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 |   Tales from real life |
| Well, if they're not true, they oughta be! |
| I was just sixteen when my older sister, Linda, got married. She and Greg Connor had a cozy wedding at the Missionary Alliance church in Ronan, Montana. It was a nice ceremony, and I served as usher and chauffeur for the happy couple. Afterward, I drove them to the Round Butte Woman’s Club for the reception party. The clubhouse was a small place out in the country, only a mile and a quarter from my parents’ house. I felt so important and grown up that I didn’t even sneak a peek at the rear-view mirror. Greg’s family was from Minnesota, and they were pretty strait-laced. His younger siblings were half expecting to arrive by dusty stagecoach with wild Indians in hot pursuit. The real Montana was a bit tame and disappointing for them, at least until the reception party got up to full speed. There were two punch bowls, one for kids and maiden aunts, and another that was spiked for the adults. Mom kept things in check for a while, but the adult’s bowl got ‘punched up’ until it was pretty strong. There was music from a portable record player and the Fisher side of the crowd got louder and more rambunctious as the night wore on. There may even have been dancing. Greg and Linda’s friends joined in, and the Connor family found themselves in a very small sober minority. I’d had an occasional sip of beer while growing up on the ranch, and as a kid, I didn’t like the taste. I’d never even been close to drunk. But at sixteen, I was ready to show off my maturity and party hearty. The punch was a mixture of juice, soda, and rum with chunks of fruit blended in. It tasted a lot better than beer and went down easily. I snuck a few glasses from the adult bowl and already felt a bit tipsy by the time Dad broke out the hard stuff. He was happily celebrating his daughter’s wedding, and already pretty drunk, when he surprised me by declaring that I was, “by God, old enough to drink like a man.” I wasn’t about to argue, so I choked down some Black Velvet whiskey mixed with Squirt soda. It didn’t taste all that great, so I gulped it quickly. That was a mistake because Dad wouldn’t allow my glass to stay empty. Things got blurry in a hurry. The next thing I remember is getting in the car to go home. It was only a quarter mile up a slight hill, a left turn onto a mile of gravel road, and then another left into our driveway. Dad insisted that he was perfectly okay to drive, exclaiming over and over, “I can drive right around the corner!” Every time he said it, I echoed him, and we laughed like a couple of loons. I guess the idea of driving ‘right’ around a left-hand turn was hilarious. At least for a couple of drunks. My sister Marcia was in the back seat. She says it was a scary ride as we wobbled from one side of the road to the other. Dad made a big, sweeping arc and took that first corner at about 10 mph. It might have been scarier at a higher speed, but at least the slow pace made Marcia’s terror last longer. Dad proved that he could navigate ‘right around the corner’ but he probably drove an extra quarter mile with all the weaving back and forth. We eventually got home without accident, followed by uncle Roy and my cousin Joe. The whiskey was long gone, but Dad found a bottle of vodka. We continued the party for a little while without any ice or mixer. We swilled warm vodka from a water glass. The memory still makes my stomach churn. Dad soon decided to take a nap, “just for a few minutes.” Uncle Roy tried to keep the party going, and periodically sent Marcia to wake Dad. She didn’t have any success, and at some point, I passed out too. I don’t remember undressing, but the missing buttons on my shirt the next morning were mute evidence of my state of mind. Roy and Joe stayed on until the vodka ran out. Milk cows must be milked, so Dad had to get up the next morning. He also rousted me out to do my chores. A hangover wasn’t unusual for him, but it was a new experience for me. I was fairly certain that I was going to die. And it would have been a blessed relief if I had. I woke covered in my own vomit, congealed but still sticky. The sour stench of rejected fruit punch and vodka was nauseating. As were the half-digested fruit chunks. Words can’t describe that sick, disgusting feeling. Or the debilitating pain that pounded between my temples and twisted my gut into knots. I dry heaved several times as I shuffled slowly through the morning routine, unable to even stand up straight. I was so sick that I didn’t drink again for a full year. I’d like to say I learned a lesson, that I turned my back on demon rum, but that’s not how life works. By the next summer I was cruising with friends, drinking beer and attending keggers in the woods. But I still don’t care for the taste of Vodka. |
