Jharrin4's Blog

Do you have one of those coffee cups, likely one given to you as a prankster gift, that is black, bearing the printed observation on it: Life’s a Bitch, then You Die? I do. Cannot recall from when or from whom it came. I never drink from it, as that would seem to endorse its nihilistic proclamation with each gulp of Joe it is designed to contain. I have been temped though. Trying to keep the, uh, faith. Or something…

I do not have any other coffee cups with any other pronouncements to behold, no witticism, inspirational message or the basic astrological sign that matches the owner’s, along with that month’s specific Zodiac set of respective “characteristics” to consider. Am I really that organized? That, dependable? Willing to see the job completed, no matter what? Who believes in astrology? Likely lots and lots and even more than that do. Otherwise, why would just about every newspaper outside of the Buzzard’s Breath Bugle, circulation 207, print one each day? What’s that, you say it does print one now? Circulation increased to 303!

Under oath, I would swear on the Bible I don’t look at my horoscope prognostication. Why would I do that? Swear on the Bible that is, because I don’t believe a word of it to be true either. But we believe what we want to believe, or choose not to believe, even if there’s a stone cold fact in front of our faces. Besides, it would seem there is little evidence that either an astrologer or even the Pope can speak with any certainty on what each of the days of our lives will bring, for better or worse, or most typically, for the usual in-between blandness that typifies most of our lives. Peaks and valleys, with long stretches of flatlands with little to remember them by.

And thank goodness for those long, listless days where not much different happens. If that’s the case, it’s better than what would seem to be a ever-increasing world of dysfunction, globally, nationally, state-wide, county-wide, village-wise or even within one’s own neighborhood that is getting to be the new normal.

Rich or poor, a wise or foolish, stuck in a ramshackle tenement or a doing your Peacock thing in a penthouse on Park Avenue, there’s plenty of dysfunction. Likely we’re all no more than one-degree removed from its source, or maybe we are the source. Not that we’ll ever own up to it. Right. It’s really an I’m okay, you’re okay world, if you can convince yourself of it. Which grants you the ability to casually (or with some dismay if not shock and horror) be an objective observer of the daily dysfunction reported on from far and wide. Turn on the news, and it’s usually something sadly sensational, or cynically sensationalized variations on if it bleeds, it leads. You know exactly what I’m alluding to here, right? A terrorist attack here and there, over some demented religious or racial or ethnic cause. Corruption and collusion crowding the corridors of power. Rip-offs, con jobs, scammers, schemers, gang-bangers, serial killers, drug wars, beheadings on YouTube, Amber Alerts, arsonists, drunk drivers who somehow survive the head-on while killing an elderly couple or a family of four, a bright young, well-educated man and elementary school teacher shot dead for–what else?–his smart phone. But wait, there’s more!

But it’s not always bad, certainly, not all of it. Or if it does sometimes appear to be, exactly, all that is brought to your attention by the content providers, you can simply not watch it, or not read about it or try simply not to think about it. Divert your eyes, ears to that shiny bright object–over there! Stick with those soap operas disguised as serious TV series (and almost with rare exception they are simply soaps, but one doesn’t have to notice that they are), or dive into a slacker comedy, a sappy but heartfelt rom-com, or 3D Pixar offering. Read a book, maybe one of those “bodice ripper” romance novels (okay, they’re for the ladies, mostly; sort of Dick and Jane grow up, get horny and…) or some new Scandinavian detective thriller. Or take up jogging. Tennis. Do Yoga. Pilates. Get buffed. Go vegan. Go on a vacation. Go to a fest. Try that trendy new gastro-pub with the kobe beef buried under bacon, or that cute little boutique shop or get a Harley, channel your Easy Rider, or a decent 18 speed diet bike and hit the trails; become more magnanimous and contribute to Habitat for Humanity, Common Cause, Public Citizen, The Nature Conservancy, that animal shelter or go rescue some pooch or kitty; go to the conservatory (if you live near one) or simply take that walk into the woods, commune with nature, smell the flowers, toss a penny into the fountain and wish away; find your inner child and giggle at that squirrel being especially squirrelly. Put that 7 inch screen smart phone away–and off!–for a few hours, or that tablet or ultra thin laptop that follows you around (what are you, some ersatz Master of the Universe or something, always having to be connected?).

Yeah, there are times when that black cup with the snarky slogan on it seems to call to us. Mock us? The banality of evil may seem to be mounting up against the windows like snow, its drifts now packing you in. But when going through hell, you know, you simply just have to keep going…and a good cup of coffee (maybe fortified with Jack, or Johnnie, or Jim) can help.

Check that cupboard. Maybe rather than having to see “Life’s a bitch…” you have that other cup, usually a cheery colored one, that strives to be the antidote to the other’s wink-wink negativity. You know. That one, on the second shelf that says Life is a Beach! Yeah, a lovely beach, maybe an island beach with tropical fruit hanging from broad-leaved trees, and cobalt blue waters, clear skies but for some occasional fluffy white cloud that, just briefly, hides the soothing sun, then politely moves on, leaving you in languid repose, with not a concern in the world, with the love of your life at your side, knowing that heaven is this place on earth, and what could possibly take that away?

I’m guessing it would be ruined by having to wake up from your Sleep Number mattress back home to again face reality. If so, make some Joe. Coffee! The picker-upper. Poured into a nondescript cup though. No Bitch or Beach needed because you got this! Kick back and hope for the best, which quite possibly may come and hang around for a spell; or depending on guile or persistent gumption, is being drawn your way.

Now check your cupboard.

The other day I opined on my Facebook page about how the recently released movie Wonder Woman was being praised by reviewers and other culture critics in a rather hyperbolic, if not absurd, manner as a rare instance of showing a strong, empowered woman on the silver screen. I offered previous examples of women who starred in and demonstrated guts and grit in films such as Alien and Aliens, with Sigourney Weaver, and Jennifer Lawrence in Winter’s Bone. Unlike WW, a comic book creation with “superpowers” that enable her to battle and dispatch  the baddies, the above noted three movies had female leads who faced rather dangerous, potentially deadly enemies but who had no superpowers. They had guts and guile and determination. They were humans. Comic book heroes or heroines are inherently not humans. No human is born with superpowers, nor can any human somehow, through sorcery, or exposure to super-duper radiation or potions, or even enough PCP, can become a superhero. They’re all based on COMIC BOOK pop culture.

