Culture

Why I Love Being An American

Our flag is cool. No weird colors or animals on it. Just the good old star and stripes.

I am an American and proud of it.  By that, I mean I’m glad to be an American.  I’m saying not that being American makes me superior to other nationalities, but I’d like to think it does.  Why?  Here’s why:

ENGLISH

We speak English.  English is the international language of business.  Plus, it sounds good.  Foreign languages sound like gibberish.  Have you ever eavesdropped on foreigners having a conversation?  It’s incomprehensible!  I recently overheard a couple of people speaking Japanese, I think.  I’m convinced they weren’t really saying anything–just making a bunch of sounds.

I come from strong German stock, but I wouldn’t want to speak German.  They always sound mad shouting in guttural grunts.  That’s probably why they’ve started so many wars.  If you said “Please pass the salt” in German, you could start a fight.  Some languages, like Hebrew, make you spit while speaking them.  Others, like Russian, sound evil.  English just sounds sensible.

Now, of course, the English speak English, but it’s a smarmy, stuck-up version–not like ours.  Plus they say things like “loo” and “lorry.”  That’s just weird.

English also looks more sensible.  Our vowels are A, E, I, O, U and Y (sometimes).  Here are the Korean vowels:

Korean vowels. Are these even letters? They’re more like a bunch of poorly drawn stick figures.

Good luck trying to work a crossword puzzle with that pile of emoticons for an alphabet.  Russian is even worse:

The Russian alphabet. It’s so screwed up that they have two “E”s and a frickin’ 3 included.

What can you say about this mess?  The Russians are fond of strong drink.  I can only assume that this was some drunk guy’s effort to copy the real alphabet.  “Awww, what the Hell? I’ll just throw in a number to fill it out!  No one will notice.”  One time in college, I was drunk and wrote a note to girl to apologize for vomiting in her sink.  It looked like the picture above (I mean the note, not the vomit).

Those are just two examples.  Other languages are just as bad, I’m sure.  Hungarian, for instance.  Here is the longest word in the Hungarian language: legeslegmegszentségtelenítetthetetlenebbjeitekként.  You know what it means?  “like those of you that are the very least possible to get desecrated.”  You don’t speak English, and that’s the kind of useless crap you go around saying. 

WARS

We’re the best at war.  We spend all most as much money on the military as every other country combined, but we win.  We’re the New York Yankees of warfare.  No one can touch our payroll, and we have the results to back it up, too:

  • Revolutionary War:  Win
  • War of 1812:  Win, but I don’t know whom we fought.
  • French and Indian War: Win.  I assume we fought in this.  We must have won. Otherwise, we would be French and would have surrendered in the rest of our wars.
  • Civil War:  Win (for most of us).
  • Spanish-American War:  Win
  • World War I:  Win
  • World War II:  Win
  • Korean War:  Win. Okay, technically we won.  The war isn’t really over.  They just declared a truce.
  • Vietnam War: Forfeit
  • Gulf War:  Win
  • Iraq War:  Win
  • Afghanistan War (or whatever they call it):  Winning.
  • Canadian War (planning stages)

Anyone would admit that is an impressive record.  This doesn’t even count our skirmishes like Grenada and Panama.  Even someone like me who has never been in the military and would be unfit to serve anyway can swell up with pride about our military.

SPORTS

American sports are just better.  Okay, I know that soccer is the most popular sport in the world.  Big deal.  We took soccer and it’s more violent cousin, rugby, and turned them into football.  Let’s see some Euro-trash do that.

Baseball is a vast improvement over the foolish looking game of cricket with its rounders and batsmen.  Basketball is all ours.  Invented here. Perfected here.

What have they given us? Soccer.  Bullfighting, maybe.  That’s it. Jai Alai? That’s only watched by degenerate gamblers.  Hockey? Hell, no Americans play it.

We’re better athletes than the rest of the world, too.  Eastern Bloc countries used to challenge us. The Soviet Union was a group of like 20 countries–no wonder they won a lot of Olympic medals.  Each on its own can’t match us.  Now, the East Germans (yes, kids, there used to be an East Germany) gave us massive she-male swimmers.  We could have done that, but we like our chicks hot.   And female.

East German mad scientists did this to their women in an effort to compete with Americans.

MONEY

American money is just better.  It looks like money.  That’s why it’s the international choice for business exchange.  Look at what other countries have to use:

The poor Albanians. I don’t even know if this is a lot of money, but wouldn’t you be embarrassed to pull this out at Walmart? It looks like it was drawn by a third grader.

Of course, dictators always mar their money:

It’s bad enough that Ghaddafi oppressed everyone. He didn’t even have enough respect for his citizens to use a decent picture. It looks like he just got out of the shower.

Our money has former presidents and other impressive dignitaries (with the possible exception of Salmon Chase) on it.  Plus, our One Dollar Bill has a weird, mystical-looking image on the back.

The freaky backside of the One Dollar Bill.  Note the foreign gibberish.

Some foreign money looks like napkins.  Some of it looks like old paper bags.  Ours is just much better.  Plus, it’s American.  Stuff  a 1 Dinar bill in a stripper’s g-string, and you’ll not only get ignored, but a bouncer will probably beat the bejesus out of you.

Finally, we have the $2 bill, greatest of all monetary denominations.  It’s worth two dollars, of course, but if you use one, look at the faces light up!  If you give a stripper a $2 bill she’ll dance for you all night, at least that’s what I’ve heard.

MUSIC

We invented rock ‘n’ roll.  And country music. Nuff said.  Oh, I know about Mozart and Beethoven and Bach and those other haughty composers.  But, we flat rock.  The rest of the world is still trying to catch up.

The British have made inroads in rock, of course, but they speak English.  Plus, when they sing, most of them do so without that goofy accent.  That’s counterbalanced by their shameful ending of Jerry Lee Lewis’s career.  Apparently, the Brits have a problem with someone marrying his cousin–unless that someone is called a Prince or King.  By the way, who had the number 1 single in the UK for 11 weeks in the 1950’s?  Slim Whitman, American.  That little record only lasted 36 years.

Australia and Scotland gave us AC/DC.  For that, we are forever grateful.  Beyond that, the rest of the world can’t say much.

There is one area where we failed miserably.  Christian Rock.  It’s like milk and Coca-Cola.  Separately, they are both excellent.  Combined, they’re awful.  Christian rock works the same way.  It’s like Soviet hair bands during the Glasnost Era.  It just doesn’t work.  We apologize for trying.

ENTERTAINMENT

Here’s what we have:

  • Sports (see above)
  • Music (see above)
  • Movies (no subtitles)
  • Tractor Pulls
  • Celebrities
  • Rodeos
  • NASCAR
  • Eating contests
  • TV (again, no subtitles)

Here’s what they have:

  • Goat-carcass polo
  • Royal Families
  • Hockey
  • American Flag burning
  • Telemundo (actually, it’s pretty good)
  • Incomprehensible Swedish films
  • Anti-American chanting
  • Vodka (Russia only)
  • Loathsome diseases
  • Civil war

I’ll admit that they hold their own in pornography (that’s what I’ve been told).  Otherwise, all our stuff is better.

EDGINESS

We’re edgy.  We’re like a neighbor who is a nice guy, always friendly, but you find out that he’s beaten the crap out of a bunch of people.  That’s us.  Nice people.  Generous to a fault.  Cross us, and we’ll kill you.  We’re like Clint Eastwood in Gran Torino. Stay off our lawn.

