in the middle of my back. I had to be careful leaning back in a chair, and I couldn’t sleep on my back for a night and a half. Woe is me! But, on a scale of 0 to 10 (which is how they rate pain in recovery rooms,) 0 is no pain at all, and 10, to me, is passing a kidney stone. I’d take Percocet, or anything offered, if I were passing a kidney stone (one was enough, believe me.) But, this sore spot on my back, at its worst, got up to maybe a 3. Mostly it was 1.5 to 2.0. For that, aspirin, if anything.* That being the case, I am forced to conclude that a lot of people either feel a lot more pain than I do, or that, as I wrote above, they are hopeless wimps!

Seriously, you need opium for a sore spot on your back? Ask yourself, does the pain prevent you from doing your job? Is it closer to, say, four broken ribs, or a mosquito bite? Sure, Pharma makes the stuff, and doctors prescribe it, but hopeless wimps take it for pain that doesn’t need it! Holy cats, folks, that’s the answer! Want to solve the opioid crisis? Don’t take the stuff!**

Steve’s Live From Las Vegas: the world’s problems solvled in a few easy to read paragraphs!***


* Aspirin gets a bad reputation, but it’s a lot safer than any other painkiller. It may give  you an ulcer, and if you eat eighty regular pills, it might kill you. Tylenol will kill you with as few as 10 pills. Opium messes you up completely. Ibuprofen can hurt your heart, Meloxicam eats your stomach wholesale. Aspirin also works against fevers and body aches. It’s never bothered my stomach.

** Don’t comment! Don’t write! I know, some pain needs opium to be survivable. I’d take anything to make the pain of passing a kidney stone go away. But opium for a sore spot on your back? Really?

*** Since you believe this, contact me for information about a bridge I have for sale!

Being Considerate And Other Anachronisms

White Buffalo -- Not So Rare in Williams, Arizona
White Buffalo — Not So Rare in Williams, Arizona

The bison are at Bearizona on the East side of town on Route 66.

I recently commented on a comment on a friend’s Facebook page, offering to start a discussion around what causes the rape culture in America. I have my ideas, others have theirs. I hoped that some like-minded individuals could possibly brainstorm some things that might be done to help make sexual assaults less and less common, if not eliminated altogether. What I got was accused of “mansplaining,” whatever that means. Here’s a hint: just because a man explains something, it isn’t “mansplaining.” And I wasn’t offering an explanation, but a hypothesis. I tried defending myself once, and got answered again with name calling and invective. I posted that I didn’t allow anyone to slam women in my home, nor men neither, and read the reply that I was “okay with dissing women on the Internet.” My last post was that I have never done that, and I haven’t. Everything I’ve ever posted is still out there, somewhere, so anyone who cares enough can check for themselves. And, I am pissed about that incident, but of course I literally can’t argue with those people. And that brings me to the theme of this post.

Stating your positions in a way that cannot be argued against isn’t all that difficult. Books have been written about how to manipulate the public discourse, after all. Many blame the current administration in DC for the coarseness of our national conversations, but that doesn’t explain why some apparently anti-trump, avowedly feminist individuals, are using the same techniques. My hypothesis is that boomers are responsible, but that really doesn’t matter. What does matter is what we can do to make things better. As I’m still pissed off, this may sound harsh,  but here are a few ideas:

  1. Everyone must remember that whatever they know or believe to be true is based upon only their own limited view of the world.
  2. That being the case, some humility is in order when offering opinions. No one has a monopoly on the truth.
  3. Arguing in a manner that can’t be refuted (literally) means that you can never learn anything new. Everyone has to simply relax and realize that their own answer may not be an answer at all for anyone else.
  4. If someone seems to oppose your views, talk to them rather than slamming them. You might be happily surprised that you were wrong about them.
  5. And, this is important, the world survived for eons without your input. It will go on for eons after you, and I, and everyone else, is no longer alive. Relax. You’re going to be okay, I promise.