The implication that Wonder Woman is a “feminist” trope, and thus a pine-scented breath of fresh air to offset the stench of our current political polluters and traditional, strong male imagery in the pop culture seems to be, if anything, insulting to any thinking woman (or man!). Really? Strong women are so rare in real or fictional incarnations that it takes a CGI cartoon action movie with a female lead to FINALLY give women their due?

Here’s some other films you may have heard of (or not): Norma Rae, starring Sally Field in the true story of Crystal Lee Sutton, who valiantly fought and won labor rights for herself and her fellow textile workers. Or how about Julia Roberts in the eponomously titled movie, Erin Brockovich? 

How about the recent film Hidden Figures that explores the real female African-American mathematicians who aided in our early NASA efforts to conquer outer space.

Leaving cinema, other flesh and blood, determined and notable women such as Marie Curie. Rachel Carson. Sally Ride and Mae Jemison, both NASA astronauts. How about Grace Hopper, who was an Admiral in the U.S.Navy during the WWII era and who went on to invent the first “compiler” for computer programming language?

Needless to say there are many, many more examples of strong women to learn about and admire. And, agreed, many of the above noted women have been given their due in biographies, if not films, whether dramatizations or documentaries. But, certainly, in comparison to their male counterparts, there is definitely an inherent cultural gender bias, politically, socially, economically, racially and otherwise. So, okay, even Wonder Woman is the exception and not the rule, for what it’s worth, in the comic book-inspired pop culture, with its “spiderMAN” or “superMAN, or “batMAN” or even a Mister Robot.

But I prefer to admire strong, determined women who are depicted, whether as fictional characters or born, as we all are, part of humankind, and not from an action comic pantheon where their wonders are simply granted them at the stroke of a pen or computer generated.

Oh, and just this day, another film has opened that features an exceptional woman,  Megan Leavey, played by Kate Mara. Megan joins the Marines and is sent to Iraq, and she’s assigned to clean up a “messy” K-9 unit, when she bonds with a particularly aggressive dog name Rex, with whom she manages to form a human to canine bond. This true story dramatizes Megan and Rex’s heroic efforts that saved numerous U.S. combatant’s lives–until both she and Rex are wounded by a IED and taken out of action. We’ll see if it makes much box office revenue. Certainly it can’t compete with that kick-ass comic book woman. 

No, Megan Leavey, is just a flesh and blood Marine, with her flesh and blood canine partner, Rex who, along with his male and female canine brothers and sisters are known as–what else?: Man’s best friend.

Oh well…

It’s Memorial Day weekend. Heading off to see family and friends in far-flung outposts of the USA? Staying home. Hey, do as you please. It’s still a “free” country. Oh yes, citizens, you are free to do as you please (within legal limits).

At some point, stop and remember the U.S. military personnel who died defending democracy from fascism and tyranny. Let’s see, when did we last go to war against fascists or tyrannical enemies? Korea? No way. That was an East/West proxy war that essentially pitted the United States democratic ideology against the perceived threat of expanding Communism. Korea is considered something as a “no decision” outcome. We certainly didn’t win. Otherwise would North Korea be the creepy commie country it is today? Who, among the over 300,000,000 Americans (or immigrants of recent vintage) even knows there was a Korean War in the early 1950s? Oh, maybe if you watch M.A.S.H. reruns you may note the location for that semi-serious take on that part of our military history.

Vietnam? Sorry, but that one goes down as flat-out loss. About a dozen years of another proxy war, and after about 59,000 of our combatants died in that conflict, we basically gave up, and let North Vietnam (again, those godless commies) take over more independent-minded South Vietnam. Today, Vietnam is a popular tourist destination. Check your clothing labels, and you may discover that you are wearing a garment made in Vietnam. Ironic, eh?

Hmm. Then the Soviet Union collapses around 1990, and the commie boogeyman isn’t such an ideological threat anymore, and not until September 11, 2001 did we have a new, clear enemy: the terrorists. Afghanistan and Iraq become combat destinations. We’re still in both countries, 16 years and counting in Afghanistan and well, about 10 years in Iraq, until we bailed out on being an occupying army after a quick takeover of its government, political and military operations. Ironic, though, as to why we invaded Iraq, as it had nothing to do with the 911 attacks in spite of the fallacy of reasoning mantra spit out by Bush, Cheney, Rice, Wolfowitz, Ashcroft and others: either we fight them there, or we fight them here!  (proven, conclusively to be completely a Big Lie pile of bullshit); We should have invaded Saudi Arabia, where 15 of the 18 thems who pulled off the 911 attacks originated. But the public and the press ate up the lies and well… (If you doubt my assertions, just do some research on it or any of the above noted conflicts. Please, learn some history). Now, as it so happens, we’re sending troops back to Iraq, which we left when there no longer seemed to be any reason to stay (although there sure was reason to stay). Now we have to try to fight not the remains of the Iraqi army but the terror networks that filled the vacuum when we initially pulled out. We’ve lost about 6,000 troops to the Iraq conflict…so far.

So, we fight proxy wars against Moscow and its communist controlled “branches” then move onto the terrorists, post 911. But if we can fight a war to a “draw” or sadly declare retreat and seemingly lose another, then engage in a by now obvious no-win situation in Afghanistan (as did the Soviet Union in the 80s) and invade another country that had absolutely nothing to do with 911, one might wonder if there was ever any real to the winner go the spoils showdown on the line, from Korea to Nam to Afghanistan to Iraq? If we lost to the North Viet Army and not one single thing changed as far as the iconic American Way of Life goes (oh, except now you can enjoy its beautiful beaches without fear of being carpet bombed in the process) but you’re free to support our trade agreement that puts that Vietnam-made shirt on your back. It makes one wonder, does it not?, why did we fight the Vietnam war the first place? What, exactly, did those 59,000 names inscribed on the Vietnam Memorial die for? Why fight unless the threat clearly means that, if we do not prevail, very, very dire consequences to our way of life here in the U.S. would be an ensuing and assured certainty?

