Saturday, November 21, 2009

An Active Saturday

by Pa Rock
Weekend Wonder

Today I finally made it back to the gym, after a break of too many days. I managed to step out 3.68 miles in a hour on the treadmill, not my best by far, but definitely a much stronger performance than I was giving just a year ago. I also read a short story (mind exercise), bought groceries, and made a swing through Lowe's where I purchased potting soil, mulch, bricks, and a garbage disposal. The park manager had assured me that I could get a magnificent garbage disposal for around fifty dollars. He was wrong.

This afternoon I planted the four rosebushes that I bought last week. They are in a sunny spot with good drainage, so I am hopeful that my mini-rose garden will succeed.

Tonight I am heading into Phoenix to see a stage play - Elaine May's "George is Dead," a mystery starring Marlo Thomas. It is at the Herberger Theatre where I managed to get sprayed while sitting on the front row watching "The Kite Runner." I think that I have the same seat this time, so I hope that Marlo is less exuberant!

Next Friday I am again going downtown to catch a play, "The Little Dog Laughed," at the Nearly Naked Theatre. The productions of the Nearly Naked Theatre are always memorable!

I just heard Scroungy Bastard coming in through the doggy door. It must be supper time!

Friday, November 20, 2009

Mary Landrieu Has Health Insurance!

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

Mary Landrieu, a United States Senator from Louisiana, has been in the news quite a bit lately. Polls show that the people of Louisiana favor a national health insurance program, but Senator Landrieu, an astute political animal and daughter of the infamous ex-mayor of New Orleans, Moon Landrieu, has an election coming up and she is not too sure about those polls.

(Okay, that was a bit unfair of me because all mayors of New Orleans, past and present, generate some degree of infamy.)

Last Saturday the National Association of Free Clinics - in association with MSNBC - held a free health care clinic in New Orleans, and the results were quite disturbing. Over one thousand people showed up for the free health screenings. Ninety-percent of those in attendance received two or more diagnoses, 82% had life-threatening illnesses, and four had to be taken to hospitals immediately on stretchers. Many of those seen at the clinic had not had any medical care since before Hurricane Katrina devastated their city and their lives.

One nurse who attended as a patient was interviewed on television. He worked for two different hospitals, and because he could not find a "full-time" position, he had no health insurance. The nurse said that he had not been to a doctor for his own medical care in over five years. (That's how Wal-Mart does it. Keep those wage slaves employed on a part-time basis so you don't have to pay those pesky benefits.)

Senator Landrieu was invited to attend the free clinic to visit with her constituents and get a firsthand view of the very real health care crisis that exists in her state and her city - but she declined due to "scheduling conflicts." She was also invited onto the television show, Countdown with Keith Olbermann, to discuss the results of the clinic, but she was unavailable for that also.

While Mary Landrieu may not yet be certain which way the political winds are blowing, that is not the case with Republican Congressman Joseph Cao who represents most of New Orleans in the House of Representatives. Mr. Cao was the only Republican to vote for the comprehensive health care package recently passed by the House. Joe knows, Mary, Joe knows. Wake up and smell the chicory coffee!

(Senator Landrieu was in the news today when it was revealed that she inexplicably wrote a check to the United States Treasury from her campaign fund for $25,300. Either she is an exceptionally concerned citizen with altruistic motives, or she is trying to get in front of an ethics probe. My money is on the latter.)

The National Association for Free Health Clinics and MSNBC will hold another big clinic this Saturday in Little Rock, Arkansas, where Senator Blanche Lincoln, another Democrat, is also sitting on the health care fence. Will Senator Lincoln show up at the clinic and meet her constituents - and listen to their real life health care horror stories? That is what a good Senator, one who is truly concerned about the health of her constituents, would do.

Make your donation or pledge your time at: www.freeclinics.us (I made mine this evening.)

Thursday, November 19, 2009

The Nation Cruise

by Pa Rock
World Traveler

I will be cruising again during the second week of December, this time heading to Grand Turk, St. Thomas, and Puerto Rico. If I were still living in the bitterly cold Midwest, this would be an especially lovely getaway. But even though the weather in Phoenix will be great in December, it will still be nice to get away from the sand fleas and teabaggers - if only for a week.

And will I ever be getting away from the teabaggers! This cruise is with The Nation magazine, a very leftist publication that offers me a weekly respite from Arizona attitudes. This cruise will be much like the one that I took with Ms. Magazine and the National Association of Social Workers a couple of years ago with some of the time at sea being devoted to workshops and listening to well-known speakers.

It will such a rush to be set adrift with people who actually think and speak sense!

Speakers scheduled to be on the cruise include national luminaries like Howard Dean (former governor of Vermont and chair of the Democratic National Committee), Calvin Trillin (poet and columnist), and award-winning novelist E. L. Doctorow. Tom Hayden, California politician and member of the infamous Chicago Seven, was scheduled to be a speaker, but I recently noticed that his name has been dropped from the line-up. (I hope that he has a change of heart and decides to join us!) Several national journalists will also be on board sharing their insights.

This will be my second cruise of the year. The first was last June when Nick and Boone joined me on a Disney adventure. We had a marvelous time letting the folks from Disney entertain us. Floating with The Nation will certainly be different than last summer's boat ride to the Bahamas with the House of Mouse, but I am expecting to have just as much fun!

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

My New Dentist Drives a Hummer

by Pa Rock
Health Care Consumer

I was assured by friends that my new dentist was painless, but they clearly lied. Oh, the shots go in with little irritation, and the deep cleaning was a downright drowsy affair. In fact, I never felt a thing until his "girl" handed me the bill - that was a real kick in the face, and man did it hurt!

He actually gave me an estimate yesterday, shortly after taking a couple of hundred dollars worth of x-rays. Dentistry is a gotcha system. You have to have the exam and x-rays before the mouth doctor can tell how much it is going to cost. By the time you get the estimate, you have already been hooked into his system. The estimate that I was handed yesterday - by another of his "girls" - represented enough money to buy a decent car.

(I suspect that prices went up when he found out that I had a Cadillac dental plan, but even with the cash that the plan will fork over, I will still be hit harder than Muhammad Ali ever pounded anyone.)

My new dentist has to charge ridiculously high prices because his office is a palace. The first thing that one of the "girls" do for new clients is to give them a tour of the office, and it is nice - very nice. Some of the accoutrement's that caught my eye were the flat screen televisions located at the end of each patient station, and also on the ceiling over the reclining patient's head. I learned that those were available so that patients could watch movies while the dentist was doing his thing. Really!

That was my first clue that the rates were going to be exorbitant. Clue number two was when I learned that he drove a Hummer - an effing Hummer! Not only is he a greedy capitalist swine, but he also has no environmental conscience!

Today I went back to my new dentist and another of his "girls" gave my teeth a deep cleaning, and then gave my wallet an even deeper cleaning. I am certain that I have now made a Hummer payment - or two!

My New Dentist Drives a Hummer
by Pa Rock

My new dentist drives a Hummer
Morning, noon, and even summer.
He smiles when I walk in the door,
Knowing he will leave me poor,
And forever driving my ragtop Bummer!

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

The Arpaio Files: Meet Joe Blow

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

Vice President Joe Biden was in Phoenix yesterday meeting with area Democrats. He also took time out to personally recognize some of the local people who have benefited from the Federal stimulus package. Then, to add the frosting to that cake of a day, the Vice President took a meeting with Joe Arpaio, the legendary (in his own mind) sheriff of Maricopa County, Arizona.

Or did he?

Well, according to Sheriff Joe, he did. The self-styled "toughest sheriff in America" tweeted the following: "Just got done meeting with the Vice President of the United States." The sheriff even revealed the nature of their talks. He apparently told the Veep of his need for more deputies.

The local press, which should be used to our sheriff's outlandish propensity for shameless self-promotion and exaggeration, bought into his tweet and helped to generate more local buzz about the meeting between the Vice President and Sheriff Joe.

Only one problem - if a meeting occurred, it was somewhere in cobwebs of Arpaio's aging head.

Today the White House issued a statement noting that the Republican Arpaio had not been invited to the Biden event - he just showed up. Apparently pushy old Joe managed to grab a handshake with the Vice President as he was exiting the building, but it lacked the element of conversation that most people regard as necessary for a "meeting."

Undoubtedly the Vice President is aware of our illustrious sheriff. Janet Napolitano probably regales the cabinet with stories of Sheriff Joe routinely rounding up political opponents and charging them with bogus offenses. And Joe's tent city is truly legendary, adding to that tough cop image that he likes to brandish.

I suspect that Biden has a working knowledge of Arpaio - and that if the sheriff had the opportunity to make a pitch for more deputies, the Vice President would have probably laughed in his face. True, more deputies could help to serve the 40,000 misdemeanor and felony warrants that are backlogged and waiting to be delivered to deserving recipients in Maricopa County, but the sheriff already commands a force that would give any third world dictator a permanent boner. If Sheriff Joe would take some of the deputies off of his publicity-oriented immigration sweeps and other stunts, the county's law enforcement work might start getting done.

But those are just my thoughts.

Monday, November 16, 2009

Monday's Poetry: "The Theology of Cockroaches"

by Pa Rock
Poetry Appreciator

The words of Sherman Alexie flow as smoothly as butter melting over warm flapjacks, and they are just as aromatic. Whether writing short stories, novels, or poetry, Alexie is a wordsmith of the most readable order. His tales take readers into the very heart and soul of contemporary Native American culture, detailing life on and around the reservation in hard and real terms: "...poverty, grinding and absolute, constant as gravity..." Yet his words also convey the the warmth of family and friendship, like the fuzzy comfort of a worn Indian blanket or an old dog sleeping at your feet.

Sherman Alexie is such a mesmerizing poet that I struggled to find something representative of his skills. The following, The Theology of Cockroaches, does provide a good gauge of his talents, but everything Alexie writes is worthy of reading and reading again.

This poem was taken from the volume, One Stick Song.

The Theology of Cockroaches
by Sherman Alexie

Cockroach
Diane says, it might have been
a cockroach
in the upstairs bathroom

though she cannot be positive
because she was otherwise distracted
and only saw it out of the corner
of her eyes, the cockroach

or rather, the potential cockroach
that scuttled along the baseboard
in the bathroom and vanished
before she could get a good look at it.

Have you ever seen a cockroach?
I ask her and she says, Of course
I have, I grew up in California
though I'm not sure what that means

because I've always associated
cockroaches with poverty, grinding
and absolute, constant as gravity
and though I've been poor

I've never been that poor, never
woke to a wall filled with cockroaches
spelling out my name, never
stepped into a dark room and heard

the cockroaches baying at the moon.
Diane saw the cockroach
in the bathroom, one of four bathrooms
in this large house. We are homeowners

and there is a cockroach
or the idea of a cockroach
in the bathroom, a cockroach
scuttling along the hardwood floors.

Did you get a good look at it?
I ask Diane and she says, No, but
it was fast, cockroach-fast.
Not beetle-fast, not

ant-fast, not even spider-fast
but cockroach-fast, disappearing
behind the magazine rack
in the bathroom, slipping

into the crack between floor
and baseboard. Impossible.
Impossible. Impossible.
Impossible. Impossible.

Impossible. The impossible cockroach
is not alone, I think, cockroaches
are never alone, never hermits, never
the last one on the ship, never

the one who dies alone.
Christopher Columbus was a cockroach
and look what followed him.
The cockroach, the cockroach

in the bathroom is watching us
as Diane and I explore
the smallest spaces between
toilet and wall, beneath the sink

and in the drawers that contain
the pieces of our life
together. The cockroach
is watching us as we discuss

our theories
to explain this cockroach:
the neighbors are remodeling
the old house next door, forcing

cockroaches to migrate, perhaps
fleeing from insecticide
and the sudden absence of food.
Maybe it wasn't a cockroach, I say

and Diane agrees. It could have been
any other kind of insect, it
could have been a hummingbird
for that matter, it could have been

an angel sent to test our faith, it
could have been God, God, God.
That cockroach, that angel
scuttles along the hardwood

and Diane sees it out of the corner
of her eye, in her
peripheral vision, and she believes
it was a cockroach

but she cannot be sure, she only
saw it for a brief moment. God
I ask Diane, how many humans have seen
God in person, truly seen God

take shape and form, how many?
Moses saw the Burning Bush, she says.
Moses, Moses, Moses, impossible Moses
scuttling along the hard wood

or was it Pharaoh? Or was the cockroach
on fire? Or was the cockroach
not a cockroach at all, but a visible prayer
a corporeal sin, a tiny piece

of forgiveness? Diane and I kneel
in our bathroom. We are searching
for the cockroach that might have been
a cockroach or nothing at all.

Sunday, November 15, 2009

More on the Wedding

by Pa Rock
Proud Dad

Tim and Erin were married in their apartment last night, and while the setting was simple, the ceremony was one of the most beautiful that I have ever witnessed. The vows were personal and carefully scripted by the bride and groom. The minister, whom Tim referred to as "The Priestess," took the couple's words and made them the binding contract that is marriage. Tim had selected a very appropriate quotation about love from Hemingway's A Farewell to Arms that his friend Chad read into the ceremony.

One of the nicest things about this simple wedding was having the opportunity to meet everyone. I had the chance to become acquainted with Erin's parents, her sister and brother-in-law, and her niece. They are such great people, and I know that Tim was drawn to Erin, in part, by the acceptance and warmth of her family. I also got to meet some of Erin's friends and visit with a couple of Tim's buddies. It's amazing how much you can learn about your son when his buddies are relaxed and telling tales!

The happy couple hosted a very nice reception dinner at Figlio's Restaurant in Kansas City. The group was small enough that I was able to chat with most who were there, and listen in on many of the conversations. All in all, it was instrumental in helping me to know my son and his beautiful bride better.

Tim and Erin, I wish you much happiness! Erin, welcome to the family!

Saturday, November 14, 2009

Wedding Day!

by Pa Rock
Proud Dad

Mr. Tim Macy and Miss Erin Pater will be married at five o'clock this afternoon at their apartment in Kansas City, Missouri. Erin is from this area, so I will get to meet many of her relatives and lots of Tim and Erin's friends. It should be a very nice evening.

My friend Carla helped me get hooked up to Skype last night - by phone, and then she and I managed to have a video call across Kansas City. Carla is coming over to my hotel for lunch today, and she will help me polish my Skype skills so that Tim's poor, pregnant sister, Molly, should be able to see the ceremony from her home in Salem, Oregon. Tim's other sibling, Nick, and his son, Boone, had planned on being here for the wedding, but they have both been very ill with the flu - possibly what Nick's granddad refers to as the "pig flu!"

Updates to follow here or on Twitter.

Friday, November 13, 2009

Scuzzball Airways!

by Pa Rock
Pissed Off Traveler

I admit that I wouldn't be happy if I didn't have something to bitch about. With that requirement in mind, I should move into an airport where I would undoubtedly be deliriously happy all the time!

Today the object of my ire is U.S. Airways, a Phoenix-based claptrap airline that just charged me twenty-five dollars to check a twenty-one pound suitcase.

Assholes!

Yes, you say, I could stuff my stuff into a carry-on, elbow my way through the rest of the luggage-lugging public, and then cram it into an overhead bin - probably nowhere near where I would be sitting. But I don't really want to be a part of that pig push, at least not today when I am packing a suit for my son's wedding - a suit that I would prefer not having to wad up so that it will fit into a carry-on.

So, Scuzzball Air, here is my twenty-five - and when I fly back to Phoenix on Sunday I will grease your greedy palm again with twenty-five more. It is probably worth it, since my suitcase will undoubtedly be traveling all by its lonesome in the plane's belly!

Assholes!

If you thieving maggots really are so hard up for cash that you are literally peddling peanuts, selling sodas, and charging to check baggage, why not just raise the price of the tickets and and quit behaving like pickpockets. I'm sure that the flying public would appreciate the courtesy of just being robbed once instead of running the gauntlet of airline employee beggars. I know that I would!

U.S. Airways, you suck!

Thursday, November 12, 2009

Extortion by the Catholic Church

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

The Catholic Church is trying to make the City Council of Washington, DC, bend to its will through a heavy-handed - and very political - threat. The Archdiocese of Washington has told the City Council that if the city persists in its efforts to sanction same-sex marriages in the District of Columbia, the Church will retaliate by stopping all of its social service provisions to the nation's capital. In other words, you play the game our way, or we will take our toys and go home.

The Catholic Church manages some of the city-owned homeless shelters, helps in securing or providing health care to some of the city's citizens, and provides minimal resources in the city's adoption programs. The Church pumps some of its own money into these efforts, but it also receives payment from the city for assisting with social services - so there is some cold, hard cash to go with all of the altruism.

The Catholics have doubled-down on an issue that is an anathema to their beliefs and sensibilities. They have boldly stepped beyond the boundaries of religion and entered the political fray. This is America, and anyone who wants to be politically active certainly has that right - unless, of course, they have a tax exemption for being a religious institution.

Let the Catholic Church take its marbles and go home. Surely people and organizations with a true Christian spirit will step forward to pick up the slack. I'm not available for working in the soup kitchens or shelters, but I will send a donation to help out.

And as for the Church - tax the bastards!

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Five Who Served

by Pa Rock
Veteran

Veterans' Day in a time of war.

While many of us doubt the wisdom or necessity of the wars in the Middle East, few will disparage the courage and commitment of our brave young men and women who have carried weapons and risked their lives in the meat grinder that is Iraq and Afghanistan. They are all heroes. Each and every one did something that Dick Cheney, Donald Rumsfield, Paul Wolfowitz, Mitt Romney, Bill Clinton, and even George Bush failed to do - they took up arms and answered the call of a grateful nation. Tonight I would like to recognize five of these heroes - five among thousands and thousands!

Tammy Duckworth was a Blackhawk helicopter pilot in Iraq who lost both legs and suffered a serious arm injury when her helicopter was shot down. After a lengthy recovery period at Walter Reed Army Hospital, she returned home to Illinois where she remained active in the Illinois National Guard. Duckworth ran as a Democrat for Congress in 2006, and was roundly trashed by Republicans and the stodgy old Veterans of Foreign Wars because she was suspected of having liberal tendencies. (Duckworth describes herself as a social conservative.) Duckworth lost that election by a scant two percent. She went on to become the Illinois Director of Veterans' Affairs, and currently is an under-secretary in the U.S. Department of Veteran's Affairs. Of her unsuccessful foray into politics, Duckworth has this to say:
"I am sick and tired of the Republicans saying 'Either you agree with us on national security or you are not patriotic.' It is total baloney – in fact I have a better army word, but I can't use it. We must never forget that it is patriotic and it is American to question people in power."
Amen, Major Duckworth, amen!

Everyone knows the story of Pat Tillman, the young man who gave up a professional football career in order to serve his country in time of war. Tillman joined the U.S. Army just months after the 9/11 attack on the World Trade Center. He had been in the military less than two years when he was killed by friendly fire in Afghanistan. The death of Pat Tillman, originally reported by Army General Stanley McCrystal as a death due to enemy fire, has been the subject of controversy since it occurred in April of 2004. It was subsequently revealed that Tillman had serious doubts about the way the war was being executed and the necessity of the war, and that he had an appointment to meet with pacifist author Noam Chomsky upon his return to the U.S. Tillman was not a man of God, but he was exceedingly well read on the concept of religion. He had read a number of religious texts including the Bible, Qur’an and Book of Mormon as well as transcendentalist authors such as Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau.

Kevin Tillman was a professional baseball player when he joined the Army with his more famous brother, Pat, in 2002. Both of the Tillman men went on to complete the rigorous Army Ranger School before deploying to Afghanistan. Kevin was outraged over the cover-up of his brother's friendly-fire death, and has gone on to become a major critic of American war policy in the Middle East. He had this to say about the way the government handled the reporting of Pat's death:
"The deception surrounding this case was an insult to the family: but more importantly, its primary purpose was to deceive a whole nation. We say these things with disappointment and sadness for our country. Once again, we have been used as props in a Pentagon public relations exercise."

Paul Rieckhoff was an infantry rifle platoon leader in Iraq who came back to America after his service and helped to found the Iraq and Afghanistan Veterans of America (IAVA), the largest group of veterans from these two wars. Rieckhoff and his group are focused on the medical, legal, and social treatment of veterans and their families, and he has been outspoken in support of health care initiatives. Rieckhoff is the media's go-to guy on stories involving America's newest crop of war veterans.

Darren Manzella served two tours with the Army in Iraq, one as a combat medic. He performed his duties well, and eventually achieved the rank of sergeant. After six years of solid service to the Army, some of which were in extremely dangerous circumstances, the military saw fit to discharge Sgt. Manzella because of who he was - a gay man in uniform. (The Ramble will have much more to say about the Army's abuse of Sgt. Manzella in a future posting.)

Our troops in Iraq and Afghanistan have been and continue to be a brave and honorable group of individuals, worthy of the admiration and gratitude of all of us. The policies that brought about these wars may be questioned, but not the bravery and dedication of these fine young people charged with being America's boots on the ground in a hostile environment. You are our heroes!

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

The State of Hate in Kansas

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

If there is a God, and if She has a sense of fairness (or humor), surely Scott Roeder and Fred Phelps will eventually share a very small cell - with one narrow cot!

Roeder, the man who shot Dr. George Tiller of Wichita in the good doctor's church on a Sunday morning, called the Associated Press yesterday and admitted murdering Dr. Tiller. (Big whoop, there were dozens of witnesses!) But Roeder wanted to trot out his clever defense and parade it before the American public. His claim is that since Dr. Tiller was an abortion provider, killing him would save future fetuses from being "murdered." Scott Roeder wants his trial is to be about the actions of a physician who was working within the limits of the law - and not about himself, the creep who pulled the trigger and murdered a man in cold blood.

Scott, has God commissioned you to do Her work? If Dr. Tiller was doing something immoral, and I certainly do not believe that he was, couldn't God handle the retribution? Why would She need to use some stupid puke like you to settle things for Her? You committed a murder Scott, with malice aforethought. Own it, savor it, masturbate to it, but do not try to convince yourself or anyone else that you were doing God's work. God can do Her own damned work - and you may learn that sooner rather than later!

Fred Phelps, Topeka's strangest son, is at it again. The Phelps family, resident rodents of a large compound near Topeka, have been embarrassing the nation for years by protesting at the funerals of gay individuals (Matthew Shepard, for one) and persons whom they feel have been too tolerant of gays (Barry Goldwater, for one).

Old Fred (he will be 80 on November 13th) is a disbarred attorney who fashions himself a preacher. The family controls its own church in Topeka, the Westboro Baptist, where reportedly 60 of the 71 members are relatives of Reverend Fred. The church's theology is basically anti-gay, but it also has a strong bent toward physical child abuse. Old Fred was never one to spare the rod, a proclivity that led some of his children to reject the family and move on to safer (and saner) pastures.

A couple of years ago this family of moral degenerates went completely off of their collective nut and began protesting at the funerals of American service men and women who were killed in battle in Iraq and Afghanistan. Their "logic" for that hurtful stupidity was that our government has an agenda to support homosexual lifestyles, and the deaths of these uniformed young people was God's payback for the government's support and encouragement of gay rights. (All of that nonsense while our government is still kicking good soldiers, sailors, airmen, and marines out of the service for being gay!)

Fred, wake up and smell the stupidity!

The Phelps' are a bunch of mean bastards. They scream and yell at mourners, desecrate the American flag, and try to incite violence at what should be very somber ceremonies. Many of the members of this family of evildoers are attorneys, and they show up at the funerals with video cameras so that they have records of any violence directed toward them. Can you say "chickenshits?" Even the children of this crazy clan are put out on the street to yell and scream at grieving family members.

A young person dies in the service of his or her country, and the grief-stricken family and friends have to struggle to say good-bye through the noise and nonsense of Fred Phelps and his evil spawn!

Yesterday the Phelps circus stopped by Washington, DC, where they set up their freak show outside of the school attended by the Obama girls. So their program is expanding - from anti-gay, to anti-American, and now, to anti-little girl. The Phelps family would have to evolve significantly in order to qualify as pond scum! (But, judge that for yourselves: www.godhatesfags.com)

Scott Roeder and Fred Phelps are not representative of Kansas, but they are products of the winds of hate that are blowing across America. The craziness that dangerous fools like these inflict on America must stop, but it will only stop when all Americans - regardless of race, political persuasion, age, gender, sexual orientation, whatever - link arms and say emphatically "We are better than this." For until we can make that statement, loudly and honestly, we remain at the mercy of of this sick rabble.

Monday, November 9, 2009

Poetry Monday: "The Lonely Things"

by Pa Rock
Poetry Appreciator

Rod McKuen was the poet of choice on college campuses in the 1960's, known for simple and passionate works about love, solitude, and cats - and sometimes all three at once. I have five volumes of McKuen's work, two of which (Listen to the Warm and Stanyan Street) were acquired during my undergraduate days. The following poem, "The Lonely Things," is the closing verse of Stanyan Street. It is very representative of the lyrical softness evoked by Rod McKuen.