We speak our minds, even if our minds are full things best kept quiet.  Right now, there’s great controversy over an anti-Islamic film made here in the USA.  We do that kind of thing.  We make insulting films. I watched a couple of clips of that movie.  Not since Manos The Hands of Fate has there been such a poorly made film.  We don’t care.  It’s controversial.  The Last Temptation of Christ is a great film, but it made people go nuts back in the 1980’s.  Fortunately, no one tried to kill Martin Scorcese for making it.

We have Nazis in the U.S.  Some countries have outlawed the Nazis but not us.  You can be a Nazi here.  Or a Communist.  Or a Socialist.  Anything.  You can start a cult or join an established one.  You can speak your mind about damn near anything.  If a bunch of tools want to protest at funerals, they can.  Of course, others of us might beat the crap out of them.  It’s the American Way.

Once you speak your mind, everyone else is entitled to get pissed off.  And we do.  We’ll yell right back at you. Now, we usually don’t go completely mental and attack each other.  Usually.

Who’s the only country to nuke another country?  U! S! A!  If you didn’t want nuked, you should have thought about that before you bombed our naval base.  That’s how we roll.  Think about this:  We didn’t want to be in WWII.  The economy was a wreck.  We didn’t have a fighting army or many weapons.  Less than four years later, we build a freakin’ atom bomb!  Stay off our lawn!

If it weren’t for us, they’d be speaking German in London right now and goose-stepping in front of Buckingham Palace.  Think about that.  What’s German for “lorry?” We kick ass and take names.  Why?  Because we’re edgy.

I AM AN AMERICAN

Mostly, I like being an American, because I am one.  I always have been.  I’m not a foreigner.  I also haven’t traveled to foreign countries.  Well, I did once.  I went to Mexico, and I got severe diarrhea.  That should tell you something.  Not that I haven’t had diarrhea in America, but that’s different.  It’s American.

In the great book, Catch-22, a character observes that there are 50 countries fighting in World War II and that not all of them can be worth dying for.  I agree.  Only America is worth that, but I must confess that I would hate to be put to the test on that one.  Of course, I’ll say it anyway.

There are other things I like about America–leggy supermodels, good candy, Waffle House, gas-guzzling cars and many other things.  It’s good to be an American.  At least I hope so, because that’s what I am.

©thetrivialtroll.wordpress.com 2012

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Why So Serious?

I’m a lawyer. I recently tried a case in which my relationship with the judge was, to put it mildly, contentious. During a break in the proceedings, the judge told me not to be “so grim,” because what we were doing was not “that serious.”  Of course, that was wrong. It was certainly serious for my client who was paying me. In the words of attorney Brendan Sullivan during the Iran-Contra hearings, I am not paid to be a “potted plant.”

Why so serious? It’s a serious world, my friends.

I suppose there are degrees of seriousness. If I lost that case, which I did, my family would still love me, the sun would shine and all God’s children would still be happy. Those things–true as they may be–don’t mean that other things mean nothing. When the judge ruled against me, I shook everyone’s hand, thanked the judge and then retired to the stairwell with my client. We both then spewed a long string of unprintable obscenities.

Was it a serious situation?  Yes.  Was it the end of the world?  Of course not.  Seriousness isn’t an all or nothing proposition.  Things can be serious with being dire.  For example, one can be seriously ill without being terminal.  Likewise, if one is rarely ill, any illness may seem serious at the time.  It’s all matter of perspective.

As I get older, my peers have become more serious.  They huff and puff and pontificate about the state of the world.  They criticize young people.  They criticize old people,  They bemoan the decay of society.  In other words, they are adults, and they act like adults.  That’s what adults do, you know.  They peer over their reading glasses with brows knitted and offer their take on everything.  And all it’s all serious.  Make no mistake; there are serious things afoot in this world.

“Politics is not a game. It is an earnest business.” Winston Churchill

These being the High Holy Days of politics with the Presidential election looming, we spew forth about politics like Mount Vesuvius.  On social media, in particular, the opinions are many and varied, but fall into five broad groups:

  • Those on the left who despise everything and everyone on the right.
  • Those on the right who despise everything and everyone on the left.
  • Those who despise everyone. Period.
  • Those who despise all those who post about politics.
  • Those who despise all those who don’t post anything about politics.

Politics is all serious all the time, of course.  I have been told numerous times that this is the most important presidential election in history.  An astute friend of mine suggested that just maybe the 1860 election was more important, given that we actually owned other human beings at the time.  To most of my peers, that minor historical event pales in comparison to whatever is chapping their rumps right now.

The reason for this, of course, is that we’re all alive now and weren’t around in 1860.  Surely, slavery wasn’t as bad as Barack Obama being a Muslim or Mitt Romney a tax cheat or whatever ever other bizarre theory one might embrace.  Even more rational concerns like the economy, national and endless wars have to be worse than anything any other generation has faced.

It’s not all that grim, of course.  I support Mitt Romney, but I’ve heard a lot of funny jokes about him.  It’s okay to laugh.  If he loses, the republic will survive.  It will.  It also won’t mean that I’m a lesser person.  Plus, I live in a state that has almost no influence on the outcome of the election.  Lighten up.  Life remains good.

“That which doesn’t kill you usually succeeds on the second attempt.”  Mr. Crabs, SpongeBob Squarepants

Want to know about a serious time?  World War I.  It wasn’t a popular war.  You could be arrested for publicly criticizing the war effort.  It was The Great War.  The war to end all wars. Right.

It was also during the time of the Spanish Flu Epidemic.  So many people died of the flu that mass graves were dug in some cities to handle the dead–in the United States.  Stories were told of people starting to cough on trolley cars and bleeding out before they got across town.  Read the excellent book The Great Influenza by John Barry.  Serious stuff. They even had a catchy little poem for the Great Flu: There  was a little bug; It’s name was Enza; I opened the window; And influenza. I’m sure that it would be treated seriously if happened today, except we would waste out time trying to figure out which political party was to blame.  Be glad we don’t to deal with that stuff.

6,000,000 dead in 12 weeks. How would you like to wake up to this headline?

While it may be true that the great issues of the day must be sternly addressed, these aren’t the worst of times. Not by a long shot.  Read a history book.  There were a lot of times that really sucked.

“Old men declare war, but it is the youth who must fight and die.”  Herbert Hoover

Our country has been at war for 11 years now.  That’s some serious stuff, for sure.  It’s funny (not ha-ha funny) how people don’t talk much about that, except when someone wants to take credit for something good (which, by the way, rarely happens).  The United States entered World War II in December of 1941 and was done by August of 1945.  Even the Vietnam War didn’t last this long.

I suspect folks my age (50) don’t talk much about it because we don’t have much to say.  We are the No War Generation.  The draft ended before I turned 18.  Even if there were a draft, you could have avoided it if you were clever enough.  Even I had joined the military, the 1980’s was a decade of saber-rattling, not saber-drawing.

As a result, we don’t have a moral high ground from which to demand that young people go die for us.  We didn’t do it, why should they?  Of course, that ground isn’t so “high” for anyone, is it?  Have you ever noticed that folks who suggest that people go get killed rarely are at the same risk?  There’s also the sticky problem that we want them to die for Afghans or Iraqis.  It’s a messy, sad business.  We’d rather not talk about it.  The best can muster is “Support Our Troops” or “Pray for the Military” or other slogans that makes us feel better.