So, when did we last fight to truly, actually, desperately, save the world from massively evil, extremely powerful military forces that wanted to destroy the United States? Hmmm. Let’s see. I think there was one. I remember reading about it and watching movies that dramatized just what that expression war is hell embodies. When was that?! Oh, right! It’s called World War Two.  A truly GLOBAL war.  Hitler. Genocide against millions of Jews and perceived other enemies of the Third Reich. The Nazis. Marching across Europe. Hitler and his declared goal of a “thousand-year Reich”. But it wasn’t just Hitler. Japan was similarly seeking to be a military, global empire of its own, in league with Germany. Pearl Harbor! December 7, 1941, a day that “will forever live in infamy” and drew our military into the ongoing conflicts initiated by Germany, Japan, and Italy.

Ironically, the Red Army of the Soviet Union, was one of our major allies in WWII. By the time the Allies defeated the Axis powers, over a period from 1939-1945, somewhere in the neighborhood of 60 million military and civilians were killed.  Million! The U.S. lost 407,000 of our military, with another 671,000 wounded. The Red Army lost close to 10,000,000 alone! Germany’s dead combatants totaled  5,533,000. Japan’s army dead was 2,100,000. After Germany surrendered, Japan kept fighting. President Truman signed off on dropping not one, but two atomic bombs on Japan to bring it to its knees. The Second World War was fought on six continents and all its oceans.

WWII was without a doubt a war that the Allies, including the United States had to win in order to preserve our (and our allies’) way of life, and  freedoms. The American military, along with widespread civilian support  stateside, working in factories producing bullets, bombs, airplanes, K-rations, tires and tanks, are considered ‘The Greatest Generation” and I have no argument with that designation. My generation, the Boomers, and the generations that have followed Baby Boomers? Well, let’s face it folks. We have gotten off SO EASY compared to what our parents or grandparents experienced directly or indirectly in what historians proclaim to be the bloodiest, most deadly global conflict ever.

So, remember all of the fallen on this Memorial Day, from the Revolutionary War to the most recent fighters killed in the line of duty. But know this: if not for the sacrifices of those who fought and died in the Second World War, none of us would be doing whatever we are doing at this very moment. Hell, there’s a damn good chance countless of us wouldn’t even have been born! War is hell, and absurd, but it seems inevitable. If we are going to ask our military to possibly sacrifice their lives to “defend our freedoms” logic dictates that it’s literally a “do or die” fight, not some proxy adventure or a war based on propaganda and prevarication.

But we are here, in a country that  still enjoys the freedoms that were protected by that generation that unarguably helped save the world from fascism and tyranny. There has been nothing remotely close to that threat to our way of life here in the U.S. since. Nothing.

I, however, always think of Memorial Day with an ever-increasing bitter taste of irony. Why? Look at what that Greatest Generation has to show for their sacrifice: an electorate that is absurdly lazy and/or stupid enough to sit back and either not vote or vote for, stupefying as it was, an embarrassingly incompetent,  pathologically self-absorbed, paranoid, delusional buffoon to “lead” our country. And Russia, of all countries, seems to have helped him rig the election. For this outcome, we now face a clear and present treat to our way of life alright, but this is an internal threat, Russian tinkering aside. And our twitter-in-chief seems to be itching for, what else?, war. 

We have used the sacrifice that saved our country from fascism and tyranny over 70 years ago, by now directly or indirectly, as a populace, having escorted into power a government that places profits over people, practices predatory capitalism, is avidly corporatist and is marinated in cronyism in degrees never before seen in our country’s history, an administration strategizing cynically, against healthcare, education, social, racial and gender equality, and most horrifying of all,  a willful denial of science, particularly regarding climate change.

Oh, sure, since the onset of Trumplandia, we have had protests and efforts to resist, Indivisible, Occupy Democrats and beyond. How’s that working out? Yesterday, there was a special election in Montana, one where the Left thought their candidate could make hay out of Trump’s dangerous dysfunction and had a good chance of winning and thus “send a message” to the banal GOP. But no! The Republican was re-elected, in spite of the day before the election his having assaulted a Guardian reporter (caught live on tape) and who now faces criminal charges. But those Trump-loving nitwits stayed the creepy course in one of many so-called “red states”. So,  I’m afraid this will get worse and worse before it possibly gets better. I don’t have faith that enough people will wake up and  not just demand, but assure positive change.

The Greatest Generation sacrificed so much so that now we come to this? A venal and vile group of oligarchs running the country?

Perhaps the climate  will fatally collapse and thus make all of our political divisiveness and angst a moot point. Better stop and smell thise roses while you can, just in case.

Again, thank that Greatest Generation, and especially those 1,000,000 plus military dead or wounded in WWII.  Most of them have passed on. But they are so worthy of rememberance. They can be not just remembered, but rewarded, by our not squandering any further their gutsy and magnanimous legacy.

Happy picnic, or backyard barbeque, or just kicking back to watch sports or entertainment on this Memorial weekend. Just remember, please, who to thank for it still being possible to have that much freedom to do or not do as you please. For better. And sadly, and in bitter irony, even for worse.

Teachers. You know, possibly one or two of whom we will forever recall, the ones who somewhere along the educational pathway, made a special impression. From kindergarten to graduate school, or whatever level of formal education one completes, most everyone has at least one such memorable, even inspirational Mr. or Mrs. Somebody they recall fondly.

