Author: John M. Williams

2012-13 Kentucky Basketball: What the Hell Just Happened?

I am unabashed fan of the University Kentucky Wildcats basketball team.  I have been for over 40 years.  We just completed one of our more disappointing seasons with an ignominious loss to some school called Robert Morris University–in the first round of the freakin’ NIT, no less.

I can assure you that this is only one of many blog posts about our beloved Cats’ season of shame.  I do not write this in effort to contribute to any journalistic analysis of our season.  I do not suppose to have any original insights or solutions.  Indeed, it is far too late now.

Instead, I write this as a form of therapy, a cathartic exercise which will help me deal with my grief.  Oh, I tried to work through it with a series of obscenity-laced tweets during the Robert Morris game, but those only brought me temporary solace.  Twitter tracked my mental and emotional deterioration:

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Before tip-off, optimism abounds.

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Half way into the first-half, despair sets in.

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Depression

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Uncontrolled rage

We feel such losses deep in our souls.  Kentucky Basketball is important to us.  How important?  Far too important, I suppose.  The sun isn’t as bright.  The flowers smell of the foul stench of defeat.  Our value as human beings is lessened.  Other than that, we’re in good shape.

Our fan base’s immediate reaction is to blame our coach.  John Calipari, of course, is our coach.  Cal, we call him, much like we called Joe B. Hall “Joe B.”  Tubby Smith was Tubby.  Billy Gillispie was “Billy Clyde.”  Rick Pitino was just Pitino.  Eddie Sutton was Eddie, until he got us in NCAA trouble, then he was Sutton.  Adolph Rupp was, naturally, Coach Rupp.  We are familiar with our coaches.  We love them until they stumble.  Then, they are blithering idiots incapable of coaching in a church league.

I’m not going down that road.  We won the NCAA Championship just last year.  Cal can coach.  I know that.  You can’t give him a total pass, but he didn’t forget how to coach in just a few months.

WHAT WENT RIGHT?

To be honest, not much about this season went well.  We lost to Louisville.  We also lost to the likes of Texas A&M and Baylor–at home!  We didn’t win the Southeastern Conference Championship, and we got crushed by lowly Vanderbilt in our first game in the SEC Tournament.  Nevertheless, let’s talk positives.

Nerlens Noel is a positive.  He was exactly the type of player described coming out of high school last year–high energy and great on defense.  His offensive game, as predicted, was raw.  Overall, though, he was great.  He had the unfortunate timing of following Anthony Davis at UK, but Nerlens was outstanding.  As a bonus, he seems to like being at UK.  We love that.

Jarrod Polson is a positive.  Polson is the back up point guard.  He is from Nicholasville, Kentucky–about 15 miles from UK’s campus.  He came here as a walk-on and is the kind of player that Kentucky fans love.  Considering his athletic limitations, he played well.  He hustles and is tough.  We like that.  He’s the kind of guy who will be able to live the rest of his life as Ex-Cat, meaning he will always be a celebrity here.

We beat Florida the last game of the regular season.  We thought we had no shot, but did it.  That was sweet.

We signed another excellent recruiting class for next year, maybe the best ever.  But, that’s really a positive for next year.

That’s it.

WHAT WENT WRONG?

Boy, oh, boy, where do I start? I know that a lot of folks say that it’s unfair to criticize college players.  I understand that but disagree.  First, these are grown men–young but adults.  If you can join the Army, vote and get married, you’re an adult.  Second, playing basketball at UK brings with it opportunities disproportionate to one’s contribution.  All UK fans can name numerous men who have made post-collegiate careers of being Ex-Cats.  That may not be sensible, but it’s a fact.  If you’re going to get all the praise, you have to be willing to take some of the heat.  Coach Cal has said many times that “Kentucky isn’t for everyone.”  Indeed.

Recruiting:  Since Cal has been at UK, he’s recruited the following NBA players:  John Wall, Demarcus Cousins, Eric Bledsoe, Terrence Jones, Brandon Knight, Marquis Teague, Anthony Davis and Michael Kidd-Gilchrist.  He’s spoiled us.  This year, he brought us Noel, Willie Cauley-Stein, Alex Poythress and Archie Goodwin.  As fans, we just considered the roster reloaded.  It didn’t work that way.

Cauley-Stein was as good as advertised, meaning he’s a raw prospect.  He has a lot of work to do and played like it.  I don’t think anyone was surprised.  He didn’t really improve during the season–a rarity for one of Cal’s players.

Poythress and Goodwin were the two who frustrated us most.  Poythress looks like a player at 6′ 7″, 240 pounds.  He’s quick, athletic and strong.  Unfortunately, on the court, he reminds us of Richard (“Master Blaster”) Madison, a heralded recruit from the 1980’s.  As one of Madison’s coaches said, Richard played “just good enough to get you beat.”  Poythress has the look of a player who doesn’t like playing.  I’m not sure coaching can fix that.

Goodwin plays hard–maybe too much so.  We grew weary of his wild, head-down drives to the basket that resulted in hopeless shots or charges.  He never seemed to understand his role in the offense.  His defense was inconsistent–or nonexistent–all season.  In bygone days, a player of his type would have logged 10-12 minutes a game behind more veteran players.  We probably would have seen flashes of greatness making us carp that he deserved more playing time.

I am convinced that both Poythress and Goodwin have great potential.  If they come back to school, we’ll see different, better players.  I hope we get a chance to find out if I’m right.

Nerlens’ Knee:  Just when started to see signs of consistent play, Nerlens Noel blew out his knee, a gruesome injury that ended his season–and ours.  An under-achieving team lost its best player.  Cal said it best:  “After we lost Nerlens, it’s been torture.”  And so it was.

Point Guard:  In Cal’s three previous seasons, our point guards have been John Wall, Brandon Knight and Marquis Teague.   All three played one year, and all three were NBA 1st round draft picks.  This year’s point guard was Ryan Harrow, a transfer from North Carolina State.  Harrow is the most difficult kind of player to critique.  He doesn’t have the skills to play the position at the level Cal needs.  I feel for the young man.  I really do.  It has to be a difficult, pressure-packed situation.  Facts are facts.

The coaching staff doesn’t get a pass on this one.  Cal recruited Harrow in high school.  He saw a year of him at NC State and a year of him in practice.  He had ample evaluation time.  Again, I feel for Harrow.  I’m convinced he has played the best he can.  He was put in a position where success wasn’t possible.  That one goes on the coach.

WHAT DID I LEARN?

I don’t know that I learned anything new.  It’s more like I re-learned some things (if that’s even possible).  Maybe I was just reminded of some stuff.

Championships are hard to win:  I’ve been a UK fan since 1970.  UK has won 4 titles.  It’s not easy to do.  Winning one year doesn’t mean you’ll win the next year or even make the tournament or even win one game in the NIT.  (see 1978-79 season).

Losing your whole team is tough:  Imagine this:  Your alma mater wins the national championship.  Then, all its starters and its sixth man leave.  They are replaced by freshmen.  Your school is the only Division I team in the entire country that doesn’t return even one player who started even one game.  What would you expect?  At Kentucky, we expected a strong run at another title.  Perhaps we’re unreasonable.

Cal is an excellent coach, but not a magician:  This team never meshed. Maybe it was the lack of dependable veterans.  Maybe it was the wrong mix of talent.  Whatever the reason, the light bulb never came on.  Cal couldn’t get them to buy in.  He’s done it so well before that I don’t think I can hang that one on him.  Like I said, these are men.  They didn’t act like it.

You need a bench:  UK had no bench this year, at least no players upon whom we could count for steady play.  Not only was this an in-game weakness, but there was no risk of any under-achieving starter losing his job.  Cal says this won’t ever be the case here again.  I believe him.

So, there here we are, a disastrous season at an end.  How bad was it?  We were 21-12 and finished second in our conference.  That’s a train wreck at my alma mater.  I’m over it now.  Besides, next year, we are going to be LOADED!

©thetrivialtroll.wordpress.com 2013

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The National Invitation Tournament: A New (and Blue) Perspective

The National Invitation Tournament is a college basketball tournament. It has a storied history dating back to 1938, one year before the NCAA Tournament began. Only the NAIA Tournament is older. For many years, the NIT was considered the most prestigious tournament in the country. In those days of Jim Crow, it was an integrated tournament played in legendary Madison Square Garden in New York. Only the best of the best were invited to the NIT.

In the early 1950’s, the NIT lost much of its luster because of a point-shaving scandal. City College of New York, Long Island University and others were implicated. One such school was my beloved University of Kentucky. We’re the only ones who rose from the ashes, although we had the distinction of receiving the NCAA Death Penalty by having the 1952-53 season cancelled. We UK fans like to point out that we were undefeated the next season and had the audacity to turn down an NCAA invitation. (That’s not as brassy as it sounds. Most of our best players were ineligible for post-season play. Adolph Rupp was no fool).

(As unrelated aside, it should be noted that UK played in integrated tournaments well before most teams in the South would do so. The next time you hear the story of Mississippi State playing in the NCAA Tournament in 1963, remember that Kentucky had been doing that for 20 years.)

Although the NCAA Tournament became more prominent, the NIT remained significant. The NIT was still prestigious enough that Marquette turned down an NCAA bid in the late ’60’s to play in (and win) the NIT. Over time, the NCAA Tourney has expanded to 68 teams, making the NIT little more than a glorified intramural tournament. Its glory days, sadly, are long gone.

Today, being invited to the NIT means you suck. You stink. You’re not worthy of making the NCAA Tournament. You don’t even get the play-in games. You’re not one of the 68 best teams in the country. Your program is in shambles. You don’t belong on the Big Stage. The Big Dance goes on without you. It’s the Little Dance for you and your fellow club foots.

Such is the fate now of my University of Kentucky Wildcats. Lest you forget, we won the NCAA Tournament just last year. (If you’re counting, that’s EIGHT titles, my friend). We’ve been in this position before. We won the NCAA Tournament in 1978, only to be relegated to the NIT the next year. We lost in the first round to Clemson, and at home, no less. I would point out, though, that we were playing without Dwight Anderson, arguably our best player that year. That loss deserves an asterisk, as do almost all losses in the history of our program.

Nowadays, folks call it the “Not Invited Tournament” or the “Not Important Tournament.” It has fallen into such disfavor that some schools have even turned down invitations. We won’t do that at Kentucky. Our fans want to see games–any time, anywhere, against any opponent.

We’re no strangers to NIT glory, mind you. We’ve won the NIT, twice–1946 and 1976. Both titles portended bigger and better things.

The 1946 NIT Championship was followed by NCAA Titles in 1948, 1949 and 1951. Our 1976 NIT Title was followed by an NCAA Title in 1978. See a pattern?

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1946 NIT Champs

The 1976 NIT was similar to this year. The previous season, we lost the NCAA title game to UCLA. Graduation took many of our best players. We started the 1975-76 season 10 and 10 and lost of one of our best players, Rick Robey, to injury. Joe B. Hall, successor to Adolph Rupp, was our coach, and the annual cries for his head began. Those were dark days in the Big Blue Nation.

Coach Hall was always at his best when things were bleakest. The Cats won their last 10 games, including the NIT, beating the University of North Carolina-Charlotte in the title game. Center Mike Phillips became a beast during that run. All Cat fans know the names of Mike Phillips, Jack Givens, Jay Shidler, Truman Claytor, Marion Haskins, Dwayne Casey and James Lee. Two years later, we had NCAA title number 5! It is always darkest before the dawn.

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Mike Phillips, NIT All-Time Great

Even today, the NIT isn’t the worst thing that can happen. There is also something called the College Basketball Invitational. It’s for 16 teams that don’t make either the NCAA or NIT. It isn’t to be confused with its competitor, the CollegeInsider.com Postseason Tournament, which has 32 more unworthy teams. So, if you don’t make the NCAA Tournament, you have 80 more post-season slots available. Including the NCAA, there are 148 chances to play in the post-season. There about 400 NCAA Division I basketball teams. You could be one of the 250 or so super-sucky teams which can’t play anywhere!

