Monday, May 29, 2006
Are we right to do the things we do? History will be the judge. This I know; someone has to do something and we are alone atop the mountain. I choose to believe that America is a good and honorable place full of people that care about their neighbors. I don't believe every soldier serves with honor, but most do. What we have here can't be found anywhere else in the world, and it's because of folks giving the final measure.
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Sunday, May 14, 2006
I too have addictions, some I have beaten, and some I embrace. Now you know why I will never run for public office. Pat Kennedy can come over and hang out at my house any time he wants.....as long as he doesn't bring Swimmer. My boat with Swimmer on it, and 50,000 acres of water would be too much temptation.
Monday, May 08, 2006
This may be the last on this topic. I hope so cause I'm tired of talking about it. I see nobody tried to answer the question I put forth in the last post. Here are the answers, yes there are more then one. (drum roll please) The Lottery, and various sin taxes. In my view, if you want to see a real racist, (white ones) look at the politicians that give us the Lottery in so many states. Rich people do not as a rule play the games, and if they do, they don't spend much. They know the odds are so very bad. Better to spend the money in Vegas. Odds are better, drinks are free, and the hookers regulated. Poor people on the other hand throw huge sums at the games in the hopes of hitting it. Blacks as a rule are poorer then whites, and with the exception of my ex, and a few others spend more. Yep, that's right, Blacks support the Lottery in droves, and with real money. It's a tax on you people! I have told them by the hundreds but they don't get it. "I'm gonna be rich!" Yeah right! If my mom had wheels she'd be a wagon. I make a living in the under fifty bracket. My body is slowly failing me, and I know I will never make it to retirement age in my current career. Time is short, and I don't make a lot. You can bet your butt I don't waste much on the Lottery. Since my divorce I've been able to put away a lil bit of money for a rainy day. I've made that money grow at around 12% a year by taking care of my own investments. Yeah, I'm good! I work at it. I do all of this on twenty bucks a week! I watch some of the people in the hood invest fifty to eighty bucks a week on powerball. My god if I had access to that much money I'd be retired by now. Wanna know where the twenty came from? I quit smoking. Hardest damn thing I've ever done. I stopped paying the .50 a pack tax on my two pack a day habit. I'm not so sure the sin tax affects Blacks at a higher rate then whites, but it affects them none the less. Why do I think the Lottery is a racist institution? Because I believe more money at least in percentage comes from blacks, and like me and my cigs, I don't think they can stop. It took me twenty years and a lot of help at home. I think of my friend Thomas the bum. It might be wrong, but every once in a while I'll buy him a beer to go with a meal. I know he can't stop and he never asks anymore. It's a dignity thing I can't explain. He chuckles at the Lotto players, and counts his blessings however few they are. That kind of money would kill him. He says some are better off spending it on the games.
Saturday, May 06, 2006
As luck would have it, I find myself in traffic a lot these days. It is springtime here in the south so we have our windows down, and air off for now. I am forced to listen to the black folks and their rap music at a loud and obnoxious rate. I could respond with Butt hole surfers, or Metalica, or any of a bunch of white guy bands. I'm a mechanic. If I want 5,000 watts of sound per channel I can do that! I can deafen the pope from here if I choose! I don't! I try to keep my sounds in the car with me. If I really wanna hear it loud, I roll up the windows. I have a young friend with a loud as hell rock band that does the same thing. He says "I might not be your thing." He also removes his hat for the blessing, and leaves it off for the meal. I wonder about the word Nigger! Why if it is so offensive, do I hear it about every other word in a black persons car? I got a story for you pal.... If it's good for the goose it's good for the gander. I hate the stereotypical nigger, hate em with a passion. I don't however hate black people as a rule. I've had a few friends that were black living in my home when times were tough. I know they have my back, as I've had theirs. Good and decent people have no color. I met the wife downtown a week or two ago for lunch. We were driving through the ghetto when we stopped at a light. A black man pulled up next to us in a newer Impala with the words fuck and nigger and kill coming out of the car. I looked over at him; guess I pissed him off because he turned it up from loud as hell to earthquake! He then proceeded to sing the song at me while hanging out the window. You caught me on a generous day, I didn't spit at you. I could write a book about how to better get along with white or any one else but it would be lost in translation. Here is a question for you. How do you get a black man...or woman to pay more in taxes without bitching? The answer will be in another post, and it might surprise you.