For your reading enjoyment and peaceful thoughts...

The Lonely Things
by Rod McKuen

The silent rain that falls, the meadowlark
the winter wind that calls the lovers from the park
the sad and bitter song December sings
these are the lonely things.

The sun behind the clouds, the starless night
when you're alone in crowds the need for sudden
flight
the empty loneliness that parting brings
these are the lonely things.

A taste of love too soon gone wrong
the sad mistaken heart that heard the sirens song
and sang along.

The waves that drum the shore at morning light
the friends that come no more to try and make things
right
the hopes that fly too soon as though on wings
these are the lonely things.

Sunday, November 8, 2009

Trent Franks Should Be Ashamed!

by Pa Rock
Outraged Constituent

Representative Franks,

I'm extremely disappointed to learn that you voted with the insurance companies and against health care reform that would have benefited me and my neighbors - your constituents.

You have government-sponsored health care, yet you have the audacity to deny us the same option. That is so self-serving and unfair!

The Affordable Health Care for America Act that passed in the House last night wasn't perfect, yet it was far superior to what your party brought to the table - which was nothing at all except an attempt to give more power to the insurance companies. The bill that concerned Members of Congress managed to pass will make health care affordable, do away with insurance company abuses, help small business and our economy, and give us a choice of a public health insurance option. It is a good bill, and it would provide quality, affordable health care to all.

Instead of standing up for the people you represent, you sided with the insurance companies and voted for the status quo - denial of care, skyrocketing prices, and medical bankruptcy. When you have the chance to vote on health care reform again on the Conference Report, I hope you will reconsider and vote for us and not them. You have one more opportunity to do the right thing for America and for the Arizonans whom you have been elected to represent.

The Affordable Health Care for America Act is supported by the American Association of Retired Persons (AARP) and the American Medical Association - neither of which are radical organizations. The bill has merit and will benefit many Americans. Those Americans need your support on this most important matter.

If you cannot see your way clear to support health care for all Americans, then I respectfully suggest that you give up your government-run health care policy. That would only be fair - and it would show you how the other half lives!

Sincerely,

Rocky G. Macy
Registered Voter
Litchfield Park, AZ 85340

Saturday, November 7, 2009

A Steady Hand at the Helm

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

The U.S. House of Representatives is poised to pass an historic health care bill tonight, truly a momentous achievement in these mean times. Of course any bill is still a long way from reaching the President's desk for the signature that will make it the law of the land. The chickenshit United States Senate must pass their bill, then the two bills, those of the House and the Senate, must go before a joint committee to reconcile their differences, and the finished bill must again pass both the House and Senate. Then, once that long and complicated dance is over, it goes to President Obama for his signature.

There is an old political addage that declares the making of legislation is almost as disgusting to watch as the making of sausage - the good stuff often gets cut out while the tripe is mixed in with gusto. When the Republicans fail in their effort to kill health care outright, they will certainly try to make it ineffective by hacking away the good parts and dumping in the garbage.

One of the stated Republican objectives in destroying any hope for public health care is their belief that to do so will take down their bogeyman - President Obama. But while these small-minded, racist obstructionists have been laser-focused on health care, several other bills of social import have made it into law. As reported last week in this blog, we have now expanded federal hate crimes legislation to cover cases involving gender identification and sexual orientation. The next time someone is beaten to death (or just beaten, or just discriminated against) because they are lesbian, gay, bi-sexual, or transgendered - the perpetrators will become acquainted with federal prosecutors and federal courts.

Congress has a long history of passing weapons bills for things the Pentagon doesn't really want. Why? Because sleazy defense contractors (a description that easily includes all defense contractors) cleverly spread the jobs out for these projects into many districts of Congressmen whose votes are critical for the projects. They become jobs bills, whether the country really needs the weapons systems or planes or tanks, or whatever. Of course these sleazy contractors also give cash directly to Congressmen or their campaign committees.

Republicans are very "patriotic" and "pro-defense," due in large part to the cash the gets thrown at them by defense contractors. But this year, while they were busy demonizing the President and trying to make health care look like a plot to kill old people, the rest of Congress (the intelligent segment) and our President were able to get the F-22 fighter jet (a fighter jet that the Pentagon did not want) terminated. Also sliced from the budget was the new fleet of Presidential VH-71 helicopters.

Other accomplishments of the Obama administration include setting aside 1.2 million acres of Wyoming range land, effectively making it off limits to the greedheads of the oil and natural gas industries. (That oil and gas will keep - it won't spoil - and our grandchildren may need it!) The Food and Drug Administration has now been given regulatory control over tobacco - something Republicans have fought against for generations. And the State Children's Health Insurance Program (SCHIP) has been expanded and enhanced. This is a wonderful program that allows poor children to receive medical care. President Bush, who was never a poor child, vetoed it twice in 2007. President Obama, who grew up in modest circumstances, signed it into law.

Obviously I'm glad that the Republicans have been so wrapped up in tea parties and the health care debate. While they were posturing for their base and mugging for the Fox News cameras, President Obama and the working members of Congress were able to make some real progress in other areas. The President is doing a remarkable job of navigating the ship of state through the Republican icebergs.

And as for affordable health care with a good public option, that too shall pass!

Friday, November 6, 2009

Life With a Cat

by Pa Rock
Old Softie

The trailer park manager sent a notice a few weeks ago telling me that if I was going to feed a cat, I had to do it inside of my house, He didn't want any feral cats being attracted to the neighborhood because of a cat dish sitting outside. It was just garden variety harassment. The ill-tempered oaf was hoping that I would decide to get rid of the cat who had adopted me. So, I complied with his hateful park "rule" and began feeding old SB inside - and then throwing him out after his morning and evening meals.

Then the weather got chilly for a week or so, and the cat wanted to move in on a permanent basis. I wasn't having any of that, so I opened my storage shed to allow him to spend the nights there. But the shed wasn't good enough for SB. I learned that he had belonged to an old couple who moved from the park. They had given him to a friend, but he ran off from the friend's house because she had other cats, and SB, like me, is a bit of a loner.

The past few nights my little orange friend has been crying at the front and back doors seeking entry. Tonight I gave up and opened the dog door. It took SB about 5 seconds to figure it out!

The poor old cat was lonely. Now he is wrapped around my computer purring contentedly as I type this blog post. I guess he can be my editor!

Thursday, November 5, 2009

Massacre at Ft. Hood

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

This afternoon the nation was rocked with the news that Major Nidal Malik Hasan, an Army psychiatrist, opened fire at a deployment readiness center at Ft. Hood, Texas. Major Hasan, a native of Virginia, was reportedly on the verge of being deployed to Iraq and did not want to go. He used two pistols in the random shooting, at least one of which was a semi-automatic, and was able to kill 11 individuals and wound 31 others before being wounded and stopped by a responder to the bloody mayhem. One of the wounded later died at the hospital, bringing the total deaths to twelve.

This is personal. I work for the military as a mental health provider (social worker). I have worked at a large army base - Ft. Campbell - that is somewhat smaller than Ft. Hood, though not by much, and I am very familiar with the types of stresses that haunt our brave servicemen and their families. I have also worked at deployment and redeployment readiness centers, much like the one where today's madness took place. In fact, if today's shooting had occurred at Ft. Campbell instead of Ft. Hood, I am certain that I would have known some of the victims.

This is an ugly business.

Many, if not most, of our brave young people who go to Iraq and Afghanistan are coming back damaged - both emotionally and physically. As today's carnage illustrates, the war is also impacting those who have yet to go. War has a cost, and that cost is truly staggering.

This craziness at Ft. Hood sickens me.

If It's on the Google, It must Be True!

by Pa Rock
Bank Robber

This afternoon some inquisitive soul in or around Kansas City, KS, submitted the following query on Google:

"is it true that tim macy author the brass teapot has father who is a bank robber called pa rock?"

Live by the Google, die by the Google!

Seriously, Tim, or Erin, or Chad, or Carla, I'm innocent of the charge. I don't have time to rob banks! Thanks for brightening my day!

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

The Ramble Enters the Terrible Twos!

by Pa Rock
Blog Master

Two years ago tonight I sat down in front of the computer and taught myself how to set up a blog. My intent at the time was to use The Ramble as a place to collect my writing scraps and as a forum for journaling my daily thoughts and activities. As I looked at the blank screen that warm Arizona night two years ago, I struggled to come up an idea for the first posting. I finally settled on writing about one of my passions - the presidential candidacy of Barack Obama.

Two years ago tonight Mr. Obama was well back in the pack of Democratic presidential wannabes. One year ago tonight he was giving a victory speech at a park in Chicago with the whole world watching. I was proud of him then, and although I occasionally get aggravated with our President now, I am still proud of him. Barack Hussein Obama is the personification of how far America has advanced during my lifetime.

This past July I signed up for a service that tracks visitors to The Ramble. Twenty-five or more people visit this blog on an average day. Thirty-one have stopped by since midnight last night, including international visitors from Australia (2), Japan, the Philippines, Canada, and Denmark. Most arrive by using a search engine (almost always Google) to look up something that I just happened to write about. Many of today's visitors, for instance, were wanting to learn more about the Phoenix baggage bandits - whom I wrote about last night. Randy Leach, Levi King, and The Brass Teapot by Tim Macy also stir regular interest.

It takes a lot of thoughtful effort to "go to press" with something of interest every evening, and twenty-five or thirty random people out of six billion doesn't exactly make me H.L. Mencken, but it is a challenge that I have come to enjoy. If I occasionally say something that makes you smile - or cringe - let me know. Feedback gets me stoked!

Hang around for year three, and let's see where this thing goes.

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

Baggage Bandits Busted

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

Times are tough all over, and nowhere is that more true than out here in the sand lands of Arizona where unemployment and home foreclosures are rising faster than the price of medical insurance.

But, as they say, when times are tough, the tough get going. That axiom was proved true today with the arrest of a couple of very industrious Arizonans, Keith Wilson King and his lovely wife, Stacey Lynne Legg-King. The Kings were nabbed at their home in the Phoenix suburb of Waddell along with over 1,000 pieces of stolen luggage.

The Kings had been fighting the recession by hitching up their horse trailer to the old pick-up truck and driving to Phoenix's Sky Harbor Airport. There they roamed through the luggage carousels and picked up nondescript pieces of black luggage that sported no special markings or colorful ribbons. By the time the unlucky travelers realized that their bags were missing, the Kings had stashed their loot in the horse trailer and were heading back into the airport for more.

That's a clever little criminal enterprise, and it is probably happening at other airports as well. Victims are robbed twice - once by paying $15, or $20, or more per checked bag - and once by the bag snatcher! They literally get it coming and going!

I bought new luggage in Nogales a couple of years ago. Those suitcases are green with a bold green and yellow decorative border - unlike any others that I have ever seen. The purpose in acquiring this loud luggage was to have something easy to identify on the baggage carousels. Now it has the added benefit of being harder to steal! Sometimes I am so smart it is scary!

Monday, November 2, 2009

My Good Deed

by Pa rock
Good Citizen

This evening I was at our local Lowe's admiring their climbing roses - Don Juan's and America's - after spending the better part of three days hacking and pulling up climbing roses! I really wanted to buy a Don Juan - they smell wonderful! - but was disappointed in the foliage on the four that they had in stock. The America's on the other hand, while not as fragrant, had beautiful, healthy foliage. As I was pondering what to do, a very sweet lady with an accent that I could not place, walked up and started talking to me about the roses. She, too, wanted a Don Juan.

The lady was concerned about getting the very tall plant home in her small sedan. She asked if I was driving a truck, and I said that no, I was driving the convertible next to her sedan. She wandered off into the store. I selected the best America and followed her in where I did some more shopping. As I came to the front of the garden center, my new friend was at the checkout with a Don Juan and chattering with a sales clerk about how best to get it in her car.

Suddenly the lady turned to me and asked if I could drive her rose home. When I learned that she didn't live too far, I agreed, noting that the sales clerk had a smirk on his face that seemed to say "There's one born every minute!" Me, America, and Don Juan followed the lady to her home, where I carefully carried Don J. through the house and out to his new digs next to the patio.

The lady tried to pay me with a new red scarf that still had the tags on it. I declined - red is not my color - and told her just to pay the favor forward. I think that was a good investment.

I did find out about the accent. My new friend is a bank teller who has recently moved to Phoenix after many years in New Jersey. I told her that her accent was definitely not Jersey, and she said that she was a native of Lima, Peru. She said that she has a brother who is a tour guide in Cuzco and Machu Picchu. Him I would like to meet!

I have been invited back to check on Don J., and I may just do it!

Republican Family Values in South Carolina

by Pa Rock
Political Commentator

Up until last week Roland Corning was a political hack working as an assistant attorney general in the state of South Carolina. Before coming to that august post he had served a few terms as a representative in the South Carolina legislature where he was known for trumpeting "family values" and opposing abortion legislation.

But now the sanctimonious Roland, age 66, is unemployed. He lost his job over a dalliance with an 18-year-old female stripper in his Ford Escort in a Columbia, SC, cemetery. When a curious policeman pulled up to see what was going on, Roland sped away, but he was soon cornered by another policeman and had to 'splain himself.

The first thing that the hapless miscreant did was to pull out his attorney general's badge and try to use his political clout. Unfortunately for him, the arresting officer was married to a woman who worked in that same office, so he phoned her to see if old Roland was a legitimate assistant to the attorney general. The policeman's wife promptly informed her boss, and the attorney general just as promptly fired Roland Corning.

It gets funnier, or sadder, depending on your point of view. The arresting officer asked for and received permission to check the Corning vehicle. His search revealed a container of Viagra, for which Roland said that he had a prescription, and a bag of sex toys. Roland Corning purportedly told the officer that he always kept the sex toys in the car "just in case."

The only way this story could have been any better was if the 18-year-old stripper had been a guy!

South Carolina: home of Bob Jones University, Governor Mark ("Don't Cry for Me Argentina") Sanford, Senator Jim DeMint whose own self-proclaimed foreign policy initiatives border on treason, and idiot Congressman Joe "You lie!" Wilson. It must be something in the water - or very bad breeding!

Sunday, November 1, 2009

Digging in the Dirt

by Pa Rock
Involved Homeowner

My boys were out here over the second weekend in October and got to see my claptrap hovel at its worst. Bushes were overgrown, plants needed potting, and generally the outside was not something that I was proud of. Since they left, I have really started to get things in order. I have removed two crazy bushes, pulled up a lot of crappy ground cover - lantana - and took down a large trellis that was home to some bizarre roses that covered one whole end of the trailer. A neighbor told me this evening that I was really getting the place cleaned up.

Today is the beginning of the two-day Latino holiday El Día de los Muertos (The Day of the Dead). I had planned to celebrate by taking in a vampire movie, but the weather is so pleasant and the days so short that I guilted myself into staying home and working in the yard. I am now officially retired from two jobs, yet it seems like I have never been busier! If the vampires are still out sucking next weekend, I'll meet up with them then!

In other news: The ham went back into the crock pot again today. Scroungy Bastard and I pigged out - pun intended! It is now standard time in the rest of the free world, but we never change anything in Arizona. My home air-conditioner kicked on once today - briefly! The Valley of Hell ain't too bad in the winter!

Saturday, October 31, 2009

Halloween at the Wheezin' Geezer Trailer Park

by Pa Rock
Satanic Reveler

I love Halloween - it's my very favorite holiday! I love the little kids and their costumes, and the parents prodding them to approach and hold out their bags and say "trick or treat." I love the commotion in the streets, the neighbors visiting as the little monsters and ballerina's dart from house to house, and the happiness that the special evening brings to most people. Oh, to be completely honest, I also love the fact that the whole idea of Halloween drives many religious fundamentalists batshit crazy - but that is just gravy! Basically Halloween is a fun evening for kids of all ages.

My new home is in a gated trailer park that is populated by a preponderance of old farts. Many don't seem to like kids - or cats running lose - or people driving sporty cars with the top down - or anything more radical than Geritol. It is sort of like living in Florida. One of my goals in life is to shatter the peace of this geriatric compound.

One thing that I did last week to upset the status quo was to cast my mail-in ballot in favor of a local school tax increase. Taxes in Arizona are damned near nothing, but people piss and moan about even the pittance that they are required to fork over for their desert lifestyle. I also still have an Obama bumper sticker on my car, something that is a real teeth-grinder for the old fools in the trailer park and throughout Phoenix.

Tonight I had six little trick-or-treaters, all Hispanic, and all cute as proverbial bugs! Each of these little hobgoblins got a Snickers bar from Pa Rock - a big one! Next year, after the word has gotten out about the old gringo who hands out Snickers bars, I anticipate a hundred little visitors. My neighbors are going to love that!

Anarchy rules!

Friday, October 30, 2009

LBJ Cries in the Crapper

by Pa Rock
Conspiracy Theorist

John F. Kennedy was murdered forty-six years ago next month, but the circumstances of that crime were such that controversy reigns supreme over what actually happened to this very day, and, much like the murder of Abraham Lincoln a century earlier, it promises to be one of those events that will keep good people arguing throughout the ages.

There are all kinds of theories about what really happened in Dallas on November 22, 1963. A few simple souls think that Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone, but a majority of Americans and many historical and crime researchers don't buy that vanilla explanation. Some believe that the murder was planned and organized by Fidel Castro as payback for America's involvement in the Bay of Pigs fiasco. Others are sure that it was a mob hit, possibly as retribution for Robert Kennedy's laser focus on Jimmy Hoffa. Still others see the event as being planned and executed by agencies of our own government - say by FBI Director (and frumpy cross-dresser) J. Edgar Hoover who made little effort to keep his hatred of the Kennedy's a secret, or the CIA, or the military, or some fascist combination of elements of all of the above.

My personal theory is that it was put together by Lyndon and/or Lady Bird Johnson, a couple of slick political operators who were politically ruthless and knew how to get things done - and had much to gain. Johnson, whose chief role model was Franklin Delano Roosevelt, was getting older and had a serious heart condition - and he wanted to be President in the worst way.

But, all of that is just so much conjecture. It won't be solved definitively until I retire and get time to do it myself.

Tidbits on the assassination continue to trickle out. Today there was a bit in Huffington Post by a writer named Steven M. Gillon. He was doing research on the assassination at the Kennedy Library in Boston last spring - on the exact day that a new record was opened to the public. That record was a transcript of an interview with retired Brigadier General Godfrey McHugh who was JFK's military aide on that fateful day in Dallas. McHugh gave an interview to the library in 1978 and provided information about the reaction of Lyndon Johnson to the murder. He had not shared his story with the Warren Commission during their investigation in 1964, possibly to avoid pissing off his Commander-in-Chief.

General McHugh said that Jackie Kennedy was seated aboard Air Force One wearing her bloodied pink suit and pillbox hat that had pieces of JFKs' brains stuck in the fabric. She was wanting to get the plane in the air and get away from Dallas. He notified the pilot to get it in the air, but the pilot said that he had been ordered to wait. Upon quick investigation, the General learned that LBJ was on board and not wanting to leave yet.

McHugh went to find the new President and determine what was going on. Johnson was not in the passenger section of the plane, so McHugh then went to the Presidential bedroom. When he couldn't find him there - he checked the only remaining space where the President could be - the restroom in the Presidential bedroom. General McHugh stated: "I walked in the toilet, in the powder room, and there he was hiding, with the curtain closed." He said that LBJ was sitting on the john crying and saying, "They're going to get us all. It's a plot. It's going to get us all." McHugh described LBJ as being "hysterical."

And all of that adds to my theory that one or both of the Johnson's were behind the murder of President John F. Kennedy. Lyndon Johnson was a tough old bastard, and if he was sitting on the crapper bawling like a baby, he was acting. If he was doing any emotional suffering, my guess is that it was because he had to stay cooped up in the little bathroom for so long until someone finally came in to witness his distress.

Lyndon Johnson was an amazing President in many respects. He knew how to twist arms and make Congress do his bidding. He understood that a great legacy would involve creating remarkable social programs like Medicare and championing civil rights. He was a conservative southern Democrat who came to the White House and became a domestic liberal icon.

But, like his hero FDR, Johnson also thought that he could achieve greatness through being a wartime president. (George Bush, who hid from combat during LBJ's war, succumbed to that same Siren's song forty years later.) What LBJ got was the morass of Vietnam. What LBJ got was literally being driven from office by the peace movement. I guess the good news for LBJ on the international scene was that at least nobody threw shoes at him!

I have no way of proving my spurious allegations that one or both of the Johnson's were involved in the murder of John F. Kennedy. I just think it is a distinct possibility. Of this, however, I am certain: Lyndon Baines Johnson, a macho hombre who enjoyed lifting his beagles by the ears and snapping his wife's bra strap in public, was not hiding in an airplane bathroom crying out of fear or panic. If he was crying it was scripted and right on cue.

Now do you see why I call this blog The Ramble?

Thursday, October 29, 2009

Bigots and Morons Beware!

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

I will admit that there have been times since the good guys took over the White House last January when I have wished that President Obama would be more outspoken, more dynamic, and more in-your-face toward the knuckle-draggers, teabaggers, religious fundamentalists, Fox News broadcasters, and other raging pieces of excrement who continually strive to befoul society. But our President marches at his own pace, and slowly but surely he is getting things done and moving our country forward.

Yesterday was a red-letter day in the history of America. President Obama affixed his signature to The Matthew Shepard and James Byrd Jr. Hate Crimes Prevention Act, making it federal law - the law of the land. This monumental legislation (a law that President Bush had vowed to veto if it ever reached his desk) now offers federal protections to victims of hate crimes based on sexual orientation and gender. Now if a lesbian, gay, bi-sexual, or trans-gendered person is attacked because of their orientation or who they love, the federal government can take jurisdiction and try the alleged perpetrators in federal court - and then lock their sorry butts up in federal prison.

Matthew Shepard was the college student in Wyoming who was beaten senseless and then left to die on a barbed wire fence that stretched across the icy Wyoming landscape - a scene eerily reminiscent of a crucifixion. James Byrd, Jr. was a black man in Texas who was tied to the bumper of a pick-up truck and dragged to death. The perpetrators in both cases were drunken, white trash.

Kudos to Judy and Dennis Shepard (Matthew's parents) who have worked diligently for years to get this legislation passed and signed. Your son would have been so proud of your dedicated efforts to give federal protections to an important segment of the American population. America is truly in your debt.

Now, President Obama, let's get serious about "Don't Ask - Don't Tell." Everyone who wants to serve their country should be allowed to do so without having to hide who they are. The troops are way ahead of the politicians on this one. It's time to get rid of this archaic and detrimental policy - a policy that weakens our military and our national security.

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

Arnold Goes Acrostic

by Pa Rock
Poetry Appreciator

I have written about acrostic poetry before - poems in which the first letter of each line spells out a special message, a message that usually adds some degree of depth to the basic message of the poem. Lewis Carroll, for example, used an acrostic poem in Through the Looking Glass to reveal the name of the very real little girl whom he modeled "Alice" of Alice in Wonderland after. I also used this blog to show an acrostic sonnet that I wrote - many years ago - that poked a little fun at Petrarch for not completely structuring his highly structured sonnet form.

Now Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger of California has gotten into the act. It seems the guv likes to attach a personal note to bills that he signs or vetoes - and then send the bill back, with the note, to the bill's author. That is very courteous, and I am certain that his mother would have been pleased at her son's thoughtfulness. But, being a mother, she was probably also very aware of what a rascal her little boy was.

Or did he turn into a rascal due to all of those steroids over all of those years?

Whatever the reason, the governor of California did pull a good one recently when he sent a note to Tom Ammiano, an assemblyman from San Francisco who had submitted a bill in the legislature that passed unanimously - a bill that would have economically revitalized part of the Port of San Francisco. Unfortunately for the bill and Port of San Francisco, the governor chose to veto that bill - hence the governor's personal note to Assemblyman Ammiano.

Did I mention that the assemblyman had heckled Governor Schwarzenegger at a San Francisco event earlier in the year?

So what was the personal message that Arnold sent to Assemblyman Ammiano along with the veto letter?

(Unfortunately, I can't get Blogspot to format the way that Arnold's letter was formatted - so here is the text with the first letter of each line in bold:)

"For some time now I have lamented the fact that major issues are overlooked while many unnecessary bills come to me for consideration. Water reform, prison reform, and health care are major issues my Administration has brought to the table, but the Legislature just kicks the can down the alley.

"Yet another legislative year has come and gone without the major reforms Californians overwhelmingly deserve. In light of this, and after careful consideration, I believe it is unnecesary to sign this measure at this time."

Schwarzeneggar has vetoed six of eight Ammiano bills this year, with five of those six coming after the assemblyman heckled the governor.

Way to go, Arnie! Your clever rebuke puts me in mind of the words of another great American, Dick Cheney, when he told Vermont Senator Patrick Leahy (on the floor of the U.S. Senate) to "go fuck yourself." You Republicans sure can turn a phrase - and get even!