| Hollywood really loves crap, so a Trump biopic is inevitable. Here are some ideas . . . Rage of Angles A twice-impeached, one-term president explodes in an impassioned fit of seditious lunacy. After failing to subvert the Department of Justice, he seduces a smitten conservative lawyer into a plot to overthrow the 2020 presidential election. The Fraud Couple The story of a mismatched pair of con men who disagreed on everything except the need to turn America into a fascist dictatorship. One is an aged, feeble senator and the other is a fat, loud-mouthed president. Can they put their differences aside long enough to destroy democracy? Little Big Man The underwhelming tale of a large man who casts a small shadow. Wince at the story of how he achieved high office with low character. Be amazed at the business acumen that turned a huge family fortune into a pile of leveraged debt. Yawn through repetitive, rambling speeches that sound like real words! Endure an endless litany of lies and self-promotion as he speaks loudly and carries a small stick. Don’t miss the movie that promises everything and delivers nothing! Raging Bulls*** A searing portrayal of the final days of Donald Trump’s presidency. The powerful final scene shows him sitting alone and friendless in a darkened oval office. His orange face is limned by the glow of a smartphone as he sends angry tweets late into the night, making a last desperate attempt to ‘hit back harder’. The Ugly American The story of a physically unattractive president who proves that ugly goes right to the bone. Cringe at his offensive display of cultural ignorance! Watch in horror as he destroys decades of goodwill and international cooperation! If there’s one show you should miss this year, this is it! Gone With The Windbag America’s reputation is reduced to tatters by a self-promoting blowhard who wages an uncivil war on truth and decency. Aliens A beleaguered President Trump stands alone against illegal immigrants who pop up everywhere. He will fight them at the border, in the fields and orchards, at businesses small or large, in the servants' quarters of his penthouse, and even on the grounds of his own golf resorts! The Lyin’ King A young Donald Trump, alone and unloved, struggles to live up to the image of his famous father. Unable to achieve success in real life, he becomes a legend in his own mind. A Conspiracy of Dunces The story of how the Trump White House f***ed up absolutely everything. |
| Not done yet . . . The Essence of Political Speech by Rand M. Noyes Wastewater Management by Yuri Nation Basic Frisk Technique by Patton M. Downes Arguing the Issues by Dee Bates Addiction Tango by Jewel B. Bach Cry of the Banshee by Waylon D. Knight Stormhaven Cove by Lee Shore Never Give Up! by Constance F. Oort The Agony of Existence by Olivia N. Payne Breakfast Favorites by Annie Moore Bacon Self Gratification by Holden Wood and Jack N. Hoff Oral Traditions by Anita Moorehead See also: "Another Pile of Peculiar Books"  See also: "Continuing With a Theme" |
Fires, floods, droughts, and hurricanes. Pandemic, mass murder, insurrection, and election fraud. Lies, insults, corruption, and greed. All of these are the legacy of the Trump administration. Is it just the sad, but normal result of venal human nature? An inevitable but purely natural result of climate change? A lemming-like response to overpopulation? Or are these things a punishment inflicted on America for turning away from God to worship Donald Trump? Perhaps the answer is simply yes. All of these may be true to some extent. It's known that God helps those who help themselves. It may also be true that God doesn't save those who heedlessly seek their own destruction. Is it a punishment or just tough love when God leaves us to fend for ourselves? I was discussing this topic with a friend recently. We were shaking our heads at the self-centered focus of modern culture. We specifically wondered what had happened to the stewardship of conservatives like Teddy Roosevelt (trustbuster and creator of the national park system). We noted that old-fashioned words like duty, honor, and public service are no longer included in the conservative vocabulary. My friend sighed and said, "It seems like we're already living in the end times." "That would explain a lot," I replied with a sudden flash of inspiration. "What if all of the actual Christians in the world have already been taken up to heaven in the rapture? That's why they don't speak out against Trumpism. There's nobody left on the religious right except for televangicals and the cult of Trump. The bible says that we don't know the hour when these things will happen. Would we even know that it had happened? It's not like a huge number of us are saintly enough to qualify for the rapture." "So, we've been left behind?" My friend laughed at the idea, but I'm not so sure that I was joking. Are these the end times? Could Donald Trump really be the Antichrist? Or is he merely anti-Christian? He was held up as a divine being at a conservative event this week and the audience cheered. One of the featured speakers believes that a woman can be impregnated with demon-sperm (neither Eric Trump nor Don Jr. have contradicted her). Another speaker put a curse on Trump's enemies, invoking the 'angel of death' to punish the disloyal. That kind of satanic stuff would have gotten them burned at the stake in old Salem. It elicited roars of approval from the Trumper crowd. If they believe in witchcraft, then maybe we should seriously consider the possibility that this failed, one-term ex-president really is an emissary of Satan. To help you make up your mind, here are a few documented contrasts between Trumpism and Christianity: Christianity teaches that lust is a sin. Trumpism teaches that "If you're a celebrity, they have to let you do it." Serious Christians take vows of poverty, charity, and chastity. Devoted Trumpers enjoy the sins of greed, anger, envy, and pride at every rally. Jesus told the people to pay their taxes, "Render unto Caesar that which is Caesar's." Trumpism says "tax evasion is just good business." Christianity commands "Thou shalt not kill." Trumpism says "I could shoot somebody, and I wouldn't lose any voters." Jesus said to forgive a trespass seventy-seven times. Trumpism shouts "Hang Mike Pence!" Christianity inspires us to be our best selves. Trumpism excuses our base impulses. Jesus fed the crowd with loaves and fishes. Trumpism begs the crowd for nickels & dimes. Jesus said "Suffer the little children to come unto me." Trumpism takes children away from refugee parents and makes them orphans. Christianity teaches that the truth will set you free. Trumpism hides behind the big lie. Jesus said, "turn the other cheek." Trumpism says "hit back harder." The central teaching of Christianity is self-sacrifice, "even unto death on a cross." The central theme of Trumpism is "what's in it for me." |