We UK fans want to be enthusiastic about the NIT, but it’s tough. We view the NCAA Tournament as our birth right. Any UK fan knows the significance of the years 1948, 1949, 1951, 1958, 1978, 1996, 1998 and 2012. To exclude us from the Big Dance after a 20 win season is sacrilege. We know it’s because of jealously or even downright hatred. That’s okay, because we hate the NCAA and its member institutions even more than they hate us.

UK needs to put an indelible stamp on the NIT. I have a few simple suggestions to turn the NIT into the tournament, at least for one year:

  • Unilaterally declare that former UK center Mike Phillips is the “Greatest Living Player” in the history of the NIT and insist that he be introduced as such before each game. Maybe he can wear some kind of crown.
  • Have both our NIT Championship trophies sitting beside the bench.
  • Coach John Calipari will repeatedly refer to the NCAA Tournament as the “suck ass” tournament.
  • Have Honey Boo Boo and her Mom be cheerleaders.
  • Adopted cool team nickname of “69ers” in honor of being the 69th best team in the country.
  • In a tip of the hat to tradition, shave points.
  • UK President Eli Capilouto will profanely condemn the NCAA for not allowing UK to play in both tournaments.
  • Brashly challenge the CIT and CBI tourney champs to a “Loser Leaves Town” playoff.
  • Hire an Amish assistant coach.
  • Run the Jody Arias trial on the Jumbo Tron
  • Bring entire UK team to NCAA Championship Game and loudly berate participants for not playing in Madison Square Garden.
  • In each post-game interview, coach UK players to work in references to Roy Williams as a “mincing cry baby” and Mike Krzyzewski as a “rat-faced bastard.”
  • If we lose, crack opposing coach over the head with 2012 NCAA Championship Trophy

These are but a few ideas. As fans, there are many things we can do to help, too. For example, we have a tradition of burning couches in the streets after big NCAA wins. In keeping with that, perhaps we can burn ottomans or occasional tables after each NIT win. We can wear confusingly arrogant T-Shirts that say things like “YOU CAN’T SPELL NORTH CAROLINA WITHOUT ‘NCAA.'” Most of all, let’s say we’d rather win the NIT than lose the NCAA Tournament, even though we probably would have won that, too.

So, take heart, Big Blue Nation. All is not lost. There are many positives:

  • Our first round game at Robert Morris University will be the biggest event ever in Moon Township, Pennsylvania where, by the way, Coach Cal went to high school.
  • We trail St. John’s in NIT titles–6 to 2. Another title cuts that in half.
  • An NIT title gives us 11 combined NCAA/NIT titles, only one behind UCLA.
  • We will pad our all time wins record.
  • Rupp Arena hosts the first two rounds of the NCAA Tournament. Imagine the embarrassment to that haughty exhibition when rounds 2 and 3 of the NIT outdraw it.
  • We’ll proudly hang our NIT banner, adding to the already-cluttered rafters of Rupp Arena.
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There may not be room for another banner.

Remember, too, that UK fans are also known for our almost unbearable arrogance. An NIT championship would the perfect chance to take this seeming character flaw to new heights. Let us all rationalize that we got on a roll in the postseason and would, in fact, have won the NCAA Tournament were it not for the petty jealousies that kept us on the sidelines. If we lose, we will simply dismiss the NIT as beneath us and unworthy of our time, anyway. How could we possibly be motivated for it? The NIT Trophy is little more than a door stop, and the banner wouldn’t be fit to be a floor mat in our opulent locker room.

After all, it’s just the NIT, for God’s sake–unless we win it.

©thetrivialtroll.wordpress.com 2013

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The Stuff Of Dreams

I’m a dreamer. Literally. I don’t mean dreams of success or other flights of fancy, either. I mean real dreams, the kind you have when you’re asleep. Being a tad slothful, I’ve never studied dreams or tried to analyze their deeper meaning. When I was in college, I knew a girl who analyzed dreams, but I never paid much attention.

If you’ve read this blog, you know that I am a recurring theme. My stories are about me. My opinions are mine, of course. I even believe that others are interested in my take on things. This post is slightly different. While the dreams are mine, I’m now interested in what others think. What do these dreams mean? With that in mind, I now share a number of my recurring dreams:

1. THE BAD DRIVER/CAR

In this dream, I am a passenger in a car with someone who can’t drive worth a damn. My most recent version had me as a passenger with Lyndsay Lohan driving. She was smoking marijuana and weaving in and out of traffic on a six-lane highway. She wouldn’t stay in the proper lanes, either, and was constantly dodging on-coming traffic. I was terrified and screaming at her to slow down. She didn’t. This dream ended as the always do with a terrific accident. I was unhurt, but rattled. Then, I woke up.

This is a typical variant of this one. Sometimes, the driver is out of control driving downhill. Often, the car runs off a cliff. There is always an accident at the end, and I’m unharmed. I wake up immediately.

Another variation is that I’m driving, but the car has mechanical problems. The most common problems are either I can’t get the car in gear and it rolls backwards or there are no brakes. I careen around the highway–again, terrified–until the inevitable accident ends the dream. Do I see myself as out of control? Do I believe others have my fate in their hands? Do I see myself as immortal?

Perhaps unrelated, I also dream often about not being able to get my car out of reverse. Is this some latent concern that I am not going forward in life? Does it portend future transmission problems?

2. SCHOOL DAYS

In this dream, I am in school again, usually college but sometimes high school. I am approaching finals and haven’t attended class. I’m completely lost. In a panic, I desperately try to determine my class schedule, but I can’t. I am going to fail all my classes. Oddly, the dream always ends before I actually take my finals, but failure is unavoidable. I’m frantic and depressed.

I’ve had some variation of this dream hundreds of times. Sometimes, I’m aimlessly wandering the hallways looking for my classroom. I never find it. I never have any books and don’t even know my class schedule.

What can this mean? Do I secretly regret that I wasn’t a more dedicated student? Do I want to relive my youth? Do I fear commitment? Could this in any way mean I am gay?

3. WORK ABUSE

I work in a small law firm with four other lawyers, and we get along famously. It sounds trite, but we are like family. In almost eight years together we’ve never had a serious disagreement about anything. We’ve been fairly successful and like coming to work. Why, then, do I frequently dream that I am mercilessly abused at work?

This dream revolves around one of my partners–a female who shall remain nameless–berating me over some minor issue. Most recently, I dreamed that our firm had purchased a new coffee maker that leaked. My partner poked my chest with her finger and screamed: “THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT BECAUSE YOU THINK YOU ARE AN EXPERT ON COFFEE!!” Nothing of this sort has ever happened in our office. Truthfully, I do have quite a bit of expertise on coffee, arguably more than anyone in my office; however, this has never been a source of contention among us.

In this dream, I’ll be yelled at and called names–maybe even told to leave the firm. It’s always very contentious–the exact opposite of my real life job. I always wake up before there is any resolution of the dispute.

For many years, I had a job that I did not enjoy–at least not often. Perhaps this is post-traumatic stress, and I’m reliving unhappy times in my dream life. Am I expressing some kind of hidden hate for my co-workers? Am I seeing into their souls that they secretly hate me? Do I fear women?

4. GUN PLAY

I’m being shot at. With guns. Real guns. It’s almost always a gun battle where I’m hunkered down exchanging gun fire with someone. One time, it was with Baseball Hall of Famer Willie Mays. The Say Hey Kid had me pinned down behind my car, and he was peppering it with bullets.

This dream has no context other than a gun fight. I never know how or why it starts. I’m just in the middle of it. Once, my wife was shooting at me (I’m pretty sure that was just a dream). Another time, it was my own mother. Regardless, they just shoot at me relentlessly.

This dream always ends with my being shot but not fatally. It’s usually in the arm. That wakes me up. Then, I know “it was all just a dream.”

What the hell is this one about? Do people want to see me dead? Why would Willie Mays try to drop me? Maybe they don’t want me dead. After all, they only shoot me in the arm. Then again, all that reckless gun fire has to be intended to do me great harm. Why? Do I harbor a belief deep in my psyche that I am a bad person worthy of being gunned down?

5. THE HOUSE

This may be the weirdest one. It’s about a house. It’s a large house. Sometimes, the house is yellow. Sometimes, it is red brick. There is an alley separating it from my yard. I’m in The House and can’t get out. People are in The House looking for me, and I’m hiding from them. I’m usually in the bathroom or a closet. I don’t know why they are looking for me, but I’m scared. I’m always alone in The House and trying to find a way out. The good news–I guess–is that they never find me. The bad news is that I never get out. At least, no one shoots at me.

This dream rattles me more than any of the others. I always wake up wide awake. There’s great relief when I realize I am in my own bed and not The House. To my knowledge, I’ve never seen a house that looks like The House. If I did, I’d probably freak out.

What is The House? Does it symbolize something in my subconscious? Do I feel trapped in my life, unable to escape? Am I a closet paranoid, fearing that others are out to get me? Am I concealing some secret shame that I fear other will discover much like I fear they will find me in The House?

So, they are–my five most common recurring dreams. I have other dreams, like the one where I’m eating something really crappy. Since my wife is not a great cook, I understand that one. For a brief time I look Ambien and had dreams that were so vivid they freaked me out, but that was only for about six months. These five are the windows to be psyche.

Freud believed that all dreams were manifestation of wish-fulfillment based upon “day residue” or events that happen during the day. I don’t know about that. If I’m wishing for this stuff, I’m more messed up than I thought. Some think they’re all about sex. If that’s the case, it’s just as well that I don’t understand them.

If you have any kind of psychology background or if you’ve been in therapy for a while, feel free to offer your interpretation. I don’t intend to seek professional help. I’d rather just open it up to amateur speculation. Bear in my, though, that if any of this means I’m dangerously unstable or psychotic, you might want to take the edge of your analysis.

Now that I’ve gotten this off my chest, I may sleep better, at least. Maybe I’ll even get out of that damn house and get to class on time. Of course, I’ll need to be careful about getting a ride. Hopefully, I won’t get shot before I get there. If I do, someone at work will yell at me. Whew.

©thetrivialtroll.wordpress.com 2013

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My Flagging Patriotism

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I make no secret that I love being an American.  I’ve always been an American, and I’ve always loved my life, at least most of  the time.  I might also like being Swiss or a Liechtensteiner, but I’ll never know.  I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t like being a Somalian.

Because I love being an American, I suspect that makes me patriotic.  I certainly have pulled for us in all the wars.  But, when I hear really patriotic people talk, I think I’m a wild-eyed anarchist.  The flag–the American Flag–more than anything else makes feel like that.

Being a bit of a gadfly, I’m leery of blind loyalty to anyone or anything.  Any time people speak of patriotism, I  think of the famous quote that we’ll know fascism when it reaches American because it will be “wrapped in the flag and carrying a cross.”  Some say that Sinclair Lewis said this.  It certainly sounds like something he would have said.

Nothing swells Americans with pride like our flag.  Old Glory.  The Stars and Stripes.  Unlike some countries whose flags have wild colors and sayings on them, it’s simply designed.  Fifty stars and thirteen stripes.  Red, white and blue.  We don’t have animals or people on our flag.  It’s not all busy and confusing.  I’ve always like the flag, but I don’t worship it.  I really liked the one the Air Force draped on my Dad’s casket.  My fellow Americans, however, are obsessed with the flag.

Prior to the American Civil War, the flag wasn’t so much a symbol of patriotism as it was a marker used to identify federal territories or possessions.  During the Civil War, it became a symbol of the union just as the Confederate flag was a symbol of rebellion.  Since then, the flag has taken on more significance.