And isn't that what government is all about?

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

GOP Blood-Letting in New York's 23rd

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

Twenty-three is my favorite number. I was born on the 23rd day of a month, as was one of my children. It's a prime number which makes it infinitely stronger than those wimpy numbers that are divisible by other numbers. It was the number on Michael Jordan's jersey. And, I am certain that when I win Powerball, the powerball number will be twenty-three. It's a great number - what's not to love!

Today lucky number twenty-three is making political news. Earlier this year President Obama (God, I love saying "President Obama!") made news when he selected conservative Republican Congressman John McHugh of New York to be the new Secretary of the Army. McHugh took the position and thus left a vacancy in his old district - New York's 23rd. Whether Obama was playing a crafty game of political chess when he made that appointment may never be known, but nudging McHugh out of Congress has created a firestorm among Republicans - both in New York's 23rd congressional district as well as nationally.

(When Republicans are spitting fire, it is so gratifying to watch them burn each other!)

The Republican establishment in New York nominated a moderate named Dede Scozzafava to run for McHugh's seat. She is a resident of the district who apparently has a fairly good handle on the issues affecting the residents of the 23rd. But, she is "moderate" - a word that the right-wingers in the Republican party can't pronounce without spitting! (Among things that Ms. Scozzafava favors are abortion rights and gay marriage...horrors!)

So enter Doug Hoffman who grabbed the banner of the Conservative Party and is running for the same seat. Mr. Hoffman has been exposed by the local press as being somewhat of a carpetbagger who may or may not legally reside in the district and has little understanding of local issues.

Hoffman probably wouldn't pose much of a threat to Scozzafava if it weren't for his chorus of national teabaggers who have stormed into upstate New York to help him campaign. So far he is being endorsed by Sarah Palin, Rep. Michele Bachmann, Steve Forbes, lobbyist Dick Armey, columnist Bill Kristol, Fred Thompson (who has made a television commercial for him), former Rep. Marilyn Musgrave, former Senator Rick Santorum, and Kansas Congressman and Senate candidate Todd Tiahrt. Today, Minnesota governor and political whore Tim Pawlenty announced that he was also rushing to New York to support Conservative Party candidate Doug Hoffman.

Dede Scozzafava, the actual Republican who isn't pure enough for the fascist wing of the party, is being supported by former Speaker of the House Newt Gingrich. She also has the support of the local Republican Party and the National Rifle Association.

The relatively non-controversial Democratic candidate for Congress in New York's 23rd is Bill Owens. So far two United States President's - Barack Obama and Bill Clinton - have stopped by his district to offer their support. Can Jimmy Carter be far behind?

While the Republicans are focused on eating each other, it is entirely possible that Bill Owens could win the seat. If this GOP cannibalism is allowed to spread, 2010 will be a great year!

Go you teabaggers!

Monday, October 26, 2009

Monday's Poetry: "Sunday Morning Coming Down"

by Pa Rock
Poetry Appreciator

Occasionally I like to highlight song lyrics as the featured "poetry" of the week, and while I fully understand that there are still poets scribbling great thoughts and emotions that aren't put to music, that doesn't detract from the reality that many great poets are, in fact, songwriters and lyricists.

Today I would like to spotlight an amazing poet and songwriter from my generation, Kris Kristofferson. Though some will undoubtedly argue that "Me and Bobby McGee" was his most memorable effort, I remain a fervent fan of "Sunday Morning Coming Down." Kristofferson leads us down a city street - sharing the sights, and sounds, and smells - of a hungover Sunday morning. His descriptive powers are as tight and masterful as they are emotive.

Just try reading the lines that follow without hearing Johnny Cash. Just try!

Sunday Morning Coming Down
by Kris Kristofferson

Well I woke up Sunday morning,
With no way to hold my head that didn't hurt.
And the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad,
So I had one more for dessert.
Then I fumbled through my closet for my clothes,
And found my cleanest dirty shirt.
An' I shaved my face and combed my hair,
An' stumbled down the stairs to meet the day.

I'd smoked my brain the night before,
On cigarettes and songs I'd been pickin'.
But I lit my first and watched a small kid,
Cussin' at a can that he was kicking.
Then I crossed the empty street,
'n caught the Sunday smell of someone fryin' chicken.
And it took me back to somethin',
That I'd lost somehow, somewhere along the way.

On the Sunday morning sidewalk,
Wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
'Cos there's something in a Sunday,
Makes a body feel alone.
And there's nothin' short of dyin',
Half as lonesome as the sound,
On the sleepin' city sidewalks:
Sunday mornin' comin' down.

In the park I saw a daddy,
With a laughin' little girl who he was swingin'.
And I stopped beside a Sunday school,
And listened to the song they were singin'.
Then I headed back for home,
And somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringin'.
And it echoed through the canyons,
Like the disappearing dreams of yesterday.

On the Sunday morning sidewalk,
Wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
'Cos there's something in a Sunday,
Makes a body feel alone.
And there's nothin' short of dyin',
Half as lonesome as the sound,
On the sleepin' city sidewalks:
Sunday mornin' comin' down.

Sunday, October 25, 2009

The Kite Runner Soars on Stage!

by Pa Rock
Citizen Theatre Critic

I drove to downtown Phoenix today to see the Arizona Theatre Company's production of The Kite Runner. I left home early in order to enjoy a leisurely drive over the city streets rather than zipping across town on Interstate 10. The drive down McDowell took me past the Arizona State Fair and gave me the opportunity to check out the parking situation there in case I develop the resolve to take in the fair next weekend - and I think that I may just do that!

By leaving the house early, I was able to find parking on the street - effecting a net savings of $12.00. My much coveted parking spot was right in front of the U.S. Airways Center, within spittin' distance of the Hard Rock Cafe, and in the shadow of a fire department ropes exercise where firefighters were lowering themselves by ropes off of a crane that whose arm was about 300 feet in the air. That show by itself was worth the drive into Phoenix!

The Kite Runner is based on Khaled Hosseini's runaway bestselling novel of the same name. It was adapted for the stage by Matthew Spangler who is a Professor of Performance Studies at San Jose State University in California. The play was originally produced at San Jose State under the direction of Mr. Spangler. The production that I was privileged to see today had many of the original San Jose cast members. Some of the cast have been living these roles in various locations for two years, and this afternoon's performance was their last for the foreseeable future.

To say that this was a polished performance would be serious understatement. The Kite Runner was intricate, complicated, and flawless. It would be difficult and unfair to single out individual actors for their efforts simply because to do so would imply that some were better than others - when in truth, every member of the large cast was superb.

I will make special mention of the lone musician, Salar Nader. He sat on a corner of the stage throughout most of the play and did a remarkable job playing the tabla - an instrument consisting of seven or eight individual and unique drums. Mr. Nader's amazing percussion skills continually stoked the intensity of the play. (For those who would like to know more about Salar Nader or the tabla, he has a web page at www.SalarNader.com).

This play is too good to just pack up and go home. It is a lesson in Afghan history and culture interwoven with serious questions of humanity and morality. I predict that The Kite Runner will soon be Broadway bound, and if I am right, I will make a pilgrimage to the Great White Way to see it there!

Saturday, October 24, 2009

The Devil and Daniel Webster Take the Stage at Luke AFB

by Pa Rock
Citizen Theatre Critic

The Luke Experience is a community theatre troupe that is a relatively recent addition to the cultural scene at Luke Air Force Base. Tonight I had the pleasure of attending their performance of The Devil and Daniel Webster, a morality play based on an award-winning short story by Stephen Vincent Benet.

I enjoy community theatre, having worked with a few, and I came to tonight's performance with several expectations. First, because the show was being staged for one night only, I expected quite a few first night gaffes - but if there were any they escaped my critical perusal. The play was performed skillfully, and even though there were quite a few people on stage, the blocking was good and the cast flowed across the stage with ease and grace.

I was also expecting to see some stilted acting, especially since the major characters of this play are men. (It is often hard for little theatre's to find an adequate pool of men from which to cast - and, at least in my experience, they tend to be less dramatically inclined than the ladies.) This cast was exceptional. Of particular note, Marques Bones had a commanding stage presence. Bones portrayed Jabez Stone, the poor New Hampshire farmer who sold his soul to the devil. Mitchell Bechtold was the devil, Mr. Scratch. He strolled the stage in a delightfully demonic manner as he sought to collect and protect his property - the soul of Jabez Stone.

The director of this production was Lacey Quattlebaum. Not only did she do a fine job of bringing this script to the stage, she also donned a mustache and served as a stand-in for the actor who was scheduled to play Daniel Webster. Lacey was presented with a very well-deserved bouquet from the cast and crew at the end of the production.

Many of the people associated with the Luke Experience and tonight's play are active duty members of the United States Air Force. They keep us safe, and in their spare time they are damned fine entertainers! I hope to have the opportunity to attend many more of their productions.

Friday, October 23, 2009

Gabrielle Giffords

by Pa Rock
Political Observer

At times I catch myself getting a little critical of Arizona, particularly Arizona politicians. It's easy to be critical in Maricopa County where we have a sheriff and a county attorney sharing a brain - and not a very good one, at that, where my congressman, Trent Franks and Beans, proves time and again that he is mostly beans, and where a Presidential visit is tantamount to a call to arms. Our U.S. Senators, Kyl and McCain, both have 3rd degree chapped lips from kissing the butts of every teabagger and know-nothing in the state, and the State Superintendent of Schools is openly contemptuous of education.

But there are some bright spots in this state. Five of the state's nine congresspeople are Democrats, and of those five, the brightest star is Gabrielle Giffords of Arizona's 8th Congressional District. I first became aware of this amazing young lady last spring when someone at one of her town hall meetings got so excited that he left his gun behind after the event. I instinctively knew that morons don't take guns to the events of other morons, which meant that Giffords must have something positive going for her.

And she does. The Tucson native is well educated. She received a B.A. in sociology and Latin American history from Scripps College in California, and completed a Master of Regional Planning at Cornell. She focused her studies on Mexico–United States relations while at Cornell. (Her congressional district is one of only ten in the United States that shares a border with Mexico.) Rep. Giffords was a Fulbright Scholar in Chihuahua, Mexico, and she has also been a fellow at Harvard University's John F. Kennedy School of Government. She has an education and a work history that served as an ideal preparation for service in Congress. (For years, my congressman in Missouri was a used car dealer who was openly suspicious of anyone with an education!)

Congresswoman Giffords fashions herself a "blue dog" Democrat, but that has to be political posturing because her record does not support that appellation. While in the Arizona legislature she worked tirelessly for improved health care, especially for women and children. She is also pro-choice and pro-gun control, garnering the endorsement of Emily's List and a grade of D+ from the National Rifle Association and a D- from the Gun Owners of America. Blue Dog, indeed!

Her primary strength, however, has to be in understanding what is going on in Mexico and in the logical support of comprehensive immigration reform that includes a guest worker program. She has her finger on the pulse of our neighbor to the south, noting recently that the maquilladora factory system - the one that came about when U.S. manufactures rushed across the Rio Grande for cheap labor after Clinton signed the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA) and screwed the unions - those same maquilladoras are now packing up and moving to Asia for even cheaper labor. It is illogical to think that unemployed Mexican factory workers are going to sit on the curb and starve when jobs are available in Los Estados Unidos. ("The United States" for you gringos who refuse to learn even an elemental smattering of Spanish.)

Congresswoman Giffords is married to astronaut Mark Kelly, making her the only current member of Congress to have a spouse who is a member of the Armed Forces, and the only member of Congress to ever have a spouse in space.

Gabrielle Giffords is one smart cookie, and the good citizens of Arizona's 8th are damned lucky to have her representing them in Washington! I may just have to move to Tucson!

Thursday, October 22, 2009

Dear Senator McCaskill

by Pa Rock
Concerned Citizen

Dear Senator McCaskill,

I received your self-laudatory email today in which you paint Congress with the broad brush of wastefulness and then go on to make it seem as though you are are going to tame the spending beast. The entire content and tone of your email puts me in mind of Ronald Reagan who arrived in Washington, DC, in 1981 and promptly proclaimed that the federal government was our enemy. He was still singing that same basic song eight years later, even though he had been the head of the federal government all of that time.

Your communication boasted of new legislation which you were sponsoring that would solve a lot of our fiscal problems. You referred to it as pay-as-you-go legislation, and stated that it would require Congress to find a way to pay for all new entitlement spending or tax cuts, rather than adding to the national deficit. Okay, I understand the politics of the legislation: hindering the ability to cut taxes would be taking a strong swipe at the Republicans, but you give them something by messing with future entitlement programs - giving some credence to their unending braying about entitlement programs being giveaways to lazy people. Shame, Claire, shame!

Your "PAYGO" legislation adroitly ignores the biggest government waste of money - the war industry. Obviously the entitlement program for Blackwateer (excuse me, "Xe") is going to be left in place and allowed to flourish. We will fund murdering thugs like Erik Prince's evil cabal, but hungry kids can just suck it up! Smooth move, Claire!

But that isn't what really got me going about your silly email. You state in the missive that you will only vote for a health care reform bill if it's deficit-neutral. Got an election on the horizon, Claire? Got a sugar daddy in the insurance industry? Everyone knows, me and you included, that you are going to do the right thing and support good health care legislation. Everyone knows, including the two of us, that Congress will find a way to make it deficit neutral. So why all of this tough guy posturing if not to play to the hillbillies in the Ozarks and the morons in St. Louis County. Claire, you're better than that.

If you are intent on changing Congress, how about beginning with straightforward, honest communication. If you want to role play, join a Little Theatre!

And here is something else about Congress that needs immediate attention:

The Congressional email service is lousy. It is intentionally lousy. It was designed to deliver messages en masse from members of Congress to their constituents - and to prevent input from citizens. I hit the reply button on your email tonight, typed in a few cogent remarks, and sent it. It was immediately bounced back. I knew that would happen because I have tried previously to answer Congressional junk email with the same disappointing results.

That's shameful, but it gets worse...

If a person goes to any Congressional homepage, your's included, and sends an email through the access there, the email won't go unless a myriad of questions are answered about the sender and the message. The sender has to select a topic that best relates to the comment being sent. Then, an immediate reply is fired back automatically relating to the subject that was checked. If you send the email at night, the comment comes back the same night - even though the Congressional office that should have responded to the email was closed. The citizen sending the email has no way of knowing whether any human read the message, let alone the member of Congress to whom it was addressed.

If Congress doesn't want public input, they should just say so.

Get a grip Claire. If you want to save the public's money - go to where the money is - in the wallets of the old white boys running the military-industrial complex. It is not un-American to expect accountability in defense spending. Seems like I remember George Bush saying that this war would soon be paying for itself. Why hasn't that happened? Enquiring minds want to know!

How about a good, thorough audit of the defense contractors? You are a fan of audits, aren't you, Claire? If you want to save money - go to where it is!

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Harriet the Hedgehog: Living the Dream!

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

Consider the following three individuals:

Alex is a four-month-old healthy baby boy who weighs 17 pounds. Aslin is a two-year-old little girl, also healthy, who weighs 22 pounds. Harriet is an adult hedgehog (weight unknown) who requires regular anti-psychotic medications. Which one of those three was able to get health insurance without a hassle? Obviously the correct answer is Harriet the hedgehog - this is America, after all!

Alex Lange was initially denied health insurance because the insurance company felt that he was obese. Alex's father is a well-known television personality in Colorado, and he and the family were able to stir enough media interest in the case that the insurance eventually backed down.

Aslin Bates, also of Colorado, was denied insurance because her parents' insurance company regarded her as underweight. So far her parents have been unsuccessful in trying to change the insurance company's attitude and policy regarding their daughter.

But Harriet the hedgehog, of Wisconsin, has health insurance, thank you very much! Of course, she was healthy when she got the policy and developed her psychotic behaviors later - but the fact remains that a hedgehog could get insurance in 21st century America, when that same benefit is not universally available to our children. Somehow, that just doesn't feel right!

(National Public Radio (NPR) told the story of Harriet this morning as a part of a longer piece that they were doing on the evolving industry of pet insurance.)

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

More on Levi King

by Pa Rock
Social Commentator

I wrote a piece for The Ramble on October 7, 2009, regarding Levi King, a young man who has been sentenced to life in prison in Missouri for killing two people there, and also sentenced to life in prison by Texas for killing three people there and attempting to kill a fourth. I understand that Levi is still in jail in Texas, but will soon be transferred to Missouri where he will serve out the remainder of his sentence and his life.

Levi is a cold-blooded murderer, and that fact cannot be glossed over by any argument or clever justification. Indeed, he pled guilty in both states. The only judicial deliberations were over the sentences that the two states would impose. That was how I got involved. As a former social worker associated with Levi and his family as he was growing up, I was called to Lubbock to testify about the conditions of his youth. I was on the stand three and a half hours.

The jurors in Texas spent five weeks listening to people who knew Levi and his family through the years. They were shown a comprehensive picture of a little boy with a bright smile who slowly, and almost predictably, was transformed into a monster. Each day for five weeks the jurors listened to people from Levi’s past relate his life in terms that were agonizing to hear – for the jury as well as for Levi. Each day they watched Levi’s guarded, silent reactions to things that were being said about him, and his parents, and his brothers and sisters.

(Levi had been scrubbed up and fitted with a nice suit. One juror supposedly commented on the first day of the sentencing hearing that she had mistakenly assumed he was one of the attorneys. But a new suit and a good haircut could do little but highlight the pain and fear that were emanating from his young eyes.)

The jurors also had to look into the eyes of the victims’ family and friends who were in the courtroom every day. There was pain in those eyes also, as well as bewilderment and anger. If there ever was a thankless job, it belonged to those twelve fine people in Lubbock who had to chart a steady course across a sea of rage.

Yesterday I received the following anonymous comment on the original “Levi King” post of October 7, 2009. It gives a rare glimpse into the grueling responsibility that befell that jury.

Thank you for your kind words, for Levi and for the jury. I was one of those jurors who sat for over 5 weeks and listened to all the testimony, including your own. I have weeped many nights for the victims and their family, but I have also weeped for Levi. I truly hope he does take this opportunity that has been given to him and that he makes something of the precious life of his that was spared.

To which I reply:

Thank you, Juror, for taking your task so seriously and listening patiently day after day, week after week, while a young man’s life was dissected and reassembled in a Texas courtroom. Thank you for having the heart to realize that while Levi did commit unspeakable acts of violence and murder, no child is born evil, not even Levi King, and he was pushed down a path toward tragedy at a very young age. Thank you for being compassionate when it would have been much easier to be vengeful. I hope and pray that Levi will be ever mindful of the opportunity that you and your colleagues on the jury have given to him. May he find the ability and resolve to do something positive with his life in prison, and may you find peace in your heart for your courageous decision to allow him to live. It could not have been easy.

Monday, October 19, 2009

Monday's Poetry: "Troop Train" Reflections on the Greatest Generation

by Pa Rock
Proud Son

My father, Garland Eugene Macy, was born eighty-five years ago today in rural Newton County, Missouri. He was born into poverty and grew up, like many rural kids at the time, not realizing just how poor his family actually was. My dad, when just a very young boy, put some of the food on the family table by trapping rabbits. He also made some spending money doing farm work for the neighbors and his numerous relatives who had hardscrabble farms close by.

My grandfather, Charles "Chalk" Eugene Macy, also did farm work and had a couple of milk cows. He had a horse and buggy that he would occasionally drive several miles into Neosho and Seneca, but more often than not he and my grandmother, Hazel Josephine (Nutt) Macy would catch rides into town in the cars of obliging neighbors. The family never owned a car, and Chalk and Hazel never learned to drive.

All of that was happening during the Great Depression. Probably the three definitive periods of my father's life were the Great Depression, World War II, and the post war economic boom in the United States, a time when many of the nation's poor whites successfully transitioned into the middle class.

My dad learned to struggle, and scrimp, and save during the Depression. Many of the values that form his character came from that period. Until quite recently, for instance, he was adamant that the only measure of success was money. He is beginning to soften some on that gage of success now - and can admit that happiness and personal satisfaction are also contributing factors to living a successful life - but money is still mighty important!

Dad attended a small rural school (Westview) that only went to grade ten. When he completed tenth grade, he moved to Neosho, lived with relatives, got a job, and finished high school. In 1942, shortly after graduating, he entered the U.S. Army Air Corps.

The Second World War took my father out of the sticks of Newton County and showed him the world. He served in the European Theatre (seeing both London and Paris) and eventually attained the rank of staff sergeant. (I can still remember his cousins always referring to him as "Sarge" because he was the only one of their number who achieved the status of becoming a sergeant.) Dad was seriously wounded during a training exercise and received the Purple Heart.

When the war ended, my dad rolled up his sleeves and went to work. He owned several businesses over the years, and likes to brag that he and my mother only rented a house one time - and then only briefly. In fact, over the years he accumulated several rental houses of his own. He was successful on his own terms, made lots of money, and has held on to much of it!

Today he lives by himself in a house that is much too large, drives where he needs to go, and relishes the opportunity to get out and "fix" something. He doesn't walk as well as he once did, and I worry that he will suffer a fall that will limit his mobility - but mentally he remains razor sharp. He likes following the stock market and reading westerns.

Today's poem, "Troop Train," is respectfully dedicated to my father. He tells a funny story about getting into some minor difficulty during basic training and, as punishment, having to peel potatoes on a troop train all the way from St. Louis, Missouri, to St. Petersburg, Florida. (I'm certain that it wasn't funny at the time!)

Troop Train
by Karl Shapiro

It stops the town we come through. Workers raise
Their oily arms in good salute and grin.
Kids scream as at a circus. Business men
Glance hopefully and go their measured way.
And women standing at their dumbstruck door
More slowly wave and seem to warn us back,
As if a tear blinding the course of war
Might once dissolve our iron in their sweet wish.

Fruit of the world, O clustered on ourselves
We hang as from a cornucopia
In total friendliness, with faces bunched
To spray the streets with catcalls and with leers.
A bottle smashes on the moving ties
And eyes fixed on a lady smiling pink
Stretch like a rubber-band and snap and sting
The mouth that wants the drink-of-water kiss.

And on through the crummy continents and days,
Deliberate, grimy, slightly drunk we crawl,
The good-bad boys of circumstance and chance,
Whose bucket-helmets bang the empty wall
Where twist the murdered bodies of our packs
Next to the guns that only seem themselves.
And distance like a strap adjusted shrinks,
tightens across the shoulder and holds firm.

Here is a deck of cards; out of this hand
Dealer, deal me my luck, a pair of bulls,
The right to draw a flush, the one-eyed jack.
Diamonds and hearts are red but spades are black,
And spades are spades and clubs are clovers - black.
But deal me winners, souvenirs of peace.
This stands to reason and arithmetic,
Luck also travels and not all come back.

Trains lead to ships and ships to death or trains,
And trains to death or trucks, and trucks to death,
Or trucks lead to the march, the march to death,
Or that survival which is all our hope;
And death leads back to trucks and trains and ships,
But life leads to the march, O flag! at last
The place of life found after trains and death -
Nightfall of nations brilliant after war.

Sunday, October 18, 2009

Law Abiding Citizen

by Pa Rock
Citizen Film Critic

This afternoon I went to see the new action thriller, Law Abiding Citizen, the tale of a very smart man who is wronged by the system and goes on to wreak havoc on most of those who had a hand in the injustice. The man, once a loving father and husband, evolves into a raging psychopath - a character written to give a warm and fuzzy feeling to the vigilante in all of us!

Gerard Butler is an inventor and employee of some clandestine government agency who cleans up situations and causes people to go away. As the movie opens, he is felled in his home by a couple of homicidal thieves. He lays helpless on the floor as one of the two miscreants rapes his wife and then carries off his 10-year-old daughter. (The age of the child does prove to be important as the plot unfolds.)

Butler's wife and daughter are both killed, and the case goes to Jamie Foxx for prosecution. Foxx is an up-and-coming young lawyer in the Philadelphia District Attorney's office, and he is overly concerned with keeping his conviction rate high. Foxx bargains away the case so that he can get an easy conviction. The most evil of the two thieves rolls over on the other. The deal-maker is charged with third degree murder, a crime that will land him in prison for just a few years. The other is convicted of first degree murder, a crime for which he will be executed.

And then suddenly it is ten years later. The execution of the luckless thief takes place - with a surprising twist - and his evil partner is dispatched to hell with a slaughter scene right out of Dexter. It is quickly determined that Gerard Butler's character is the murderer. He is sent to prison and ultimately (after killing his cell mate) is thrown into solitary confinement in the prison's dank and eerie basement. From there he begins to take revenge on society by somehow continually exacting his bloody wrath on those associated with the trial ten years before - all of whom are located outside of the prison.