 Of course. Why? Because many (certainly not all) teachers truly love what they do. The cliché of teaching as a calling, is quite the matter of fact for that person who takes up the profession and clearly understands it’s what he or she was meant to become. Not that being an educator is “easy” because they have a passion for what they endeavor to accomplish with those seated in front of them. Teaching can be  as much a grind as the rest of the various jobs one can possibly take up. Adversity is a likely inevitability in almost every part of the workforce. However, the teacher who loves the job, who intrinsically feels that calling, with its peaks and valleys, fulfilling and frustrating outcomes, is going to keep trying to connect with the students, getting them to understand the subject matter, and why it’s important in both the big and little parts of their lives. The best teachers won’t give up on those who seem  resistant or disinterested, distracted, aimless, listless, troubled, struggling with…you name it. Again, this type of educator may be anywhere in the K through graduate school classroom.

This posting is, well, inspired, by an essay that appears in the May 22nd edition of the Christian Science Monitor Weekly (don’t be fooled by the publication’s religious oriented moniker; it’s an exceptional example of objective, smart journalism, now an endangered species in our corporate controlled, biased, dumbed-down, specious and superficial age of “information/news” providers). The essay is written by a person who gives thanks to one Mrs. Peters, who apparently has that teaching mojo that can make all the difference in the world for her students. Well, in this case, Mrs. Peters, described as “a smartly dressed woman with bifocals and white hair” was the essayist’s English composition class instructor at a community college. The writer, who described himself as feeling “in over my head” with his higher education coursework, and contemplating dropping out of school (again) was fortunate to have randomly enrolled in Mrs. Peters’ section of the writing course .

Mrs. Peters gave the entire class a first day of the semester pep talk: “Look at you! Look at each and every one of you. You’re here because you want to change your lives for the better. And you’re going to make it!”  He felt, although just one of many students in the room at that moment, that she was speaking directly to him. Through her approach to explaining the coursework and how to strategize the studying and completion of her–or any class–assignments, the essayist did indeed change his attitude about his ability and his future. He took her English literature course the next semester, finished community college, and went on to get bachelor’s and master’s degrees.

Yeah, right on Mrs. Peters! You are truly capable of inspiring your students to move on to bigger and better things. She still has the passion, in spite of the implication that she has been teaching a long time. Hey, white hair, bifocals? She hasn’t lost that energy that comes from within, a state of mind as much as any diet and exercise agenda. Bless her heart.

However, the essay ends with our once ready to drop out, lost soul in a sea of confusion and doubt, becoming–what else?!–a college teacher. And our transformed by Mrs. Peters former student states he now channels her positive attitude and commitment to students when he conducts his own classes–as an adjunct instructor at an unnamed school.

Is this a happy ending? That’s what the essay wants to convey. For myself, when I read he was now emulating Mrs. Peters as a college instructor, in the abstract I thought, good for him. But I know what it is to be an adjunct instructor in higher education. Specifically, 20 years worth of being an adjunct. I hope the grateful writer of the essay can get tenure, but I doubt he ever will. Colleges basically run their operations on the backs of adjuncts. We come cheap compared to tenured professors, although we have equal and sometimes more advanced degrees than our full-time brethren. However, many adjuncts hustle for assignments at three or four schools in a single semester to make a modest living at it. We self-deprecatingly refer to ourselves as “road scholars” or “field hands for higher education”.  We know we’re being exploited, but those of us who are willing to take assignments here or there or wherever, we accept the tradeoff because we, like Mrs. Peters, want to teach; it’s simply what we realize we were meant to do. The schools know they have us right where they want us. We’re interchangeable parts. If lucky, we may teach at an institution that has a union. Not all do. Benefits? Sure.

I’ve read about the struggles of adjuncts, written by serious investigative journalists, in studies, including Maria Maisto’s New Faculty Majority, that clearly detail the lack of job security, modest  (at best, crummy at worst) rate of composition, blah blah. We are described as professionals who are part of our economy’s working poor! Ouch!

Thus, our thankful former student of one inspirational teacher had better truly feel that calling, that passion for teaching as an adjunct. If that’s the case, it IS a happy ending that he found his calling. He, like myself and countless other adjuncts, are free to seek other employment, but willingly take those part-time assignments and make the best of it. The rewards tend to come from the occasional student who thanks their adjunct for making class interesting, or positive in outcome, in a brief encounter at semester’s end, let alone getting props in print like the Journal.  If he expects to feel appreciated by school administration, he’s completely delusional.

One way or another, I send my best wishes to another, newer, member of the “working poor” known as adjunct instructors. My guess is he’s at more than one school, or has a part-time gig working for Acme Widget for part-time pay (only if he can’t secure enough classes to avoid non-classroom means of making a buck).

 I admire, vicariously, Mrs. Peters, who is obviously enthusiastic about teaching. Me too. I tell my students that they should take studying, in each and every course in which they enroll, seriously,. I assure them that they can count on me to help them above and beyond if they should ask for such. I want them to succeed, to have a satisfying career, whatever part of the workforce that might be. Well, almost “whatever” part…

…I also explain to them, that should they want to become an educator, stick to primary and secondary education classrooms, assuring them that they should not  become an adjunct, like their instructor. Seriously. Why would I encourage them into this cheap labor structured adjunct existence?  I’m not wanting to inspire anyone else to join the working poor (!) in a capacity that requires a minimum of a master’s degree.

Acme Widget likely pays better, and might even have some decent benefits. Maybe an Associate degree would suffice to impress the HR manager there. If even that.

But if one has that calling…that passion…

1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. Washington, D.C. There’s a manifestly unfit for duty prevus malus within that building. Why the Latin? Well, it’s a so-called “dead language” as in virtually nobody speaks it–at least very fluently. Or understands it, other than its common use phrases: ad hoc; post hoc; ipso facto; caveat emptor; coitus interruptus; magnum opus; and most appropriately in this age of fear-mongering and divisiveness on the part of our government’s “leaders,” mea culpa! And the language being spoken by the officially elected/appointed denizens of D.C. is equally hard to understand. It tends not to make any sense. Not to a rational-minded listener, at least.

Mea culpa? No comprende! Nothing to see here. Keep moving along.