Friday, May 05, 2006
I received another compliment today regarding the piece I wrote about my late boss. It seems Mike has shared it with some of our customers. (those that knew him) I also received a letter from Bob's older sister. It seems my words moved her. Hers in turn moved me. It got me to thinking about the power of words, and how one chooses to use them. I do make an attempt to correct my spelling, and grammar but I won't go out of my way. I feel that to make no effort is being slack, while having an editor goes to far the other way. (yes I have an editor) As a rule, I don't work on a post for more then it takes me to write it. This is sometimes a bad thing because I could surely do better, but then I'd be writing to you and not for me. The reason I started this blog was to give friends a place to go. A chatroom of sorts. I never intended to write anything for anyone else to read, except maybe "New post". Mike H beat me to the punch, and I had this blog sitting here doing nothing so I put a few thoughts down. It has led to this. I started about a year ago and have over 80 posts. Sometimes I say something that gets a lot of comments and sometimes no one says a word. Yep I've had 70 and 0 and everything in-between. Sometimes I think I've said something profound, and you didn't! Sometimes I think I wrote a bunch of garbage, and you didn't. Words are funny that way. It's like trying to wield a sword when you really don't know how. Sometimes I cut what I want, and sometimes I cut ME! Looking back on all of the posts and comments I'm reminded of a favorite movie; The Breakfast Club. No we aint all gonna get along and probably shouldn't, but what a ride! Back to the words.... I don't believe that I need to hurt someone to expose the truth, nor should I yell, or gloat. I've had some that wonder why I let this or that person comment, or why didn't you apply more force to that one, and on. I tell you this..... A stump is a stump. We all know that, but what we don't all know is that the stump knows it too! My heartfelt thanks to each and every one of you. During the last year you were sometimes all I had.
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
The sun beat like a hammer, not a cloud was in the sky.The mid-day air ran thick with dust, my throat was parched and dry.With microphone clutched tight in hand and cameraman in tow,I ducked beneath a fallen roof, surprised to hear, "Stay low."My eyes blinked several times before in shadow I could see,The figure stretched across the rubble, steps away from me.He wore a cloak of burlap strips, all shades of grey and brown,That hung in tatters till he seemed to melt into the ground.He never turned his head or took his eye from off the scope,But pointed through the broken wall and down the rocky slope."About eight hundred yards," he said, his whispered words concise,Beneath the baggy jacket he is wearing a device.A chill ran up my spine despite the swelter of the heat,"You think he's gonna set it off along the crowded street?"The sniper gave a weary sigh and said, "I wouldn't doubt it,""Unless there's something this old gun and I can do about it."A thunderclap, a tongue of flame, the still abruptly shattered;While citizens that walked the street were just as quickly scattered.Till only one remained, a body crumpled on the ground,The threat to oh, so many ended by a single round.And yet the sniper had no cheer, no hint of any gloat,Instead he pulled a logbook out and quietly he wrote."Hey, I could put you on TV, that shot was quite a story!"But he surprised me once again -- "I got no wish for glory.""Are you for real?" I asked in awe, "You don't want fame or credit?"He looked at me with saddened eyes and said, "You just don't get it.You see that shot-up length of wall, the one without a door?Before a mortar hit, it used to be a grocery store."But don't go thinking that to bomb a store is all that cruel,The rubble just across the street -- it used to be a school.The little kids played soccer in the field out by the road."His head hung low, "They never thought a car would just explode."As bad as all this is though, it could be a whole lot worse."He swallowed hard, the words came from his mouth just like a curse."Today the fight's on foreign land, on streets that aren't my own,""I'm here today 'cause if I fail, the next fight's back at home.""And I won't let my Safeway burn, my neighbors dead inside,Don't wanna get a call from school that says my daughter died;I pray that not a one of them will know the things I see,Nor have the work of terrorists etched in their memory.""So you can keep your trophies and your fleeting bit of fame,I don't care if I make the news, or if they speak my name."He glanced toward the camera and his brow began to knot,"If you're looking for a story, why not give this one a shot.""Just tell the truth of what you see, without the slant or spin;That most of us are OK and we're coming home again.And why not tell our folks back home about the good we've done,How when they see Americans, the kids come at a run.""You tell 'em what it means to folks here just to speak their mind,Without the fear that tyranny is just a step behind;Describe the desert miles they walk in their first chance to vote,Or ask a soldier if he's proud, I'm sure you'll get a quote."He turned and slid the rifle in a drag bag thickly padded,Then looked again with eyes of steel as quietly he added;"And maybe just remind the few, if ill of us they speak,That we are all that stands between the monsters and the weak."Michael MarksSomewhere in IraqJanuary 25, 2006