There is a nice parallel drawn between the lives of Butler and Foxx. When the original crime is committed, Foxx is a young attorney with a pregnant wife living in a house that has bedsheets for curtains. When the story heats up ten years later, Foxx is financially secure and living in a nice home with his beautiful wife and ten-year-old daughter, almost exactly the same life that Butler had been happily living ten years prior. Would Foxx use that significant parallel to come to terms with his lax prosecution of the murderous home invaders, would he show some empathy toward Butler, or would he push on as an able crusader for truth, justice and the American way?

Jamie Foxx is a treat whenever he is on the screen - in any film, but Gerard Butler owns this movie. Yes, he is a psychopath, but it's hard not to root for the guy who is laser-focused on fixing America's porous court system through rampant bloodshed. Alfred Hitchcock could not have created a villain with the complexity of the one portrayed by Butler. Violet Davis, a favorite of mine, musters enough grit to be a very credible mayor of Philadelphia. All of the actors are solidly in the debt of Kurt Wimmer for a standout screenplay.

Law Abiding Citizen is great escapist entertainment, and isn't that, after all, why we still go to the movies?

Saturday, October 17, 2009

Arizona Theatre Company

by Pa Rock
Patron of the Arts

Yes, it's true. If you live in the Valley of Hell long enough, you are bound to discover a few positives. For me, the primary benefit of hunkering down in the sand along with the scorpions and rattlesnakes is the abundance of really good theatre. No, not the cineplexes, but real, honest-to-God theatre. Since getting stuck here in the desert, I have been to several performances at the Stray Cat Theatre, mostly off-beat and always entertaining, and one unforgettable production at the Nearly Naked Theatre that left nothing to the imagination! I have also been to some wonderful productions at the Phoenix Theatre. I get fliers in the mail and email updates from all of these organizations, and try to take in a show every couple of months.

Last spring I saw an outstanding production of "A Raisin in the Sun" that was put on by the Arizona Theatre Company. It was one of the two best that I have seen in Arizona - the other being "Les Miserables" as performed by the Phoenix Theatre.

I mention all of this because early this morning just as my mental cylinders were beginning to fire, a young lady from the Arizona Theatre Company telephoned and asked if I had enjoyed "A Raisin in the Sun." It was a nice ice-breaker, guaranteed to draw me into dangerous chit-chat. Before I knew it, she had sold me a season's pass to the ATC productions for this year - six shows with great seats.

One week from tonight I will be enjoying "The Kite Runner." In November the fare is an Elaine May comedy / mystery entitled "George is Dead." Marlo Thomas will star in that production. (Wouldn't it be great to sit next to Phil Donahue and give him hell for supporting Ralph Nader in 2004!) The Fats Waller Musical, "Ain't Misbehavin'," will be performed in early January at the ATC. The February showcase will be a play entitled "Title of Show," focusing on two songwriters who are writing a play about two songwriters. Tennessee Williams' "The Glass Menagerie" will take the stage in April, and the season closes out in May with Chicago's Second City comedy troupe in a performance specifically crafted for the Cactus State that is aptly titled "The Second City Does Arizona, or Close, But No Saguaro." That should be an especially fun night!

As is my annoying habit, I will be reviewing each of these productions in this space the morning after. So, if you can't be there, don't worry. Pa Rock has got you covered!

Friday, October 16, 2009

Interracial Marriage in the Twenty-First Century

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

Way down yonder in Louisiana, in the 8th Ward of Tangipahoa Parish, Louisiana, to be exact, resides a justice of the peace who would have to evolve significantly to be considered a Neanderthal.

That justice of the peace is Keith Bardwell, a self-righteous character who refused to issue a marriage certificate to an interracial couple - not fifty years ago, but right now in the year 2009! His statement justifying his racist stupidity was this: "I'm not a racist. I do ceremonies for black couples right here in my house. My main concern is for the children." (Give the cracker a point: he didn't use the N word - at least not in front of the press!)

So good old boy Keith isn't racist - he's only concerned about the children that might result from a black-white union. The children!

Hey, Rip, have you been dozing for a few years? The President of the United States was one of those children. The President, Rip! God knows what will have changed after your next nap!

The United States has a long and ugly history with anti-miscegenation laws - especially with regard to black and white marriages. It wasn't unusual in the wild and woolly west, where there was a shortage of available white women, for white men to take Indian wives, and, indeed, many Americans (myself included) are descendants of such unions. And while those marriages went generally unchallenged, not so with whites who wanted to marry blacks. Some of the onus on that type of marriage is undoubtedly rooted in a Christian theology that spent two centuries preaching various versions of "blacks are not really human" as a justification for slavery. (Enslaving humans, after all, would not be moral! And if blacks were actually some form of ape, letting them marry whites would be bestiality.)

Various states began legalizing black-white marriages in the nineteenth century, but as of the late 1950's the Old South was still solidly against the concept. In June of 1958 a Virginia couple - Mildred Delores Jeter (a black woman) and Richard Perry Loving (a white man) went to Washington, DC, where they were legally married. When they returned to Virginia they were promptly arrested. The state of Virginia sentenced each of them to twenty-five years in prison, and suspended the sentence on the condition that they leave the state.

The case of Loving vs Virginia eventually made it's way to the U.S. Supreme Court where the Virginia decision was unanimously overturned and anti-miscegenation laws were effectively outlawed throughout the entire United States - even in Tangipahoa Parish, Louisiana.

That bold decision came from the liberal Warren Court. (Yes, there was a time in this country when the Supreme Court was decidedly liberal.) If the same case were to be argued before the Court today, the decision would likely not be unanimous. Somehow I can't see Justices Scalia and Thomas ever signing onto something that radical.

Oh wait...Justice Clarence Thomas is married to Virginia Lamp Thomas, a lady of decidedly Caucasian descent. My bad!

I suspect that Keith Bardwell will lose his justice of the peace gig, either through public pressure or a lawsuit, but not to worry - in rural Louisiana he ought to be a shoo-in for Congress!

Thursday, October 15, 2009

How to Pay for Health Care Reform

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

Despite the moaning and wailing from conservative Americans whenever the subject of taxes comes up, the honest truth is that America was built and is maintained on taxes. Taxes fund the things that society demands - national defense, roads, prisons, schools, hospitals, police and fire protection, and every other thing that cannot reasonably be funded by individuals. There are various types of taxes available to keep the country functioning including corporate income taxes, personal income taxes, property taxes, inheritance taxes, and sales taxes.

Of all of America's taxing options, sales taxes are regressive and easily the most unfair. By regressive I mean that the poor spend a far greater percentage of their income on sales tax than do their rich counterparts. Gladys, who works two minimum wage jobs to feed her family, might bring home $500 in a week - if she gets lucky and pulls down some overtime - but she will spend forty or fifty percent of that on groceries - which are still taxed in most states. In fact, almost all of her salary gets spent on something, most of which is subject to sales tax. Poor Gladys doesn't get the opportunity to save much.

Ronald A. Williams, the President of Aetna Insurance, has to get by on $63,139.27 per day. Ron eats considerably better than Gladys, but where she spends forty to fifty percent of her salary on food, Ron can eat quite well on far less than one percent of his income - thank you very much! So, yeah Ron Williams will pay more in sales taxes than the poor folks that he lives off of, but much of his income goes into the bank or tax free investments, and is not subject to sales tax. Sales tax is a tax on the poor, and that is why it is so popular with Republican politicians and the rich.

But there is one big advantage to sales taxes - they can, when properly applied, change behavior. You have seen the commercial, no doubt, where the rough looking mom is bitching about Congress wanting to tax sodas and "fruit" drinks. She claims that taxing things doesn't change behavior, education does. Wrong. If you don't think taxes can't change behavior, just ask the cigarette industry. Smoking in America has dropped markedly over the past few decades - due to taxes. I quit in 1974 when the price rose to fifty cents per pack - because I could no longer afford to set aside that much money for a vice. Today smokes are in the neighborhood of $6.00 a pack!

Don't tell me that people have quit smoking for health reasons. I might believe that, but they are still lining up at the trough for Big Macs and Whoppers! People have quit smoking because of price!

So, as much as I hate sales taxes, they do represent a good way to pay for national health care and they could also serve to make us a healthier nation. It's simple: put targeted sales taxes on things that hurt our health. Put a "value added" tax on fast food, Twinkies and Ding Dongs, sodas and "fruit" drinks, candy, raw sugar, white bread, potato chips, tanning beds, cigarettes, alcohol, and, of course, guns and ammo. Tax that stuff to the point that it begins to change our behavior. We will be healthier as a country, and have the security of knowing that a catastrophic injury or illness will no longer be able to wipe out our savings and property.

Come on Congress, grow a set!

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

Killing for Votes

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

There was a moratorium on executions in the United States back in the sixties and early seventies while the Supreme Court studied the constitutionality of the ultimate punishment. The Court bent to the public bloodlust in the mid-1970's, and the greatest, most honorable country in the history of the planet resumed the barbaric practice of executing some people convicted of murder in 1976. Since that time, 1,176 people have been executed in the United States, and over one-third of those have been in the state of Texas.

Texas has executed 441 people during the past thirty-three years, over four times as many as second place Virginia which has killed 103 killers. Oklahoma is third with ninety-one. In fact, over 82% of all executions in America since the moratorium ended have occurred in the south, a region known for its strong fundamentalist Christian belief system.

(If executions were a deterrent, would these numbers be so high?)

Texas has executed over two hundred individuals (nearly half of its total) since December of 2000, the month that the state's current governor, Rick Perry, assumed the office when his predecessor, George W. Bush, resigned and moved off to Washington, DC.

Rick Perry is a vainglorious politician who is constantly preening his image - both physical and political. The late caustic Texas columnist Molly Ivins tagged him "Governor Goodhair." Perry's political instincts told him early on that a good execution generated as many boners among the good ole boys of the Lone Star state as a winning football team.

But now Governor Goodhair is suddenly having to defend his penchant for killing. The governor is locked in a tight Republican party primary fight with Kay Bailey Hutchinson, the senior U.S. Senator from Texas who wants to become governor - and both candidates are slinging dirt faster than a Juarez gravedigger.

The controversy revolves around the 2004 Texas execution of Cameron Todd Willingham, a young man who had allegedly murdered his three small daughters in 1991 by means of arson. Prior to his execution new and credible evidence surfaced that concluded that the house fire in which the little girls perished was not an act of arson. Governor Perry supposedly reviewed the new evidence and chose to ignore it, not wanting to risk the wrath of the voting public during an election year. Willingham went to his death declaring that he was an innocent man.

More evidence has emerged since the execution of Willingham that clearly shows that the fire was not an act of arson. Not only did his children die a brutal, horrible death, but the bereaved father was accused of killing them and then executed. And Rick Perry ran a comb through his great hair and smiled at the cameras!

It is cold comfort for the Willingham family, but the wrongful execution of the girls' father may be the deciding factor in finally removing Rick Perry from the governor's office.

Right now it is a real Texas horse race between Perry and Hutchinson - and those are just the Republicans. There are several Democrats seeking the chance to take on the Republican candidate - hoping that the GOP will be mortally wounded by their rough and rowdy primary. The most colorful Democratic contender is country singer and band leader (and mystery novelist), Kinky Friedman. Mr. Friedman, who runs with the likes of Don Imus and Willie Nelson, describes himself as a "Jew cowboy."

Texas politicians can be a lot of fun - when they aren't out killing for votes.

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

God and Guns Run Amuck

by Pa Rock
Social Commentator

I've written about Ken Pagano before in the Ramble. He was the Assembly of God pastor at the New Bethel Church in Louisville, KY, who had a "bring your guns to church day" at his little church last summer. I say "was" not because God's enforcer has gone to meet his maker, but rather because he has resigned from the ministry.

Yup, the God-fearing, pistol-packing minister has turned in his collection plate and is in pursuit of greener pastures. Kenny Boy, it seems, has decided to get into the church security business. He has joined forces with a New York rabbi to form a company whose goal is apparently to either provide armed guards to churches or to train church security personnel.

News flash, Ken: Churches have been very safe - at least they were before moronic ministers started encouraging their flocks to come to services armed. In fact, the only church shooting that I can remember in recent years happened in your state, Kentucky, when an armed right wing lunatic named Jim David Adkisson brought a shotgun into the Universalist Unitarian Church in Knoxville and opened fire. He was there, by his own admission, to kill liberals.

Will your new company help to protect churches that cater to liberals, or gay people, or people of color? Will it, Ken?

Ken, why don't you take your avid interest in guns and go into law enforcement. You could be a deputy in some jerkwater town, wear a badge, shoot at an occasional bad guy, and spend hours and hours salivating over your weapon. Could life get any better than that, Ken?

Monday, October 12, 2009

Monday's Poetry: "Trees"

by Pa Rock
Poetry Appreciator

I have been digging in the dirt for a couple of weeks now, with some successes and one notable failure. Failure first: the beautiful standard lemon tree that I plugged into my front yard died. I don't know why, it just did. I guess trees are like all living things, including people, and sometimes they just die. Fortunately, I bought it from a large chain store, and all I had to do was dig "Baby" up and haul it back to the store.

The successes: The two red grapefruit trees that I planted are doing well, thank you very much, as is the tangelo tree. And yesterday, joy of joys, I came across a small kumquat tree that is just perfect for the extra-large flower pot that I bought on spec a few months ago. I dug up a nasty bush that I never liked, and replanted it out of the way - and where the bush did sit, now the potted kumquat rules! I love fresh kumquats and it is so rare that I ever come across any. But now...

So it is fitting that tonight I recognize trees with a couple of classic poems. The first is Joyce Kilmer's immortal Trees, and it is followed by a humorous rejoinder from Ogden Nash.

Trees
by Joyce Kilmer

I THINK that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the sweet earth's flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.


To which the sardonic Ogden Nash replied:

I think that I shall never see
A billboard lovely as a tree.
Perhaps, unless the billboards fall,
I'll never see a tree at all.

Sunday, October 11, 2009

Hot on the Tail of Over-Sized Escorts

by Pa Rock
Critical Observer

I took the boys to Sky Harbor Airport in Phoenix twelve hours ago, and they have had an awful airport type of day. Air traffic was backed up in Denver due to weather someplace else, so they weren't able to catch the second leg of their trip to Kansas City. Tim finally got a seat on an outbound plane, but Nick and Boone have been at the Denver Airport literally all day. They are finally due to be boarding a plane to Kansas City as I write this. I think the plan now is for them to spend the night with Tim and Erin and head back to West Plains in the morning.

Yesterday Tim drove us back to Phoenix from the Grand Canyon. I was the co-pilot, and Nick and Boone sat in the back seat where Nick kept getting text updates on the Cardinals - Dodgers game. It would have been an uneventful trip, but Nick happened to look up as Tim passed a mini-van with tinted windows. Written across the side of the vehicle was "Over-sized Escorts of Tucson" and, in smaller lettering, "Chubby Chasers." (It turns out that similar advertising was written on the other side of the vehicle as well as across the back.) Nick had Tim slow down so the mini-van could pass us, and when it did, we passed them again so that Nick could get a good photo.

We laughed about over-sized escorts most of the way to Phoenix. Turns out that it is a company that escorts big loads going down the highway - such as mobile homes. But the double entendre was too clever not to have been intentional!

Chubby chasers, indeed!

Fly safe, boys!

Gun Shows: The Marketplace of Choice for Criminals, Cartels, and Creeps

by Pa Rock
Anti-Terrorist

Michael Bloomberg, the Mayor of New York City, has released the results of a multi-state investigation into the dark world of gun shows, and, in findings that should surprise no one, sane or otherwise, the research shows that gun shows are the place to shop if you don't want to mess with all those pesky and intrusive government forms.

According to Mayor Bloomberg, the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms has identified gun shows at the source of more than 30% of all illegally trafficked guns in the country. Those are the guns most likely to be used in crimes - and to kill innocent people, including police officers.

New York City, longed plagued with gun violence committed with weapons that are imported into the city from the scarier parts of America, sent investigators with hidden cameras into seven gun shows across Ohio, Tennessee, and Nevada. They quickly learned how easy it is for criminals and people who are mentally ill to buy guns with no questions being asked.

"Private sellers" are those individuals who can legally peddle their wares at gun shows without doing background checks and are supposed to only make "occasional" sales, yet many essentially sell and trade weapons for a living, much of it "off the books." New York City's investigators discovered one individual who had sold 348 guns in less than a year. Many of these private sellers had large inventories ready to foist on the paranoids, sociopaths, and sportsmen perusing their wares.

The research method employed by NYC's investigators was to pose as buyers and tell the sellers that they "probably couldn't pass a background check." Even though these sellers don't do background checks thanks to America's loose gun laws, federal law still prohibits them from selling to individuals whom they suspect could not pass a background check. (So some yahoo telling a seller that he probably couldn't pass the background check should be a significant clue.)

And the results? Investigators told 30 sellers that they probably could not pass a background check. Nineteen of those thirty made the sale anyway.

Mayor Bloomberg's proposed remedy for this national sham:

"Congress should pass legislation requiring that all sales at gun shows be subject to criminal background checks - a measure that has the support of Sen. John McCain, President Obama, and 83% of gun owners. It is also time for Congress to support the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives (ATF) with the resources it needs to crack down on illegal sales at gun shows."

The mayor ended his remarks by trying to make nice to private gun sellers:

"The vast majority of gun buyers at gun shows are law abiding citizens. Closing the gun show loophole and increasing resources to help AFT enforce the laws will not detract from anyone's Second Amendment rights. What it will do is send the message that criminals are not welcome at gun shows."

Of course, in a capitalist economic system, the goal is sell, sell, sell - with government regulations only when they serve to increase sales. Somehow I suspect that the gun manufacturers who own the NRA will not be supportive of Mayor Bloomberg's challenge to their profits.

Saturday, October 10, 2009

On the Road in Arizona

by Pa Rock
Road Warrior

It was a beautiful two days in Arizona's high country!

Yesterday we left Phoenix early and climbed steadily for a couple of hours until reaching beautiful Sedona (at about 6,000 feet above sea level) where we lunched and shopped. The highlight of Sedona for Boone was a visit to the UFO Store where he posed for a picture with a genuine alien and his spaceship, and came away with an Obama-as-an-alien tee shirt. The young lady who was working at the UFO Store had recently quit a four-year stint at Sprint. She said that she liked selling alien merchandise much better than working for Sprint because at the UFO Store she could have her hair any color that she wanted. (What a great job benefit!)

The UFO Store in Sedona has a genuine housing for a Triton missile that is for sale. Hurry up - it won't last long! (Talk about provocative yard art! The macaroons in Phoenix would cream their jeans over something suggestive of that much fire power - even without its innards!)

I have a small, but growing, collection of "Day of the Dead" figurines. The three skeletal pieces that I had prior to this sojourn were a bride, a janitor, and a little girl - all from previous trips to San Antonio. In fact, the little girl, a Peruvian craft, was purchased at the Alamo. Yesterday, I found a skeletal dog in Sedona to add to the collection. The dead pooch figurine (also a product of Peru) now has a place of honor on the bookcase beside the rest of his new dead family.

We stayed at an Econo Lodge on Highway 17 in Flagstaff last night. It was very nice and reasonably priced. Dinner was at the Galaxy Diner - a large eatery that is awash in photo's from Hollywood's heyday and Route 66 memorabilia. (Route 66 passed through Flagstaff.) An older fellow was playing guitar as we dined on really great food. (I had a fried egg sandwich that was to die for - and it came with a side of the best fried potatoes and onions that I have had since my mother's passing more than two decades ago!) We got there just in time, because five bus loads of French tourists swarmed the place right after we ordered. The ambiance was completed by an antique car show that was taking place in the parking lot.

After dinner we went to Bookman's, a huge used bookstore that Andy Cleeton and I discovered when we visited Flagstaff ten years ago. I managed to get out with only making a couple of unnecessary purchases!

Today we headed for the Grand Canyon which is about sixty miles from Flagstaff. The drive was beautiful, wending through Ponderosa pine and white birch trees. There were signs along the highway warning us to be on the lookout for large animals - deer, elk, and even cows. Tim saw some deer off in the distance, but the only one that I observed was dead and being loaded into the back of a pickup by a trio of hunters sporting guns and wearing camouflage garb.

Our one stop before the Grand Canyon was at a rustic trading post where I had taken Boone's picture standing under a large rack of antlers two years ago. (The photo turned out great, and I still tell people that it is of my twelve-point grandson!) Today I took the photo again, just for comparative purposes. The trading post has lots of great stuff, including much in the way of native American crafts. I bought a small piece of horsehair pottery signed by the artisan who produced it.

After we tithed twenty-five dollars to the National Park Service, we got into the park and spent considerable time looking for a place to park. After that tedious task was accomplished, we walked along the south rim of the Grand Canyon and took snapshots of each other standing on various promontories. The day was beautiful, sort of a crisp autumnal experience. The Grand Canyon was, and hopefully always will be, breath-taking!

And now we are safely back in the Valley of Hell. The boys have a flight to civilization early in the morning. They will be missed!

Friday, October 9, 2009

Morning in America

by Pa Rock
Proud American

The news this morning was amazing: Barack Obama had won the Nobel Peace prize! After eight years of being scorned by the world, America was finally resuming its place as the moral leader and conscience of the world. And while the choice was roundly and predictably condemned by America's rancid wingnuts, it has received enthusiastic praise of people from around the world. Indeed, after the announcement has had the day to sink in, it seems to have garnered approval from all quarters except the Taliban, Iran, and the Republican party.

Rush Limbaugh is not happy - and that makes me ecstatic! Glenn Beck felt the prize should have gone to America's teabaggers who slouched around the National Mall on September 12th. Yeah, Glenn, those mouthy bigots are the key to world peace!

Barack Obama is only the fourth American president to win the prestigious award. Teddy Roosevelt, a liberal republican, won for negotiating a peace in the Russo-Japanese war. He was followed by three democrats. Woodrow Wilson won for his leadership in drafting the Treaty of Versailles ending World War I. Jimmy Carter received the high honor for his years of work for human rights and world peace, most of which was accomplished after he left the Presidency. And today Barack Obama has won for his uplifting presence on the world stage and his willingness to take America and the world into a positive and peaceful future.

George Bush wanted to be awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for destroying the Middle East, but that is the problem for Republicans - they don't get the term "peace." No fighting? Where's the profit motive in that?

One pundit said today that Obama received the Nobel Peace Prize for not being George Bush. That fact alone does go a long way toward justifying the honor.

Barack Obama has opened up a dialogue with the world, and suddenly we are talking to countries that we once scorned. We are having conversations with former enemies about nuclear disarmament, human rights, and global warming - things that were of no interest to Bush and Cheney. We are clarifying our goals in the Middle East and beginning to untangle the mess Bush and Cheney and Rummy left in their wake. Our current President has reached out to the world's billion plus Muslims with a hand of friendship, something that would have never even been contemplated by his religiously rigid predecessor.

George Bush was a Yale cheerleader, and little more. Barack Obama is a world leader, and we as a nation are very fortunate to have him at the helm of the ship of state.

Yes, Barack Obama does deserve the Nobel Peace Prize for not being George Bush. America has had far too many morons running our government for far too long. It is high time that we had somebody in the White House who is a role model (a good husband and father), ferociously intelligent, and not afraid to say and do what is right.

I am proud of our country and proud of our President. It is once again morning in America!

Thursday, October 8, 2009

Banned Books Week: 2009

by Pa Rock
Prolific Reader

Yes folks, it's Banned Books Week again, the time of year when the American Library Association, the American Booksellers Association, and some other groups who cherish the right to have a free and open access to ideas tell us what books are so controversial that they threaten to drive religious fundamentalists and other small minded morons into apoplectic fits.

The list of most challenged books of 2008 has just been published, and it sounds like ten winners to me. If you oppose the idea of others telling us what cannot read (like the brain-strained last governor of Alaska tried to do at the Wasilla Library), please support authors who dare to write about real life in real terms by buying one or more of these oh-so-dangerous titles.

The most challenged book of 2008 was an illustrated children's book entitled And Tango Makes Three, the true story of a same-sex penguin couple at New York's Central Park Zoo who were given an egg to raise. Did you catch that emphasis - true story? Stuff like that gives those whack-job fundamentalists a problem with their certainty that all gays choose to be that way. Most people don't choose their sexual orientation any more than penguins do.

Here is the list:

1. And Tango Makes Three, by Justin Richardson and Peter Parnell - and illustrated by Henry Cole.

2. His Dark Materials (trilogy), by Philip Pullman.

3. TTYL; TTFN; L8R, G8R (series,) by Lauren Myracle.

4. Scary Stories (series), by Alvin Schwartz.

5. Bless Me, Ultima, by Rudolfo Anaya.

6. The Preks of Being a Wallflower, by Stephen Chbosky.

7. Gossip Girl (series), by Cecily von Ziegesar.

8. Uncle Bobby's Wedding, by Sarah S. Brannen

9. The Kite Runner, by Khaled Hosseini

10. Flashcards of My Life, by Charise Mericle Harper

There are numerous reasons that people come up with for wanting to ban books, but generally it boils down to this - they are afraid of ideas that challenge long-held beliefs, and they want to remain comfortable in their small and secure world. But ideas are out there, and today, with the ubiquity of the Internet, anyone can explore any topic with relative ease. A youngster will not turn gay just because he reads about a pair of gay penguins, but the young reader might develop some tolerance and perspective from reading that book and grow into a better person - one that does not automatically hate - because of the experience.