No, seems no one within our government, or in our corporate media, seems inclined to document the culpable characters running amok in the White House and halls of congress, in order to hold them to account for their blatant attacks on we the people (especially those of color or from foreign lands not to their liking) or with regards to our national security.

The most prevus malus, who callously practices ad hominum attacks when not unwittingly Tweeting from both sides of his digital mouth, needs–desperately so–to be given the bum’s rush (along with his posse, his flunkies, his flaks, and his dupes).

Don’t hold your breath on that coming to pass.

Post tenebrus lux…someday, maybe.

After all, hoc quoque transibit.

Okay, in plain English, tanslated from the ancient Greek from the mouth of Plato’s character Phaedrus:

And what is good, and what is not good,

need anyone tell us these things?

For the time being, yeah, I guess lots of people, inexplicably, need to be told.

John Kennedy Toole wrote the now cult-classic novel, A Confederacy of Dunces in the early 1960s; it concerns one Ignatius J. Reilly as a sort of modern-day Don Quixote. It’s a great read full of colorful characters, with laugh-out-loud episodes woven throughout its 400 page narrative. Toole won the Pulitzer Prize for fiction in 1981. Unfortunately, JKT wasn’t able to accept the award, as he had committed suicide 12 years earlier at age 31, having had the manuscript for the book rejected over and over and over. He likely suffered from myriad inner demons who mingled with his despair over the book’s rejection, resulting in his suicide; but his death did not deter his mother from relentlessly continuing to seek a publisher who saw the talent its pages clearly reflected. Walker Percy, a novelist himself and instructor at Loyola University in New Orleans (the setting for Dunces) was able to get Louisiana State University Press to publish the book in 1980.

Dunces is one of my favorite reads ever, the type of book that can be opened to any page and invite settling in with it all over again in such a piecemeal manner, though multiple complete reads are included with such personal favorites.

The Book’s title refers to an epigram in Jonathan Swift’s essay, Thoughts on Various Subjects, Moral and Diverting: “When a true genius appears in the world, you may know him by this sign, that the dunces are all in confederacy against him.”

Given our current political turmoil, pre and post-2016 election, I am compelled to wonder who, if anyone would aptly fit the title of “genius” when surveying today’s political landscape. Certainly, I can identify the dunces. They infest our country’s landscapes to every horizon. Guess who I consider to be the biggest dunce of all? Anyone? Bueller? Bueller? Anyone?

Okay, that was easy. But as to that “genius” person. Hmm. Don’t think we have one to fit the bill. Seems we indeed have a confederacy of dunces, that’s for sure, with scandal, corruption and cover-ups simmering away, with each day appearing to point toward a need for accountability. But the dunces rule. And the dunces who were hoping to rule don’t have the means–nor the will, I say–to put the Dunce Master and his Dunce acolytes and lackeys in their proper place, that being the political dumpster, to be hauled off into the legislative, judicial and executive landfill, to be further hauled off on a barge and anchored in the middle of the Black Sea, or the Dead Sea, or perhaps packed into a Titan rocket and blasted into deep space, where no one can hear them scream for mercy.

Nah. Not going to happen. Too many dunces, and not just infesting our the corridors of power, but the general public as well. After all, it was a confederacy of dunces that, according to my calculations, number at least 137,000,000 who either voted for our Dunce-in-Chief, or didn’t bother to vote at all.  We are a country with 200,000,000 registered voters, according to Politico. Clearly, then, two-thirds of that number did not vote for the dunces running the entire Roman farce that has ensued since November 8th, 2016.

But, as the saying goes, “you get the government you deserve,” and so Dunceville it is. It’s rather twisted up, no?, turned on its head, if that Jonathan Swift quote is taken at face value. There certainly are no geniuses in our current state of affairs. But plenty of dunces in confederacy against…well, one another.

It’s quite the absurdist situation. Cannon fodder for the satirical elements of late-night /cable television. But it is tragi-comic, as far as I’m concerned. Joke about it, but it is inherently, dark, derisive laughter, not belly laughs, that’s for sure. I’d prefer laughing at something that ultimately provides for a sense of enjoyment, relief, especially with a touch of genius behind the fun house storytelling.

For me, that’s Ignatius J. Reilly, from the brilliant mind of John Kennedy Toole, whose genius was indeed confronted by the dunces at publishing houses that rejected his impassioned effort to give the public something to provide relief from everyday stresses, really laugh about and thoroughly enjoy, page by page. We could use more of Toole’s kind, right here, right now.

And that’s no joke, folks!

Hey, guys and gals, kid and kiddies! How’s your day going? Is life a slice of Norman Rockwell, all-American, cozy, comfy, loving togetherness in that well maintained ranch house somewhere in suburbia, with its white picket fence, some tulips in bloom and well manicured lawn, or maybe in some hipster hood of doorman staffed, high-rise repose, with a lakefront view, a spacious balcony onto which you step to listen to the hum and buzz of another day in paradise?

If you can answer yes to  either of the above possible lifestyles, you likely have a sense of financial security. Making a low-to-middling six-figure salary? Perhaps a middling to upper six figure paycheck? Some of those suburban spreads and luxury high-rises require deep pockets, that’s for sure. If that’s your reality, then you must be at least a 2%-er, maybe even a 1%-er. So, maybe–but not for sure– you’re safe from a criminal element running amok in America. That being Murder, Inc.

No, not the Murder, Inc from the Meyer Lansky, Bugsy Segal days, when Vegas was in its ascendency, and contract killings were a form of warding off hostile take-overs and/or “firing” the flunkies who might screw up or be complicit in such anti-business-as-usual profiteering . And no, not their antecedents in anti-social, organized crime, as in Capone, and Machine Gun Kelly, bootlegging and speakeasy turf wars.

No, those murdering, sociopathic characters where not out to whack the general public, if it could avoid it, at least. Their targets were within their scattered criminal operations. Sure, some innocent bystanders might catch a bullet, but it was, ya know?, nothing personal. Just business.