We take our wars seriously.

It’s good that we take great pains not to criticize our soldiers, even if we criticize our politicians. People dying is serious stuff, no matter the reason.  I suppose that some day we won’t kill each other over real estate, but that time isn’t upon us, yet.

“The sports page records people’s accomplishments; the front page has nothing but man’s failures.”  Earl Warren

Our sports are serious business, too.  When our teams win, we crow as though we actually played in the game. We are just slightly superior to those who cheer for the losers.  Wait…who am I kidding?  We’re VASTLY superior to those losers! We’ll post scathing insults on social media about opposing teams and their fans.  If our team loses, we’ll even insult our own team. Their losing has diminished our lives.  We are lesser human beings as a result.  I am as guilty as anyone with this.  I will be crestfallen because a bunch of men (or children) I’ve never met lose a game to a bunch of other strangers.  They’ve let me down, even though they don’t know I exist.  It all makes perfect sense to me.

Of course, there is the flip side of the sports fan coin is the sports-hater.  This person is the one who bemoans how seriously we fans take it.  Ironically, these folks take it just as seriously, but their seriousness is their hate of sports.  Usually, they are pseudo-intellectuals who are “above it all” and unable to understand knuckle-dragging sports nuts.  Here in Kentucky, they denigrate our state university for emphasizing sports, primarily basketball.  In their world, Kentucky–an impoverished state–would be an academic titan if only it would play intramural basketball.  I’ve never understood that argument and don’t care to.

My teams win and lose.  They aren’t my teams, of course.  It just seems that way.  When I feel the veins in my neck throbbing, I take a deep breath and say to myself:  “I have no influence over this.  Relax.”  Someday, that might just work.

“It does me no injury for my neighbor to say there are twenty gods or no God.
It neither picks my pocket nor breaks my leg.”  Thomas Jefferson

I think we can all agree that this Jefferson was some kind of nut.  Nothing is more serious than religion.  We’ve turned much of the world into a graveyard fighting over it.  We will revise history to make religion more important than it ever was.  I know people who will sternly lecture others that our country was founded by a group of Christians, based on Christianity and that the U.S. is a Christian nation.  No amount of historical fact will change that view.

Consider the following:

As the Government of the United States of America is not, in any sense, founded on the Christian religion,—as it has in itself no character of enmity against the laws, religion, or tranquility, of Mussulmen [Muslims],—and as the said States never entered into any war or act of hostility against any Mahometan [Muslim] nation, it is declared by the parties that no pretext arising from religious opinions shall ever produce an interruption of the harmony existing between the two countries

What is your reaction to that?  Who said such craziness?  The Congress of the United States. In a treaty with Tripoli adopted without debate.  In 1799.  Just reading that language will make some people go nuts.  Can you imagine Romney or Obama starting a speech with  “The United States is not–in any sense–founded on the Christian religion….”  Goodbye White House.  Hello, Kevlar jumpsuit.

People believe what they believe.  So do I.  If you’re a missionary, go ahead work on changing minds.  Otherwise, chill.  Life goes on.

My point, if I have one, is that religion is serious business.  Our own nation has been attacked by religious fanatics.  History has had crusades, ethnic cleansing and genocide all in the name of religion.  It’s serious stuff.  Don’t joke about it–unless you have a sense of humor.  Look at around at His creation. God has a sense of humor, too.

“One of the symptoms of an approaching nervous breakdown is the belief that one’s work is terribly important.”
Bertrand Russell
As lawyer, I belong to serious crowd. In fact, there may be no group which takes itself more seriously. Why? Lawyers aren’t the coolest crowd in town. Many–most?–of us reached a level of newfound coolness when we became lawyers. No more having your lunch money stolen or being stuffed in lockers.  It’s Revenge of the Nerds, devoid of all humor.

Typical future lawyers enjoying their undergraduate days.

This isn’t to say that our jobs aren’t important.  Our clients face jail, monetary loss (or gain) and other issues which are of great importance to them.  For those of us who are litigators, any case we have might be the most important legal problem our client will ever have.

Even though the issues we handle are important, we too often translate that to mean that we are important.  Each case is referendum on our skills and worth as humans.  Lawyers also pride themselves on working long, thankless hours.  Ask a lawyer if he or she is busy, and you’ll get a diatribe about it–whether it’s true or not.  It is little wonder that lawyers have high suicide rates.

Sometimes, I want to do this in court. I usually don’t do it. Usually.

We’re not all that important, of course.  If I quit my job today, someone else will represent my clients.  Life will go on.  The same is true of all jobs.  So, lighten up.

I conclude this, as is my wont, without making any particular point.  Life is not, as folks my age would have you believe, a grim trudge to the grave.  Life is good, as they say.  They know more than I do.  The only thing that really matters is what’s going on at the moment.  The rest of it either already happened or may not happen at all.

So, take it easy.  Seriously.

©thetrivialtroll.wordpress.com 2012

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If Elected….One Man’s Dream

The New Great Seal of the United States

What if I were President?  I’ve thought about that.  Not much, but I have.  Mostly when something doesn’t go to suit me–which is fairly often.  “If I were in charge…”  I guess I don’t so much want to be President as I want to be a dictator, benevolent or otherwise.  But, what if I became President through some Electoral College snafu?

Despite what Rush Limbaugh and others in the Mainstream Media would have you believe, Obama and Romney are not the only candidates.  The Reform Party, The Green Party, The Constitution Party, The Objectivist Party, The Socialist USA Party and many others have candidates.  It’s not so crazy to think that an Everyman like me could pull this off.

Now, I would never want to run for President.  If you want to read about something like that, look no further than Al Franken’s book Why Not Me?  Okay, for my conservative friends:  Don’t start sending me comments about Franken being a left-wing, liberal Communist.  He might be, but he’s also a funny guy.  Read the book.  You’ll laugh.

I wouldn’t be a good campaigner.  I don’t like a lot of travel, and I am famously impatient.  I would do poorly in interviews.  Here is how it would go:

  • INTERVIEWER:  “You’ve taken a pledge to eliminate income taxes.  What do you say to your critics who describe this as foolhardy and completely impossible?”
  • ME:  “I say they can kiss my ass. “

End of interview.  End of campaign.  Likewise, I would be a poor debater:

  • OPPONENT:  My opponent would have you believe that he has the background and experience to lead this country.  Nothing could be further from the truth.  He will only lead this country to the precipice of disaster.
  • ME:  “Hmmm.  How about I kick your ass?”

End of campaign.  There would be many other ways my campaign would end.  Someone would come forward with tales of a drunken debauch or mention that I fought a girl one time.  Women I dated in my youth would be glad to come forward and derail my ambitions.  That doesn’t even touch on the many photographs that may exist.  So, no, I would not run for President.  This doesn’t stop me from pondering the possibilities of actually being President.

Many of you have wondered what would I do as President?  I’m not saying you’d waste your time wondering what you would do, but I know you want to know what I would do.  Here’s how it would work:

VICE-PRESIDENT

Since I don’t belong to a political party, I’d probably be bombarded with suggestions from both sides. I’d go against conventional wisdom and go with Kim Jong Nam, estranged brother of North Korean Dictator Kim Jong Un.  Okay, there’s probably some rule that the VP has to be an American.  Surely, we can work around that for the good of the country.  Nam seems like a fun-loving guy plus he could give us insight into the goings on in North Korea.  Also, like his little brother, I’m sure he’s been trained to look at things.  That would save me a lot of time and travel.