Nowadays, the flag is venerated.  Rick Monday was a fairly good baseball player in the 1960’s and 1970’s.  He was a good outfielder, hit with some power and had good speed.  He’s known for two things.  One, he was the very first pick in Major League Baseball’s first amateur draft.  Second, he saved the flag.  During a game at Dodger Stadium in 1976, Monday was playing in the outfield for the Chicago Cubs.  Two “fans” ran on the field, threw down a flag and prepared to burn it.  Monday ran by and scooped it up with one hand just before it was lit.  He got a standing ovation.  Mention Rick Monday to a baseball fan of a certain age, and he or she will remember that moment.   

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Rick Monday’s greatest play.

We have songs about the flag.  “Stars and Stripes Forever” and “It’s a Grand Old Flag” are two of them.  My father was fond of march music, so I I’ve heard Stars and Stripes Forever many, many times.  It’s pretty catchy.

We like the flag so much that we have laws about it.  The Flag Acts of 1777, 1794 and 1818 tell us what the flag should look like.  We have a United States Flag Code which has rules about displaying and caring for the flag.  You can read it at 4 U.S.C. Section 1, et seq.  (I’m a lawyer, and that’s a citation to a statute).  Before you go scrambling to the United States Code to turn in your neighbor, there are no criminal penalties for breaking these rules.  Think of them as rules of etiquette for the flag.  Here are just a few of the rules:

  • Don’t dip the flag
  • Don’t display it upside down (except to show distress)
  • Don’t wad it up
  • Don’t make clothes out of it
  • Don’t draw pictures on it
  • Don’t walk on it
  • Don’t let it touch the ground
  • Burn it when it’s worn out
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This is okay, because Mrs. Palin’s bikini is not an actual flag. It’s not okay that she’s wearing a bikini, though.

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First Amendment fanatic Larry Flynt. Wearing an actual flag as a diaper is not okay, but it’s not a crime.  Maybe it should be. 

These are a just a few of the highlights.  There are a bunch of rules.  Only an anal-retentive Boy Scout could keep track of all of them.  Just be glad there are no criminal penalties. By the way, I was a Boy Scout–maybe it was a Cub Scout–for a couple of weeks.  What did I learn?  How to fold the flag, of course.

The bottom line is that we don’t like people being disrespectful to the flag.  People in foreign countries like to burn the flag–our flag.  You can tell they think that infuriates us, and it does.  Some of these folks will hit it with shoes.  That’s definitely a no-no.

Although the flag is iconic, the First Amendment to the United States Constitution allows us to desecrate it.  Like Mr. Flynt, we can wear it as a diaper if we so choose; however, I don’t suggest that, because it will make you unpopular in many circles.

Remember, though, it’s not a crime.  We Kentuckians have made it a crime under state law, Kentucky Revised Statute Section 525.110.  That statute is unconstitutional, of course, but we don’t care.   It’s still a law, even if we can’t enforce it.  We’re well-known in Kentucky for passing laws that can’t be enforced and for periodically embarking on Quixotic battles to display the Ten Commandments.  It’s part of our culture.

Of course, Americans have a Pledge of Allegiance.  Man oh man, the Pledge of Allegiance gets people worked up.  We’re supposed to pledge allegiance to the flag, by God, or so the argument goes.  No one ever explains why we should do this, but we should.  Some–like your author and The United States Supreme Court–believe that Americans shouldn’t have to pledge allegiance to God, country, flags, politicians or anything else.  We’re Americans.  We have the right to be apathetic or downright hostile about everything.

I often see posts on social media lamenting that schools don’t recite the Pledge of Allegiance.  This isn’t true.  My children attended public schools where the Pledge was recited.  Now, the school can’t force you to recite it.  That’s okay, at least with me.

If you’re going to get all worked up about the Pledge of Allegiance, consider:

  • The original text of the Pledge:
    • I pledge allegiance to my flag and to the republic for which it stands, one nation, indivisible with liberty and justice for all.
  • It was written in 1892 by Francis Bellamy, a Christian socialist.  That’s right, a socialist.
  • It was written as part of the 400 year celebration of Columbus’s arrival in America.
  • One of the purposes of it was to sell flags to schools, because there was a belief that patriotism was at a low point.
  • Bellamy wanted to include equality and fraternity for all, but he knew that schools wouldn’t support equal rights for women and African-Americans.
  • About 30 years later, “my flag” was replaced with “the flag of the United States of America.”  The thought was that immigrants needed to be clear about which flag they loved.
  • In 1954, the now familiar “under God” was added.  This was during the Cold War when godless Communism was all the rage.
  • A minister named George Docherty suggested to President Eisenhower that God be added to the pledge.  Reverend Docherty likened the Pledge to something “Moscovite children” might recite.
  • Legally, you can’t be forced to recite it.
  • Schools can recite the Pledge, but student participation is voluntary.  If you think schools are not allowed to recite the Pledge, you are wrong.
  • The vast majority of states require that time be set aside for recitation of the Pledge. So, if you think the country is going to hell because we don’t do it, again, you’re wrong.  Here in Kentucky, we have Kentucky Revised Statute Section 158.175 which sets aside time for it.
  • Groups like Socialists and Fascists love to have people pledge allegiance to the state.

This being America, we don’t force anyone–even children–to pledge allegiance to the flag.  Maybe you think we should, but such things as freedom of speech and of religion stand in the way.  It’s okay.  Those are good things, too.  Think about it like this:  If you’re one who thinks we should be forced to say the Pledge, imagine how you’d react if President Obama said that.  See?

We’re not the only country with a flag.  Other countries have flags, too.  All of them do, I guess, but we don’t care much for those.  Most of them are goofy looking with odd sayings and pictures on them.

andorra flag

Andorra has the typical weird flag combining a haughty crest with cows and odd foreign gibberish.

Some other flags just took no thought at all.  France, for example:

france

The French flag can be easily adapted in the event of surrender.

We want people to fight for the flag, too.  Personally, I wouldn’t do that, especially if I had time to think about it.  I’d probably let you have the flag if it were that important to you.  That’s not the same as fighting for one’s country, although I wouldn’t want to do that, either.

When we Americans get mad at foreign countries, we don’t take to the streets and burn their flags.  To us, that seems over the line.  Oh, we’ll invade your country, kill you by the thousands and overthrow your government, but we’ll be good to your flag.  That’s only decent.

All our states have flags.  Here is the flag of my state, Kentucky:

kyflag

It states the fairly obvious maxim of “United we stand.  Divided we fall.”  I suppose the cartoon on it symbolizes country and city folk coming together.  We also call ourselves a “commonwealth.”  No one knows what that means, but we’re just a plain old state like everyone else.  Kentucky has its own Pledge of Allegiance:

“I pledge allegiance to the Kentucky flag, and to the Sovereign State for which it stands, one Commonwealth, blessed with diversity, natural wealth, beauty, and grace from on High.“

Notice that it doesn’t mention “God.”  I think people would be outraged about this if they knew we had our own pledge.  “On High” could be God, Jesus, Buddha or a bundle of sticks.

I’ve been told that this is Alabama’s flag:

alaflag

Weird, huh?  It’s kind of like they’ve just Xed themselves out.  Then again, it’s easy to draw.

State flags aren’t as controversial.  I’ve never heard anyone accused of desecrating one, and I’ve never seen angry foreign mobs burning one.  If someone did, we’d probably get mad, but it would quickly pass.

Everyone knows the famous photo of the flag being raised at Iwo Jima.  It wouldn’t have had the same impact if they had raised the Kentucky state flag by mistake.

Some of our states are fond of the Confederate flag, the Old Stars and Bars.  Only in America could you fly the flag of a rebellion that cost hundreds of thousands of lives and almost destroyed your country.  Of course, a lot of folks are offended by that.  That’s also very American.  Do what you want, but others have a right to get pissed off about it.

Whether you’re conservative or liberal, you might be thinking:  “Hey, does this nut have some kind of problem with flags?”  No.  I’ve never desecrated a flag (at least not on purpose).  I don’t advocate such things, either, but I probably don’t love the flag.  And I certainly don’t insist that you love it or pledge some kind of oath to it.  Just don’t wear it as a diaper, unless you really want to.

©thetrivaltroll.wordpress.com 2013

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My Over 50 Not-To-Do List

I’m in my 51st year on the planet.  Although many people have exceeded my longevity, this impresses me.  Of course, lots of folks lived less time than I have and did much more–Mozart, for example.  All in all, though, living longer is a good thing.

I now read AARP publications.  AARP recently ran a tongue-in-cheek article about things NOT to do after age 50.  It was somewhat humorous.  Somewhat.  Like a lot of things, it got me thinking.  Now, that I’m 50 (and have been for several months now), what won’t I do?  Here are five such things:

PLAY BALL!  I’ve written before about my mediocrity as an athlete.  That never stopped me from trying to play sports.  No more.  No basketball.  No softball.  No flag football.  Nothing where I risk injury.  Why?   I don’t want any other injuries.  The older you get, the more injury-prone you are.  My sports are now limited to baseball and basketball with my youngest son and even then I don’t go all out.

I’ve never had a serious injury.  I’ve never worn a cast or had surgery or used crutches.  I did tear a muscle in my shoulder once, but they can’t do much about that.  I had a stress fracture in my foot, but it went away.

In my 30’s I scraped the outside of left calf sliding during a softball game.  It looked like a burn and hurt like hell. It scabbed up in a couple of days.  Then, the scab disappeared, and it looked like an orange peel, except oozy.  You know how your mother said that a cut with red lines running from it is bad?  It had those, two.  It was something called cellulitis.  The doctor said it was a “galloping infection.”  I had to elevate my leg and put a heating pad on the open wound.  I also had to draw a circle around it with a Sharpie.  If the red spread past the outline, that would be bad.  When I stood, the blood rushed to my leg and it felt like a thousand needles.  I  had to get a shot every day, too, for a week.  The shot gave me diarrhea.  For days, I was reduced to lying down with a heating pad on an open sore which burned like it was on fire while trying to control my bowels and drawing on my leg with a magic marker.  I’m just too old for this kind of thing.

Even if I wanted to play sports, I probably can’t.  The simplest of sports may be beyond me now. A few months ago, I passed baseball with my 17-year-old son who is a high school baseball player.  He can throw 80-85 mph without much effort.  I was terrified.  Enough of that, too.

Fortunately, my youngest son is almost 11 now.  If I had a younger kid, I’d hire someone to play with him.  No sense taking unnecessary risks.

ANGRY UP MY BLOOD:  The great baseball player Satchel Paige once cautioned against eating fried food, because it would angry up one’s blood.  I don’t necessarily agree with that, because I like fried food.  I do, however, agree with the caution about angrying up the blood.

I was an angry young man.  Angry about all kinds of stuff–my job, politics, religion, sports–pretty much everything.  I had a short fuse which was easily lit, too.  I was an unpleasant person.  I’m too old for all that, as well.

It seems that my peers become angrier with age while I mellow.  I am aging in reverse, like a far less handsome version of Brad Pitt as Benjamin Button.  It seems that everyone my age is mad about liberals, conservatives, the rich, the poor, taxes, drones, sports, religion and life in general.  Here’s the deal:  We all have opinions.  So do I.  I’m certain that mine aren’t all that important.  In fact, I may be flat wrong on many (most?) of them.  Same goes for you.  I’m sure that pisses you off.  Relax.

I’m confident that being mad shortens my life.  How?  Well, every minute I waste fuming about something, I could be doing something else.  So, there goes part of my life down the old crapper.  As a live and let live guy, I really don’t care if you’re mad, even at me.  Just don’t ask me to play along.