The Murder, Inc. I’m alluding to is quite more dangerous and sociopathic-on-steroids by comparison to those outfits. These killers will take down virtually the entire population of the United States if they have to. But they don’t have machine guns, shivs, or even brass knuckles with which to dole out the punishment. These badass motherfuckers pack a much more punishing punch simply by getting elected to public office. They are called legislators. There is a sort of “rivalry” within the corridors of public power, but not really much of one. Who am I referring to? Of course you must know. The Republican Party. With the Democratic Party being sort of their flunkies, duplicit dupes, mopes and dopes. But make no mistake. It’s the Republicans who are the essence of our modern-day Murder, Inc. How so? Take yesterday’s House vote that by 217-213 was passed proposed legislation to “repeal and replace” so-called Obamacare.

These heartless killers have been working their dark, demonic mojo for decades. Now, however, they have completely taken control of the business of, ahem, governing. Republicans want to gut the healthcare coverage provided by Obamacare, and the devil is certainly in the details. If the Senate passes this latest attempt to rid Americans of health care as it exists in the form of current government-backed guarantees that have been shown to have given millions of regular folks (the bottom 99%+) healthcare coverage, in some cases for the first time ever, then some people will certainly die prematurely because of it. If healthcare becomes so expensive again–not that Obamacare made it completely affordable, but better than the previous insurance industry rip-off model that preceded it–then it’s a death sentence to those who fall through the gaping fissures in the repeal’s current form.

I’m not going to spell it out for you, but if you think I’m indulging in hyperbole, read the analysis of how hideous this gambit is as a piece of FAKE concern about the general public. Wait for the Congressional Budget Office to place precise numbers on how many people will either outright lose coverage or have their premiums jacked up like some juice loan operator demanding higher and higher paybacks.

Yeah. I assert that the Republican Party is an ipso facto murderous, criminal organization, interested only in serving their evil, neo-con, free-market, privatizing, ideology. Their Capone, is Ronald Reagan. Then it was Bush I &II. Now, in it’s most venal and pernicious form, their Godfather is–fittingly–a well-practiced con artist scammer and, like Reagan, especially, a puppet to their oligarchic masters like the Koch brothers and Goldman Sachs and the banksters on Wall Street.

This incarnation of Murder, Inc. is hell-bent on having things their way and, like the bootleggers of the 20s and 30s, or the Las Vegas hoodies of the 40s, 50s and into the 60s, they have no compunction what-so-ever about who might die as they run the business called our government.

Their accomplices in this criminal (including stealing the November 8th election) operation are each and every person among the 61 million who voted for it. My educated guess is that 99%+ of those supporters are not going to benefit a nickel from these cutthroats. So, if they drop dead as collateral damage in this wannabe neo-con paradise, I’d say they had it coming. Sleep with a dog, get fleas, eh?

Where’s the sheriff? He’s one of them.  The Democrats? Please, just stop. There’s only a handful of them who give a rat’s ass about this.

In the meantime, hope Murder, Inc. rots from within. You know, the fish stinks from the head-down? Power struggles. They implode.

As in the Hemingway short story The Killers the main character is advised as he awaits what he knows are hired guns contracted to snuff him, it’s best to try not to think about it.

We’re all potentially like Hemingway’s doomed character given that Murder, Inc. has passed what amounts to a contract on average, working class citizens.

But wait. Try not to think about any of this.

Sorry.

May 4, 1970. Kent State. Four students shot dead by Ohio National Guard soldiers during a campus demonstration protesting the Vietnam War. That, not even two years removed from the infamous 1968 Democratic National Convention in Chicago. No one was killed during those four days, but there were many protesters in the streets who, on one of those hot, humid, August evenings, came under attack by the Chicago Police. It was ultimately deemed by a commission to have been “a police riot”.

The Kent State incident became known as a “massacre”. There’s an iconic photo of a 14 year-old, female kneeling over a shot-dead male student, with anguish etched on her face, her arms raised, at once seeming to have submitted to confusion, shock, grief, disbelief and helplessness in the midst of the chaos. That photo won the Pulitzer Prize.

The 1968 convention resonates to this day via video of the police bashing heads with their batons, be the recipient of the beatings a young hippie of either gender or even a Brooks Brothers suited office worker who made the mistake of unwittingly being at the worst possible place at the worst possible time. Mind you, this was caught on live television, along with the chant of the whole world is watching filling the sticky night air.

Today marks the 47th anniversary of Kent State. The Democratic convention will note its 49th anniversary this August. The end of the Vietnam War just marked its 42nd anniversary on April 30th. Both that violence-plagued convention and the senseless killing of the four Kent State students, in some incremental manner related to the duration of our Vietnam experience, helped bring the carnage of that War to a conclusion.

The turbulent 60s and early to mid 70s. I was around for all of its turmoil, from the JFK assassination and past the above noted historically infamous chapters in our country’s history, and I’m still around, on this May 4, 2017.

History is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake. That’s a quote from James Joyce’s Ulysses.

Yeah. And on this day and month, in the year 2017, as every moment instantly becomes history and the future, as ever and as always,  nothing more than an abstract construct. What will the future bring? Make all the plans you want, but no one can control the future so that the best laid plans…

…you know. The future–for humankind– is always the unknown.

Nature, however, has plans for those flowers of May, as in letting them bloom and bring beauty and harmony with the inevitable turning of the seasons that alternately gives and takes away the features of her landscape. That’s not an abstract construct. It’s the NATURAL WORLD, with its natural ebbs and flows, an ecosystem designed to sustain the entire planet on which we live. That’s an aspect of the notion of a future. The planning of natural world and its forces is open for study, but we humanoids had nothing to do with it. We came out of it as a primordial part of its evolutionary process. We’re along for the ride. But we sure can fuck with its ongoing efforts to do what comes natural. No kidding! Humankind can mess with Mother Nature, like building Dams, plowing under grasslands, hacking away at the rain forests. Dumping toxins into her natural water systems. Spewing noxious fumes into her air. Spraying chemicals in her fields.