A good book is a window that opens onto the world - the real world - the one in which we all must live.

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

Levi King

by Pa Rock
Social Critic

I have written about Levi King before, though without revealing his name. Levi is the young man who brutally murdered five individuals in September of 2005 - two in Missouri and three in Texas. His crimes were heinous and horrendous. Levi killed an older couple in McDonald County, Missouri, before stealing their truck and fleeing to Texas where he killed again. His Texas victims were a man, his pregnant wife, and her fourteen-year-old son. The woman's ten-year-old daughter was also shot and left for dead, but managed to survive the horror that befell her family.

Levi stood trial last year in Missouri where he pled guilty and was sentenced to life in prison. This year the state of Texas had its turn at him. Levi again pled guilty, and for the past five weeks or so a sentencing hearing has been taking place at the county courthouse in Lubbock, Texas, to determine if he would be executed or spend the rest of his natural life in prison.

Texas is known for, among other things, its penchant for executing murderers. Those good ole Texas boys like frying killers almost as much as they do grilling steaks. The fact that Levi would be killed for his crimes should have been a foregone conclusion in the Lone Star state, but that was not to be. Yesterday a courageous jury separated themselves from the state's reputation for knee-jerk bloodlust and sentenced the 27-year-old to life in prison without the possibility of parole. The local press in Lubbock reported that most of the members of the jury were crying as the verdict was read.

I have much that I would like to say about this young man, the crime of murder, and the subject of capital punishment. I must, however, be rather circumspect in discussing Levi because I knew him on a professional basis through my work in child protection for the state of Missouri. Let me describe him thusly: Levi King was a child who grew up in a very isolated location under less than optimal circumstances. It would be fair, I believe, to conclude that his childhood was aborted by his circumstances in much the same manner that his adulthood was aborted by his crimes. Yes, he grew through childhood and he will probably grow through adulthood, but in both cases he was (and will be) tragically shortchanged.

(And yes, I fully understand that his victims and their families and friends have also been tragically shortchanged by the actions of Levi King. I am concentrating on the perpetrator because he grew up as a victim of people and circumstances that were beyond his control, and if the continuing cycle of American carnage is ever to be reduced, it will come through addressing the social and economic environment that produces killers - and not through grisly "deterrents.")

Levi was spared a meeting with the executioner primarily for two reasons. First, as alluded to in the paragraph above, his background was so "less than optimal" that even a Texas jury was able to bring humanity to the table when deciding his fate. They heard from his teachers, social workers (including myself), family members, friends, and people with whom he had attended church as a youngster. Day after day, week after week, jury members watched a picture of a sweet kid with a bright smile slowly transform into that of a savage killer, a monster who was literally the result of an unrelenting, heartbreaking environment.

The second thing that saved Levi from a death sentence was an amazing team of mitigators who spent over a year interviewing people who knew Levi as he was growing up, and organizing materials and testimony that would be presented to the jury in its sentencing deliberations. The team included attorneys, legal aids, researchers, and even a private investigator.

The mitigation team was funded by the state of Texas. Why? Because death is the most serious sentence that a state government can level against an individual, and once it is imposed there is no way to achieve redress should that become necessary. Yes, Levi King admitted his crime - but was he a free agent acting solely on his own accord, or was he himself a victim of a life so unfair that it was a wonder he maintained as long as he did? The mitigation team believed that Levi was himself a victim, and that was the case they were able to successfully make to a jury.

Is a sentence of life in prison a fair one for a young man who killed five innocent people and seriously wounded a child? No, it's certainly an unfair trade in favor of the killer who lives on. But what punishment is ever fair? Would death be a fair punishment for a murderer who truly was a victim of his circumstances - circumstances so tragic that they could make a Texas jury sob?

Some would argue, probably vehemently, that death would be the only fair punishment - the Old Testament eye-for-an-eye rationale. But death would be an act of vengeance, and would be of no benefit to anyone. Capital punishment is not a deterrent to murder, and there is no credible research that says otherwise.

Today the United States and Japan are the only two major powers in the world that still kill killers, and Japan just appointed a new justice minister who opposes the practice - and the justice minister in Japan is the person who must approve all executions. That leaves just us - and we are morally wrong to meet barbarism with barbarism.

Levi King will not be executed for his crimes, but he will spend the rest of his life in a dirty cage surviving among the absolute dregs of society. That bright-eyed little boy will know very little joy in his remaining years - and years - and years.

Maybe we all live in cages, only some of us are confined by social constraints instead of bars. Society demands a certain amount of restraint, and if we can't or won't keep ourselves under control, society necessarily steps in to set boundaries for us. We have speed limits, rules for drinking, areas where we can and cannot smoke, and requirements for voting. Society decides when we can drive, who we can marry, and how many fish we can catch on a trip to the river. Society even sets social norms that tell us how to dress and behave in public. Yes, we all live in cages, but most of us manage to successfully navigate through life in spite of, or perhaps because of, social constraints.

Levi King has beaten the odds and may survive for many years to come. It is my hope and prayer that he recognizes that he has been given an opportunity and the time to atone for his crimes, and that through some form of personal achievement in prison he can begin to repay the massive debt that he owes society.

The ball is in your court now, Levi. Catch it, hold it up to the light and admire it, and know that it is your last chance to prove to yourself and to the world that those twelve good people in Lubbock made the right decision.

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

Company's Comin'!

by Pa Rock
Proud Grampa

Boone Macy, my 10-year-old grandson, will be coming to Arizona on Thursday to visit Pa Rock. He is also bringing along his Dad and Uncle Tim - and that's good, too!

I've been out shopping today, trying to fill the larder. Don't worry, Boone - we have plenty of ice cream, cookies (Oreo's!), and lunch meat - all the basic food groups! Plus we will be on the road a day or so heading to the Grand Canyon and Sedona, so there will be some pit stops at McDonald's and other fine restaurants. And the best news, Boone, is that it is starting to cool off in Arizona. We could even cook out!

And I'm digging holes and planting some trees that I could never plant back in the Ozarks at Rock's Roost. I now have a standard lemon tree in the front yard that will have buckets of lemons next year. I have also planted two red grapefruit trees, and have a fig and a tangelo yet to put in the ground. Boone, maybe you can help me dig those holes!

We are going to have so much fun! We'll even put the top down on my raggedy little car and act like we're in Hollywood!

Monday, October 5, 2009

Monday's Poetry: "The Ballad of Joe Hill"

by Pa Rock
Poetry Appreciator

(This selection is dedicated to two class acts: Joan Baez who sings it, and Chad Manspeaker who lives it.)

Joe Hill was performed by Joan Baez at Woodstock in 1969 and is now not only a staple of her repertoire, but also one of the anthems of the labor movement. Baez is a nightingale blessed with a crystalline voice and a pure heart. She cares about people, and nowhere does this come across better than when she warbles the inspirationalBallad of Joe Hill.

Chad Manspeaker was born a full decade after Woodstock. I am fortunate to know this young labor activist and Kansas Democratic Party organizer through his long friendship with my youngest son, Tim. An America blessed with young men of Chad and Tim's caliber cannot fail!

Enjoy Joe Hill.

The Ballad of Joe Hill
by Alfred Hayes and Earl Robinson

I dreamed I saw Joe Hill last night,
Alive as you or me:
Said I, but Joe you’re ten years dead;
I never died said he.
I never died said he.

In Salt Lake, Joe, Great God, said I,
Him standing by my bed;
They framed you on a murder charge,
Said Joe but I ain’t dead;
Said Joe but I ain’t dead.

The copper bosses framed you Joe
They shot you Joe said I;
Takes more than guns to kill a man,
Said Joe I did not die.
Said Joe I did not die.

Joe Hill ain’t dead he says to me,
Joe Hill ain’t never died;
Where working men are out on strike,
Joe Hill is at their side,
Joe Hill is at their side.

And standing there as big as life
A-smiling with his eyes.
Said Joe, what they forgot to kill
Went on to organize,
Went on to organize!

From San Diego up to Maine,
In every mine and mill -
Where working men defend their rights
It’s there you’ll find Joe Hill.
It’s there you’ll find Joe Hill.

I dreamed I saw Joe Hill last night,
Alive as you or me:
Said I, but Joe you’re ten years dead;
I never died said he.
I never died said he.

Sunday, October 4, 2009

And the Shuffle Sez...

by Pa Rock
Music Fan

Sister Phillipia (Mary Syracuse Harmon) "tagged" me on Facebook yesterday with a challenge to shuffle my music playlist, copy down the first fifteen songs to pop up, and send that list to a group friends asking each of them to do the same and to send a copy of their lists back to me. (A chain-letter type of thing without any monetary risk.) I try to not use Facebook because it is too complicated for my simple mind, and I'm not sure that I have a group of friends - so I decided to do my list and post it here. If anyone wants to shuffle up their own list and send it to a group of friends or back to me, be my guest!

My iPod currently has 3,341 songs, a very eclectic mixture as you are about to see. It (the iPod) is certainly the best investment that I have made in years. I have a docking station at the office and at home, and headphones for the gym. My time on the treadmill has quadrupled since I started marching to my tunes!

Here is Pa Rock's first fifteen after the shuffle. Make of them what you will:

1. Daydream Believer (Anne Murray and Nelly Furtado)
2. 10,000 Miles (Mary Chapin Carpenter)
3. The Blue Danube Waltz (Andre Rieu)
4. They Can't Take That Away From Me (Rod Stewart)
5. The Dark End of the Street (Linda Ronstadt)
6. I Ain't Got Nobody (Preservation Hall Jazz Band)
7. Don't Say Goodbye (Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young)
8. This Ole House (Bette Midler)
9. Blue Reverie (Benny Goodman)
10. Monday, Monday (The Mamas and the Papas)
11. It Is No Secret What God Can Do (Elvis Presley)
12. The Name of the Game (Abba)
13. Are You Sure Hank Williams Done it This Way? (Waylon Jennings)
14. Volunteers (Jefferson Airplane)
15. She's Got a Way (Billy Joel)

I have six Beatles albums on the ole iPod, and not a single Beatles song made the front fifteen!

Saturday, October 3, 2009

Arizona Autumn

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

It is slowly but surely getting cooler in the Valley of Hell - and I love it! Now instead of 115 degrees every day, the high is usually closer to ninety-five. I heard one forecaster say yesterday that the triple digits may be gone for the rest of the year.

There is, of course, a down side to the improving temperatures. The blue-haired snowbirds will soon be flocking here from the colder climes, driving up the price of liquor and clogging up the freeways with their big-assed cars and RV's. A few months from now the Valley will start to get insanely hot again and the old farts will head home. And so it goes...

I have been outside today landscaping with cactus. It feels good to get my hands in the dirt, sort of reminds me of being back in the Ozarks at Rock's Roost. Well, not much! The people who lived here before me preferred bushes to cactus, and I have spent much of the summer trimming and hacking my way thought the landscape. Now I am beginning to pull up their confounded bushes and replace them with cactus - which are much easier to care for.

I have also been pushing paths through the house today to get it ready for my sons and oldest grandson when they visit later in the week. I'm glad that summer is fading. That should make their trip more bearable - for them. It will be a blast for me! We are talking about going to Sedona and the Grand Canyon while they are here.

Friday, October 2, 2009

One, Two, and the Germs Flew!

by Pa Rock
Health Nut


The Air Force hospital where I work had its annual "Safety Day" this week. The hospital employees - military and civilian - spent the morning going through various stations and learning a variety of things from how to get handicapped individuals downstairs in the event of an emergency to the proper method for sneezing. Yes, there is a curriculum outlining the best way to sneeze!

The current best standard is to sneeze into your sleeve. By doing that, your little germies get caught in the fabric where they hopefully die. The second best method is to sneeze into a tissue and then throw the tissue away. It is definitely not cool to hang onto the tissue for multiple uses! (Remember the old days when little boys used to carry handkerchiefs that would get cemented into a wad with a day or a week's accumulation of green winter snot? No wonder we were always sick!

One of the things we learned at Safety Day is that Swine Flu has already arrived in the Valley of Hell. Unfortunately the Swine Flu shots - that may or may not work - have not arrived. There was lots of instruction about the necessity of washing hands any time they come into contact with items that could carry germs - bathroom fixtures, door knobs, other people's hands, etc.

That was Tuesday. On Wednesday morning I was driving through McDonald's for my ritual morning breakfast - a sausage egg McMuffin that I share with Bob the Grackle, and a large, unsweet iced tea - when I observed a young crew kid sneeze directly into a cup of coffee that he had just poured. I assumed he would do the right thing and dump it out, but instead he deftly fitted the cup of coffee with a lid. That left me with an ethical dilemma: should I point out the error of his ways, hold up traffic in order to fuss, embarrass the kid, and maybe put his job in jeopardy, or should I drive on and hope the guy in the next car had a good immune system. And if I did do the right thing, would that same kid develop his own ritual of spitting on my sandwich, or worse, every morning?

I took the coward's way out, and am suffering shame for that decision. But the incident did make me realize how vulnerable we all are to the vagaries and moods of people working in the food industry. The swine flu is here, its dangerous, and we all need to be very, very careful. This would probably be an excellent time to go back to the old standard of packing a lunch!

Thursday, October 1, 2009

Ken Lewis Gets His Butt Fired!

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

It was announced yesterday that Ken Lewis, the CEO of Bank of America, will be "retiring" at the end of the year. The truth, of course, is that the embattled uber-banker is finally getting what he so justly deserves - fired! Welcome to the economic downturn, Ken!

But it really isn't much of a downturn for Ken. True, he does lose a lot of power and prestige, and he won't be thumbing his nose at the American people anymore by riding the Bank of America's private jet in and out of Washington, DC, like some Saudi potentate. But with a retirement package of $54 million and another $18 million in deferred payments, Ken will be able to lick his wounds in style and live quite comfortably, thank you very much!

So if Ken was such a colossal fuck-up that he merited the public humiliation of being fired, how could Bank of America afford to give him such a lavish send-off? Was it bailout cash that came from the chump taxpayers? Possibly. But what is more likely is that it came off of the backs of BOA's credit card holders - people like Jordan Cid.

Private Jordan Cid joined the U.S. Army when he was seventeen. That same year he got a debit card from his bank - yup, Bank of America. Being a minor, he had to get his parent's permission in order to secure the debit card.

Young Private Cid used his card for many small purchases each month - pizza, lunches, movies - the things most young people typically spend their wages on. The seventeen-year-old soldier didn't worry too much about keeping up with his balance because he knew that he had overdraft protection. What he didn't realize was that the overdraft fee charged by Bank of America was a hefty and predatory $35 per check! In five months he accumulated $1,785 in overdraft fees.

Private Cid's parents got involved and told Bank of America to quit honoring his checks - but BOA declined to kill their cash cow. The matter eventually came to the attention of the press, including NBC Nightly News, and Bank of America decided to refund Private Cid's overdraft fees - no one else's of course, just those of the kid who made the evening news!

American banks are expecting to reap an astounding $27 billion in overdraft fees this year. It is one of their largest income streams, and it comes almost exclusively from the poor. Most of these scurrilous bastard banks hold checks until the end of the day, then they pay the biggest ones first, causing many little checks to bounce into the overdraft bucket. It's robbery worthy of John Dillinger or Bonnie and Clyde!

But the good news is that Ken Lewis is getting his! The bad news, however, is that he is also getting ours, theirs, and everyone else's!

Thank you, sir! May I have another!

Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Reply to Reed Smith on the Pervert Polanski and Fairness in America

by Pa Rock
Citizen Cynic


There were two comments on my posting yesterday that dealt with pedophile film director Roman Polanski. The first was from my friend, Mike Box, an attorney, who made the point - quite well - that rich criminals often have better outcomes in the American legal system than their poor counterparts. Reed Smith responded to the blog posting and Mike's comment with the following:

"After reading Mr. Box's comment I have to wonder. We all now know your opinion, I want to know your prediction. Will justice be served and Polanski get your fair deal of ten years, or is Mr. Box right and "the rich never swing"

Reed,

Mike Box and I have a great deal in common. We are both old, exceedingly cynical, and are steeped in a knowledge of how things work that comes from a lifetime of experience. Unfortunately for society in general and young children in particular, Mike is right. The rich in America never swing. Oh there may be oddball exceptions, like when a judge in Arkansas found Wal-Mart heiress Alice Walton guilty of drunk driving despite her dream team of high priced lawyers, but generally the rule stands.

One big advantage that the rich have over the rest of us is the ability to get their own version of the story out through their influential friends and a fawning media. That was happening in spades this week with the Polanski travesty. I noted yesterday that directors Pedro Almodovar, Martin Scorcese, and Woody Allen had collectively "demanded" that Polanski be released from his Swiss prison cell.

Now the noise from Hollywood is getting even goofier. Whoopi Goldberg has been quoted as saying that the incident that happened thirty-two years ago wasn't really a rape-rape! Seriously! So there are degrees of rape - even when a forty-three-year-old man has intercourse with a thirteen-year-old girl who doesn't want to do it? So that really isn't a rape-rape? What the fuck-fuck is it then?

Debra Winger minimized the sex crime as a "three-decades-old case that is dead but for minor technicalities. "We stand by him and await his release and his next masterpiece." In other words, the washed-up actress is available for any role that Polanksi might throw her way. Harvey Weinstein, a big-time movie maker in Hollywood referred to Polanski as a "humanist" who was a victim of a "miscarriage of justice". Are you listening, Roman? Weinstein is itching to fund one of your future masterpieces.

But, hey, that's how things work in Hollywood, America.

Roman Polanski's second wife, Sharon Tate, and several of her friends were killed by the Manson family in 1969. Today her sister, Debra, described her former brother-in-law as "brilliant" and stated that she feared he could not get a fair trial in the United States. She went on to say that Polanski did not forcibly have sex with the girl, and that it was a "consensual matter".

The girl described it differently back in the day. She said that he invited her into the hot tub of a major Hollywood star, gave her part of a Quaalude and some bubbly champagne, and then had sex with her against her will. But let's say, just for purposes of discussion, that she did not object - in fact, let's say that she eagerly consented. Just how does a thirteen-year-old "consent" to have sex with a forty-three-year-old pervert? Answer: A child cannot consent to have sex with an adult - ever! Say it with me, Debra: "A child cannot consent to have sex with an adult!"

And before we let Hollywood canonize Roman Polanski, let's not forget that he also committed the crime of fleeing the country in order to avoid prosecution. He jumped bail!

Poor Americans who have sex with children and get caught go to jail, often for long periods of time, and when they get out they are placed on sex-offender lists and tracked for the rest of their lives by an outraged society. Polanski, and apparently much of Hollywood, feels that he is better than the rest of us and special rules should apply.

Reed, this is the country that Mike Box and I inherited from our folks. Some things have gotten better during our watch, but much remains to be done. My hope is that you and your generation pick up the torch and lead our descendants on into a bright and glorious future - one in which the rich do swing, just like the rest of us mere mortals.

I am very proud of you.

Uncle Rock

P.S. Now let's hear from Mike!

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

Polanski Needs to Do Time

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

Roman Polanksi is an immensely talented film director, the craftsman of such celluloid classics as Rosemary's Baby (1968), Chinatown (1974), and The Pianist (2002). Unfortunately, he is also a child molester and sex offender.

In 1977 the forty-four-year-old Polanski invited a thirteen-year-old girl into Jack Nicholson's hot tub where he gave her part of a Quaalude and some champagne. And then he pounced! Polanski didn't "have sex" with the little girl as some modern accounts claim, nor did he "fall victim to a lusty teen temptress" as some European rags claimed at the time. He raped her. Rape is the correct verb because the girl, even though she was impaired by the drug and alcohol, objected. Rape is the correct verb because she was too young to consent, even if she had wanted to have sex with the old man - which she didn't. Rape is the correct verb because she was a child when he violently inserted himself into her body and her life!

Polanski served forty-some days in jail and thought that he had a plea deal that would keep him from going to prison. He pled guilty to one count of unlawful sexual intercourse with a minor. He pled guilty. Before he made it to court, Polanski got spooked and decided that the judge was going to renege and send him to prison, so he took the dishonorable way out and fled to Europe. He has lived in Europe, primarily France and Poland, for the past three decades.

The girl's family eventually sued the director and got some money, sort of like what happened to Michael Jackson, but Polanski's cash did not buy the faux innocence that Michael Jackson was able to wear like a designer gown for the rest of his life. Polanski had admitted his perverse and illegal behavior. He remained a felon on the run.

This week Roman Polanski was snagged by Swiss police and is in jail awaiting possible extradition to the United States - a move that he is fighting. That's understandable. He is seventy-six now and probably not up to rubbing elbows (or other body parts) with the big boys who inhabit California's prison system - some of whom undoubtedly have thirteen-year-old daughters. No. Polanski the pervert prefers to remain in Europe leading a more refined life. Prisons are a bit too coarse for people like him.

But Polanski has friends in high places. Fellow directors Pedro Almodovar, Martin Scorsese, and Woody Allen have rushed to his defense and demanded his "immediate release." That demand is fairly outrageous on its face considering the nature of the crime, but it is especially flabberghast-worthy coming from Woody Allen who made international headlines when he married his paramour's (Mia Farrow's) adopted daughter, Soon-Yi. (Mia and Woody hit the rocks after she found naked photos that he had taken of Soon-Yi.) Do Roman Polanski and Woody Allen have more in common than just making great movies?

The little girl whom Roman Polanski so egregiously and sadistically violated all those years ago is a woman now with grown children of her own. Not surprisingly, she is quite distressed that all of this drama has boiled up again, and she just wants it to go away. She feels, and rightly so, that she is being re-victimized.

But this grown woman was not actually the victim. The victim was a thirteen-year-old girl, and the woman who had to live with Polanski's cruelty all of these years is the result. The woman may not want justice, but little girls (and boys) everywhere need it. The message has got to be sent loudly and clearly that adults who have sex with children will suffer real consequences.

Ten years should be about right.

Monday, September 28, 2009

Monday's Poetry: "The Raven"

by Pa Rock
Poetry Appreciator

I have mentioned my admiration of American horror author, H.P. Lovecraft, in the Ramble on several occasions. Lovecraft was a master of braiding terror and suspense with beautiful prose. But he was not the original American author to focus on the dark and eerie - that honor falls to Edgar Allen Poe. Today's horror scribes, people like Stephen King, Dean Koontz, and Peter Straub, are pushing forward on trails that were originally hewn by Poe and lengthened by Lovecraft.

Edgar Allen Poe had a short and tragic life, yet he was able to publish poems, stories, and even one novel that can still make the skin crawl. Poe's most famous poem, The Raven, was published in 1845 - just four short years before his death at the age of forty. (One of my "treasures" is a small statuette of Poe with a Raven on his shoulder!)

For a fictional and evocative mystery based on the death of Edgar Allen Poe, I highly recommend The Poe Shadow by Matthew Pearl. Pearl brings forth many little known facts about the master of the macabre and weaves them into an excellent read.

For your reading pleasure, here is...

The Raven
by Edgar Allen Poe

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.'

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,'

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!'
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!'
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!'

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.'

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never-nevermore."'

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!

Sunday, September 27, 2009

Pandorum: A Space Cliche

by Pa Rock
Citizen Film Critic

I love going to movies, getting away from the old trailer park, sitting in a dark auditorium lost in bad popcorn and a good movie. I'm not overly critical and can find something redeeming almost any professional film effort.

The pickings were admittedly slim at the local multi-plex today, and I finally settled on the new sci-fi flick - Pandorum. I'll admit to not being a huge fan of science fiction movies, but I did like 2001 A Space Odyssey. (The fact that it was considered to be futuristic shows just how old I am!) I also liked Star Wars (the original) and Barbarella.

Pandorum didn't make my favorites list. In fact, the best thing about it was the popcorn. I should have walked out, but I had five bucks invested and sat tight hoping that I would eventually get something for my money. Didn't happen. All that I came away with was a five dollar education.

The plot: Two crew members of a long-term space flight - a "Noah's Ark" cruising into deep space to found a new world on a planet similar to earth - wake up after an unknown amount of time in "hyper-sleep" (2001, anybody?) and spend the rest of the movie running around a monstrously large, dark and Gothic, spacecraft. Why are they running and why is the music loud and frenetic? Because they are being pursued by evil mutants who have inexplicably come to occupy the same spacecraft (a la Alien.)