GET IN MY CUPS:  I was once quite fond of strong drink.  I may still be, but I haven’t partaken in several years.  Understand that I have no problem with those that do.  I just believe that such indulgences are a young man’s game.  Hangovers had bad for my brain.  Why else would my head hurt like that?  Vomiting is no good under any circumstances.  Also, not remembering conversations or where I’ve been or what I’ve done is problematic.  Soon enough, age itself will cause such problems.  No need to speed the plow.

Here’s the kind of thing I did when I drank.  A few years ago (not as many as you might think), my wife and I went to a party.  I drank quite a bit before the party and quite a bit at the party.  Oh, I had a grand time–or so I’ve heard.  When we came home, I retired to the basement whereupon I quickly dozed off (the more crass of you might call it “passing out.”)  A couple of hours into my respite, I had the urge to relieve myself.  Rising from the couch, I was unsteady on my feet.  No doubt this was from the deep REM sleep.  As I staggered toward the bathroom, somehow I fell forward, striking my head on a wooden post.   Oh, I also broke my glasses.

No problem.  Holding my forehead, I made it to the bathroom and did my business.  My right brow was really throbbing, so I thought I might take a look at it.  Leaning close the mirror–remember my glasses were broken–I moved my hand from my right eye to get a good look.

The funny thing about cuts to the head is that they bleed far in excess of the severity of the actual injury.  When I moved my hand, blood fairly gushed from a small slice in my right eye brow.  It ran into my eye and down my face.  It just kept coming.  There was only one thing to do–I puked and went into a full-blown swoon.  Then I sat in the floor convinced that I was bleeding to death and would be found covered in blood and vomit–not a glorious demise.

So, I did the only thing I could do.  Holding a towel to my head, I climbed the two flights of stairs to the master bedroom and consulted my dear wife.  Let’s just say that the evening suddenly took an even uglier turn.

I’m too old for this kind of foolishness now.  Let the young men bleed profusely and copiously vomit.  I’ll sip my Starbucks, work the crossword puzzle and retire for the evening at 9:30 or so.

EAT WELL:  This takes some explaining.  I don’t eat all that poorly.  I don’t have a weight problem.  I’m a lean, mean 160 pounds.  Perfect middle-weight size.  Think of me as a whiter, less-imposing, soft version of Marvelous Marvin Hagler (if you don’t know Hagler, you’re not my age).  At one time I weighed 176 pounds, which was a little too much.  I quickly shed that weight.  That’s just a genetic thing.  Don’t get all pissed off (see section above).

People want me to eat well, and I guess I should.  My family has a bit of a history of heart disease.  Regardless, there are things I like to eat.  They include, but are not limited to:

  • High fructose corn syrup
  • Sugar
  • Chocolate
  • Ice Cream
  • Eggs
  • Bacon
  • Pork in general
  • Deep fried anything
  • Gluten
  • Peanut butter
  • Hot dogs
  • Red meat
  • White meat
  • Meat

I also don’t mind my food being laced with preservatives.  Why not?  Hey, I like it preserved until I want to eat it.  Call me crazy.

I’m not diabetic.  I don’t have celiac disease. Or diverticulitis.  Or any food allergies.  If you do, please watch what you eat.  The key here is to watch what you eat, not what I eat.

If YOU don’t want to eat this stuff, I’m okay with it.  I won’t force it on you.  I don’t have people to my house for dinner anyway.  Eat what you want.  You can eat free range horse for all I care.  Just don’t tell me what to eat.  I enjoy food and fully intend to continue to do so.

FIGHT CLUB:  Chief Joseph said:  “From where the sun now stands, I will fight no more forever.”  That’s a good philosophy, and I agree wholeheartedly with him.  Fighting isn’t good, especially if you run the risk of getting the crap beat out of you.

Like heavy drinking, fighting is a young man’s business.  When you’re young, fighting can be a test of your manhood.  It can also be provoked by heavy drinking.  Either way, it’s usually a one-on-one situation and little harm is done.

Unlike in the movies, real fights rarely result in a lot of punching.  A good punch is almost always a “sucker” punch which the recipient doesn’t see coming.  Otherwise, punching is mostly a bunch of embarrassingly wild swinging.

It hurts to be squarely punched in the face.  It also hurts to squarely punch someone in the face.  Your hand explodes in pain.  I don’t like pain.  That said, real fights end up with a bunch of rolling around on the ground.

Another thing about real fights.  No one gets punched in the face repeatedly and keeps fighting.  Nor do you punch anyone in the face repeatedly.  The human head is hard.  It’s like a bowling ball with a few soft places on it.  Go punch a wall five or ten times and let me know what you think.

At a certain age–maybe 30–I realized that people who are willing to fight might be dangerous, especially if they, too, were in their 30’s.  These folks also tend to carry weapons, because they’re looking for trouble.  I don’t want even a remotely deadly weapon used on me.  I don’t want to throw a punch and miss, only to end up with a Chinese throwing star stuck in my forehead.

One possible exception is that I might fight a younger man.  Why would I do that? Wouldn’t youth put me at a terrible disadvantage?  Possibly.  However, don’t discount the power of being Old Man Strong.  We all reach an age where our years create a certain toughness without us even knowing it.  Some suggest that perhaps we lose the will to live and become fearless.  I prefer to think of it as God’s way of rewarding us for surviving.

When I was in high school, a friend of mine foolishly punched his dad.  His dad didn’t flinch.  Old Man Strong. Fight over.

So, if you’re a young fellow, be careful.  If you get mouthy with an old guy and he just chuckles or, worse yet, takes a step toward you, run.  It may be all that saves your dignity.

CONCLUSION

This is hardly a comprehensive list of things I won’t be doing.  Such things as starting a meth lab, amateur pornography and polygamy are also taboo.  These, though, are things I wouldn’t have ever done, as far as you know.

I’m not perfect.  Maybe one day I’ll be shooting basketball with my kid, and you’ll wander into my yard spewing about politics and telling me to reduce the MSG in my diet.  Like Clint Eastwood in Unforgiven, I’ll take a swig of whiskey and then start a fight with you.  Let’s try to avoid all that.

©thetrivialtroll.wordpress.com 2013

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Superman, Court Storms and Other Random Musings

My mind spins with random thoughts.

SUPERMAN

The only comic book I ever read much was Superman. I loved Superman. I loved the Superman TV show with George Reeves. Honestly, I don’t understand why I loved that, but I did. Even with body padding, George Reeves made for a decidedly unfit looking man of steel. Jimmy Olson, as played by Jack Larsen, looked like he could whip Superman’s ass. Of course, that may have had something to do with the fact that Larsen appeared to be in his 30’s playing the young Olson.

A new Superman movie comes out this year. I hear it’s a darker Superman. I guess he’s a troubled soul. I don’t buy that. Superman isn’t troubled. He’s Superman.

Now, I’m hearing that there may be a Justice League movie. You know the Justice League–Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, The Flash and The Green Lantern band together to fight evil. Later, other more obscure superheroes joined. You may have seen the cartoon series with the wonderfully sonorous tones of Ted Knight as the narrator.

Here’s my question: Why the hell does Superman need to join up with these other so-called superheroes? He can do everything they can do and more. Super-strength, super-speed, super-vision, super-swimming. He can fly!! Oh, and he’s indestructible. Okay, he doesn’t have Wonder Woman’s invisible plane. Big whoop. Again, he can freakin’ fly! He’d kill Batman. Just flat kill him. The Flash? Be serious. Superman is so fast that he can turn back time. He’d catch The Flash and then beat the living crap out of him. I never even understood The Green Lantern. Superman can do everything he can do.

Let’s don’t even talk about Aqua Man. He has gills and can talk to sea creatures. That’s helpful–TO NO ONE!

So, that’s it. Superman has no business in the Justice League. Let them fend for themselves. Of course, when they get in a bunch of trouble, who will they call?

COURT STORM

Fans of the University of Miami (Don’t call it “Miami of Florida”) had the audacity to run onto the court after beating the Duke Blue Devils. If one followed the many breathless accounts (hundreds of which were via ESPN’s sundry media outlets), you would have thought two things: (1) This is the first time this has ever happened; and (2) Numerous Duke players were trampled to death.

Neither is true, but it happened to Duke so it’s a big deal. Coach Mike Kszwkfjkdsji (close enough) did as he is wont to do and hurled obscenities at the crowd. When asked about it, Coach K sounded like he had survived the Benghazi attack. Now, countless talking heads have had enough. This must stop.

Let’s first disabuse ourselves of the notion that Coach K is a potential Nobel Prize winner who just happens to coach basketball. He’s a tempermental, foul-mouthed coach. His mentor is the despicable Bobby Knight. He’s not a college professor. He’s a college coach.

Here’s what should happen. Every school’s fans should run on the court after every Duke game, win or lose–whether they are playing Duke of not. Just run wild. In fact, when Duke loses, fans in every arena in the country should rush the court when the score is announced. Let’s just make it a tradition like that crazy octopus-throwing thing in hockey. One exception should be North Carolina. Don’t ever do that against your big rival. It just makes you look sad and desperate.

I say we go a step further. Opposing fans should rush the court even when Duke wins. That should make Coach K completely mental.

I am a proud alum and lifelong fan of the University of Kentucky. We’ve had the court rushed on us at INDIANA UNIVERSITY! Indiana, winner of multiple national championships, poured onto the court after beating UK in a regular season game. They put it on the cover a phone book. We’ve had this happen so many times that the Southeastern Conference now levies heavy fines for it. Trust me, the SEC isn’t concerned about Arkansas fans going wild if they beat Auburn.

iubball-e1323569180734-300x200

Imagine Coach K’s reaction to this.

The uninformed might ask: When do you UK fans rush the court? Answer: When we win the National Championship and only then to congratulate the players on doing what we knew they would do any way. I’m not saying we’d never do it during the regular season. As soon as we win a game that we fans don’t expect to win, I’m sure we’ll consider it.

TAXES

It’s tax time again. Pause. Are you done moaning? I pay a lot of taxes, and I’m fine with that. You know why? It means I make a good living. If I didn’t pay any taxes, I wouldn’t be making much money. I like making money. Now, I’ve known some folks who made a lot of money and didn’t pay taxes. Some of them went to jail. I’d rather pay taxes.

AMISH PEOPLE

Why are there so many Amish TV shows? I don’t get it. Amish Mafia? Amish people in New York? Young Amish running wild during Rumspringa. Evidently, the Amish are entertaining. Hmm.

I met an Amish guy once, I think. He had the beard, the hat and the poor-tailored clothes–that’s my stereotypical view of the Amish. But it was at a gas station. He was buying a bottle of water. That doesn’t seem Amish. We exchanged pleasantries. He had a bit of an odd accent. Nice enough, too. Yeah, he was Amish.  He didn’t entertain me.

I don’t find the Amish any more entertaining than Mennonites or Hutterites. I grew up in Eastern Kentucky where we had some experience with Mennonites. They did mission work in Eastern Kentucky. That’s how pitiful we were. Mennonites thought they had it better than we did. Again, nice people but not a barrel of laughs, unless you think bonnets are funny, which they kind of are.

Of course, all this makes me think about Shakers even though they aren’t Anabaptists. I live near a historic Shaker village. It’s pretty nice unless–like me–you enjoy cable TV. The Shakers don’t marry or procreate, and they’re prevented from adopting. There are only three left, and they’re like 90 years old. Not much TV potential there.

The Amish do one thing entertaining. Sometimes, they hire men to replenish the gene pool. That’s right–hired men to impregnate their women just like in the movie A Boy and His Dog. You have to do it in front of the husband. There’s some reality TV for you.

SEQUESTER

Let us not speak of this again.

COMICS

Okay, I lied. I used to read Archie comics, too. I’m still haunted by why he rejected Betty. SHE THREW HERSELF AT HIM! I didn’t know any girls who looked like Veronica and Betty. Maybe that’s why I liked it.