And occasionally detonating an atomic/nuclear bomb or two or a few or even more, most in their test stages but twice in anger, in August of 1945, when the United States military command dropped The Big One on Hiroshima, then Nagasaki, Japan. Nothing quite messes with the natural order of all things ecological  like these “ultimate weapons”.  And now, with a world awash with such devastating weapons of mass destruction, with a so-called “nuclear club” consisting of the U.S., Russia, France, United Kingdom, China, Israel, India, Pakistan and–most recently and disturbingly–North Korea. The collective number of nukes in this club is approximately 15,000.

We made it through the Cold War,  including the “proxy” wars between East and West such as the Korean and Vietnam wars, following WWII, with no other nukes being dropped in anger. However, for the figurative and literal flowers of May, there’s a bit of anger in the air between more than few of the countries armed with the ultimate weapon. There’s at least one-too-many mentally unstable persons who can give the launch order. Then the so-called mutual assured destruction chain of events will occur, almost assuredly. It’s appropriately reduced to the acronym of M.A.D.

In the natural world, those flowers of May should come out this year and for years, decades, centuries, millennia and beyond to come. But I’m beginning to fear for my human-oriented abstract construct of a future and for the rest of humankind. I mean, c’mon. M.A.D., right? And I was around and remember that Cuban missile crisis in 1962. Who would brink first, Kennedy or Khrushchev? Russia backed down, and what seemed, as irrational an act as it would have been, nuclear Word War III, was barely averted.

You know, there’s a “nuclear clock” that we never want to hit 12 midnight. That’s Doomsday, folks, in our nuclear age. Right now it’s at 2 and-a-half minutes to midnight. Used to be, not that long ago, several minutes to midnight on this ominous semi-static ticktock of a clock.

So, on this May 4, 2017, recall those four dead students, killed while protesting what turned out to be a totally senseless war that our military finally realized it could never win. Remember that war, and the Korean War that preceded it (considered a “draw”). Remember Iraq and Afghanistan, both seemingly endless conflicts involving our military personal.

Remember that, in addition to being a nightmare for some, history is also that lesson from which humankind never seems to learn.

Remember to water your flowers, if Mother Nature doesn’t do it for you. The ones coming in May and beyond, and hope that our abstract constructs called the future, our best laid plans, involving our families, friends, our loved ones, our instinctual pursuits of “happiness” are, remember, constantly subject to the terrors of mad science. That genie-in-a-lantern called atomic weaponry is never going back into that lantern.

Let me leave you with another quote: “I know not with what weapons World War III will be fought, but World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones”.  Albert Einstein.

Hope he’s wrong, to say the least. But just in case, now more than ever, stop and smell the roses…and all the rest of those flowers..

My mail–both snail and e-versions–are liberally laden with pleas for me donating money (as part of mass mass mailings that attach a specific name to each as if the recipient is gullible enough to believe it’s personal). It’s tedious. It’s offensive. It’s annoying. It’s insulting. Pathetic.

A con job in-the-waiting. I get pleas that are supposedly directly from the hearts and minds of people such as Elizabeth Warren. Even ex-prez Jimmy Carter. From one organization or another representing themselves as ready to “fight back,” or serve the greater good in some manner related to the absurd world of politics or humanitarian, racial, social, immigration or wildlife, environmental and scientific causes.

The reason I get these appeals for part of my pocketbook is that I have previously parted with some of that pocketbook’s bottom line for these causes in the past. And I once did so in good faith and with the obvious intention of being part of making life better, locally, nationally or globally. I’m sure these ensuing pleas for more of my money would be forthcoming even if the previous donations indeed did make things better for me, for others, including planet Earth or its critters and creatures. And perhaps they were some gains made in all those areas. For example, I feel I helped get Elizabeth Warren elected, regardless that I live in Illinois and she ran for (and was elected) Senator for the state of Massachusetts. Same for Claire McCaskill in Wisconsin. I certainly threw money at Senator Bernie Sanders (he who wouldn’t touch a dime of corporate donations) a few times. I’ve been a dues paying member of Public Citizen, Sierra Club and The Nature Conservancy, among other well intended organizations.

And since the Twilight Zone event of November 8th, 2016, I have been compelled to become a card carrying member of the A.C.L.U.

However, in my last blog I addressed the “first 100 days” benchmark of President Strangelove, when I asserted that all the now-aroused anger and opposition to his being placed in power doesn’t really matter, because it’s too late to matter. He has been sworn in and has promoted dangerous, reckless and cynical  policies (and still possesses his toxic personality, including possibly being guilty of sexual assault, but never mind that bit of trivia). To expound a bit more on that defeatist mind-set, none of these pleas for money matter to me anymore.

I surrender to the inexorable evil that seems to dominate our world. The environment is degrading. Climate change is as obvious as the noses that protrude from our faces. Racism and sexism, xenophobia and homophobia are as prevalent as ever. Wildlife species keep going extinct due to human exploitation. Infrastructure failures occur more frequently. Corporate power has never been greater than it is at this very moment. Inner city violence runs rampant. Unions keep getting busted. Jobs keep getting off-shored. Neo-fascism is in neo-fashion domestically and overseas. Oh, and the rot of the rest of it. Please understand, it’s all very much intended ,not a matter of fate, bad luck or bad timing.

No, it’s all going according to plan. Evil does trump good. C’mon. Look around. You can see it. Smell it. Step in it. Or get stepped on by it.

For all the efforts of Sierra Club, or Nature Conservancy, Public Citizen, Democracy Now!, the A.C.L.U., or an Elizabeth Warren or Bernie Sanders, or Sherrod Brown, for all the efforts of Jimmy Carter and Habitat for Humanity, for all the money they have raised (from well intended, magnanimous-minded, fellow-men and women) things–seriously and sincerely–and I swear!, have never been worse (excepting periods such as the Dark Ages, various totalitarian epochs, the Holocaust, natch).