My affable VP, Kim Jong Nam

Nam was banished by his late father, Kim Jong il, for trying to enter Japan on a fake passport.  His explanation?  He wanted to see Disneyland.  What could be more American than that?

FOREIGN POLICY

The first thing I’d do is announce that our new official policy would be a bitter hatred of foreigners.  I don’t really feel that way, but it would be for the good of the country.  Here’s how we’d deal with the problem spots around the globe:

  • Canada:  I’ve already written extensively about this Hell hole.
  • Iran:  Nuke ’em.
  • Afghanistan:  I would consider killing everyone in Afghanistan (except the Americans, of course).  Since I don’t drink, it’s unlikely that I would really do that.  Unlikely.  Not out of the question.
  • The Middle East:  I wouldn’t waste any more time on peace efforts.  I would unilaterally declare a state of perpetual war and wish them luck.
  • North Korea:  I would announce that it’s the 51st state.  That should make them loonier than usual.
  • Pakistan:  Fire bomb the Hell out of it.

I would do all this my first week in office.  I would call it the Michael Corleone Doctrine. That should take care of most of our problems.

HEALTHCARE

I’d outlaw it.  Plain and simple.  If you’re so sickly that you are going to be a drain on our economy, go somewhere else.  REAL AMERICANS DON’T GET SICK would be our slogan.  It would be on every pick-up truck bumper in the country.  My approach would be the same as with sick kids going to school.  If your kid is sick, he or she should stay home.  If you’re sick, we’ll deport you, maybe to Canada.  No need to get the rest of us sick.

SOCIAL SECURITY

I’ll just tell people what they want to hear.  That seems to have worked for every other President.  I’ll craft my message to my audience:

  • If I’m talking to old people, I’ll say “Don’t worry.  We’re not cutting your benefits.”
  • If I’m talking to young people, I’ll say:  “Don’t worry.  Social Security will be there for you.”
  • If I’m talking to people who don’t need it, I’ll call it an “entitlement” and promise to keep it from killing our country.
  • If I’m talking to people who need it, I’ll call it a “benefit” and swear to defend it.

Mostly, I’ll just hope it fixes itself.

DEFENSE

We already spend almost as much as the rest of the world combined on our military, but THAT’S NOT ENOUGH!  Within my first 100 days in office, I’ll declare such obscure countries as Seychelles, Tuvala and Benin to be part of a Polygon of Evil.  I’ll also convince the public that we’ve angered the Martians and an attack is imminent.  It might also be possible to play off the popularity of zombie movies and plant that hideous scenario as a possibility.  The Amish and Hutterites will be tagged as domestic terror groups.  Personally, I will carry a pistol and brandish it wildly before Congress during the State of the Union Address.  My indiscriminate use of nuclear weapons will create a continuing need to restock our arsenal.  Don’t worry, there will be no defense cuts.

IMMIGRATION

I’ll randomly pick a day and declare that everyone on U.S. soil is now a citizen.  In this way, we won’t have any more foreigners roaming around.  Then, I will construct a massive wall, but it won’t be on the Mexican border.  Instead, it will randomly zig-zag across the country.  There will be no point to it.

THE ECONOMY

If it’s as big a mess as it is now, I probably won’t do anything.  If I do something, it will come down to two words:  Tax and welfare reform (that’s four words, I guess).

Lower taxes create more jobs and generate more money for the government.  It only follows that no taxes will do even more good.  We’ll probably have to repeal one of the amendments to the Constitution, but how hard can that be?  If my No Tax Plan won’t fly, I’ll issue an executive order that I won’t pay taxes.  The President is the No. 1 job creator.   Less taxes, the more jobs I’ll create.  Simple.

Welfare is a bit stickier, but I have a good plan:

  1. If you’re on welfare, you have to work building bridges and other public works.  Since we don’t have much–or any–tax money, we’ll need all the help we can get.  You’re probably thinking, “Would a bunch of welfare recipients–especially kids–be skilled workers?”  Myself, I believe in American Exceptionalism, pinko.  Under my plan, if you’re on welfare, no one will ever be able to say “You didn’t build that,” because, by God, you did.
  2. Everyone will qualify for food stamps, but here’s the rub:  You can only use them to eat food prepared by other food stamp recipients from government-supplied foodstuffs (we’ll call it Soylent Green).  It won’t take long for people to get tired of that crap. I know that kinda sounds like Communism.  Hey, the Commies weren’t wrong about everything.  If you can look past the 100 million people they killed, they had some decent ideas.

PRESIDENTIAL STYLE

Every President has his own style.  Ronald Reagan was the conservative icon.  Bill Clinton was “Slick Willy.”  There were Honest Abe, Old Hickory, Give ’em Hell Harry.  The list goes on and on.  I hope to be known as “Old Powder Keg.”  Here are some of the things I’ll do to leave my imprint:

  • I will hold frequent (maybe even daily) press conferences and answer every question with either “I’ll get back to you on that” or “I don’t give a rat’s ass.”
  • I will be the first President to address Congress wearing a John Deere hat.
  • I will chain smoke anytime I addressed the nation.

Our President missed his chance to make this the new look of the White House.

  • I will frequently quote Franklin Pierce, as the “Greatest of all our Presidents.”

Franklin Pierce, our seediest President, will be my role model.

  • I will also frequently quote Jimmy Carter, but I’ll refer to him as “History’s Greatest Monster.”
  • At least once, I will punch the Speaker of the House in the face just before the State of the Union Address.
  • I will appoint Gallagher, Manny Ramirez and Brooklyn Decker to the Supreme Court.
  • At least once, I will address the nation shirtless.
  • I will close every speech with “So, what the hell are you gonna do about it, anyway?”

Unlike LBJ, I won’t wait until I’m out of office to sport a mullet

  • Finally, if my popularity wanes, I will execute someone on TV.  With my bare hands.

THE FINAL DAYS

Although I fully intend to declare myself President-for-Life, I realize that my time in office will likely be brief.  My finals days will, no doubt, be weighed down by impeachment proceedings and assassination attempts.  There is also a strong possibility of emotional and/or mental breakdowns which go largely unnoticed by the public because of my volatile personality.  When it becomes apparent that I will not stay in office, I will abruptly quit without even giving a two-week notice.

After my resignation, I will immediately check into rehab for a dangerous addiction to bath salts and barely-legal Asian amputee pornography.  I will emerge a new man and spend the rest of my life giving speeches for 500K a pop.  Sweet.

©thetrivialtroll.wordpress.com

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Canada: The Slumbering Menace

We live in the shadow of the Maple Leaf.

North Korea is in the news a lot these days, yet I find myself pondering larger issues, instead of my usual concerns about whether I’ll miss the latest episode of Here Comes Honey Boo Boo or when I’ll get my nap.  I offer this as a warning of which I hope our leaders, whomever they might be, will take heed.