I knew this kid who would steal your comics if he came to your house.  We had to check his coat sleeves before he left.  Oh, and he used to draw obscene things on Betty and Veronica.

Well, that’s it.  Those are just a few random things rattling around in my head.  I feel better now.  Wait a second…what if Superman had been raised by an Amish family?  Imagine the possibilities…..

©thetrivialtroll.wordpress.com 2013

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Dennis Rodman: Athlete, Spy, … President?

“There is nobody in the CIA who can tell you more personally about Kim Jong Un than Dennis Rodman and that in itself is scary.”

Former Deputy Assistant Secretary of State Steve Ganyard

rodman

Dennis (“the Worm”) Rodman recently visited North Korea. He went there with three Harlem Globetrotters–I don’t why only three, but that was it. The Globetrotters were there to play ball with some North Koreans. Rodman went to watch.

Now, the Worm claims that the “FBI” wants him to be a spy.  At least that’s what he told The Miami Herald recently.  Perhaps that’s true.  I’ll set aside the obvious questions about why the FBI would be involved with this, given its focus on domestic law enforcement.

North Korea is the most cloistered country on Earth. It is, as it has always been, shrouded in secrecy. Foreign media is banned.  The U.S. does not have diplomatic relations with the Democratic People’s Republic of North Korea. No embassy. No official visits. No communication. No one really knows what goes on there. In fact, The Korean War isn’t even over. The North and South just declared a truce. We know almost nothing about what goes on there.

One man knows, at least to some extent. That man is Dennis Rodman. The Worm. The hard-partying, tattooed, body-pierced, rebounding machine. The same Dennis Rodman who once wore a wedding dress to promote his autobiography. Arguably, the best rebounding forward to ever play basketball.

The confluence of these two personalities is significant, at least to me. Both fascinate me. Rodman, the ultimate blue-collar athlete. Kim, the ultimate political loony, a Communist dictator in an age where there are few Communists. Both are mysterious and more than a little unhinged. Yet, there they are together.

In some ways, Rodman’s life is the American Dream. He and his two sisters were raised in poverty by their mother. His absentee father claims to have fathered over 20 other children. Rodman says it may be more like 40. He wasn’t a high school basketball star. He wasn’t recruited. He was 5′ 6″ high school freshman who couldn’t make the basketball team. He graduated high school and worked as a janitor until he got a chance to play. He attended a junior college and then Southeastern Oklahoma State, where he was an NAIA All-American. While in college, he was taken in by a white family he considers now to be his own.  It’s a story right of Hollywood.  It rivals our President for a rags-to-riches tale (more on that later).

Rodman was drafted by the Detroit Pistons where he did the dirty work–defense and rebounding. He was quiet, even humble. He cried when he was named NBA Defensive Player of the Year. He perfected rebounding, making it his one dominating skill.

Somewhere along the line, he became the Dennis Rodman we now know. Dyed hair. Tattoos. Piercings. He never stopped being a defending, rebounding machine. Along the way, he dated Madonna, married and divorced Carmen Electra and even did a stint on Celebrity Rehab. He’s made movies. He’s wrestled. Now, at 52 years old, he still has the sculpted physique of an athlete and the lifestyle of out of control rock star.

We know Kim Jong Un, too. Sorta. He’s the cherubic evil dictator of the DPRK following in the footsteps of his grandfather and father. His father, the late Kim Jong IL, was best known to Americans in photos of him looking at things, which he apparently did quite often. Dad loved Elvis, basketball and action movies. Reportedly, he also was quite fond of pornography. We all know that he was a stellar athlete, shooting 34 under par the first time he played golf, running marathons in record time and regularly bowling perfect games.

We know considerably less about young Kim. He’s called Dear Leader. We know he’s in his 30’s. He may or may not be married. He bears a striking resemblance to Russell from the film Up. He has a jacked-up haircut which is odd considering that his Dad has a fabulous pompadour. Like his father, he likes to look at things. He has a disgraced brother who has been banished from DPRK. Other than that, we don’t know much about him.

up

Nuclear boom-boom make Dear Leader happy!

Like Pop, Un likes to saber-rattle, threatening South Korea and the United States with destruction. He lives like a king or at least an evil dictator. He’s a fat little bastard in a country where people regularly starve to death. He likes nuclear testing and firing rockets, even if they don’t always work.

Now, these two unlikely characters have crossed paths. Rodman has met the Kim Jong Un–the only American to ever do so. Think about that. Dennis Keith Rodman is the only American to meet the man. What does this mean? I don’t know, but I’d like to speculate.

I don’t discount the possibility that Rodman is a traitor, a gender-bending Benedict Arnold (I’ve seen pictures of Benedict. He might have been doing a little gender-bending himself). Perhaps he’s come into government secrets while partying. He might have been in Colombia with those congressmen and black-mailed them. Armed with this information, he traveled to North Korea. Kim then paid him in millions of whatever weird-ass money they use (with Kim’s face on it, no doubt).

Don’t expect the Worm to be hanged for treason. Treason is hard to prove. Plus, no one really knows what it is. According to scholars like Sean Hannity it’s whenever someone criticizes a Republican president during a war. Woodrow Wilson thought it was saying anything negative about a declared war. It’s all confusing. That’s why people get prosecuted for espionage, instead.

Call me naive, but I don’t see the Worm as a traitor. Only in America could a man from his background rise to the level of success and public curiosity as he has. He wouldn’t turn on us.  Besides, there is, as they say, more to the story here.

Is he an assassin? Could be. Maybe he planned to garrote the rotund strong man but didn’t get the chance. As easily the largest human in the DPRK, he probably could have strangled dozens of people before being subdued. If he went off, he’d look like something from a Japanese monster movie, crushing tiny Koreans under his feet. It’s no coincidence that Rodman was drinking a Coke with Un. Coke is not sold in the DPRK. Maybe Rodman was allowed to smuggle in a few cans to addict the portly strongman to the elixir known as high fructose corn syrup. This time, it was regular Coke. Next time? The really New Coke, with extra arsenic.

Perhaps it was simply a diplomatic mission. Un hates Americans. That’s clear. It’s part of his upbringing: America = Evil. But, he loves basketball, just like his father. Pops owned a basketball signed by Michael Jordan. Maybe young Kim thought Rodman was Jordan. That wouldn’t be too hard to pull off. Under this theory, Rodman’s trip has the tacit approval of the State Department. Rodman can use his new friendship for our benefit. Now, if Kim starts testing nuclear weapons again, Rodman can call his cell phone:

KIM: Hello, Dear Leader here.

RODMAN: Yo, Un. Worm.

KIM: Dennis! How’s it hunging?

RODMAN: Hey, dude, man, what’s up with all that underground testing shit?

KIM: Worm, we must show your evil government that we are ready to destroy it.

RODMAN: [Laughing] You are one crazy mutha——. Hey, if you drop that shit, I’ll shoot over and play you a game of HORSE. Bring some Cokes, too,

KIM: Hmmm. DEAL!

Crisis averted. That’s a reasonable scenario, but I think more is at work here than a mere budding friendship between a crazed nuclear madman and an alcoholic, cross-dressing NBA Hall of Famer.

Dennis Rodman is a spy, enlisted by the President of the United States himself to infiltrate North Korea. With today’s nano technology, outfitting a nose ring with a camera is child’s play. Nipple rings go from a fashionable accessory to stealth recording devices. He is returning home with invaluable information.

Implausible, you say? Consider this: Rodman’s estranged father owns a restaurant in the Philippines called–get this–Rodman’s Rainbow Obamaburger! How convenient that he somehow got permission to use the President’s name for commercial purposes. Coincidence? You be the judge.

rodman3

To my knowledge, no one in the State Department has commented on Rodman’s father’s cozy relationship with the President.

How do I know Rodman is a spy? Consider the evidence:

  • Why were only three Globetrotters on the trip? What did the others know that made them a security risk?
  • Isn’t it strange that our State Department doesn’t even plan to talk to Rodman, the one man who knows Kim Jung Un personally?
  • Kim Jong Un loves basketball. Rodman played basketball.
  • The entire Kim family loves Michael Jordan. Rodman played with Michael Jordan.
  • Rodman’s father clearly has close connections to the White House.
  • Why does Rodman always wear sunglasses?
  • Photographic evidence proves that Rodman has a close personal relationship with former President George H.W. Bush. Why does the mainstream media continue to suppress this?
rodman2

Suppressed photo of meeting between Rodman and former CIA Director and President George Bush

My theory, amply supported by all the above, is that Rodman’s trip was anything but a basketball mission. One scenario is that, in the 1990’s, a young Barack Obama was climbing the ladder of success. Although most of his time was spent orchestrating his shaky Hawaiian Birth Conspiracy and fake Christianity, his sights were set much higher. Knowing that cooperation from the notoriously haughty Michael Jordan would virtually impossible, he forced Bulls owner Jerry Reinsdorf to trade for Dennis Rodman, the odd everyman of the NBA. Reinsdorf no doubt feared that Obama would call upon the aging vestiges of the Weather Underground to “disrupt” the Bulls’ season. Once Rodman was in Chicago, his relationship with Michael Jordan would open doors for Obama who knew of the elder Kim’s affection for MJ. A mere 10-15 years later, it all came to fruition as Obama called Rodman for a favor. The Worm delivered.

This theory, while certainly plausible, is too simplistic. There is more at work here. Much more.

At this point, you’re probably wondering the same thing that struck me during my research. Is it possible that Dennis Rodman and Barack Obama are the same person? Naturally, I have no proof of anything, but there are simply too many coincidences. How do you explain the following?

  • Both men were born in 1961.
  • They are African-American males.
  • Both Rodman and Obama spent several years in Chicago at the same time. There are no known media reports about what they did together during that time. How can that be?
  • Both Rodman and Obama had so-called absentee fathers who lived in foreign countries.
  • Both have two daughters.
  • Both Rodman and Obama enjoy playing basketball.
  • Both Rodman and Obama smoke.
  • There are no known photographs of them together.
  • Why hasn’t the White House responded to my many letters and faxes demanding to see a photo of Obama and Rodman together?
  • Obama has been the President for over four years, and Rodman has not visited the White House even once during that time.  How can that be?
  • Why hasn’t Rodman produced a copy of his birth certificate?
  • Why hasn’t Obama produced his college transcripts? Could it be that they show excellent grades at Southeastern Oklahoma State?

Then, too, there are the startling physical similarities between the two men:

dennis_rodman1

Note how Rodman cleverly covers his ears in most photos. Protruding ears, of course, cannot be easily masked. Consider, too, how covering one’s body in tattoos and piercings distract the viewer from facial features.  There is also little doubt that somewhere in all that is a Muslim tattoo of some kind.

Then, we have the President:

obama

Note the laughably inept body make-up. Even skilled Photoshopping doesn’t help. Thanks to the butchering of this photo, the President’s physique doesn’t even resemble Rodman’s. Yet, his nipple piercings are apparent when this photo is magnified. It’s not surprising that the White House doesn’t release such “photos” to the public.

Does this prove that they are the same person?  Well, no, but it raises questions–questions no one seems willing to address.  Don’t expect “your” government to offer anything.

I know that I’ve put myself at great risk by raising this issue, but it’s time that public knows the truth.  The Worm has indeed turned.

©thetrivialtroll.wordpress.com 2013

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How Smart Aren’t You?

dumb

Did you ever think you might not be all that smart?  If you’re really dumb, you probably haven’t.  I’ve think about it sometimes, even though I seem to be fairly bright.  Of course, if I’m not so smart, I’ll probably would like I’m smarter than I really I am.