The sun barely shone; smoke too thick to play. So we had to stay in all that dark, dreary day. My lap full of Charlie and Sienka nearby, we’re fitfully napping ‘neath smog-yellow sky. Light kisses the window and Charlie jumps off. I open the slider but start in to cough. Sickly sun trickles down but it’s not clear enough. Retreat back inside, we can’t breathe this stuff! |
| And on it goes . . . Living With a Stammer by Jojo Jones Lefty Loosey by Turner Boldt The Real David by Judy N. King The Blooms of Summer by Rose Busch Gone to Seed by Dan D. Lyons Life in the Key of C by Bea Sharpe Learning for Dummies by Stu Pittman Never Break a Sweat by D. O. Durant A Knack for Tacks by Brad Naylor Guide to Garnish by Mel N. Peale Improving Literacy by Reed Daly Foundations of Uncertainty by Sandy Banks The Perfect Fit by Abel Taylor See also: "Yet More Books I'd Like to See" See also: "Still More Books I'd Like to See" |
| It seems as though these will never stop . . . Twice Fooled by Seamus L. Miner Low Energy by Millie Watts How to Make Graffiti Art by Mark D. Wahls The Least Infraction by Juan D. Merritt Doubling Down on Dames by Phil Anders Decoding Music by C. D. Player A Guide to Compelling Prose by Paige Turner End of Days by Sonny Downes Rockin' the Boat by Dory Lister Open Fire Cuisine by Rose Tina Chestnut Effeminate Males by Nancy Boyce Basic Coin Tricks by Penny Palmer See also: "Continuing With a Theme" See also: "Even More Books I'd Like to See" |
Raising kids is both challenging and rewarding. An amusing part of watching them grow up is when they 'discover' things that you'd almost forgotten. Lately, I've been seeing a lot of articles in the newsfeed about 'quiet quitting'. The Millenials seem to think this is a new phenomenon, but it certainly isn't new to me. It isn't even new to Gen-X. The Simpsons brought us this quote from Homer in 1995, "Lisa, if you don't like your job you don't strike, you just go in every day and do it really half-assed - that's the American way." When I began my career in the Aerospace industry, I was awed by the sheer size of the products and the machinery that made them. The first few weeks, I stood out like a tourist in New York City gawking at the tall buildings. As I walked through the factory one day, a guy grinned at me and said, "Well, I see they issued you your Boeing gloves." I actually looked down before laughing as I realized that my hands were in my pockets. No wonder the place was known as the Lazy B! I met many hard-working people who put in long hours to make the company a success. I also met a few slackers who made a career out of wearing their Boeing gloves. In my later years, I learned an even better term for what's now being called quiet quitting: retired in place (or simply RIP). This term describes someone who's given up after being in the same position for twenty years without a promotion. They often have little going on for them at home and use work as a social outlet. They chat, drink coffee, surf the web, and occasionally do a little work to alleviate the boredom. But half-assing it isn't just a work thing. I knew a lot of guys who started doing the bare minimum in kindergarten. We called them football players. But seriously, the upper classes have been passed through university without effort for hundreds of years. Those born to wealth and privilege can receive 'the gentleman's C' in lieu of merit. But that C isn't a mark of shame, even the barely literate can hang an Ivy League degree and go on to achieve great things. And, once the degree is in hand, you merely file a lawsuit to prevent public disclosure of your embarrassing grades. As an infamous con man says, you don't have to be a genius to lie about your IQ. Half-assing it has been around since the first gatherer said, "You guys go ahead and hunt, I'll hang back and try these roots and berries." In biblical times, Jesus told the parable of the workers in the vineyard (John 20: 1-16). Some workers came in the morning and some in the afternoon, but they all got the same wage. The moral of the story? You can put in a lot of hours and try to impress the boss, or you can do the bare minimum and just scrape by. In the end, it all pays the same. |
See polydactyl kitten tracks wide paw-prints in the snow, count left to right and total up four feet with extra toes. Five claws apiece show in the back and six in frontal view. Ten digits aft, a dozen fore add up to twenty-two. Author's note: ▼ |
I Only Think I Love You I never meant to hurt you "I need some space right now." I want to hold you in my arms "You don't need me anyhow." I wish you'd stay and hold me "Take all the space you need." I know that we could work it out "Don't you worry over me." Please tell me that you want to stay "You don't even want to try." Just ask me not to leave you now "Then I guess this is goodbye." author's note ▼ |
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