I’ll confess that I don’t keep abreast of geopolitical issues.  One might say that I don’t have a “world view” of things.  One might also say that I don’t pay much “attention.”  Both are true.  I am hamstrung by an ignorance of geography which is a result of my poor sense of direction.  I have never been able to readily tell left from right, for example.  When I think of the world, I sense the U.S. in the middle with lots of Spanish-speaking people to the south, Europe to the right; somewhere south of that is the dreaded Middle East; Africa is below that; way to the right is Russia; Asia is somewhere WAY out there;  there is nothing to the left but Hawaii.

I also can’t keep track of all the countries.  I’ve never heard of most of the countries in Africa.  Don’t get me started on the sundry island countries scattered about.

I watch quite a bit of TV, though.  As result, I do know some things.  Ronald Reagan spoke of the Axis of Evil:  The Soviet Union, Iran and North Korea.  John Bolton listed Cuba, Libya and Syria as Beyond the Axis of Evil.  George W. Bush taught me about The Evil Doers–Iran, North Korea, Iraq and random freelance terrorists.  Condoleeza Rice added the Outposts of Tyranny:  Belarus, Zimbabwe and Myanmar.  There are a LOT of threats out there.

Since we overthrew the government of Iraq, I guess they’re not evil anymore.  An example of my ignorance is that I have no idea who the President/Prime Minister/King/Dictator of Iraq is.  Oh, you don’t either?  I feel slightly better.

You can probably also surmise that I have trouble focusing on one topic.  This, too, keeps me from dwelling very long on world events.  Where was I?

While many Americans wring their hands over such mundane topics as health care, deficits, random shootings, war and what not, I have focused on a much insidious threat to our security–our so-called neighbors to the North.

Most Americans fear the Mexicans.  Well, maybe not most, but a goodly number do anyway.  Why?  They look different. They sound different.  Like my German ancestors, they don’t have the common courtesy to learn English before the come here.  Here’s how Americans historically thought of foreigners:

If the Japanese really looked like this, we would have lost World War II out of sheer terror.

So fearful were we of the Japanese, that we sent Japanese-Americans off to fight for the US, while we housed their families in concentration camps.  With a history like that, one would think we would be prepared against any foreign threat.  Think again.

Canadians, of course, strike no such fear in us.  Why not?  They look like us, more or less–except perhaps a bit duller.  They also speak English, except for the ones who–for reasons still obscure–speak French, for God’s sake. Plus, I can’t remember them ever winning a war.

I, for one, am not fooled.  I’m quite confident that our border with Canada is every bit as porous as the one with Mexico.  I offer this warning to all right-thinking Americans.  Why be concerned?  Read on.

O! Canada!

Have you ever heard their national anthem?  It’s beautiful.  It makes you swell with Canadian pride.  Ours, on the other hand, is an unsingable poem set to music.  The Canadians know this.  That’s why theirs is so much better.  If you hear it, you want to be one of them, even if just for a moment.  That momentary weakness is all it takes to begin the slide down the slippery slope to Canadianism.

Hockey

We all know they play hockey in Canada.  We play it, too, but mostly with Canadians.  It was once observed that Canadians taught the French to play hockey, which Europeans have never been able to do.  They haven’t had the same success with Americans.  At one time, US hockey was confined to places like New York, Philadelphia, Detroit and Chicago, places so far north that they are practically part of Canada anyway.  Now, we have hockey in California, Tennessee, North Carolina, Florida–everywhere.  What better way to infiltrate our country than by distributing their toothless, hockey-playing goons around our great nation.  Plus, this gives them ample opportunity to indoctrinate more Americans with their entrancing national anthem.  Well played.

Their Culture

What do we really know of the Canadian culture?  Oh, we’ve all eaten their bacon, which really isn’t bacon at all.  Ice-fishing is probably popular.  I’ll grant them the contributions of Steve Nash, Alex Trebek, Geddy Lee and Pamela Anderson to our culture.  Beyond those minor accomplishments, what do they offer us?

Here’s food for thought:  I read somewhere that they embrace multiculturalism.  I don’t even know what that means, but Glenn Beck says it’s really bad.  It sure sounds bad.

First off, although they speak English, it’s not really English, is it?  Do you want your kids going around saying “aboot” instead of “about?”  How about sprinkling your conversations with “eh?”  It will render our language incomprehensible.  Your kid will no longer be in the 3rd grade.  No, he’ll be in “Grade 3.”  You’ll soon be wearing a tuque on your head.  Welcome to the Great White North, my friends.

They don’t even speak English everywhere, either.  Part of the country speaks French.  Not just any French, but some kind of weird-sounding French that could be spoken on Pluto for all I know.   I had a trial once where a witness was a French-speaking Canadian.  His ridiculous French-like accent combined with my Eastern Kentucky mumble left the jury baffled.  Wouldn’t that be nice to deal with every day?

The Canadians keep their culture under wraps for the most part.  Beyond the greatness of Rush, what do we know of their music?  Their cinema?  William Shatner is, of course, their greatest actor, but he made his bones in the good old U.S. of A.

Canada’s idea of entertainment. A typical Canadian woman attempts to corrupt the morals of our youth.

The number one occupation in Canada is lumberjack, followed closely by illiterate fisherman.  Their policemen dress in Fancy Dan garb that would embarrass Siegfried and Roy.

I know nothing of their religion and don’t want to.  Suffice to say that it likely involves snow gods.

Canada boasts a much a lower violent crime rate than the U.S., even though they own a hell of a lot of guns.  This just proves that they lack the wherewithal to be a major player on the world stage.  They didn’t even wipe out all their Indians like we did.  Americans are hot-headed and prone to violence.  Look at our respective records on serial killers.  The U.S. is a veritable serial killing playground.  As far as I know, Canada has had own notorious serial killer, Robert Pickton, and they called him the “Pig Farm Killer.”  Seriously.  Oooh, scary.

THEIR “GOVERNMENT”

Like most people, I don’t know what form of government they have, other than some form of socialism.  They seem to swear allegiance to the Queen of England, so maybe they’re a British territory or part of the Commonwealth of Nations, whatever the hell that is.  They’re probably Communists.

Lest you think I’m exaggerating, the Queen is on some of their money.  Bet you thought it Wayne Gretzky or Alan Thicke.  Obviously, they’ve sworn some sort of allegiance to the Crown.  I don’t need to remind you that we fought a little war back in 1776 to get away from that kind of thing.  Speaking of their money, check this out:

Inexplicably, Jimmy Hoffa adorns the Canadian $50 bill.

It doesn’t even look like money.  It looks like a napkin or a bus pass.  Have you ever gotten one of their quarters and tried to use it in a Coke machine?  Surprise!!  NO COKE FOR YOU!! I say keep your money in Canada.

But, don’t they have a great healthcare system? According a bunch of emails I’ve gotten, you can get prescription drugs really cheap in Canada over the Internet.  Great.  Now, we can assure that our entire country is drug-addled or in some constant state of arousal further eroding our moral foundation.  Just what we need.

They also have universal healthcare.  Think about that.  “Universal?”  What kind of crazy “one-world” bunch of fellow travelers are these people? If you go to the doctor in Canada, you have to wait 10-12 hours just to get weighed and then they give your weight in kilos or stones or some other incomprehensible measure than no civilized person would understand.  No thank you, Commissar.