I’d rather have almost any problem that dumbness.  Almost.  Horrible diseases would be worse, as would disfiguring scars.  Face tattoos may be worse.  Morbid obesity, too, but you might be able to do something about that.

I recently wrote a post about stupidity and one its key elements–dumbness. After I wrote it, it got me thinking (See? I’m not dumb).  My observations, while spot on as usual, are of no aid to a man or woman who does not realize his or her own dumbness.  While my post may have been of benefit in identifying the dumb or truly stupid, it left a gaping hole.  How do you know if you yourself are dumb or possibly even stupid?

It strikes me that the truly dumb don’t know it.  How could they?  If someone pointed it out, they may not understand.  This would be especially true if that someone was a smart person.  It may all be above their heads.

I thought devising a quiz for dumbness.  But the dumb probably aren’t good test-takers.  How could they trust the test results?

Instead, I offer certain red flags for your consideration.  Below are telltale signs of dumbness.  I don’t write this to offend, although I surely will.  Consider it a public service:

YOU BELIEVE IN CONSPIRACIES

The dumber you are the more conspiracies you believe.  Even believing in just one is a bad sign.  Multiple?  Uh oh.  Here’s the deal with conspiracies:  They get found out.  People can’t keep their mouths shut.  Someone talks.

Here’s a helpful rule of thumb:  If you believe in a conspiracy and at least one of the conspirators is alive, it probably didn’t happen.

Let’s take the JFK assassination, the grand daddy of all conspiracies.  Quite a few smart people believe this one.  According to the theorists, Lee Harvey Oswald, Jack Ruby, Clay Shaw, J.D. Tippit, Lyndon Johnson, The Warren Commission, the Mafia and many, many others were all involved.  There are many variations on this conspiracy, enough to fill several books–which they have. None of the conspirators ever cracked and made public their story.  Weird, huh? Hundreds–maybe thousands–of people coordinated to kill one man and everyone kept their mouth shut.  Do you know why?  BECAUSE IT DIDN’T HAPPEN.

What about the moon landing?  Lots of folks think it didn’t happen.  Are you one of them?  They can point to many “facts” supporting their claims.  All of those have been debunked; however, any skeptic is just part of the conspiracy.  I was a kid when Neil Armstrong walked on the moon.  Another kid told me that it couldn’t happen because “the moon would turn to blood.”  It didn’t.

How about 9/11?  Think George W. Bush orchestrated it?  If so, he is the most evil and diabolical mind to ever sit in the White House.  Do you really believe that?

There are a couple of things that drive conspiracies.  One is that some things seem too big not to be part of some larger evil.  How could a little piss ant like Lee Oswald shoot the President?  How could a bunch of loons just waltz into our country and fly planes into buildings?  There must be some explanation!  Other things–like the moon landing–are so fantastic that they lend themselves to wild theories.

Sadly, dumbness also drives conspiracy theories.  I’m sure some dumb guy reading this now thinks I’m in the CIA.  Maybe I am.

YOU HATE SMART PEOPLE

Do you think smart people lack “common sense?”  Do you think people who attend the top universities are “elitists?”  Do you call people who excel academically names, like “nerd” and “dork?”  If so, you have a great chance of being dumb.

The really smart folks are the ones who made our lives worth living.  They invented almost everything.  I’m sure there a few things that dumb guys invented, maybe the toilet paper holder or Bluetooth headsets.  Regardless, smart people have made most of the good stuff.

A guy once told me that I lacked common sense because I didn’t know how to trap a bear.  Really?  If you find yourself saying something like, stop.  You are treading the path of dumbness.

Likewise, people who attend the finest universities in our country also tend to be smart.  Okay, there are some “legacies” who get in these schools, too.  (George W. Bush, the entire Kennedy family, etc.).  Overall, though, these are the best and the brightest.  Be glad they go to these schools.  They come up with stuff like microwave ovens, satellites, cell phones, face transplants and computer software.  Of course, you don’t have to go to one of these schools to do well, but it won’t hurt you.

Plenty of smart don’t go to the best schools.  Bill Gates is an example.  They’re still plenty smart. They’re not elitists.  They’re just smart.  If you don’t understand that, well…..you get the picture.  Or maybe not.

Oh, being well-educated doesn’t necessarily make you smart.  I’m a lawyer, and there are plenty of dumb lawyers.

Smart people are the ones you are tempted to deride by pointing out their lack of social graces or general “coolness.”  They’re also probably signing your pay checks.

YOU USE NON-WORDS

There are a lot of words in the English language, probably thousands.  I’m sure other languages have just as many or even more than we do.  There’s really no reason to make up words. I’m not talking about colloquialisms or even words like “ain’t.”  As we know, “ain’t” ain’t a word, but we use it.  Where I grew up, it’s as much a part of the language as any other word.  I’m really talking about words that just flat aren’t words.  Here’s a partial list:

  • Supposably
  • Irregardless
  • Hain’t (the correct word is “ain’t.”)
  • Mater
  • Efforting
  • Ath-a-lete
  • Drowneded
  • Excape
  • Orientate
  • Interpretate
  • Nucular
  • Reoccur

Of course, this list could go on and on.  Don’t even get me started on things like “I could care less,”  which means you actually do care, at least to some extent.  If you continually use fake words, you might not be the sharpest knife in the drawer.  Stop it.  If you can stop, then you’re not dumb.  If you don’t understand any of this…you know that means.  I guess.

YOU BELIEVE EVERYTHING ON THE INTERNET

The Internet is wonderful. It’s hard to imagine life before it, although many of us remember those times.  We would thumb through over-sized newspapers, staining our hands with news print just to find out what yesterday.  Now, the world is instantaneously at our fingertips. The downside, of course, is that the Internet is available to everyone without filter and certainly without editors.

Here’s a story I heard on the Internet last Fall:

President Obama is planning to throw the 2012 Election.  He has already built a massive compound in Hawaii to which he will move in January 2013.  He will then be named Secretary-General of the UN.  Then, he will be free to live openly as a Muslim.  He will then impose a one-world order.  He and Michelle will get divorced so that he can then live as a gay man.  It is well-known that he and Rahm Emanuel belong to a Chicago gay men’s club called the Down Low Club.

I didn’t make that up.  Google it.  It’s out there.  It seems that this story wasn’t true, but people believed it.  Someone emailed it to me.  If you believe stories like this, it isn’t good.  If it’s on the Internet, it may not be true, especially if doesn’t sound true.  Here are some other things on the Internet that aren’t true:

  • The government has a plan to put computer chips under our hides.
  • Members of Congress get paid their full salaries for life.
  • Obama wears a secret Muslim ring.
  • The UN has a plan to confiscate all our guns.
  • Starbucks won’t serve members of the military.

Again, this is just a small sampling.  If you read something on the Internet-especially if it is about someone you despise–think about it.  If you’re even half-way smart, you’ll be suspicious of the fake ones.

Just don’t believe what you read on the Internet.  In fact, you’re on the Internet right now (unless you’ve taken to printing my popular blog).  You shouldn’t even believe this.  Trust me.

Here’s a test.  Log on to Facebook. Scroll. Soon, you will see a post about some outrageous offense, usually involving a politician.  If you are tempted to “like” or repost it, STOP.  Google the story or go to Snopes.com (which, by the way, is not funded or owned by George Soros).  If you believe the story regardless of proof to the contrary, oh well.

CONCLUSION

If you question whether you’re dumb, you probably aren’t, unless it’s because people are always telling you that you’re dumb.  Of course, if those people are themselves dumb, it may not mean anything.

I do not consider myself as expert nor am I fit to judge.  I am, however, fit to offer my opinions, dumb or not.  After all, this is the Internet.  Irregardless, it has to be true.

©thetrivialtroll.wordpress.com 2013

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The Harlan County Way

harlansgn

I grew up in Eastern Kentucky–born and raised as we say. What is Eastern Kentucky? I guess you’d call it a region or sub-region of Central Appalachia. It is not, as you might think, simply the eastern half of the great Commonwealth of Kentucky. Here’s my personal map of the area:

Kentucky_county_map2

This seemingly random boundary results in some folks calling it Southeastern Kentucky which, geographically speaking, is more accurate. A few notes:

  • We can’t include any counties on the Ohio River. They aren’t isolated enough. This excludes Boyd, Greenup, Lewis, etc.
  • I-64 runs through Montgomery, Bath, Rowan and Carter Counties. Again, they are excluded because of lack of isolation. Elliott County is an exception because–well–you just have to visit there to see.
  • Once you push too far north, you get out of the mountains, and we have to exclude you. Goodbye Fleming, Nicholas and Robertson Counties. Robertson County is the toughest to exclude. It definitely has an Eastern Kentucky feel to it, but it’s out.

The qualifications for Eastern Kentucky status include:

  • Mountains. You have to have mountains, not hills. Fleming County has beautiful, rolling hills, but they aren’t mountains.
  • Isolation. It has to be kind of tough to get there or at the very least it’s just on the way to somewhere else. Rarely is an Eastern Kentucky county a destination. On this criterion, Robertson County would qualify, but again, it’s just too far north.
  • Coal Mining. You need some coal mines, either now or in the past. We’re from coal mining stock.
  • Accents. You have to sound like us. Now, people in Carter County pretty much sound like us, but they have that Interstate.

I hail from Harlan County, the Eastern Kentuckiest of all counties. We’re isolated. Very isolated. Harlan County is not on the way to anywhere. If you need to go someplace that can be accessed through Harlan County, I guarantee that there’s an easier, quicker way to get there. Harlan–that’s what we call it–isn’t a destination, either. There aren’t any hotels to speak of, really. No Holiday Inn Express, Hampton Inn, etc. There are a couple of places to stay, and they’re okay. If you’re spending the night in Harlan, you probably have family there anyway.

We have mountains all around us.  We’re hemmed in.  We mine coal and have for over 100 years.  We also have accents, heavy mountain accents–the kind that can be indecipherable even to natives of the area.

I don’t live in Harlan now, but I’m still a Harlan Countian. Always.  So, I speak of how it was 30 years ago.  One of the great things about Harlan is that changes very little.  It’s still pretty much the same.

Now, don’t confuse Harlan County with the town of Harlan, our county seat. If someone tells you that he or she is from Harlan, they could mean any town from Pathfork to Holmes Mill to Cumberland to Cranks. Only if we’re talking to another Harlan Countian would we narrow the description to the town. Myself, I’m from Loyall which is three miles from the town of Harlan.

loyallsign

I’ll say I’m from Harlan, but don’t get confused. I’m from Loyall.

Unless you lived in the town of Harlan, you don’t go to the “city” schools–Harlan High Elementary and Harlan High School. I attended Loyall Elementary and Junior High and James A. Cawood High School. Cawood was named after James A. Cawood, long time Superintendent of the Harlan County Schools. None of my schools still exist. Now kids go to Harlan County High School which consumed Cawood, Evarts and Cumberland High Schools. We used to be territorial based on our schools. When we went to high school, we identified as being from Loyall or Hall or Wallins. We rarely hung out with anyone from Evarts or Cumberland–in those days, they had their own high schools. They might as well have been in different states.

WE ARE BAD

The vast majority of Harlan Countians are proud to be from Harlan. We are our own world. We like that it’s called Bloody Harlan by some folks even though that name is based upon events which occurred 70 years ago. Bloody Harlan is just badass. We like being the badasses of Eastern Kentucky.

bloodyjohn

Your author proudly claims his heritage.

Many people watch the FX series Justified. Justified portrays Harlan as a lawless frontier of wanton violence. Harlan Countians like Justified. We like people to think we’d kill them for some trivial reason.