Good did prevail in the darkest days of human history, but the goodness wasn’t, and seems never to be, the default setting for humanity. Forget the natural world and its bio-rhythms and inevitable evolutionary and self-preservative forces. I’m taking about what humankind has wrought on itself. And here still early in the 21st Century, the world is quite a crazy place. Terrorism. Oppression. Persecution. Same old same old. Here in the Land of the Free and Home of the Brave, divisiveness, bitterness, anger and angst are in opposition to those who seem to plot out actions that manifest such negativity. Not that these plotters don’t know what they are doing. They know damn well. And so how much money needs to STILL be donated to the organizations that seem unable to gain any positive traction? Sorry, but things are irrefutably going one step forward, two steps back as though there’s no altering this backwards-marching modus operandi.

 I give up. No more donations. Let the memberships lapse. I’m out.  Remind me, where’s the office in which I can resign from the human race?

Well, maybe I’ll not give up on living. Or caring. But only in my own small corner of the this badass world. Maybe toss a few bucks at a local pet shelter (they aren’t to blame for any of this shit, eh what?). Certainly, I’ll keep supporting local business, especially the ones that sell very high APV craft beer. I’ll Hang with the select few homies. My compassion and concern exists for those I am willing to trust. I don’t trust many people. Are you kidding? Sartre said it all: hell is other people.

However, with the trustworthy may there be sharing peaks and valleys, the latest disappointments or maybe, just maybe a non-quotidian bit of good fortune, or some sort of warm and fuzzy.

Jimmy, Liz, Opposition Forces against our current malignant governments, city, state and federal, I wish you all the best. However, you’ll have to fight on without my financial help. I’ll be with you all in spirit. I wouldn’t bet on you succeeding any time soon, though. Doesn’t seem meant to be.

Enough of this. I have a dear friend in need. I have energy for that. In the meantime, I’ll be in Beersville, trying to throw off a few sandbags, in order to let my psychic balloon rise (a tip of the hat to Ray Milland in  Lost Weekend).

Peace and love and all of that…

April 29th, 2017. Just a few daze away! President Strangelove’s (a.k.a) small hands; racist; neo-fascist; xenophobe; Islamaphobe; misogynist; con artist; flim-flam man; fake prez; Fox News junkie; and, apparently, Destroyer-in-Chief,  will mark his first 100 days as the illegitimate occupant of the White House. What has he accomplished? Nothing, really, but it doesn’t matter. Well, it does, but then again, it doesn’t because the election was rigged, tampered with by Putin. Inc., and while the mainstream media knew it was a phony outcome, immediately started  giving it legitimacy. No honest journalist would have been quiet about the dubious machinations that transpired on November 8th, 2016. But we no longer have truth-seeking journalism in our mainstream media, like the 1970s version that took down Richard Nixon (for a botched cover-up of a nickel-dime, botched burglary (no less!!!). Every utterance of the words “President Trump” is the extension of an ongoing, monstrous lie. That’s’ the Truth. No faking it, oh my brothers and sisters.

 Millions of angry citizens have been protesting and taken to the streets, but it really doesn’t fucking matter. Not now, it doesn’t. It mattered 168 days ago, when part of the public–the lazy, stupid part–became ipso facto accomplices in the criminal outcome of that election. The hayseed hillbilly idiots (some even union members!) who ate up the pig slop of their (so obvious) fake populist should now be eating some rancid crow. But I’m pretty sure they’re still too brain dead to yet realize they got played. 

It doesn’t matter, because it didn’t even matter to the national Democratic Party, who insanely ran a completely inept campaign, allowing the orange-haired buffoon to nudge out a razor thin victory in a few key electoral college states. That, plus the usual GOP’s blatantly out in the open voter suppression laws, interstate cross-check scam (see above comment on mainstream media/journalism) snatched victory from the taken-for-granted jaws of  inevitable defeat. Elect him?! I wonder how many of the now vocal, energized protesters even voted? 80+ million eligible ballot box contributors didn’t bother to participate. It didn’t matter to them.

Face it, ladies, gentlemen, those of various ethnic and racial stripes and alternate lifestyles, there’s nothing to be done about it now and the foreseeable future. There really is no elected political opposition forceful enough to stop the lunacy, the cynical cabinet appointments, the hideousness of a collection of creeps and callous billionaire profit-mongers.

I assure you, though it may sound like a protest I’m posting here but o contraire! This blog is about facing the music. This is a eulogy. For our Republic. For journalism. For critical thinking. For our environment. Our judicial system. For public education.  For public health. For we the people (excluding those hayseeds/dupes noted above).   Most of all, quite possibly, any day, a pre-eulogy for planet Earth, since the Blusterer-n-Chief and his sociopathic counterpart in North Korea keep whipping out their male appendages (I’m guessing Kim Jong’s dong is longer) to see who will go nuclear first (and thus the beginning of the end).  Seriously. The world cannot afford to have two mentally unstable, paranoid moron macho men with launch codes at their elbows, but that’s what we have folks. If it matters to you…

Well, I’m hoping we can survive all of this, and my eulogies will all be rendered premature and moot. You can take time out for break, but you can’t take a break from time. Thus, this too shall pass (one way or another), but it’ll take a lot of time to fix the mess–especially in the context that stolen SCOTUS seat and a confirmation rammed down our throats that will have nefarious effects for possibly decades to come (thanks again, voter dupes and a special shout out to those Democrats, you bunch of irrelevant, impotent, incompetent, political idiots).

So, for some, April 29th is not just any day, but the 100th day, which followed from Day One when the farce and fraud called Trumplandia was made official. But, hey, on May 1, it’s International Workers Day. Right. Unite. Fight! Like I said, it’s going to take a lot of work to fix this mess, an ever-steaming stench fest, approaching its 100th Groundhog Day type day (700 in those dog years)

Shovels at the ready! Until the cauldron of recent political history boils over and leaves an ugly, slimy stain far and wide and results that propels an actual enough is enough revolution, ya’l can at least start digging that bomb shelter. Tick tick tick.

Peace and love and all that…too