A SIMPLE SOLUTION

For years, I’ve written the Pentagon urging a preemptive strike on Canada.  Other than a few uncomfortable interviews with the FBI, I’ve never gotten a response.  Thus, I’m left with presenting a modest proposal to stop the Northern Horde in its tracks before it’s too late:

  • Outlaw hockey in the Continental United States.  I believe this can be done under the auspices of the Patriot Act.
  • Once hockey is outlawed, most Canadians will leave the U.S.  Those who don’t can be sent to Gitmo.
  • Dig a moat on the Canadian border (except the Great Lakes which will serve as their own moat).  It should be 50 feet wide and 20 feet deep.  I know what you’re thinking.  Won’t the Canadians just swim across like they do in Mexico?  No.  It will be too damn cold.  Plus, they all wear flannel and would surely get weighted down and drown.
  • Once the moat is in place, launch a series of surgical drone strikes knocking out their breweries and skating rinks.  In the ensuing turmoil, declare Canada to be part of the United States.

Once we’ve declared victory, redraw the Canadian map as follows:

New Canada, a safe place for all Americans, except the part where we’ll be testing our chemical weaponry.

By dividing New Canada into five distinct zones, I have eliminated the threat:

ZONE 1:  Gulag:  This will be used as detention facility for those native Canadians unwillingly to embrace the American way of life.

ZONE 2: Chemical Test Area:  This will be reserved for testing America’s impressive chemical weapons cache.  It will also be used for storage and disposal of our massive pile of nuclear waste.

ZONE 3: Reservation:  This will be the home of those Canadians willing to embrace American ideals.

ZONE 4: Hockey:  This is where the hockey will be played.

ZONE 5:  French:  We really don’t want to fool with the French whom Bart Simpson aptly described as “rifle-dropping surrender monkeys.”  Those who can’t move to France will live here.  That way, if we have a war we want to lose, they’ll be close by.

Too radical you say?  Neville Chamberlain would have been well-advised to have been so radical when dealing with Hitler.  Just don’t blame me if you wake up one day and lumberjacks are chopping down your door looking for house pets to chain to their sleds.  You might as well get fitted for a pair of mukluks, my friend.

Don’t expect to hear either of our so-called American leaders address these issues.  Note that in the 2012 Presidential election neither candidate produced a shred of proof to show that he wasn’t born in Canada.  By their silence, they sow the seeds of our destruction.  Oh, well, God save the Queen. Eh?

©thetrivialtroll.wordpress.com 2012

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Five Horrors

I like horror movies, and I’ve seen a lot of them.  My earliest memory of being scared of a movie was The Ghost and Mr. Chicken starring Don Knotts.  Okay, it was a comedy, but I was 5 years old, and it scared me to death.  I saw it at the Roaden Theater in Loyall, Kentucky.  When I left the theater, I had chewed my shirt sleeve up to the elbow.

I’ve watched horror films in every sub-genre:  Monsters, zombies, Japanese, slasher, splatter, gore, vampires, werewolves, killers.  My favorites are ones with more atmosphere than blood.  An assault on my senses (or stomach) won’t scare me, even though I’ve enjoyed films like Saw and The Devil’s Rejects which infuse new ideas into the tired approach of shocking me.

If you like horror movies, here are five good ones.  You may know all of them.  You may not.  There are some spoilers here, but I’ll try not to ruin them for you.  I’m not including my favorites, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and Halloween, because most folks have seen those.  I’m offering five, which while not necessarily obscure, may not be on many “can’t miss” lists.  These are the types of films you’ll either love or hate.  Horror, like comedy, is subjective.  With that in mind, here they are [WARNING–THERE ARE SPOILERS INCLUDED]:

The Bad Seed (1956).  This was directed by Mervyn Leroy (The Wizard of Oz) and is based on a play of the same name.   I first saw it when I was a kid and have watched it many times since.  The basic plot is that 8-year-old Rhoda (Patty McCormack) is an evil, murderous bitch.    She kills a classmate to steal his penmanship medal, kills her elderly (and extremely annoying) neighbor and burns the family handyman alive.  All of this action occurs off-screen. On-screen, Rhoda is a manipulative, preening, prissy-ass.  It turns out that her biological mother was a serial killer.  Once her adoptive mother finds out, she’s convinced that the girl is a “bad seed” and plans to kill her.  She can’t bring herself to do it and instead shoots herself.  I won’t give away the end of the movie, but I will note that it was changed from the stage play.  At the time, the Hays Production Code was still being followed and criminals were required to get their comeuppance in Hollywood.  I’m glad.  As a little kid, I don’t think I could have handled a different ending.

Patty McCormack as Rhoda. Hell in pigtails.

For a modern audience, this film may have its faults–a lot of dialogue, slow pace.  Why do I love it?  Because Rhoda is the creepiest, most vile child ever to be filmed.  She’s mean, scary and evil.  How bad?  At the end of the film, the cast is introduced on-screen one at a time.  The actress playing Rhoda’s mother then says:  “As for you, young lady…” and turns Rhoda over her knee for a spanking.  Why do this?  Because something had to be done to take the edge of that girl.  It didn’t work.  Every time I see the film or even a photo of Rhoda my blood runs cold.

The director’s effort at some comic relief at the end of The Bad Seed.  I would have preferred Rhoda being shot.

Patty McCormack continued acting into adulthood without great fame.  Wherever she is now, she can say:  “Ever see The Bad Seed? I was Rhoda.  Top that!”

The Baby (1973).  This may not be a horror movie.  Maybe, it’s a thriller.  I think it’s horror.  Directed by Ted Post, it defies categorization.  The “baby” is actually a 20-something man living with his demented mother and his two equally demented–and possibly perverted–sisters.  The film is pure 1970’s with short-shorts, pastels and wild acting.  Baby doesn’t have a name or, if he does, no one ever says it.  He can’t walk or talk and lives in a giant, freakin’ crib!

A concerned social worker (R) inquires about Baby’s living conditions and about why the mother needs a jacket and the sister is pantless.

Baby’s odd living arrangement draws the attention of a kindly–and persistent–social worker. The social worker quickly surmises that Baby is kept in his infantile state by his screwed-up family.  She may be on to something.  When one of the sisters screams “Baby doesn’t walk! Baby doesn’t talk!” and pokes him with a cattle prod, you get the impression that all is not well.

The story pales in comparison to the ending which I will NOT give away.  Let’s just say that the “twist” ending is a jaw-dropper.  I didn’t see it coming.  I’ve watched it many times on the Internet just to relive the total freakiness of it.

I assume that The Baby has fallen into the public domain.  The entire film is available on YouTube as multiple downloads.  Occasionally, I’ll watch parts of it again.  It’s always worth my time.

Ted Post wasn’t a great director.  He made some decent films (Magnum Force) and some bad ones, too (The Harrad Experiment).  This one, though, is his best.  I was entertained, and I never forgot it.

Dead of Night (aka Deathdream) (1974).  Bob Clark directed this one.  He also directed Black Christmas, which holds its own place in the annals of horror and A Christmas Story, which is now a classic of a much different genre.  He also managed to direct the Porky’s trilogy.  There may not be a director with a more diverse resume’.  Dead of Night was one of his earliest films and is simply great.

The story is borrowed from W.W. Jacobs’ short story, The Monkey’s Paw.  Andy is in Vietnam and gets shot.  As he’s dying, he hears his mother’s words when she made him promise to come home.  Andy’s family then receives notice that he died in combat.  Dad, Mom and Sis all freak.  Mom can’t accept it and spends her time muttering that Andy promised to come home.  Guess what?  He does, showing up at the door in the middle of the night in full uniform.  It’s all been a terrible mistake… or has it?