Before Justified, many people got their image of Harlan from the award-winning documentary Harlan County USA which followed the Eastover coal mine strike at Brookside, Kentucky. Harlan County USA divides us into two groups: Those that love it and those that hate it. The ones who love it love the depiction of rough and ready union brothers and sisters ready to wage war with the coal company thugs. The rest of us (that includes me) hate the image of Harlan Countians as violent, uneducated hooligans. They point to the many fine folks in the county who were (and still are) horrified by the goings on at Eastover. The truth, of course, probably lies somewhere in the middle. The folks in Brookside were surely Harlan Countians as was the chief gun “thug,” Basil Collins. Basil was a neighbor of ours when I was a kid, so I know he was real. My mother drove through Brookside to go to work every day, so I also know the strike was real.  Harlan has always been divided into pro- and anti-union.  It still is in some ways, although it has been many years since the United Mine Workers Association held great sway.

That bastion of journalism, Hustler Magazine, once listed Harlan (the town) as one the three meanest towns in America. It was described as a place where people only smiled when they heard that someone had died. Harlan Countians did not like that. Not at all. I suspect it’s mostly because they didn’t care much for Hustler, at least not publicly.

Overall, we like the stereotypical portrayal of Harlan. Harlan is tough. Harlan is mean. Harlan is total badass.

Growing up, I didn’t feel particularly tough. Then, I moved to Lexington, Kentucky and found out that I was pretty tough by Lexington standards. For instance, threats didn’t faze me. I knew that truly dangerous people don’t threaten much. They just inflict harm. Of course, there’s a downside.  A mouthy little man like me finds out the hard way that bad is good, but big is better.  Bad and small isn’t a recipe for success.

WHO ARE WE?

Who are the Harlan Countians? Besides the accident of birth, we have certain commonalities:

  • We know that houses have winders and chimleys
  • We mispronounce light, fight, white and night.
  • We all know someone named Lonzo.
  • We have accents which are obscured by our penchant for mumbling.
  • We know at least one person who has been shot with a gun by someone else or by themselves accidentally.
  • We own guns.
  • We are related to at least one coal miner.
  • We say Papaw and Mamaw.
  • We know trash when we see it, and I’m not talking about garbage pick up.
  • We know at least one person whose mother was really their grandmother, and sister was their mother. Trust me on this one.

Harlan Countians can be found everywhere. Who are we?

  • The Stalwarts

These are the folks who stayed in Harlan. They are either Harlan by birth or moved there at a young age. They might have gone to college or joined the military. Regardless, they came back. Maybe they never left.

These are small town people just like in every small town. Small town life can be hard or easy. If it’s hard, it’s hopeless. If it’s easy, there’s nothing better. In that regard, Harlan is Small Town, USA. There are doctors, lawyers, accountants, teachers, coaches, laborers, deadbeats and criminals. There are good people and bad people. Like anywhere else, you have to hope to you don’t cross paths with the bad ones at the wrong time.

Among this crowd are those that my father called “off the grid.” He said we had a sub-culture of people “so far off the creek” that they weren’t plugged in to the modern world. That is certainly true, but I must say that those unfortunates (if that’s what they are) are the in minority.. They may be from such places as Shields, Jones Creek, Smith, Cranks, Punkin Center or Happy Top, although I can name you folks from all those places who have done quite well for themselves.

Harlan is no more defined by any subculture than Chicago should be defined by its sad history of public housing or New York by the worst of its slums. Yes, we have folks living in poverty–too many (as though there is an acceptable level of suffering) but most folks live just fine.

My parents were stalwarts. My Dad was born in Evarts and–expect for military service and college–never lived anywhere else. My mother moved to Harlan County from Pike County at around age 12 and never left except to attend college. They had no desire to ever live anywhere else. And they didn’t.

  • The Outlanders

I am an outlander. An outlander is someone who used to live in Harlan. We’re still Harlan Countians. We just live somewhere else. There are a lot of us spread over the country, but we still think of ourselves as being from Harlan. I haven’t lived in Harlan in 30 year, but if someone asks where I’m from, “Harlan” is the immediate response.

Some are like me. I went to college and had personal and professional opportunities that pulled me away. Others leave to find better opportunities.

We outlanders like our Harlan roots. It’s a kind of mountain street cred. If we meet anyone else from Eastern Kentucky, we can get instant acceptance with a simple “I grew up in Harlan.” Translation: “Despite appearances, I will kill you if necessary. So, watch your step.  I’d hate to have to kill you.  Just kidding–about the ‘hate’ part. I am a badass.”

  • The Pretenders

There are people who will pretend to be from Harlan or any place else in Eastern Kentucky. That’s right–they’ll pretend. They have cousins or in-laws or remote ancestors who hailed from the mountains. This, so they say, makes them mountain people. Of course, it doesn’t. We laugh at them but let them have their fun. They’re usually the folks who dream of turning all of Eastern Kentucky into a massive tourist destination by having all the people who live there pack up and move. Then, they can come back and pay admission to see where they used to live.

Sometimes, these people would show up to help us.  We were always suspicious of outsiders, especially those offering “help.”  We could tell if you were from Ohio or Michigan or some other exotic place.  You talked funny.  You weren’t one of us.  Go help someone else.

  • The Loathers

These folks are Harlan Countians, but they don’t like it. They might even live in Harlan, but it doesn’t suit them. It’s too dull. It’s boring. There’s nothing to do. There’s no future. It’s bleak. But they don’t always leave. They just hang around and complain.  Most of us pass through this phase at some point.  Many never leave it.

Some of these folks do leave Harlan–a lot of them, in fact. They go to other parts of the state or country and live as ex-Harlan Countians. They don’t like being from Harlan. They don’t want to sound like Harlan or look like Harlan. They pity Harlan. They know what’s best for Harlan, though, and won’t hesitate to tell you. Even though they know what’s best for Harlan, we don’t really like them.

WHAT WAS IT LIKE?

My children are fascinated and perhaps slightly horrified that I grew up in Harlan. Even though they have visited my homeland many times, they remain baffled by it.

Even though I haven’t lived there in many years, I still visit.  I’m fortunate that my job regularly takes me to Eastern Kentucky. Harlan is quiet, unless you grew up near the railroad tracks like I did. Then it was quiet except when the trains ran, which seemed like every 15 minutes or so.

Loyall had a school, a railroad yard, one stop light, a movie theater (at one time), the Corner Store (a genuine soda shop), a gas station, a barber and a couple of stores. A convenient store replaced the gas station and stores.  The school closed. All that’s left is the yard and that light.   We had our own post office, City Hall and fire station. They’re still there.   About 1,000 people lived there when I was a kid.  Maybe 700 or so now.  It was quiet then.  It’s quiet now.

We once had a train full of nerve gas pass through Loyall.  People gathered at the railroad tracks to watch it.  Why?  I don’t know.  Maybe they were hoping to see (or experience) some kind of catastrophe. Maybe they just didn’t have much else to do.

Sometimes you hear gun fire in the distance, but that’s in the woods. There aren’t running gun battles anymore like the famed Battle of Evarts many decades ago.  Oh, people still get shot occasionally but at much lower rate than we’d like you to believe.

The county is big, about 50 miles across, but sparsely populated. Like much of Eastern Kentucky, the population has declined for decades.  One can argue that it’s always been over-populated what with the chronic high unemployment and high poverty rate.

The “first of the month” is a big time in Harlan. That’s when people get their checks. Government checks. Disability checks. Welfare checks. Food stamps, too. Town is flooded with people. When I was young, the Government Cheese truck looked like a scene from an African relief mission. People were practically hanging on it. Although we certainly weren’t poor, Government Cheese is excellent, and my Dad would get us a block whenever he could. I miss Government Cheese.

We only periodically had a movie theater, the fabulous Margie Grand in Harlan. It would occasionally be condemned but re-open at some point. It was an old theater whose best days had long past. Plaster would fall from the ceiling and you could throw popcorn on the stage in front of the screen and watch the rats scurry out to eat. It was tough to find two functioning seats together. It reeked of Pine Sol. It was a movie experience like no other. Sometimes, the film would jam and you could watch it melt.  It even had an old balcony where–rumor had it–black folks used to be seated. Loyall also had a theater–the Roaden–until I was about 6 years old. For many years now, Harlan has had a multi-screen cinema. Sweet.

Mostly, we didn’t do much, because there wasn’t much to do. Oh, you might go to Gary’s Lounge and Roller Rink sometimes. Gary’s was a fun place. One side was a roller rink. The other side was the Lounge, a long, narrow open room with a dance floor. A friend of mine once drank a beer from a girl’s cowboy boot at the Lounge. You don’t see that every day.

Mostly, we just hung out. Funny thing is, that’s what my kids do, even though they live in a small city with a million things to do. I guess teenagers everywhere just hang out. Oh, and we moaned and complained about not having anything to do. My kids do that, too.

IT’S NOT ALL GOOD

When I went to college, I befriended other Eastern Kentuckians. One guy said we were like Indians who left the reservation. Even though I had been lots of places, leaving Harlan took me out of my comfort zone. Honestly, it took me years to adapt. I went from a county of about 35,000 people spread over 1,000 square miles to a campus of 20,000 + crammed into a few blocks. No wonder I was overwhelmed.

Since I’ve been gone, Harlan–like all of Eastern Kentucky–has been devastated by prescription drug abuse. We didn’t have that problem when I lived there. If we had a problem like that today in my slice of Suburbia, there would be a full-blown panic. Now, sadly, it’s a way of life in the mountains.

Coal mining runs in cycles.  Right now, it’s in a big down turn.  That hurts everyone.

There is a bleak side to Harlan, as anywhere else. Like inner cities, there are generations locked into a poverty cycle. Some escape, but most don’t. There has always been tension between those who work and those who don’t or won’t. Nothing will get a hard-working coal miner or school teacher fired up like a discussion about those “drawing a check.”  That’s how it was when I was a kid, and it hasn’t changed.

We also suffer from stereotyping.  Our teeth aren’t all that bad, although mine aren’t great.  We didn’t all drink Mountain Dew as babies.  I’ve never known anyone who didn’t wear shoes–and I knew some pretty rough characters.  I knew no one married to his own sister and just a handful married to their cousins.

We’re also the last of a breed–and this applies to all of Appalachia. We’re the last group that can openly derided.  We can be called ignorant, inbred, genetically inferior, toothless, shoeless–you name it.  If you do so, you won’t be called a bigot or a phobe of any type.  You might even become a best-selling author or reality TV producer.

My life is very much divided into two parts–before and after Harlan.  Now, far in the past, at least until I visit.  Give me about 30 minutes, and it’s like I never left.  That’s pretty cool.

If you live in Harlan, I can’t say that I blame you. If you don’t, I can’t fault you for that, either. It’s a nice place. Different, but nice. If you don’t believe me, I just might have to kill you.

©thetrivialtroll.wordpress.com 2013

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The Ultimate Facebook User’s Guide

It’s 2013, and I guess everyone on Earth is on Facebook now–maybe not everyone but a lot of people for sure. I first joined Facebook in 2008 as a way to snoop on my kids. That didn’t last long as I became intrigued, then fascinated and then addicted to its wonders.

In 2008, most people were playing games on Facebook.  Mafia Wars dominated as your FB friends asked you to join their “mafia.” I never did. That gave way to Farmville, and Facebookers became virtual Oliver Wendall Douglases. They needed help building fences and barns and rounding up animals. It was like everyone was Amish after they logged on. Then came Words With Friends, CityVille, Poker and many more games. Now, there is a Farmville 2. We’ve come full circle.

A lot of people who know me well are surprised that I like Facebook. I’m not the most social person. In fact, I’m an intensely private person. Why do I like FB? First, I’ve caught up with dozens of people I would never have heard from again nor made any effort to do so. I know about their families and lives now. Second, I would never have contact with most of these folks otherwise. I don’t do a good job of keeping track of folks. FB fixed that. Third, it helps me to hear opinions of others and the good and bad in other folks’ lives. It’s good to be plugged into to the human race, even if it’s just by a PC or smart phone.  Finally, it’s a way to interact with people without really having to fool with them. Perfect for me.