The screenplay for this dud of a movie could have been written on an envelope. The entire film didn't contain a thousand words of significant dialogue, and much of that was whispered - as though the actors realized the triteness of what they were saying. The plot was so contrived that it didn't take long before I found myself rooting for the mutants!

Panodrum is the worst movie that I have paid to see in years, perhaps ever. Dennis Quaid couldn't save it, and I doubt that Dr. House could either! Don't waste your money or your time on this one!

Saturday, September 26, 2009

Michele Bachmann as Lady Macbeth

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

The Constitution of the United States of America directs our federal government to count the nation’s people every ten years. That mandate of the Constitution is commonly referred to as the Census. It occurs on every year ending in a zero.

Census information is used by the government in determining national priorities and often plays a role in decisions about where national resources will be used. One of the primary results of the census is the determination of how many Congress people will be allotted to each state. A state’s total number of representatives in Congress may rise or fall depending on the total number of people residing within its borders when the census is taken.

Smart government officials want their state’s population to be counted as accurately as possible. The greater their population, the larger their share of federal resources (money), and the more representation they will have in Congress.

The concept is embarrassingly simple. More people equal more money and more power. Even a Congressman should be able to make that mental connection. If a state’s population goes down, that state could lose a Congressional seat – and it might be their own!

Enter Michele Bachmann, the ditzy Congresswoman from Minnesota who makes Sarah Palin look like an intellectual. Congresswoman Bachmann has declared war on the census, firing up the hillbillies and other goobers with dire predictions of the government using information collected in the census to send people to internment camps – like the American Japanese in World War II – or being able to see how much wealth a person really has and collect fair taxes – or how many guns we have! Eeegads!

Ms. Bachmann has declared that she will not fill out her census form – or at least not all of it – which is fine with me – and probably with many others. Either of those alternatives is a crime, and hopefully Eric Holder would grow a set and bring federal charges against the screechy drama queen. But if Ms. Bachmann refuses to even do her census form, that will lower Minnesota’s population. And if she is as influential as she believes she is, that could lower the Minnesota population a whole bunch – maybe even to the point that her seat goes away. That proof of God would be hard to ignore!

Now enter Bill Sparkman, a hapless part-time school teacher and census taker in rural southeastern Kentucky – down there among the type of folks that listen to the rightwing noise machine and think that they are hearing news. Mr. Sparkman, a well-respected and well-liked member of his community, was discovered dead two weeks ago under very suspicious circumstances. The corpse of Mr. Sparkman was found naked and hanging from a tree. His feet and hands were duct taped together, he was gagged, and his census I.D. was taped to his head. The word “Fed” was scrawled across his chest. The case has not yet been officially ruled a homicide, but that is clearly where it is heading.

Great work, Congresswoman Bachmann. One down and just a million or so more to go. Oh, you didn’t personally off Mr. Sparkman – just as America’s radio hate jocks didn’t personally blow up the Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City – but all of you have blood on your hands.

Ignorance and hate incite violence, and you are very inciteful. You may hide from the census takers, but you will never be able to hide from yourself. Bill Sparkman’s blood is on your lily-white hands and it will not come off.

Atone.

Friday, September 25, 2009

High Flying Blues

by Pa Rock
Airport Lurker

This week I was a passenger on four airplanes in just two days, and fought my way through three different airports two times each. I stepped through metal detectors in two states, consumed airport food on the run, and read a hundred pages or so of Lord of the Rings from about seven miles in the air. I munched complimentary pretzels and washed them down with complimentary tomato juice - heading east - and complimentary diet coke - heading west.

This week four people showed me how to fasten my seat belt and cautioned me to get my own oxygen mask on before trying to help anyone else. Those same four people explained to me that the airplane seats are easily removable and can function as flotation devices - never mind that we would be crossing no water.

I learned way too much about weight and balance issues at the Lubbock Airport as we shuffled people from seat to seat, and off the plane and back on, in order to get the craft to where it could fly. I commiserated with my seat mate as he watched his baggage being removed from the plane in order to lessen the weight.

I am learning way too much about America's airports. I can find where they hide the sandwich bags at Skyharbor in Phoenix, where not to buy drinks at Kansas City International, the location of the absolute best airport food in Atlanta, the best stocked bookstores in several cities - especially Atlanta and Salt Lake City, and the handiest places to recharge computers.

I know the cheapest and best place to leave my car in Phoenix, and I have a stack of discount coupons to use at that garage. I know the places that are open for breakfast as I cross Phoenix in the dark for morning departures, and I know where to stop for a cold drink on the way home from the airport.

This year alone I have traversed the airports of Phoenix, Houston, Dallas-Ft. Worth, Lubbock, San Antonio, Northwest Arkansas, Atlanta, Orlando, Kansas City, Minneapolis-St. Paul, and New York LaGuardia. I have been on twenty-six (I think) separate airplanes, and will be on four more in December. I guess that it would have been a really good year to get registered for airline miles. Maybe next year I will!

Thursday, September 24, 2009

Sometimes Hell is Close to Home

by Pa Rock
Social Commentator

Former child star Mackenzie Phillips is out peddling a book, High On Arrival. The drug-addled actress is now forty-nine, but three decades ago she played Julie on the popular sitcom, One Day at a Time. Her salary on that television show eventually reached $50,000 a week. She was also featured in the cult classic movie, American Graffiti, when she was only twelve-years-old.

Referring to Ms. Phillips as drug-addled probably comes across as a bit harsh, but she was fired from her TV series for drug use, and one member of her family recently said that she has had a needle in her arm for the past thirty-five years. That all needs to be noted just as a credibility check on the story that she has told.

Mackenzie Phillips was the daughter of John Phillips of the hugely popular 1960's music group, The Mamas and the Papas. Her step-mother, Michelle Phillips - John's wife - was also a member of the same group. After the demise of the group, John and Michelle were fairly open about their drug use. They ran around with stellar role models like Mick Jagger and the other band members of the Rolling Stones. Drugs were their lifestyle.

John Phillips has been dead for several years now, and Mackenzie has written a book exposing her loving daddy as the person who led her into hard drug usage and "pushed the plunger" the first time she shot up with cocaine. (What a guy!) She also said that Papa John raped her when she was nineteen. It was the night before her first marriage, and she was in a drug stupor. She woke up to find the deed had been done. That evening began a sexual relationship between father and daughter, according to Mackenzie, that lasted for a decade.

Some members of her family have rallied around her and offered support as she bares her soul to the world. Others in the family have been less kind, upset over the spillage of family secrets, or accusing her of being a lying bookseller just out trying to score some more money to shoot up her arm.

So why did I let this story whip me into a lather? Because I know families like this, I've looked into their scared, troubled eyes, listened to their tales of terror, felt their vulnerability and loss of self-respect. I don't know if John Phillips slept with his daughter for ten years and tried to convince her to move to Fiji with him where their love would be accepted. I don't know if Mackenzie is finally confronting her demons by writing this book, or if she is just some lying hustler.

But here is what I do know.

I know that this stuff happens, and not just in poor households out in the woods. I worked at the Missouri Child Abuse and Neglect Hotline in Jefferson City one summer, and I took incest calls from rural areas, St. Louis and Kansas City, and even the intellectual enclave of Columbia. So I know that John Phillips, a drug addict who probably had few boundaries, if any, could have had sex with his daughter.

I know that if this happened, there would be people in the family who would deny it and blame the victim. It is much easier to blame the victim than it is to admit that such a monstrous thing could happen in their own family. Better to deal with a "deeply troubled youth" than to admit that a monster was loose and systematically destroying a life.

I know that in cases of incest, the victim is never to blame, regardless of their age at the time the sex was initiated. In a family system, certain people inherently have the power, and if they use that power to seduce those that have been dependent on them, they are the perpetrators - they are evil.

I testified in court on Tuesday on behalf of a young man who was shaped into a monster by his family. There was no incest involved, but there were many things that occurred in that family that children should have never experienced or been around. It was a very bad environment, and he became a very bad person. If he had grown up in my home - or yours - he would not be in prison today.

One other time I worked with a young man who had sexually assaulted a mentally challenged young girl. He was a teenager at the time, and he was already hard-wired into a life of crime, drug usage, and sexual perpetration. This young man had a drug addict father who had traded him to his buddies for drugs when he was a small child. The buddies used him for sex. As he got older he took up residence in his mother's bed. When I first met him, he told me that he thought that he might be the parent of some of his youngest siblings.

That shit is evil. Kids are born good, but when they are driven into madness by the people who should be giving them love and support and hope, they are destroyed and so are we. My educated guess is that Mackenzie Phillips may be out hustling a quick buck with her book, but she is doing it by baring her soul and giving us a long gaze into her hell. I believe her.

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Tim Macy at Thirty

by Pa Rock
Proud Dad

My youngest, Tim, was born thirty years ago today in Mountain View, Missouri. It was the first day of fall, and if he had been born female he would have probably been named Autumn in honor of the change of season. (His sister occasionally calls herself "Summer," so perhaps our family has some seasonal affectation!)

Tim was born on a Sunday. His mother went into labor in the morning, and we wheeled by our church enroute to the hospital and dropped his two older siblings off with his future godparents, Jerry and Carolyn Kinder. Our doctor at St. Francis Hospital in Mountain View was Jon Roberts. Because he knew us well, he was comfortable in asking Tim's mother if a group of EMT's could come into the delivery room to watch a live birth. There probably weren't as many of them as I remember, but it seemed like the room was full of on-lookers as Tim entered the world.

Another woman was delivering at St. Francis at almost the same time. I don't remember the parents' names, but the baby was Candice Brown. Happy 30th, Candy. I hope that you have had a wonderful life and made your parents proud.

My parents were vacationing in Florida with Mom's sister and brother-in-law, Christine and Bob Dobbs, when Tim was born. Christine's birthday was also September 23rd. They stopped by Mountain View on their way home to meet the newest Macy.

For those of you who don't know how proud I am of Tim (and his brother and sister) well, you just haven't been paying attention! He works with disadvantaged youth for the University of Kansas (smells like social work to me!), and he is an accomplished author and playwright who has had a play produced at the Kennedy Center in DC and has had two of his short stories made into films. All of that was in his twenties - think where his thirties can take him!

Tim has always pushed me to write, and last year when I would occasionally take a day off from the Ramble, he would immediately email asking what was wrong. This year, because of Tim's prodding, I have set a goal to publish in the Ramble every day. He is also challenging me to work my ass off at the gym, and, yes, my ass is disappearing!

If you would like to know just how fine of a person Tim Macy has become, read the comment that he posted to my blog entry yesterday entitled "Sadness." He cares about others. I could not be prouder!

Happy 30th birthday, Tim! May you have many, many more!

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Sadness

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

This morning I spent two-and-a-half hours on the witness stand at the Lubbock County, TX, courthouse presenting testimony as to why a twenty-seven-year-old murderer of five people should not be put to death. The absolute best that this youth can hope for is to spend the rest of his natural life in a cage. I am too wracked with sadness to blog this evening - but someday very soon I will launch a tireless tirade on how children are not born evil, but rather they are exposed to it, conditioned by it, and eventually overcome by it. I will also explain in dastardly detail why I oppose the barbaric practice of capital punishment.

But not tonight.

Monday, September 21, 2009

The Texas State Mammal

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

The mammal most closely associated with the Lone Star state a century ago was the Long Horn steer, a rangy creature that was driven north in great herds to railheads and then shipped back east to feed the masses. Later, as beef cattle began to be produced in other locations, the ubiquitous armadillo took over as the mammal most identified with Texas. Today, the armadillo has migrated northward to every state south of the Missouri River, and lies decomposing along most of the nation's highways and byways. It is no longer unique to Texas.

But not to worry, Texas has a new state mammal: the braying jackass. I came across a prime example of the Texas specialty this afternoon at the Dallas-Ft. Worth Airport. This particular jackass had ordered a sandwich at one of the airport eateries, consumed most of it, and then got indignant because he was a diabetic and suspected that the food contained sugar. The first time I walked by the restaurant he was raging on the server: "I'm diabetic. If that's got sugar in it, and I think it does, you're going to damn well know it in a couple of minutes!" I came back by a minute or two later to see if he had collapsed into a diabetic coma, but he was still on his rant. He had a manager corralled who was not buying into his act - the guy apparently wanted a refund. The manager was assuring the guy that his sandwich contained no sugar. The diabetic (or con-artist) was demanding to know the manager's name - and the spelling.

There are some battles that are just not worth fighting. I felt like the restaurant manager wasted a lot of unnecessary energy engaging with this man. The scene cost them more business than the price of a lousy sandwich. I, for one, walked on down to a less combative section of the terminal for my burger.

One day the braying jackass will go the way of the Long Horn and the armadillo, but in Texas that may take awhile!

Family News Update

by Pa Rock
Proud Grampa

(Reported live from a bar and burger joint at the Dallas-Ft. Worth airport.)

Nick and Boone telephoned yesterday. They were getting ready to have a birthday barbecue for Riley, my granddog - a Boston Terrier. Riley was celebrating his first! Boone is in fifth grade this year. He said that his teacher is very into science and has lots of neat things in the classroom - like a tarantula! Nick and Boone are coming to Arizona in early October - with Uncle Tim - for a long weekend. We may go to the Grand Canyon and Sedona to escape the Valley of Hell!

Molly has been plagued with a diagnosis of placenta previa, but she went to the doctor today and learned that the placenta appears to be migrating. That is great news. She should now be able to have a normal delivery instead of a c-section, and Pa Rock doesn't have to worry quite so much about her health and safety.

Molly sent a nice video of Sebastian bouncing on the big white tiger that I got him for his first Christman. I'm glad that he is getting so much enjoyment out of it!

Scott (Molly's husband) turned thirty-two yesterday, and Tim will be thirty on Wednesday. Ouch! My baby is leaving his twenties behind!

Tim has been feuding with his evil insurance company for over a year. Today he learned that they have capitulated somewhat and will pay almost half of the amount that was in dispute. I told him that if there ever was a time that insurance companies should act with some humanity, this was it!

Remind me later, and I will publish my plan for paying for comprehensive national health care. Warning - some of you won't appreciate it!

Also, remind me later and I will tell the tale of a college party where a pet tarantula got loose and was roaming among the drunks! Ah, youth!

Off to Lubbock!

Monday's Poetry: "The Great Mandala"

by Pa Rock
Poetry Appreciator

Today's selection is a haunting protest song that was written by Peter Yarrow of the folk singing group Peter, Paul, and Mary. It is featured on their Album 1700, a wonderful collection of thoughtful and provocative music. The Great Mandala appears in this space today as a tribute to the greatest group of folk singers ever, and in loving memory of Mary Travers.

THE GREAT MANDALA (The Wheel of Life)
by Peter Yarrow

So I told him that he'd better shut his mouth
And do his job like a man.
And he answered "Listen, Father,
I will never kill another."
He thinks he's better
than his brother that died
What the hell does he think he's doing
To his father who brought him up right?

Take your place on The Great Mandala
As it moves through your brief moment of time.
Win or lose now you must choose now
And if you lose you're only losing your life.

Tell the jailer not to bother
With his meal of bread and water today.
He is fasting 'til the killing's over
He's a martyr, he thinks he's a prophet.
But he's a coward, he's just playing a game
He can't do it, he can't change it
It's been going on for ten thousand years

Take your place on The Great Mandala
As it moves through your brief moment of time.
Win or lose now you must choose now
And if you lose you're only losing your life.

Tell the people they are safe now
Hunger stopped him, he lies still in his cell.
Death has gagged his accusations
We are free now, we can kill now,
We can hate now, now we can end the world
We're not guilty, he was crazy
And it's been going on for ten thousand years!

Take your place on The Great Mandala
As it moves through your brief moment of time.
Win or lose now you must choose now
And if you lose you've only wasted your life.

Sunday, September 20, 2009

District 9

by Pa Rock
Citizen Film Critic

District 9 is an allegorical tale of racism and apartheid with impoverished space aliens being the downtrodden group. It is set in Johannesburg, South Africa, just to ensure that viewers get the nuanced meaning of the film.

Here's the plot: A colossal space ship, something on the order of the mother ships in Independence Day, parks itself above Johannesburg, in the 1980's. After waiting a considerable time for something to happen, nosy earthlings break into the ship and find it full of weak and malnourished aliens, creatures that look somewhat like large, bi-pedal cockroaches. The South African government takes them from the spacecraft and ferries them to earth where they are placed in an immense, fenced-in interment camp that looks something like Soweto in its glory days.

The aliens get along as well as they can in their concentration camp, eating canned cat food provided by the government, trading their weapons (inoperable by humans) to Nigerian thugs for extra canned cat food and the services of Nigerian prostitutes, and rummaging through immense piles of garbage.

After two decades or so of living like animals at the suffrage of the South African government, public pressures force the government to try and remove the aliens to a more remote site. A bumbling bureaucrat, deftly portrayed by Sharlto Copley, is assigned the mission of going into the camp and getting the aliens to agree to sign orders of eviction. While there he suffers a strange infection and things start to get hinky.

This movie is filmed as a docudrama with various people telling the story through short, news-style interviews. The story is woven from several different directions, but eventually becomes a tale of courage and partnership between the bureaucrat and a very skilled alien who goes by the name Christopher Johnson. It features action, suspense, a Transformer on steroids, and enough violence and death to make the governor of California blush!

District 9 has about run its course in theatres, and will soon be available in your local video stores. I rate it a strong "rent" or even "buy." It has a message that unfortunately will always be pertinent somewhere.

Saturday, September 19, 2009

What the Oklahoma Students Did Not Know

by Pa Rock
Former Educator

Yesterday I noted that high school students in Oklahoma and Arizona had done very poorly on a citizenship test that (one would hope) even their parents could have passed. Today I came across a very good web site that got into the nuts and bolts of exactly what the students did not know.

Jeff Hoard is a freelance writer and researcher who lives in the woods of British Columbia (that's in Canada, kids). He states that in his spare time he searches for signs of "Idiocracy." Not surprisingly his searches led him to the story on the citizenship survey of Oklahoma students. The information that follows was pulled from Jeff's blog, The Idiocracy Index.

The question on the survey that drew the highest percentage of correct answers from the 1,000 students who were polled was this: What ocean is on the east coast of the United States? Sixty-one percent (610 students) were able to correctly answer that it was the Atlantic Ocean. Presumably, some had actually been there.

The question that garnered the least number of correct responses was this: How many justices are on the Supreme Court? Only ten percent (100 students) knew that nine justices sit on the Supreme Court. That was probably the toughest question on the survey, but a new justice was recently appointed to the Court, stirring a lot of news about the Court and its structure and balance, so more students should have gotten that right. (Are we watching too much Survivor and not enough news programs?)

The other questions went like this:

What is the supreme law of the land? Twenty-eight percent (280) knew that it is the Constitution.

What do we call the first ten amendments to the Constitution? Twenty-six percent (260) correctly answered that those amendments are collectively known as the Bill of Rights.

What are the two parts of the U.S. Congress? Survey says: The Senate and the House. Twenty-seven percent (270) of the students got that correct.

Who wrote the Declaration of Independence? The author of that critical document in our history was Thomas Jefferson. Only 14% (140) of students knew that answer.

There was an upsurge of correct answers on this question: What are the two major political parties in the United States? Yet, even on something that basic and well known, less than half of the students surveyed knew that those two political parties are the Democrats and Republicans. Forty-three percent (430) answered correctly.

We elect a U.S. Senator for how many years?
Just 11% (110) knew that the correct answer was six.

Who was the first President of the United States? Twenty-three percent (less than one in four) knew that George Washington was our first President. Come on guys, he's on the dollar bill!

Surprisingly, at least to me, more of the students knew who is in charge of the executive branch than knew the father of our country. Twenty-nine percent (290) answered correctly that the head of the executive branch is the President.

Here is another interesting way to look at the results of this survey:

Of the 1,000 students who were polled, 46 got none of the answers correct, 158 got only one answer correct, 246 got two answers right, 265 (the highest concentration) correctly answered three questions, 177 managed to answer four right, 80 got half correct- five out of ten, 22 got six right (the passing point), and six proved to be real scholars by getting seven correct. None of the 1,000 students who took the survey got more than seven out of ten correct.

So what is the problem? Why did a thousand high school students in Oklahoma do so badly on a test covering what should be a very basic part of their political and historical heritage. The answer is complicated. A lot of really talented people can't afford to teach and have to take jobs in industry or other economic sectors to feed their families. Schools are running so scared of test scores that they concentrate heavily on teaching the test, to the detriment of all other knowledge. Parents are working longer and harder, often both parents, leaving children unsupervised and homework unchecked. And the whole world appears to be angry. It is so much easier to stand around and yell than it is to roll up your shirt sleeves and begin to fix problems.

Knowledge itself is also being pushed under the church bus. Sarah Palin tells people that dinosaurs and people walked the earth at the same time - she's seen pictures! Places like Kansas and Texas go crazy trying to push science out of textbooks and replace it with Creationism, whatever the hell that is. (People who want their children to go to competitive universities and become medical doctors want real science taught in classrooms. People with serious illnesses and injuries - even fundamentalist Christians - want to be treated by people who have been educated in real science.)

Education will get back on track in this country when teaching salaries are high enough to attract really good teachers away from business and industry. Education will begin to recover when school districts start putting more books in their school libraries, books open to a wide range of real life, and quit allowing small-minded moralists to roam through the stacks and haul books that offend them off to community bonfires. Education will start to mean something again when we revel in ideas and encourage students to step outside of their comfort zone and see what this big world is all about.

Education will have arrived when the spelling bee attracts the same enthusiasm as homecoming, when the honor roll is as anticipated as the football starting lineup, and when every child is praised by their parents for what they have learned in school - every day. It's within reach and well worth the effort.

Friday, September 18, 2009

Oklahoma Students Fail Basic Citizenship Test

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

In preparation for Constitution Day, the Oklahoma Council of Public Affairs, a conservative think tank, wanted to get a handle on the civics knowledge of Oklahoma high school students - so they commissioned a survey. Strategic Vision, a national polling organization, came up with a simple test of ten questions that were taken from the actual exam that immigrants have to take to become U.S. citizens. The questions that the polling organization selected were very simple, soft balls actually, whose answers should be nearly automatic in our informed society.

Here are the questions that were asked of Oklahoma high school students:

1. What is the law of the land?

2. What do we call the first ten amendments to the Constitution?

3. What are the two parts of the U.S. Congress?

4. How many justices are there on the Supreme Court?

5. Who wrote the Declaration of Independence?

6. What ocean is on the east coast of the United States?

7. What are the two major political parties in the United States?

8. We elect a U.S. Senator for how many years?

9. Who was the first President of the United States?

10. Who is in charge of the executive branch?


Immigrants must score 60% on the exam in order to qualify for citizenship. Using six of ten as a passing grade, only 3% of the Oklahoma students who were surveyed would have passed the test.

Not only would 97% of Oklahoma high school students have failed the test, three out of four could not answer question #9 - Who was the first President of the United States? Really!

(This may explain why Oklahoma sends the likes of Tom Coburn and James Mountain Inhofe to the United States Senate - for six year terms! Or why every county in the state went for John McCain in the presidential election - hoping to elect him President so that he could run the executive branch!)

Brandon Dutcher, the head of the conservative think tank that commissioned the survey, did point out one saving grace for Oklahomans - he said that Arizona had similar results! Color me surprised!

Noting that Thomas Jefferson had warned that a nation can't expect to be ignorant and free, Mr. Dutcher said, "It points to a real serious problem. We're not going to remain ignorant and free."

Are you listening Senator Coburn? Senator Inhofe? Senator Kyl? Senator McCain? Is there a reason why students in your states are basically ignorant about United States government, history, and geography? Is your focus on the future, fighting for things like education, health care, and social justice - or do you spend your official time appearing at tea parties and stirring discontent for political gain? Are you demonizing government and convincing today's youth that it is irrelevant, or worse yet, evil? You may not like our President, but do your personal feelings merit the need to be openly disrespectful toward the man or the office?

Is that the way you were raised?

Are you setting a positive example for tomorrow's leaders?

I didn't think so.

Thursday, September 17, 2009

Goodnight, Sweet Songbird of Peace

by Pa Rock
Obituariest

Mary Travers died yesterday, and with her passing something much greater than one individual has slipped into the whispering echoes of history. Mary Travers was a singer, a sweet songbird of peace who was the sparkle and soul of the folk singing phenomenon of the 1960’s: Peter, Paul, and Mary. With Mary gone, the trio that was so much a part of American culture and counter-culture has also passed. An era has slipped away.

The songs of Peter, Paul, and Mary form a soundtrack of America across some of the most socially turbulent years of the twentieth century. Much of their music was geared toward peaceful protest, but even militaristic sorts could smile and sing along with “If I had a Hammer,” “Puff the Magic Dragon,” and “Leaving on a Jet Plane.” And for sheer poetic strength in music and lyrics, there are few collections that can compare to “Album 1700,” a classic in every sense of the word.