War changes men, but not like old Andy.   Now, he spends his time sitting in a rocking chair, wearing sunglasses and long sleeves at all times. At night, he livens up.  Mom wanted him to come back, but be careful what you ask for.  Andy has to prowl at night drinking blood to keep from decaying.  The film ends with a wild scene at a drive-in theater.

Andy is a precursor to the mysterious stalker in Halloween and many other films. I’m convinced that John Carpenter used the same lighting for the night scenes in Halloween.   Some shots, like when Andy is outside staring into a house, seem to have been directly lifted and placed in later films.  There is a creepy atmosphere of the unknown through the whole thing.  The acting is also excellent.

You know it won’t end well for Andy, but you like him.  He didn’t ask to come back.  They brought him back.  It’s part vampire, part Zombie, part Frankenstein, part slasher film.  Well done.

The Minus Man (1999).  Owen Wilson (!) is a serial killer.  And a good one.  He travels around poisoning people–people he decides don’t have lives worth living anymore.  He narrates the film explaining his methods (for example, he never stays in one place very long).  He also carries on a running dialogue with two imaginary police detectives, so he’s probably schizophrenic, too.  The tone, the acting-everything is understated.   It’s probably too slowly paced for some people, but I loved it.  Owen Wilson plays the killer as a nice, normal guy with only a couple of overt flashes that he’s not right in the head.  Brian Cox and Mercedes Ruehl are the couple that take him in.  They may be as unbalanced as he is.  Even Janeane Garofalo is excellent as his would-be love interest.

Is it a horror movie?  I think so.  It creeped me out from start to finish.  Screenwriter Hampton Fancher (Blade Runner) directed it.  As far as I know, he hasn’t directed another film.  I don’t know why.

Audition (1999):  This Japanese film is directed by Takashi Miike, a famed director.  Apparently, he’s made many excellent, shocking films.  I haven’t seen any of those other films, but I saw Audition.  That was enough for me.

The plot is complicated, but here’s a quick summary.  A lonely middle-aged widower wants to find a woman.  A friend suggests that he run an ad for a fake movie audition in order to meet attractive women.  One catches his eye.  He concludes the interview by telling her that he will call her.  A later scene shows her sitting in her empty apartment staring at her telephone.  Oh, the apartment isn’t entirely empty.  There’s a large burlap sack in the middle of the floor.  While our man has been trying to work up the courage to call her, she’s been staring at the phone for FOUR FREAKIN’ DAYS!  Finally, it rings.  The sack lurches forward with a sickening groan.  Okay, we’ve got us some messed up stuff going on.

A pretty girl. A telephone. A guy in a sack. Japanese weirdness.

Cutting to the chase, the man eventually gets up with her.  She’s demure and shy–until we find out that the sack contains a man whose tongue she cut out, along with his fingers and feet!  Oh, and she has a wee bit of a jealous streak.  Our man ends up drugged and tied to a table where she’s got some of the same sick crap planned for him.  I won’t tell more in case you want to see it.  At a film festival, an audience member reportedly screamed at Miike “You are evil!”  Indeed.

Here’s a sign your date has gone all wrong.

This film is an exception to my general disinterest in gory films.  Make no mistake: This film is in your face with some vicious imagery.  It is not for the faint of heart or weak of stomach.  What sets it apart is the complexity of the girl.  What the hell is wrong with her?  To some extent, her back story is revealed during the film, so you understand why she might have some relationship issues.  Her oddness builds.  It is revealed to the viewer much the same way it is to the man–quickly and with blunt force.  This is Fatal Attraction on acid.  I heard it called “cringe-inducing.”  That it is.  I would not watch it again, but I’m glad I saw it once.

So, there are five good ones.  Strange, creepy and scary.  You’ve been warned.  Enjoy.

©thetrivialtroll.wordpress.com 2012

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Try Not to Worry

I tried to follow Alfred E. Newman’s advice–without much luck.

“What–Me Worry?” So says Alfred E. Newman, MAD Magazine’s iconic cover boy.  As a kid I read this as “whatmeworry” not “What?  Me Worry?” as intended.  I loved MAD, by the way.  Nothing thrilled my more than when Dad would pick up a copy for me at the store.  Secretly, Dad loved it, too.  But this post isn’t about MAD, although that would be cool.

I wanted to live by Alfred’s wise words, but I was always a worrier.  Here’s some crappy advice:  Try not to worry.  That just makes me worry about why I can’t not worry.

I was a born worrier.  Maybe it’s because my Mom fell through the back porch when she was 8 months pregnant with me.  I might have started worrying about what the hell was going on out there.  I was born on August 11, 1962 at 6:20 a.m.  I’m sure I worried about being born so earlier in the day. Would coming out this early disrupt my schedule?  It was Summer, too.  Would I be too hot in this new world?  How hard would it be to make friends?

I worried about stuff when I was a kid.  I even worried about other kids.  When I was about 6 or 7, a kid named Dennis Martin disappeared in the Great Smoky Mountains.  He was my age.  He just walked away from the campground and never came back.  I worried about Dennis.  Where was he?  What happened to him?  Would that happen to me?  Every now and then–some 40+ years later–I check the Internet to see if they ever found him.  Nope.  Still missing.

I grew up at Ground Zero for the War on Poverty.  Social workers would come to school and give kids coats.  I worried about the kids who didn’t have coats.  My uncle was a social worker.  He was the “Shoe Man.”  He would come in the class rooms and kids would stick their feet up in the air to show they needed shoes.  Personally, I never saw this, but he talked about it.  He talked, and I worried.

I’ve worried about my health.  Germs, disease, accidents.  Let’s be honest:  A lot of bad crap can happen with your health.  If you live long enough, it will happen, unless you get killed in an accident.  Geez.  Think about all the diseases and accidents that can happen.   This doesn’t even count the chances of running afoul of a serial killer, mass murderer, terrorist or random nut case.  I read a court case about a guy who got killed when one of his co-workers goosed him with a high-pressure air hose.  Blew out his colon.  What are the odds?  Who knows? But I stay the hell away from high-pressure air hoses.

I’ve worried about sports, mostly sports played by other people and over which I have no influence.  I’ve lost sleep over such things–before and after the event.  I’ve worried about whether people would think less of me because I cheered for a team that lost a big game.  Then, I worried about why I would worry about something like that.

I’ve worried about money, even though I’ve been fortunate enough to never have had any serious money problems.  That never stopped me from worrying about it.  Will I have enough to send my kids to college?  To retire?  What if I lose my job?  What if I can’t work?  These questions are all fertile worrying ground.

The good news is that as I’ve aged, I worry less.  I’d like to say that this is because I’m mature or just wiser.  The real reason is that there are fewer things to worry about, because I’ve experienced most of the things I’ve worried about.  That doesn’t stop people from trying to get me to worry about stuff. Nevertheless, it’s obvious–even to a worrier–that most of it isn’t worth the effort.  What it comes down to is “What if…?”  For some reason, I rarely think “What if…everything turns out GREAT?!?”  Fortunately, there are a growing number of things for which “What if…?” just doesn’t matter to me.