Tomorrow is regular writing post day, and I’m going to write about how writers can help improve the world, because we certainly can. Check back in the morning!


Anonymous Trick or Treater, Halloween Night, 2009
Anonymous Trick or Treater, Halloween Night, 2009

I was just listening to a playlist of Leonard Cohen, who was one of my favorite musicians back in the vicinity of 1970, more or less. Of the others I favored in those days, many covered Bob Dylan songs. Dylan and Cohen were, reportedly, mutual fans. Some years later I discovered the music of Bruce Springsteen. What these three composers have in common is top notch lyrics. That is, they are all excellent poets. Maybe that’s why I’ve never written any serious songs that were worth the trouble to sing: I’m a lousy poet. But, looking back, I see that I was certainly given the opportunity to enjoy a lot of great poetry. Dylan won a Nobel, of course, but Cohen’s lyrics grabbed me the moment I heard them. I don’t know who Suzanne was, but I’d have been happy to meet her. And, then this, from The Boss:

Beyond the palace hemi powered drones scream down the boulevard,
Girls comb their hair in rearview mirrors while boys try to look so hard.
The amusement park rises cold and dark; kids are huddled on the beach in the mist.
I want to die with you, Wendy, on the streets tonight, in an everlasting kiss.

Not bad, huh?

I hope that the youth of this moment have some exposure to something as excellent. I was privileged, still am, to have lived when poems like these three wrote sold incredibly well. Everybody should be so privileged, don’t you think?

Fiction, I Wish!

Damitol, the Key to Unlimited Happiness and Stuff

I promised a post about writing for this week. I remember that, but after the past weekend’s events in my city, I just can’t do it. Because I am royally pissed that this happened here, and that it happens anywhere in this country at all, after all the chances we’ve had to learn better. So, I am going to write about what I am upset about, and writing fiction will have to wait at least one more week. Some asshole shooting people out of a hotel tower is, unfortunately, not fiction at all. It’s all too real.

Before you read on, read this article from the Washington Post. It contains the names, and brief bios, of those killed Sunday night outside of Mandalay Bay. If you believe that free access to guns and ammunition is worth those people’s lives, you’d better damned well stand up, in public, look people in the eye, and state that flatly. Because you, and every sane human, knows that it isn’t. It isn’t worth it at all. I know Congress is full of scalawags who have been bought by various sources of cash, but anyone not in Congress has no excuse! We could stop this easily.

This particular incident was made worse by the shooter’s use of automatic weapons and hollow-point bullets. There is absolutely no use for hollow-point bullets in any context other than destroying human beings. There is no reason for them to be available outside of the military anywhere. You don’t need them to repel a home invasion, and you sure as heck don’t want to shoot your deer with one, unless you want deer hamburger with metal shards in it. That’s the first point: we sell any damn thing to anybody, and it’s a bad thing. So far, only a friend-of-a-friend is among the victims, but the week is young. I had a passenger yesterday for whom the brother of a friend was shot, as was his cell phone. Luckily, in his case it worked out, but an automatic weapon with expanding bullets does a lot more damage than is necessary for any civilian use. We can start by banning such things.

And an automatic weapon? Seriously? How many shots do you need to put into a deer? Or an intruder? And you mean to defend yourself against the United States Government? You mean that government with the mightiest military that the world has ever seen? That military? What makes you think they’d come shooting at you, anyway? If I were them, I’d just drop a bomb on your ass and be done with it. You got a defense against bombs, do you? Worrying about a government takeover is beyond silly. Hell, the reason you have the means to purchase your firearms has much to do with the way our government has, over the past centuries, enabled our prosperity and wealth. There is no civilian use for an automatic weapon. Ban them!