The sixties are quietly disappearing, blowing in the wind. Those of us who were fortunate enough to come of age during those exciting times are graying now and beginning to slip off of the great mandala - the wheel of life. But the mandala keeps on turning, and new causes come around, and other fierce youth will climb on board and take up the struggles.

The world today is a much better place than when Peter Yarrow, Paul Stookey, and Mary Travers took the stage to sing down war, marched with Martin Luther King to end segregation and violence, and lent their fame and talents to a myriad of other social causes like bringing an end to nuclear arms and promoting the fair treatment of farm workers. The world is better, but there is so much left to do. Young hands will take up the struggle for social justice, and new voices will sing them onward.

Thank you for the beautiful music, Mary. Rest in peace.

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

Death of a Dance Whore

by Pa Rock
Obituariest

Patrick Swayze referred to himself and his beautiful wife, Lisa Niemi, as a "couple of dance whores," ostensibly because they loved to dance and they were really good at it. The couple met at his mother's dance studio in Houston when he was nineteen and she was fifteen. They married four years later, and remained married for the remaining thirty-four years of his life. That in itself was quite a Hollywood accomplishment!

Swayze, who died earlier this week after a two-year struggle with pancreatic cancer, grew up wanting to be a professional ballet dancer. Injuries put that goal beyond his reach, but even so his athletic prowess and sheer ability to move his body to music made him the most memorable Hollywood hoofer since the likes of Fred Astaire and Gene Kelly. (Sorry, Travolta, you are nowhere near their league!)

Patrick Swayze was able to regroup after the loss of his ballet dream and establish a very successful career in film. He was an acknowledged member of the "brat pack" that included such young Hollywood favorites as Emilio Estevez, Tom Cruise, Judd Nelson, Molly Ringwald, and C. Thomas Howell. Swayze had a wide ranging acting ability, playing characters as diverse as a bad boy dance instructor, a ghost, a drag queen, and a pedophile.

There have been polls all over the Internet yesterday and today rating the public's favorite Patrick Swayze films. I have seen polls proclaiming Ghost, Dirty Dancing, Red Dawn, Point Break, and even Road House as the best Swayze films ever.

My own personal favorite Patrick Swayze movies are: #5: To Wong Foo Thanks for Everything, Julie Newmar; #4: Ghost; #3: The Outsiders; #2: Red Dawn; and, #1: Dirty Dancing. It was in Dirty Dancing where Patrick Swayze uttered one of the most famous lines in filmdom: "Nobody puts Baby in a corner."

Baby is out of the corner, and Patrick is out-of-body, probably much as he was in Ghost. Regardless of his current ectoplasmic makeup, however, Patrick Swayze is out there somewhere - and he is dancing! Once a dance whore...always a dance whore!

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

Acrostic Poetry

by Pa Rock
Tortured Rhymester

Yesterday in presenting an untitled poem by Lewis Carroll, I referred to it as an acrostic, because, reading down through the first letters of each line, a message was revealed. On November 15th, 2007, I published an acrostic poem of my own - actually a sonnet - in the Ramble. It was meant to be an improvement on the Petrarchian sonnet form. I penned it years and years ago, and am still proud of finished product.

For your reading pleasure...

Ode on a Pet Rock
by Rocky Macy

Palsied mind that wrought so profound a frame
Exact with count and the structure of rhyme
Tortured mind of thoughts contorting for time,
Reason and rhyme – fix your discipline game.
A flaw is present which you may not claim,
Reaching deep, as to the heart of a crime,
Clipped ever precise is half of your climb,
Half, though, is ragged and mortally lame.

Go rework your scheme from the beginning,
Open each line with an important clue,
Only by doing this type of penning,
Fair thoughts made more pregnant will you imbue.
Embolden each verse with empowered meaning,
Demand your pen add dimension to you.

Domestic Violence as a Pre-Existing Condition! Really!

by Pa Rock
Licensed Clinical Social Worker

I am on most progressive mailing lists and a few from the nutbag right, so my email inbox always contains entertaining reading. I'm fairly cognizant of world events and domestic political issues, and I seldom get surprised by the petitions and appeals for donations that flood my inbox. Today, however, I opened a shocker.

I work with victims and perpetrators of domestic violence. I've done that type of work for years in various settings, and I have a fairly good grasp on the dynamics of that dangerous process. Today I received an email from the Service Employees International Union (SEIU) informing me that eight states and the District of Columbia allow insurance companies to label domestic violence as a pre-existing condition. So a man beats the crap out of "his" woman (and, yes Neanderthals, it is usually men doing the beating) and the insurance company can step in and re-victimize the poor soul by refusing to help with her hospital expenses. America's insurance companies - what a bunch of sweethearts!

The email from SEIU asked that I send an email to Congressman Dennis Kucinich who is heading a committee that is looking into insurance company abuses. I quickly complied. If any of you would like to join the effort, you may connect using the following site: http://action.seiu.org/page/speakout/comhearing.

Below is the message that I crafted for Congressman Kucinich and his committee:

From: Rocky Macy
To: U.S. House Subcommittee on Domestic Policy
Subject: Domestic violence is a pre-existing condition
Message:

Dear Representative Kucinich,

Domestic violence is a pre-existing condition in eight states - Idaho, Mississippi, North Carolina, North Dakota, Oklahoma, South Carolina, South Dakota, and Wyoming - and the District of Columbia.

As a licensed clinical social worker with the armed forces, I work with victims of domestic abuse almost daily. The fact that immoral insurance companies can label domestic violence as a pre-existing condition is outrageous! It is clearly a case of re-victimization.

No American, and most certainly no one who has survived the trauma of domestic violence, should be denied insurance because of a “pre-existing condition.”

Rep. Kucinich - please use your power and authority in Congress to help right this terrible wrong.

Rocky Macy, LCSW
Litchfield Park, AZ

Please consider joining in the effort to hold Congress's feet to the fire on this issue. If you live in any of the states involved - Idaho, Mississippi, North Carolina, North Dakota, Oklahoma, South Carolina, South Dakota, and Wyoming - you might also consider writing to your state legislators or state insurance commission. Stuff like this shouldn't be allowed to happen in twenty-first century America!

Monday, September 14, 2009

Monday's Poetry: Untitled by Lewis Carroll

by Pa Rock
Poetry Appreciator

One morning last week I was sitting in my car at work, killing time and getting centered for the work day by reading the current issue of Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine, when I came to a jewel of a story by Dale C. Andrews. The story was entitled The Mad Hatter's Riddle, and as might be surmised form the title, it contained references to the works of Lewis Carroll. One of those references dealt with the today's poetry selection, taken from Carroll's Through the Looking Glass.

The story's author relates through the voice of one of his characters that Mr. Carroll, a mathematician whose real name was Charles Lutwidge Dodgson, denied that either of his most famous books, Alice in Wonderland or Through the Looking Glass, was written with a real Alice in mind. The following poem, however, would indicate otherwise. Please read carefully!

Untitled
by Lewis Carroll

A boat, beneath a sunny sky
Lingering onward dreamily
In an evening of July --

Children three that nestle near,
Eager eye and willing ear
Pleased a simple tale to hear --

Long has paled that sunny sky:
Echoes fade and memories die:
Autumn frosts have slain July.

Still she haunts me, phantomwise
Alice moving under skies
Never seen by waking eyes.

Children yet, the tale to hear,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Lovingly shall nestle near.

In a Wonderland they lie,
Dreaming as the days go by,
Dreaming as the summers die:

Ever drifting down the stream --
Lingering in the golden gleam --
Life what is it but a dream?


Dale C. Andrews describes the above type of poem as an acrostic, one where a message is spelled out by reading down through the first letters of each line. Miss Alice, it would seem, was most probably Alice Pleasance Liddell. So, if you are ever on Jeopardy...

Sunday, September 13, 2009

The Time Traveler's Wife

by Pa Rock
Citizen Film Critic

Last night I had to get out of the house, to get away, to lose myself in some pleasant diversion. I headed to the movies, and I knew exactly what I wanted to see: something that wouldn't appeal to screaming kids, adolescents who had to constantly check their text messages and bang out replies, and crowds. After reviewing all of the selections, The Time Traveler's Wife seemed to hold the most promise for a quiet evening.

I walked into the theatre one hour early, bought a large buttered popcorn and a big drink, and parked myself dead-bang center in the back row. I had brought my notebook and a pen, so I munched, sipped, and wrote for quite a while before anyone else stumbled into the room. It was a wonderful evening, and, if the movie turned out to be good, well that was just gravy. Eventually all of a dozen people wandered in to join me.

And gravy it was! The Time Traveler's Wife is a dramatic jewel with facets of romance and science fiction. It sparkles from beginning to end. Eric Bana plays Henry, a young man who discovers early in life that he has the ability to travel through time. Henry does not have the ability to control this talent. When his body suddenly transports out of one place and time, his clothes remain behind, and he arrives naked at his next stop.

Henry is standing naked in some brush one day having just arrived through a time jump. A little girl named Claire comes along and sets up a picnic in the meadow that surrounds the brush. Henry calls to Claire, by name, to hand her picnic blanket into the brush so that he can cover himself, which she eventually does. They become lifelong friends, and Claire eventually grows into a beautiful young woman (Rachel McAdams) who becomes Henry's wife.

Claire has known about Henry's uncontrollable ability to travel through time basically her whole life, but she marries Henry without fully recognizing the effects that his unique gift (or curse) will have on their life as a couple. Henry almost misses their wedding because of one of his sudden trips, and when he returns just in time for the ceremony, he is several years older than he had been when he left. He misses their first Christmas and New Year's together as husband and wife because he has popped off somewhere and cannot get back. Finally, as a gesture of contrition, he uses his talent as a time traveler to secure the winning numbers for the Illinois lottery and is able to buy Claire a nice home with room for her art studio. (So being a time traveler does have some practical advantages!)

Henry finds a doctor who studies his condition and refers to it as a "genetic anomaly," which proves to be a major complication as he and Claire try to become pregnant.

The Time Traveler's Wife is a clever idea that began as a novel by Audrey Niffenegger and was transformed into a tight and effective screenplay by Bruce Joel Rubin. It has the feel of Somewhere in Time, but is highly original and stands well on its own. This is a movie that inspires contemplation, and that in itself is worth the price of a ticket - and the popcorn and drink!

Saturday, September 12, 2009

Lovecraft on Twitter

by Pa Rock
Fan of Good Literature

H.P. Lovecraft is my second favorite American writer. Tim Macy of Kansas City is first, Michael Chabon is third, Mark Twain is fourth, and the top five is rounded out by Kurt Vonnegut.

Lovecraft published his stories in pulp magazines in the 1920's and 30's, sometimes for as little as a penny a word. He took the concept of horror fiction that had been practiced so well by Edgar Allen Poe, and took it places that Poe could never have contemplated - creating a world that is unmistakably Lovecraftian. From the dank halls of Miskatonic University where a fragile copy of the evil Necronomicon was housed in the school's library, to the ice fields of Antarctica, to the falling down houses of Providence, Rhode Island, in the early days of the twentieth century, Lovecraft created mysterious worlds that were truly gateways to terror.

The works of H.P. Lovecraft are an acquired taste, and once a mind has experienced his disquieting tales, it will forever know tremors of trepidation at every chance encounter, every coincidence, and every surprise that presents itself onto the quiet tranquility of day-to-day life.

I began using a tracking site on July 23rd of this year to get some sense of who was reading The Ramble and the types of things that drew people to the site. The runaway favorite post has been "Lovecraft Words," a piece that ran on June 14th, 2008, and examined the beautiful vocabulary that Lovecraft used in one of his short stories. That post has had 48 hits in less than two months, almost double the number of visitors to the second most popular piece - "The Lumley Vampire," which ran on May 31st, 2009, and has only recently outdistanced the third placeholder "The Sad Ballad of Randy Leach," a column on a Kansas mystery that was featured in The Ramble on April 16, 2008, and has been viewed 23 times since the tracking service went into effect in July.

I learned yesterday that there is a new twitter site dedicated to H.P. Lovecraft. I am hopeful that it proves to be an effective medium for reaching the fans of this prolific and amazing author. The site is LovecraftNews@Twitter.com. It is just getting up and running.

If you are on Twitter and have an interest in H.P. Lovecraft, check it out and become a follower.

Friday, September 11, 2009

September 11th - Then and Now

by Pa Rock
Cultural Historian

Eight years ago I was managing two county offices for the Missouri Children's Division and driving to Columbia, Missouri, from Noel, Missouri, two days a week to take graduate courses in social work. The trip was 270 miles each way, and I was doing two round trips a week. On September 11, 2001, I was sitting on the 7th floor of Clark Hall looking out over the University of Missouri campus when an ashen-faced classmate came in and told us that a plane had just crashed into the World Trade Center. There were only a few of us in the class, and we were all shaken by the terrible "accident." A few minutes later we got the report that another plane had crashed into the other tower, and the thought of an "accident" was quickly replaced by abject terror. The professors set up a television out in the hall, and students from all of the classes stayed glued to the coverage.

Several things happened that morning as we followed the coverage. Word began to come out through the news services that the Taliban of Afghanistan might have been involved. (Nothing was even hinted at that indicated Iraq was involved.) Word went out that the local Red Cross was collecting blood, and several people left Clark Hall to go contribute.

Our small group of doctoral students had a pre-planned lunch with one of our professors, Dr. Marjorie Sable (she is now the Social Work Department Chair at MU), and we decided to go ahead and do the lunch. Margie suggested that we eat at a middle eastern place on 9th Street, ironically called "Osama's." My memory is that it was a very somber meal.

Driving back to McDonald County that afternoon, I couldn't help but notice the long lines at the gas stations. I got in line at a station near the Lake of the Ozarks, and waited half-an-hour to top off my tank. The price went up while I was waiting in line!

One of the things that I remember about that day and the days immediately following the attack was the vacant look on George Bush's face when he was informed of the attack while reading a book to elementary school children in Florida. Even without the commentary of any pundits, it was obvious that he was lost and had no clue what to do. He grew up pampered and cared for, and had no idea how to react in a crisis. I also thought it looked especially bad when Air Force One hop-scotched all over America like a scared rabbit before eventually getting the Commander in Chief back to the nation's capitol. Shouldn't our leader have said something like, "Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead." Isn't that what a real leader would have done?

I remember that former President Clinton was in Australia at the time of the attack, yet he was able to make it back to the United States and get himself to ground zero well before George Bush did his hardhat and megaphone piece of theatre.

And I remember Bush finally getting his bearings and declaring his wrath at Osama bin Laden - and going to war with the Taliban in Afghanistan. That war, it could be argued, had an element of moral imperative. The Bush administration soon abandoned that imperative as they confabulated a fiction to take us to war in Iraq, a move to secure oil export routes, oil field leases, and burnish the honor of the Bush family by capturing, humiliating, and killing Saddam Hussein, a man and a country that had no involvement in the 911 attack whatsoever.

In just a year or two our country went from a justified moral outrage to a sleazy Middle Eastern power grab and Christian fundamentalist religious jihad. Over the ensuing years, the Republican Party and other conservative elements in society have carefully created a fiction that 911 is a patriotic and religious symbol that belongs to them alone. They quickly moved to paint any and all opposition to the "War on Terror" as treasonous activity.

So anyone who spoke ill of George Bush, Dick Cheney, or Donald Rumsfield was publicly ridiculed as being un-American. (Remember Natalie Maines of the Dixie Chicks who dared to comment that she was ashamed of our President? The conservative press wanted blood - literally.)

The political culture of the United States seems to have gone into the crapper on the day Skippy Bush left office. Now it is perfectly fine to question the President - as it should have always been. But now that our new President has the audacity to not only be a Democrat, but to also be a mixed-race Democrat, it is suddenly okay, even glorified, to carry guns to Presidential speeches, yell down public officials as they attempt to answer questions and explain policy proposals, pull students out of school so they won't be exposed to the President encouraging them to set goals and work hard, and to scream at a President as he addresses a joint session of Congress.

Good manners need only be exercised when a white, conservative Republican (preferably male) is in charge of things, regardless of whether he is up to the job of leading or not. For anything less, send in the jackasses!

Thursday, September 10, 2009

Flash Floods and Cat Fights

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

There is a low, rolling thunder in the Valley of Hell this evening, and the winds have just a hint of a coming rain. Rain could happen, the odds say it won't, but rain could happen. It rained up north in beautiful Sedona today, and the resulting flash flood stacked up cars in the parking areas of the Talapaque Village - just across the highway from the UFO Store and the Psychic Emporium. An argument could probably be made for alien or psychic involvement in this surprise flash flood, but I'm too damned tired to propose one.

Fortunately there were no deaths or serious injuries in the flash flood, but I understand that some people had to be rescued from their cars.

Arizona is a dry, parched land. (Did you know that?) The ground is so dry and so hard, that only a very slow rain stands any chance of soaking in. Hard and quick rains run off into the streets and parking lots. Flash floods are a very real threat in the desert.

And in the news closer to home...

Scroungy Bastard came running home as I pulled in after work. I didn't feed him right away because I had to rush in and look something up on the Internet for my Dad. Before I could get back to taking proper care of my dependent kitty, I heard an awful screeching and snarling racket on the back porch. Although I have not seen any other cats loitering around this end of the trailer park, I know a cat fight when I hear one - and this was a dandy!

By the time I got outside, both cats had disappeared and there was literally fur floating in the air - and there were two small deposits of cat poop on the porch. Had Scroungy Bastard been scared shitless? It took about an hour for him to make it back home, and he arrived without any obvious scars. I broke open a can of Friskies Gourmet and then stood guard while he chowed down. Poor baby!

If I had a gun I would probably shoot that other cat. But, of course, if I had a gun that would make me an Arizona moron and I wouldn't have the ambition to load the gun or shoot it. And there wouldn't be any way in hell that I would waste that expensive cat food on a cat! Seafood Supper on a shingle, anyone?

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

Southern Charm

by Pa Rock
Social Commentator

There was a cultural myth when I was growing up that said - whatever their faults, southerners could always be counted on for politeness. A southern lady was a lady. She might not like you, or your politics, or your Blue Tick Hound, but she would have you parked in a comfortable chair with a glass of cold and sweet iced tea before you could doff your ball cap and bid her good afternoon.

A southern gentleman was a gentleman. Oh, he might take a mistress and hit the bourbon a little too often, but he was a gentleman who subscribed to all of society's conventions regarding good manners.

She was Scarlett O'Hara and he was Colonel Sanders, and they were the poster people for order and decorum. But it was a myth. The ideal was false. There were no (or damned few) gentle southern souls sipping their mint juleps and dispensing kindness to every wayfarer who happened to stroll across their plantations. Real southerners at the time I was growing up were more apt to be raging crackers and hillbillies who fought integration and prayed to a white male God who smiled kindly on the likes of Bull Connor, Orville Faubus, George Wallace, and Lester Maddox. They bombed black churches, murdered civil rights workers, and overtly supported the likes of the Ku Klux Klan and other hate groups.

But that was decades ago. Integration happened. The South slowly progressed into the American mainstream. Witness Atlanta, for example, a fairly liberal and progressive city that is leading the South into the twenty-first century. All of that ignorant cracker and hillbilly stuff is history - it's a New South.

Or is it?

Representative Joe Wilson, a Republican of South Carolina, showed his class and his ass tonight at the President's speech before Congress when he felt obliged to yell out "You lie!" at one point during the speech. He was, of course, playing to his voters back home - people who would appreciate name-calling and rudeness - ignorant crackers and hillbillies. Good job, Rep. Wilson. You may be the fool nationally, but the good ole boys back home are gonna love that shit. What a great sound bite for your next election! You really told that uppity colored boy a thing or two - by God!

Kudos to my senator, John McCain, for calling the fool, Joe Wilson, out on his bad behavior.

Update: I just heard Rachel Maddow say that Congressman Joe Wilson has issued a written apology to President Obama. So, in the words of the immortal Miss Emily Litella, "Never mind!"

(But I still think the slimeball will use the sound bite in his reelection campaign!)

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

American Soldier Dies for Health Care Coverage

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist


Army Specialist Gregory James Missman died of war wounds suffered in Afghanistan. He had been in the war zone only five short weeks when he was killed by the explosion of an improvised explosive device (IED) on July 8th of this year. SPC Missman was thirty-six-years old. He was survived by his four-year-old son, Jack, a sister, and his parents.

SPC Missman had served in the United States Army eleven years earlier. When he completed his three-year tour he got out and found work as a computer consultant. Earlier this year he was laid off from that position and lost health care coverage for himself and his son. He eventually made a fateful decision to go back into the military so that his son would have health insurance.

Little Jack Missman will now be covered by the Army's health care (Tri-Care) until he reaches the age of majority. He told reporters, "Dad was a strong soldier. He loved us. We loved him."

The moral of this story is, of course, that any boy or girl in America can have health insurance - if they have a parent who is fit enough to get into the military, and willing to die for it!

Surely that premium is too high!

Monday, September 7, 2009

Monday's Poetry: "The Square Root of Three"

by Pa Rock
Poetry Appreciator

This week's selection falls under the general heading of cult poetry. It was featured in the movie Harold and Kumar Escape from Guantanamo, which is easily the second best Harold and Kumar movie ever made. There is a scene near the end of the movie where Kumar (Kal Penn) is breaking up his ex-girlfriend's wedding (a la Dustin Hoffman in The Graduate and Bruce Willis in Blind Date), when the bride suddenly turns to him and complains that he never does anything spontaneous, or lame, or whatever. Kumar immediately rises to the challenge and begins stepping over furniture while reciting this poem - a poem that he was supposedly writing the day they first met in the university library, just minutes before they had sex in the university library. How sweet is that?

The Square Root of Three
by David Feinberg

I'm sure that I will always be
A lonely number like root three

The three is all that's good and right,
Why must my three keep out of sight
Beneath the vicious square root sign,
I wish instead I were a nine

For nine could thwart this evil trick,
with just some quick arithmetic

I know I'll never see the sun, as 1.7321
Such is my reality, a sad irrationality

When hark! What is this I see,
Another square root of three

As quietly co-waltzing by,
Together now we multiply
To form a number we prefer,
Rejoicing as an integer

We break free from our mortal bonds
With the wave of magic wands

Our square root signs become unglued
Your love for me has been renewed

Kumar's recitation of this poem is the high point of the movie. He never misses a beat or a syllable as he climbs over furniture and steadily closes the distance between himself and his lady love. It is a very touching scene, one that even surpasses the bong-smoking incident in the airplane restroom, and the duo's inadvertent parachuting into George Bush's Crawford ranch house.

They just don't write movies like that anymore! And the poem ain't bad either!

Adios, Nueva Noel!

by Pa Rock
Flying Fool

Tiffany Burke, my niece, will be here in thirty minutes to collect me and my baggage and drive the whole mess to the airport. She is my sweetest relative and is definitely in line to inherit my cat, Scroungy Bastard, if she can catch him! Tiffany is such a sweetie that he will probably curl right up in her lap and act civilized!

An interesting thing happened last night. I went to town to grab a sandwich at the local quickie mart. While I was perusing the contents of the sandwich cooler, I noticed the lady at the counter who was waiting on another customer, but paid her no never mind because I was focused on food. When she finished with her customer and turned to help me, she came out with a big "Well, hello stranger!" Much to my surprise and delight, I discovered that the person working the counter was Wife #2, Carol - the massage therapist. We chatted briefly about ourselves and the state of the town, but really didn't have much to say. Carol and I were married for six months about fifteen years ago. Tempus fugit!

Must get packing! Will post Monday's Poetry later tonight from Arizona.

Sunday, September 6, 2009

Old Friends...Sit on Their Park Bench Like Bookends

by Pa Rock
Native Son

This morning after breakfast at my Dad's favorite cafe, we drove into Southwest City and visited with my former brother-in-law, Bob Smith. Bob's mother, Lucy Smith, passed away last month. She had been a lifelong resident of the Southwest City area, and worked fifty years there at the Cornerstone Bank. They are auctioning off Lucy's estate tomorrow (Labor Day), and there should be a million or so people crowed into the yard and house. (Well, maybe not quite that many, but Lucy had lots and lots of nice things, and she knew everyone for miles around - so it will be especially crowded.)

This afternoon I have made the rounds checking in on old friends, a pleasurable and treasurable experience. My first stop was at the Noel Housing Authority to visit Mollie Carroll, one of the dearest people in the world. Mollie graduated from Noel High School a few years before me, and then headed off to New York City where she spent over three decades teaching in Catholic schools and living on the fringe of the theatre community. Her background is in English and drama, but she can speak for hours on literally any topic and do it well. She is one of the singularly most knowledgeable and caring people whom I have ever known. Mollie told me that she is working on a novel - and who better to write one!