Even people who aren’t on Facebook know about it. They have co-workers, friends and family on FB. They’ll look at others’ pages and secretly pine to belong. Why don’t they? Usually, these folks are men who have deemed themselves either too busy or cool to be bothered with it. They’ll say things like “I’d never do that. I don’t have the time.” Translation: “I’m more important you are. Blah, blah, blah.” These are the same people who will join LinkedIn and make 2,000 connections, because they think it’s important. Look, I know housewives, doctors, lawyers, teachers, kids, CEOs, factory workers, journalists, accountants and unemployed folks on FB. You ain’t that important. Of course, there are the Luddites of the world for whom the whole thing is overwhelming. These are the folks still trying to figure out if they should get into texting. Don’t let any of these killjoys drag you down. If you want to live in the FB world, join us.

If you’ve never been on FB or if you are but you only log on every few weeks or months, there are some basic rules or guidelines which will help you enjoy the experience.

NO ONE LIKES A CREEPER

Imagine if your next door neighbor rarely left his house and, when he did, he didn’t speak to you. Yet, he would read your mail and stare in your windows. Sometimes, he would just stand in your yard. Even if you thought he was harmless, you’d get tired of this behavior. FB works the same way.

Don’t just go on FB to creep on other people. We’re not a shy lot, but we like some interaction. I’m not saying you have to post something every time you log on, but you can “like” a status or even comment on one sometimes. We won’t think less of you. In fact, we might “like” you right back. Even if we don’t, we’re unlikely to say anything. There is no “dislike” button.  You might even get “poked.”

When you creep, I call it going Rondo:

Creepers are scary. Don't be scary.

Don’t go all Rondo on your friends.

Naturally, you might wonder: “If I post something, what should it be?”

WHAT SHOULD I SAY?

The good news is that there really are no rules beyond a certain unspoken PG-13 standard. Posters fall into several categories:

The Lamenter: This is a person for whom the world is a difficult and troubled place. He or she is ill, has ill family members, job and money woes and usually doesn’t sleep well. We on FB like these folks. They’re part of our virtual family. Plus, they make us feel a little better about ourselves.  Vent all you want. We won’t judge you and, if we do, we’ll probably do it quietly.

The Prayer Warrior: This person is seeking or sending prayers for many things: the country, sick children, sick adults, the dead, the living and the unborn. He or she will post Bible verses and inspirational quotes from a variety of sources. If you have a problem, these folks will step up.  Most people are like I am–we’ll take prayers where we can get them.  It can’t hurt.

The Politico: This man or woman occupies either the far left or right of the political spectrum. He will post a long string of gifs and memes assailing his political opponents. Some of these will even be factually accurate. Many will be libelous. He also likes to quote people like Thomas Jefferson, John Adams, George Washington, James Monroe, Abraham Lincoln, Teddy Roosevelt, Calvin Coolidge, and Ronald Reagan. Oddly enough, these sources are quoted equally by both sides. You, too, can join in. Now, please understand that none of us change our opinions based on your posts, but we will be entertained, at least to some extent. If we’re not, we can always block you. You’ll never know.

Just like at the Thanksgiving dinner table or your local bar, droning on about politics will eventually offend someone.  The good news about FB is that you can just log off and let other vent at you.

Sports Guy: Based on his posts, he lives for sports, not playing them but watching other people play them. If “his” team wins, he will gloat and insult other teams and their fans, not just the one “his” team beat, either. His very worth as a human being is tied to whether a team of people he doesn’t know beats another team of people he doesn’t know. These victories fill him with joy and make him superior to fans of other teams. He won’t post about anything else. The flip side is that when his team loses, his posts become disturbing and deranged. He is a lesser person, and he knows it.

The Worker: This guy uses FB to promote his job, whatever it might be. He’s usually selling something. That’s cool. I might want to buy whatever it is he sells someday. I’d rather buy from a virtual friend than a total stranger.

Music Man: This guys rarely posts, and it’s almost always music videos. Why? I don’t know. I’ll check one out every now and then. It’s harmless.

Animal Farmers: These are folks who like animals. Well, maybe they love animals. Almost all their posts are about animals. There is an endless supply of comical photos of dogs and cats on the Internet. All of them have been posted on FB. If, like me, you don’t find animals particularly entertaining, you can scroll through these posts. Besides, if you don’t love animals these folks probably aren’t targeting you anyway.

Crusaders: These folks are against bad stuff. Oddly, the bad stuff they are against is the kind of stuff everyone is against. They want you to “like” their posts if you’re against such things as child abuse, cancer, child pornography, violence against women and animal abuse. These are good things to be against. Post all you want about them but don’t expect any spirited debates.

Family Affair: These folks post only about their families, usually their kids. Their kids are uniformly wonderful and blessings from God. We all like to hear about kids, so join in. One word of advice–don’t get too real. If your kid caught the basement on fire with his meth lab or got stabbed by a hooker, you probably should keep that to yourself, unless you need prayers.

They also will ask you to “like” or “share” posts that say things like:

If your mother is a saint, your best friend and greatest person who ever lived, share this status.

They never post things like this:

If your mother was a crack whore who brought home a new “daddy” every week and burned down your trailer while smoking, share this status.

So, if, as is the case with too many folks, your parents or siblings were or are vile monsters, you probably shouldn’t post anything about them.

Tin Foil Hatters: They like to post links to various conspiracies, usually involving President Obama. Such things as implanted computer chips, Kenyan birth certificates and Muslim wedding bands are frequent topics. They never check Snopes.com, and if you tell them to do so, they’ll tell you that George Soros owns Snopes. You, then, will become part of the conspiracy. Try to not to become one of these folks. Then again, if you’re so inclined, the fact that I suggest you not do so will only strengthen your resolve to do so. The good news is that FB gives you a platform. If you carry on like that at work, you’ll probably have to see a doctor.   On FB, we just scroll by you like people on the street probably do.

These folks also tend to think Facebook is evil. It’s sharing your profile and personal information and photos. It’s signing you up in Al-Qaeda. It’s garnishing your wages. They never explain why they want to be on Facebook, but they love to warn you about it.

Suckers: Facebook is a hoaxer’s playground. Folks on FB will believe anything. Follow the same rules you follow in real life. If it sounds too good to be true, it is. For example, Bill Gates, despite his vast fortune and philanthropy, is NOT giving away $5000 if you share a picture of him, even this one:

bill-gates-5000-hoax

Also, no one won the PowerBall and wants to give you a million or even a thousand bucks. No beautiful women want to be your FB friends.  If it doesn’t happen in real life, it won’t on FB, either.

Newsies:  These posters assume that none of us watch or read any news, so they post links to news stories.  Some are also Politicos, and their posts only reflect their personal views.  Just like with music videos, it’s all pretty benign.  Who knows? We might even learn something from you.

Posting Tourette’s: This is me–a person who just posts various and sundry things that pop into his head. We can’t control it.  It just happens.  It’s almost like we’ve allowed FB to replace actually thought. Think it–post it is our mantra. We’ll post anything–family photos, videos, gifs, memes, jokes, rants, links. We’ll tell you about last night’s dream, our meals, illnesses and travel plans. We’ll complain about work and our families. We’ll brag and moan about things. In short, we combine all the best and worst of the other posters into one, manic posting monster. We post so often that if you were to read all our posts in sequence you’d be privy to the inner workings of our minds. We’ll wear you out on any given day, but we tend to be entertaining–or annoying. But, we’re never boring.

WHAT SHOULDN’T I SAY?

Facebook is a free speech zone, but all freedoms carry with them responsibilities. There are, of course, things you shouldn’t do:

Keep it clean: This should go without saying, but keep it clean, folks. Foul language, nudity (especially your own) and links to pornography are all beyond the pale. Hey, I’ve got no problem with any of that, but there are plenty of Internet forums out there for that stuff. At least that’s what I’ve heard.

Good taste: I am vehemently against child abuse. Honestly, I don’t anyone who isn’t. But, on the off-chance that you have FB friends who need persuading, photos of beat up or dead children won’t help. And they gross out the rest of us. Same goes for dogs that have been abused and killed. We know that’s bad.

It’s Not All About Politics: If you’re a Politico, that’s fine, but remember: Not everything is about politics. Don’t screw up someone’s post by trying to twist into a political statement. Example:

Post: We just had a great dinner-Steak on the grill, green beans, mashed potatoes and homemade yeast rolls! Thanks to my beautiful wife!

Politico’s Comment: Be thankful that Michelle Obummer isn’t your wife! She’d have you eating sprouts!

The Politico has now invited others of his or her ilk to make similar comments and hijack your wall. Bad form.

No Jesus Jukes: The Prayer Warriors will do the same thing with the infamous “Jesus Juke.” It goes like this:

Post: We had a great time at the game! 23,000 people rocked the place!

Comment: I wonder how many people would show up if Jesus was there and no game.

Your well-meaning friend has just brought you down and made you feel evil for enjoying the game. Don’t do that.

SPELING

You may be like me and be a spellcheck illiterate. Years of word processing have eroded my spelling skills. I am far-removed from the brash young lad who finished second in the Loyall Junior High Spelling Bee in 1976. Facebook won’t help you.

Its and it’s have different meanings. Same with there, they’re and their. To, two and too are not the same. Facebook won’t help with these issues. You have to step up and take responsibility.

THE UNFRIENDLY

There may be occasions when you must unfriend someone or, God forbid, you are unfriended. It’s happened to me. Yes, me. A girl I dated in college unfriended me. I think it’s because it took just a few months for her to remember that she hated me.

Unfriending is a drastic step. It is the Internet equivalent of a slap in the face. You aren’t even worthy of being a pretend friend. Think about that. In real life, of course, we unfriend people all the time. We just quit talking to them. If it required some affirmative act, we’d be less likely to do it.

Now, Facebook won’t tell you that you’ve been unfriended. You have to be paranoid enough to notice. Let’s just say that some of us notice these things. And we don’t like it.

EVERY PICTURE TELLS A STORY

Post a few pictures of yourself. Maybe we haven’t seen you in years. We’re curious. “But,” you say, “I’m not a handsome person. It shames me.” Relax, my ghoulish friend. Most of us are quite unattractive, especially those of us with a few years on us. We’ve gone bald (mostly men), gained weight, grayed, sagged and generally decayed. It’s okay.

I’m a good example. I was never what you’d call a handsome man. Now, my hair is gray and I have numerous wrinkles. Yet, I’ll post many photos of myself. Why? Well, for one thing, I’m a narcissist. Two, I’m not bald. See? You look better than someone–hopefully.

Perhaps you’ve improved with age, which happens. If so, by all means, post photos. Of course, if you really have improved, I don’t have to tell you to post photos.

One thing to watch is posting pictures of other people. They might not like it. For instance, I posted this photo of my wife:

catwoman

This made her angry because–she claimed–the lighting made her look pale. I should have cleared this with her first.

Please feel free to post as many photos of your kids and grand kids as you wish. God knows I do. They’re yours, and you should be proud of them. Even if they’re as homely as sin, we’ll still “like” them. Same goes for your pets. I have two rabbits and don’t hesitate to post about them, even though they are boring, do-nothing pets.  Yet, people always “like” them.  Go figure.

CONCLUSION

Come join us!  If you’re already on board, get in the deep end of the pool!  Join for real, too. Do not share your Facebook page with your spouse.  This will only show that you have trust issues, and we want to trust you.

It’s out there waiting for you, and there’s no time like the present.  In fact, I’m linking this post to Facebook as soon as it’s published.

You can even send me a friend request, and I’ll probably accept it.  I’m waiting.

©thetrivialtroll.wordpress.com 2013

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