And finally, how about closing the huge loophole of private firearm sales? We tried in Nevada to do that, but so far all we have from the State of Nevada is excuses. There are no excuses! Nobody, and I mean that, nobody, wants to take your guns, Mister Responsible Gun Owner. I certainly don’t. (But armed response didn’t help on Sunday, because he was 32 floors up and well hidden from view from below.) And, since you are law abiding, you will have nothing to fear if we do a background check on you. Right? I hear you: maybe it won’t always be so. Maybe it’s a slippery slope. Sure, maybe. But in life you actually have to trust people. Apparently that’s a difficult lesson for some, but it’s true. The key to trusting people is to be trustworthy yourself. That’s it! And on the level of government the key to trusting those people is to involve yourself in the process. Join a party, doesn’t matter what one, call their offices, get to know your local government especially (and I mean know them in person.) And, as I said, be sure that you can be trusted, and, of course, make yourself useful.

Shit! Okay, that’s about all the space I can take up in one post. Sorry for the rant-like qualities of this one, but dammit all that asshole attacked my favorite city! We offer a great vacation! The best anywhere! We have attractions big and small, urban and rural, vice-ridden and Sunday School worthy. Sure, you’ll spend money here, but dammit all, you are safe! (And you will be, I guarantee it.)

Just let’s stop being stupid about sensible weapons controls, okay?

For the love of . . .

Queen Victoria statue in Kensington Gardens, London, UK.
Queen Victoria statue in Kensington Gardens, London, UK.

Here’s the thing: I’ve been watching The Vietnam War on PBS. Actually, on the app for my Kindle Fire TV, where I watch the unedited for broadcast version. So far, I’ve heard the term “piece of shit” applied to the M-16 rifle (not for the first time,) “shit sandwich” applied to a platoon between a rock and a hard place (to use the more polite metaphor,) and the correction of “No more planes, you’re killing us,” to “No more fucking planes, you’re killing us.” Not that evil. But, I still prefer unedited versions of whatever. Perhaps for broadcast they also remove some of the more graphic violence, although I saw it all on TV when it was still news. Damn it all, but that was one stupidly conducted affair!

I am a Baby Boomer, myself, but an older one. One that a sociologist would call a member of an “early cohort.” (In Sociology, a “cohort” is everybody born in a given year.) That’s important, because generations come and go in cycles, and in each generational type, the various pathologies belonging to that generation get worse as time goes on. So, I am of the “less pathological” end of the boom, for what that’s worth.

Boomers are an example of an “introspective” generation. If you’re old enough, you may remember lyrics such as “the answer lies within.” That’s true, if the question is “where can I find 10 meters of slimy intestines?” Otherwise, looking within for your answers makes you an idiot, basically, and that’s just what the big bulge of the Boom does. That is how they manage to keep up obviously wrong beliefs in the face of incredible evidence to the contrary. The truth doesn’t match what they’ve “found within,” so it can’t be valid. Ho-lee-cats! This is why you hear my generation so frequently intone that _______ is the worst _________ in all of History! (Capital H intentional.) No, it isn’t. For instance, in the summer of 1968, during the Democratic National Convention, Chicago was a police state. Not close to one, but actually one. Everyone knew it at the time; nobody did anything about it, except yell and scream after the fact. Which, for the record, did not help. The country was incredibly divided, possibly more divided than we are today. Violence against blacks was worse than it is now. Violence against dissent was the norm. It was, in a word, horrible. Probably not the worst ever, but horrible.

I am not suggesting that things aren’t bad today. From many perspectives, these times suck big time. But, times have been as bad or worse, no matter what the latter cohorts of my generation try to tell you. Want to feel better, then stand up tall, inhale the free air, and get some perspective on things. If you’re a Boomer born in the 50s, try not looking within for answers. Instead, study some real history, out of old books at a library, and see what others have done in similar times in the past. I’ll give you a hint: in the end, the world has been better, a lot better, once all the dust has settled. But you’ll only know that if you reject that introspective take on knowledge, and start taking your cues from something closer to objective reality.

Okay, enough rant. I’ll post something about writing next week, I promise. Peace out, brethren and sisteren!