Stop number two was to spend some time with Mertie Harmon and her housemate, George McGee. Mertie is my Dad's age, the mother of one of my classmates, and a very cherished family friend. She caught me up on more local news, and I shared stories about my children and my old girlfriend, Susan. When Susan and I lived in Noel years ago, she and Tim and I would often play cards with Mertie and George. Mertie is very alert and seemed to be well and happy. George is frail and on oxygen, but also very alert and talkative. It was good to catch up with both of them.

The third stop of the afternoon was to visit with James and Patti Carroll. James and I have been close friends since junior high school, and I have known Patti (Gough) almost that long. James works for the local post office as a mail carrier, and Patti has been a fixture at the local Methodist Day Care center for many years. Both have quietly evolved into family caretakers, carrying the weight of dealing with siblings and parents as they get older and are no longer able to care for themselves. James and Patti have two sons. Anthony lives in Springfield, MO, and manages a nice restaurant, and Ryan has been teaching in China for several years.

Tonight I may catch up with Brenda Cates Kilby, a former classmate of my sister's who has remained in this area and managed to navigate past its shortcomings. She has been a college professor, newspaper reporter, and world traveler. Brenda writes a couple of blogs and occasionally posts comments to things in the Ramble. She has a unique perspective on the world and is a very good person.

My niece, Tiffany Burke, will be here at noon tomorrow to take me to Highfill International - and my brief vacation will be at an end. I know that Scroungy Bastard will be glad to see me back in Arizona. He has had to spend the past couple of days panhandling - but, hey, he was panhandling when I met him - and he's very good at it!

Saturday, September 5, 2009

A Nice Day for a Mow!

by Pa Rock
Happy Camper

My sister, Gail Macy, and her daughter and granddaughter, Tiffany Burke and little Brieanna Macy Burke (we call her "Brie") came by Dad's house this morning and he took us all to breakfast at a place that he likes near Southwest City. The food was excellent! Brie is such a pretty baby! She was passed around quite a bit and never fussed - and she has the happiest little smile!

Gail had gastric bypass surgery a couple of months ago. She has lost forty pounds so far, and her diabetes completely disappeared!

Tim and I mowed the farm (Rock's Roost) this afternoon. The poor little farm is empty and looks so neglected. But a good mow restored some of its happy face. I had trouble mowing out next to the road - Old Pine Trail - because my old neighbors kept stopping by the talk. But I really did enjoy catching up on all of their news. The house across the road had been gutted by fire and has looked awful for several years, but neighbors Kevin and Ellen Arnold have bought it and fixed it up. It looks so much better! Apparently their son, Chris, will be moving in there with his lady. Times change so fast - I am remembering little Chris racing up and down Old Pine Trail on his small scooter. Now he is twenty-one and doing electrical work with his dad.

Tim started doing a task for me today that I have been after him to do for a long time. He is interviewing my dad - on tape - about his life experiences. I stayed out of the way. I would like to for it to be done from his and the grandkids perspectives.

Tonight Tim and I are off to a movie - or a bookstore - and then he is driving back to Kansas City late. He likes to drive at night. It has been great fun being around him for these two days. (Nick, my oldest son, and his son, Boone, were supposed to have joined us here, but Nick has the flu. Nick, Boone, and Tim will be coming to Phoenix next month for a couple of days - so we will catch up then,)

I expanded yesterday's blog a little while ago - check it out.

Friday, September 4, 2009

The Terrorists Won

by Pa Rock
Social Commentator

The War on Terrorism ended when the United States lost its focus, quit worrying about Osama bin Laden - the man who plotted the attack on our country - and went charging off into Iraq to fight an unrelated war for oil. When our government made the inexplicable decision to pump our troops and our treasury into a global war with no defined objectives except to remove a leader who had been a personal embarrassment to our leader's father, the terrorists had won. Suddenly we were not out to right a monstrous wrong, we were invading and occupying a country that had not been involved in the attack on the World Trade Center.

Remember George Bush deliberately lying to America about Saddam Hussein hiding weapons of mas destruction in Iraq? That was the premise for the unnecessary war on Iraq and the expanded "Global War on Terror." The weapons, of course weren't there, but Bush and his enablers needed for us to think they were. Bush was very fond of comparing his mean-spirited oil war to World War II, and he wanted the country to be completely senseless with patriotic fervor.

Valerie Plame, a CIA operative (spy) sent her husband, Joe Wilson, a former ambassador with impeccable credentials, to Africa to check out the administration's claims that Niger was sending materials (yellow cake uranium) to Iraq to help make nuclear weapons. He came back and reported publicly (because Bush and company didn't want to hear it) that those claims were false. The response from the Bush team - specifically Vice President Cheney - was to leak the fact to the press that Ms. Plame was a spy for the CIA, effectively ending her spying career. If you, or I, or any other ordinary citizen had outed a U.S. spy, the crime would be treason, and the punishment could be death. But for Darth Vader...er...uh...Dick Cheney, it was just another day at the office. We lost the war to the terrorists when a functioning CIA operative was made useless due to Dick Cheney's petty revenge - you betcha we did!

The war was no longer about terrorism when our nation, the greatest national bastion of democracy and democratic principles on the planet, sent the murderous thugs of Blackwater into Iraq and told them to do whatever they damned well pleased. That scary outfit, under the direction of their wealthy and politically connected Christian fundamentalist leader, Erik Prince, apparently was fighting a religious jihad with a goal of eliminating Muslims from the face of the earth - a goal that fit in fine with the world view of Bush and Cheney. When Blackwater was loosed on the Middle East with the funding and official blessing of the United States government, the terrorists had won.

When young, naive, American servicemen and women at Abu Grahib Prison spent weeks and months humiliating Muslim prisoners by making them strip naked and endure inhumane humiliations, with at least tacit approval of their superiors, we as a nation had definitely lost, and the terrorists had won.

The terrorists won when we began waterboarding prisoners and practicing tortures that were expressly prohibited by the Geneva Convention. We had given up the high moral ground and taken up residence in the gutter - a very poor location from which to wage a war. And now, when our troops are captured (God forbid), they are likely to be tortured in the same manner thanks to the old schoolyard adage - "He did it first!"

When America began to turn away from its own Constitution and ignore basic American values like the right to a fair and speedy trail - or any trial at all for that matter, the terrorists had won.

When our politicians began to feel they could they control elections through raising and lowering the color levels of the national terrorist alert systen, the terrorists had won because their actions resulted in us being the simplest of pawns to these shameless political hacks. When we have to take off our shoes at the airports and make sure that we have the proper amounts of toothpaste and deodorant stored in the proper sized sandwich bag - who has won? The terrorist have won!

And now we are fighting two wars, wars that show signs of never ending, and paying for them with our children's and grandchildren's future - and by passing that burden along, the terrorists have defeated our kids and grandkids as well as ourselves.

It is well past time to start refocusing on our true strengths and American values - things like liberty and justice for all, compassion and caring for the needy, universal education, affordable health care that is available to everyone, religious tolerance, and basic human rights - and it is also well past time to quit dancing to the terrorists' tune and letting them define us. We have a far better face than the one we have been showing to the world for the last several years. We aren't Blackwater, we aren't racist or homophobic morons, we aren't religious extremists - we are Americans, plain and proud. Let's start to act like the good people we are!

Thursday, September 3, 2009

Ozarks Getaway

by Pa Rock
Native Son

Early tomorrow morning I will board a jet plane and head for the hills - the beautiful Ozarks of southwest Missouri. I will be going home to Noel, MO, to visit with my dad and see how he is doing. My sons and oldest grandson will also be there, so it should be a very nice four-day weekend.

Some of my trip will focus on checking out my small farm on Old Pine Trail. It is sadly vacant (I refuse to rent my green haven), so I will have to knock down the cobwebs and give the place a good mow. My little farm, aptly named Rock's Roost, is the most serene spot in the Ozarks, and I miss it terribly - especially every time I step outside here in Aridzona and into the bowels of hell!

Noel has several claims to fame. It is nestled along the Elk River, the first floatable river south of Kansas City. There is only one decent motel with just fifteen or so rooms, but the area abounds in nice campgrounds that will put you in a canoe or kayak at a very affordable rate for a day of floating down the river. It's a wonderful way to enjoy the summer weekends.

Noel was the home to a Hollywood crew and cast in 1939 when Henry Fonda, Tyrone Power, and Nancy Kelly all called the little town their temporary home while the movie, Jesse James, was filmed in various locations throughout McDonald County.

Kate Smith, the singer, formed an attachment to the small town in the 1940's after several residents got together and sent her a very large birthday cake. She talked about Noel on her radio program several times after that. In 1969 some boxcars filled with fertilizer on a Kansas City Southern train exploded one hot August night and nearly leveled the town. One person was killed, and several others were severely maimed.

And then there were the escaped convicts from Kansas who hopped a freight train in the early 1980's and decided to hop off when they got to Noel. They played cat-and-mouse with several law enforcement agencies throughout the town and its rustic environs for several days before finally being captured in a boxcar of another train as they were ending their Ozark vacation!

I'm anxious to get home - as if you can't tell!

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

The Politics of Bacon

by Pa Rock
Political Satirist

If the modern Republican Party was a farm animal, it would be a big, mean, stark-raving-mad hog determined to eat every morsel of slop that the farmer's wife throws in the trough - especially if doing so would deprive the other farm animals of the means to survive. The hog wants it all - and piss on those other animals because they're just looking for handouts!

The hog would be white - very, very white. It might associate with a few hogs of color, but that would just be for show - so the hog could point with pride at its tolerance as it sought to strengthen its political influence around the farm. The hog would be the great white hog, and it would be damned proud of it. And the hog would speak Hog only, and if the cows and chickens wanted to have any influence on the farm, they had better learn to speak Hog!

Oh, it would be a pious hog, claiming to own the entire concept of Christianity and ready to quote those passages of the Bible that promote greed and hatred, but conveniently overlooking the words of the man after whom the religion was named. The hog would squeal and yell and out-shout anyone who dared to have a differing point of view, and it would tell lies with less effort than some of the other animals would use in breathing. When the hog finally quit squealing, it would once again become pious - and it would light up a big cigar!

It would be a tough hog, armed to the teeth with pistols, rifles, automatic weapons, bazookas, ground-to-air missiles, and whatever else was needed to protect its spot at the trough. The gun-toting hog would have an American flag pinned to its snout and a "God hates fags" bumper sticker stuck to its butt.

The hog would be in a constant state of arousal, quickly mounting anything or anyone who happened by - House pages, Argentine vamps, strangers in public restrooms, other farm animals (or their wives), any pig in the pen, and the odd goat. After the hog had its sexual desires sated, it would stand ready to expose and ridicule the most mundane and private sexual practices of every other animal on the farm.

The hog would be horny and hypocritical, mean and dangerous, loud and offensive, pious and sanctimonious, and very ego-centric and racist. But more than anything else, the hog would be greedy because it is, after all, a hog. It would oppose anything that would benefit any other animal, whether it deprived the hog of anything or not. If the hog had a motto, it would be "I got mine - screw you!"

Today the hog is going for a ride in the bed of the farmer's pick-up. The hog is smug because it knows it's headed to the vet to get its shots. The hog doesn't have to pay anything for its health care because the farmer takes care of that. It's not the hog's fault if the other animals can't be seen by the vet because the farmer is so poor. He's just a farmer, after all, and he must give his resources to the animal that matters the most - the hog. If the farmer needed money, maybe he could butcher the cow. The hog would like to have more red meat in its diet!

But wait! The truck is headed down the wrong road. "Go right, Mr. Farmer!" The hog squeals to no avail. "The vet's office is off to the right!" Then a sign comes into view, and the hog is reassured. It can't read, of course, (it was always too busy eating to indulge in any of that intellectual stuff), so it assumes that the sign is directing the farmer to a new vet. The hog - fat, dumb, and happy - slips into a peaceful slumber as it bounces along in the summer sun. The hog is truly content.

The farmer is feeling pretty good himself, knowing there will be plenty of ham for the holidays and fresh sausage for breakfast every morning. And he will finally be able to get caught up on the vet's bill! He smiles to himself as he passes the sign that reads: "Slaughterhouse Dead Ahead."

The farm is a cooperative effort. Those who can't plant or harvest the crops, clean house, do chores, pull the hay wagon, guard the place, catch mice, produce milk, or lay eggs - wind up in the freezer.

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

Welcoming a New World Leader - the American Way!

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

This week the people of Japan turned their back on the tired old concept of one-party, conservative rule, and ushered in a new era by electing a progressive as Prime Minister. The vote to oust the ruling party in the Japanese Diet was surprisingly lopsided. In an effort to share our recently acquired knowledge of how to handle the response to a "surprise" leader, the Daily Kos (www.dailykos.com) today polled its readers with the following question:

What should opponents of new progressive Japanese Prime Minister Yukio Hatoyama do first when he takes office?

The Daily Kos then offered the following sample answers from which its readers could select their favorite. The responses and vote totals as of 4:30 p.m. (Arizona time) today follow:

Challenge the validity of his birth certificate: 711 votes (15%)

Equate him with Hitler: 252 votes (5%)

Threaten to secede: 220 votes (5%)

Mock him for reading from a TelePrompter: 60 votes (1%)

Accuse him of wanting to form death panels: 67 votes (1%)

Label him a racist: 176 votes (4%)

Proclaim that they hope he fails: 243 votes (5%)

Stand around and say NO! all day: 445 votes (9%)

Stock up on guns and ammunition: 277 votes (6%)

Gosh, I just can't decide: 2,241 votes (48%)

All of that, of course, is sound advice, because nobody wants the new Japanese Prime Minister to get too uppity. Those people who aren't one of us have to be shown their place and made to stay there.

I did think of a couple of good responses that the Daily Kos missed, though. How about - Criticize his wife for the way she dresses - and, attend a church where the pastor prays for his death.

There, now that should cover it!

Monday, August 31, 2009

Monday's Poetry: "The Telegraph Operator"

by Pa Rock
Poetry Appreciator

The heartache and excitement of the Alaskan gold rush of 1898 lives on today in the works of two remarkable writers. Jack London gave us an intimate look at the lives of the "sourdoughs" through his dog books like White Fang and The Call of the Wild. And who can forget his short tale of man's attempt to survive the elements in To Build a Fire?

While London chose to tell his tales of the far north in prose, Robert W. Service chronicled the same period in poetry - massive amounts of poetry describing the characters and calamities of the gold rush in poems that were tough, gritty, sometimes comedic, always insightful, and a joy to read.

I have two large volumes of Service's work, so choosing a representative poem of his was a difficult task. I finally settled on The Telegraph Operator, a tale of a working man destined to spend months by himself in an Alaskan winter. Bundle up - because you're about to get cold!

The Telegraph Operator
by Robert W. Service

I will not wash my face;
I will not brush my hair;
I "pig" around the place -
There's nobody to care.
Nothing but rock and tree;
Nothing but wood and stone,
Oh, God, it's hell to be
Alone, alone, alone!

Snow-peaks and deep-gashed draws
Corral me in a ring.
I feel as if I was
The only living thing
On all this blighted earth;
And so I frowst and shrink,
And crouching by my hearth
I hear the thoughts I think.

I think of all I miss -
The boys I used to know;
The girls I used to kiss;
The coin I used to blow;
The bars I used to haunt;
The racket and the row;
The beers I didn't want
(I wish I had 'em now).

Day after day the same,
Only a little worse;
No one to grouch or blame -
Oh, for a loving curse!
Oh, in the night I fear,
Haunted by nameless things,
Just for a voice to cheer,
Just for a hand that clings!

Faintly as from a star
Voices come o'er the line;
Voices of ghosts afar,
Not in this world of mine;
Lives in whose loom I grope;
Words in whose weft I hear
Eager the thrill of hope,
Awful the chill of fear.

I'm thinking out aloud;
I reckon that is bad;
(The snow is like a shroud) -
Maybe I'm going mad.
Say! wouldn't that be tough?
This awful hush that hugs
And chokes one is enough
To make a man go "bugs."

There's not a thing to do;
I cannot sleep at night;
No wonder I'm so blue;
Oh, for a friendly fight!
The din and rush of strife;
A music-hall aglow;
A crowd, a city, life -
Dear God, I miss it so!

Here, you have moped enough!
Brace up and play the game!
But say, it's awful tough -
Day after day the same
(I've said that twice, I bet).
Well, there's not much to say.
I wish I had a pet,
Or something I could play.

Cheer up! don't get so glum
And sick of everything.
The worst is yet to come;
God help you till the Spring.
God shield you from the Fear;
Teach you to laugh, not moan.
Ha! ha! It sounds so queer -
Alone, alone, alone!

Brrr!

For those who would like a bit of comedy mixed in with savage winter, might I suggest The Cremation of Sam McGee, also by Robert W. Service. And for those who would like to sample the talents of Jack London, sans the dogs, I enthusiastically recommend The Iron Heel (I've read it twice - and will again!), and People of the Abyss. Both may challenge your notions of a just society.

Sunday, August 30, 2009

It's Not What You Know, It's Who...

by Pa Rock
Social Commentator

NBC announced this weekend that they have hired Jenna Bush Hager, one of George W's twin daughters,to do news stories for the Today Show. Apparently the 27-year-old school teacher from Baltimore will do one or two news stories a month, most probably with a focus on education.

And why not? She's young, attractive, and supposedly can string sentences together in a coherent manner - a skill that continuously evaded her father. Of course, Ms. Bush Hager didn't go to journalism school and has nothing that distinguishes her from more than one million other American teachers, many of whom have been working in the field far longer and have a broader understanding of the challenges and issues facing education in this day of shrinking state budgets.

But I say good for Jenna. She reportedly did not go begging for this prestigious gig, but was approached by NBC. Officials with the network were almost too quick to point out that this job was not offered with the prospect of lining up a future interview with her father. The network also said that she will not be doing any political stories - at least for the time being.

Jenna is not the first political child to swing into the limelight on daddy's coattails. Margaret Truman launched a singing career from the White House, and years later used her famous name to get started as a mystery writer. Elliott Roosevelt took a page from Margaret Truman Daniel and wrote a series of mysteries in which his First Lady mother, Eleanor Roosevelt, was the detective. Fun stuff all - except possibly for Margaret's singing!

When Elvis died in 1977, Rolling Stone dispatched a singularly unqualified 19-year-old Caroline Kennedy to Memphis to cover the funeral - and she issued a very professional account of the event. Caroline's cousin, Maria Shriver, took a slower and more professional approach to becoming a journalist. She earned her chops in the broadcast news business by beginning at a local television station in Philadelphia, and then worked her way through the system and eventually became a national correspondent for NBC.

Jenna, do your best and enjoy the privileges that life has heaped upon you. Hiring you was a corporate decision by nameless men and women in business suits who know what is good for America. Don't give a second thought to all of the qualified and talented journalism students who can't find work, or all of the experienced teachers who have a much broader and deeper understanding of education in America than you could possibly comprehend with your rarefied background. It's not your fault that you got a job that should have, by rights, gone to any one of the other thousands of better qualified candidates.

Your new job at NBC speaks well for you - and it says volumes about NBC!

Saturday, August 29, 2009

Nights at the Edgewood Drive-In

by Pa Rock
Shameless Reminiscer

There was a time in America when the term drive-in referred to an outdoor setting where people went on warm nights to park in a field, hang a speaker on their car window, and watch movies on a giant screen. Often there was a playground for the kiddos up under the large screen, and a snack shack that served a full menu of popcorn, cold drinks, hot dogs, and other movie fare. Drive-in theatres are mostly a thing of the past now, with the occasional holdout that manages to stay open more as a curiosity than anything else.

The drive-in theatre of my youth was the Edgewood, located on busy Highway 71 just south of Neosho, Missouri. From the highway it appeared to be a fine old southern plantation mansion with a two story white facade framed by magnificent white columns. The owners of the Edgewood liked to brag that it was the most beautiful drive-in in America, and my mother would note, with a sense of pride, that she had traveled to many places and never seen one that was any nicer.

When I was very young my parents owned a truck stop in Goodman, MO, with my mother's sister, Christine, and her husband, Bob Dobbs. My mother and aunt ran the restaurant while my dad and uncle managed the gas station and garage. It was the kids' job - me, my sister, and our two cousins - to stay out of the way. We played hard!

It was the 1950's. Many people had television, but it had yet to reach out and control our lives. The age of wonderful radio programs was just coming to an end. Movies were the most popular form of escapism at that moment in history. Neosho, just ten miles up the road, had the closest movie theatres. The same family owned them both - the indoor Orpheum for winter viewing, and the Edgewood for outdoor viewing during the late spring, summer, and early fall. It was always a very big deal when the drive-in opened for the season.

Drive-in's originally charged by the car, regardless of how many people were crammed into the vehicle. Each car only took up one space and used one speaker, and the more people - the more refreshment sales. Toward the end of the era, many started charging on a per person basis - causing legions of flexible youth to enter the premises in the trunk of a car, and hoping, of course, that once they were past the gate their friends would let them out!

A typical night at the Edgewood consisted of a cartoon and two or three movies, separated by intermissions where everyone ran to the restrooms and snack shack, and the kids headed to the playground. The Edgewood playground was surrounded by very large plywood cutouts of Disney and other cartoon characters. It housed several swings, slides, teeter-totters, and a merry-go-round that the big kids kept running wickedly fast!

A nice thing about drive-ins back in the day was that the management didn't go nuts if you brought in your own food. My mother would have the cooks at the cafe pack us an evening meal to eat in the car while we watched the movies. One night she couldn't decide what type of sandwich she wanted, and told to cook to just surprise her. She was surprised alright when she bit into her sandwich later that night and discovered that it was a potholder slathered in mayonnaise between two slices of bread. From then on whenever anyone mentioned Florine's surprise sandwich, everyone in town knew how it was made!

Drive-ins began to disappear in the 1960's as the concept of daylight savings time came into vogue and caused the sun to stay out longer. (The shows couldn't be seen on the screen until after dark.) I remember going to the Edgewood on August 5th, 1962, with my sister and mother. I know the exact date because when we returned home we learned that Marilyn Monroe had died that day. The very last time that I can remember going to the Edgewood was in sometime in 1969, and I suspect that may have been its final season. I was home from college and a group of friends and I were there to watch Goldie Hawn in Cactus Flower. Actually we were there to visit and drink beer, but Cactus Flower was a nice diversion.

The Edgewood has been closed for decades, and the fine old plantation mansion facade was bulldozed many years ago in the name of progress. Today the site is occupied by a business that sells cattle trailers. But I can't drive down that stretch of highway without fondly remembering the place that was such an important fixture of my youth.

I doubt that drive-ins will ever make a comeback because there are so many other diversions available in modern life. But those of us who wax nostalgic for the good old days still have the option of parking in a field and watching movies on our iPods!

No, no, they can't take that away from me!

Friday, August 28, 2009

Multi-Tasking Behind the Wheel

by Pa Rock
Social Commentator

It's a sign of the times that we hate to waste time. Today with the Internet, cellphones, and gadgets whose purposes and abilities are well beyond my ken, we no longer have to "waste" time while standing in line, roaming the grocery store aisles, or driving. Now we can multi-task - get several things done at once.

I'm guilty of eating while driving, something that is stupid and dangerous. I also usually call my Dad every evening as I am driving home. I have things to do once I get home, so I use that driving time to take care of my obligatory daily check on him. And when I take time to study the drivers around me I see similar behaviors. Some people even use their time behind the wheel to handle personal hygiene such as shaving, hair styling, and applying make-up. It is such a comfort to know that everyone else is behaving just as irresponsibly as I am!

I read a story in the New York Times that said that studies show that "talking on a cellphone while driving is as risky as driving with a .08 blood alcohol level - generally the standard for drunken driving." Most military bases outlawed talking on the phone while driving years ago, though it is still allowed on the air base where I work if the driver is using a "hands-free" set.

The article that I referenced in today's New York Times ("Not Driving Drunk, but Texting? Utah Law Sees Little Difference") focused on the latest communication fad - at least the latest one of which I am aware - texting. It stated that texting while driving is at least twice as dangerous as using the cellphone while driving.

The focus of the Times article was on Reggie Shaw, a 19-year-old in Utah, who drove into the path of two scientists who were heading to work, an accident that resulted in the death of the scientists. Reggie was texting his girlfriend at the time of the fatal crash. He was eventually sentenced to 30 days in jail, 200 hours of community service, and a requirement that he read Les Miserables to learn how to make a meaningful contribution to society.

Utah has recently passed stringent legislation regarding texting behind the wheel. Now if a person is caught texting while driving in Utah, they can be fined up to $750 dollars and receive up to three months in jail. If the behavior results in injury or death, the fine can rise to $10,000 and the prison time can be as much as 15 years. And many other states are also taking up this issue in their state legislatures.

If I hurt or kill myself due to my own stupid behavior, that's one thing. But if I injure or kill someone else, I have then become a menace to society and deserve whatever punishment the government sees fit to mete out. Starting now, my Dad is going to have to wait a few extra minutes each day to here from me. I have an obligation as a member of society to behave in a responsible manner. We all do.