With that in mind, here are some things I won’t be worrying about:

  • The Mayan Apocalypse:  Some Mayan made a calendar that stretched out for hundreds of years and just stops on December 21, 2012.  That’s supposed to be the end of the world or so some say.  This discounts the possibility that the guy who made the calendar just got tired and quit or maybe someone killed him or he died of syphilis or something.  If the world ends on the 21st, so be it.  Really, what can I do about it?  It’s the first day of Winter, and Winter sucks.  Plus, Snookie is supposed to have her baby on the 21st of December.  If that’s the end, it’s well-timed.
  • End Times:  This, of course, is related to the Mayans but different.  If the end is near, I can’t stop it.  Every generation thinks the end is near.  One of them will be right.  Maybe it’s us.  If it is–and it’s a God thing–what I am supposed to do about it?  Just roll with it.
  • High Fructose Corn Syrup:  This is supposed to be bad stuff, some sort of deadly poison.  I don’t care.  I’m certain that everything I’ve eaten with high fructose corn syrup in it has been good.  I like it.  Period.
  • Brain Chips:  I’ve had a bunch of emails telling me that Obamacare has a sneaky provision in it requiring everyone to have a tracking chip placed under their hides in March of 2013.  It’s also called a “slave chip.”  This is disconcerting, of course.  It’s also not true, but that doesn’t matter.  I’m willing to assume it’s true. Here’s what the government would find out about me.  I wake up, go to work, go to the gym, go home.  That’s it.
  • Gay People:  There are gay people.  Always have been.  Always will be.  They don’t bother me.  They don’t try to recruit me.  They don’t try to make my gay.  I’m not worried about them getting married or having jobs or being out of the closet or being gay.  No worries here.
  • Tim Tebow:  Hey, Tebow is a nice young man.  Or he seems to be.  By NFL standards, he’s not a very good quarterback, but a lot of my religious friends disagree. They think God makes him play well.  (Somehow, they don’t realize that Tebow’s fellow Gator and Heisman Trophy winner and equally religious and all-round good guy  Danny Wuerffel wasn’t a good quarterback, either).  I think he can be a good player–just not a good quarterback.  I don’t worship Satan, either.  I’m not going to be concerned about Tebow.  If he does well, great.  If not, fine too.  I wish ESPN would quit worrying about him.
  • The Royal Family:  If want to obsess over the lives of ugly, inbred people, I’ll watch Toddlers & Tiaras.  Maybe I should worry about the fact that I occasionally watch Toddlers & Tiaras.  By “occasionally,” I mean “regularly.”
  • Robert Pattinson:  Like most people, I was traumatized to learn that Kristen Stewart (“K-Stew”) cheated on hunkilicious Robert Pattinson.  It took awhile, but I’m over it.  My intuition tells me he’ll be okay.  He might even be able to find a new girlfriend.  I’ll just keep my fingers crossed and no worry about it.  It’ll be tough, but I can do it.  Maybe.
  • Mercury:  I’m talking about the element, not the planet.  No one has urged me to worry about the planet (yet).  The element, however, is all kinds of worrisome.  Deadly.  And everywhere.  In our water, our food, the air.  There’s no escaping it.  I suppose I should read up on it to find out what it’s doing to me.  My high school chemistry teacher had a big plastic jug full of mercury in our classroom.  We’d dump some of it on a table and blow on it to watch it roll around.  We’d even put it in the palms of our hands and play with it.  Now, if a drop of mercury is exposed, the entire school is evacuated and raided by HazMat teams.  I’ve already been exposed to a lot of mercury.  Too late to start worrying about it now.
  • Getting Older:  A lot of people worry about this.  Seems like I would, too, but I don’t.  I like getting older.  It means I’m still here.  I’ve known way too many people who stopped getting older way too soon.  If I get a letter from AARP, it just reminds me that I’ve survived.  I like that.  Another thing is that I’ve progressively gotten older since birth.  I’m used to it.  If you don’t want to get older, you really want to die.  I don’t want to die.  Of course, the older you get, the closer you are to death.  Worrying about death is different from worrying about age.  Plus, I don’t think most of us worry so much about death as about how we die.  Slow, painful death or loathsome disease are what we worry about.  I better stop now, I’m getting concerned.
  • Global Warming:  I’m sure this makes me a horrible person, but it’s just how it is. I love the coal industry and just don’t cotton to crusades to put it out of business.  That’s what the Global Warming is all about.  Second is that I’m just a wee bit too selfish to live by candlelight and ride a bicycle everywhere I go.  I like electricity and the internal combustion engine.  Global warming is the cloth diaper of this generation.  When my first son was born, people said we should use cloth diapers to save the environment and keep our landfills from overflowing with Pampers.  These people either: (1) Never had a baby; or (2) Are just plain odd and don’t mind having piles of cotton cloth soaked with human filth.  Global warming works the same way.  I’m sure there are people who live off the grid, as they say.  I just don’t know any of them.  I’m certainly not going to be one of them.  And I don’t worry about it.  Maybe I’ll wake up one day on the beach in Lexington, Kentucky, fighting off polar bears.  Now, THAT is something I’ll worry about it when it happens.

There you have it.  A small list of things which won’t be on my mind. I’m going to add one more thing to the list every month or so.  Eventually, I’ll run out of things to worry about it.

For now, I’m not worry-free.  I still have plenty of things that are fret-worthy.  I worry about my children, which I guess most people do (I mean worry about their own kids, not mine).  And not just about their safety and futures.  What if they do something stupid?  Doesn’t that make me a bad parent?  Worse yet, won’t people think I’m a bad parent?  I also occasionally think I’m more important than I really am and worry about my job, becoming convinced that every thing I do is a referendum on my worth as a human being.  I still worry about sports for no rational reason.

I also worry that I blog too much.  Maybe it’s a sign of mental illness.  That’s worrisome.

I’d like to be one of those people who say “Everything will be okay.”  Actually, I am one of those people.  What I mean is I’d like to be one of those people who say that and mean it.  What I really mean is “Everything will be.”  And it will.

©thetrivialtroll.wordpress.com 2012

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What I Know At 50

Living it up on my 50th birthday.

I’m 50 years old.  That’s just ridiculous, but it’s true.  I have no problem with being 50, mind you.  I’ve known plenty of folks who didn’t make it to 50.

50 is the first age I’ve reached that sounds old.  If you’re 50, you’ve been around the block.  Lived life. Done things.  I suppose that’s all true.

If I take a close look in the mirror, I look like I’m 50.  Gray hair, wrinkles, reading glasses.  I avoid full length mirrors. As a friend of mine once said, you know you’re old when you look better in any clothes than in no clothes at all.  50.

50 is a good age, at least so far.  At 50, I know quite a few things.  Of course, by 80 I will have experienced a lot of other things, but I may not know much about them.  After all, I’ll be 80 and may not be firing on all cylinders.

Here are the things I know:

I DON’T KNOW EVERYTHING

Most people my age know everything.  I mean every single freaking thing there is to know.  They know about politics, sports, children, religion, health–everything.  They also don’t hesitate to share their knowledge.  Me?  I don’t know all that much.  Oh, I know a lot about a few things (the law, sports, coal mining, my kids, movies, TV) and a little about a few things (religion, politics, space travel, geography, books, money, my wife and sundry other topics).  Then, there is the vast universe of things about which I know nothing useful or nothing at all (computers, foreign languages, women, art, math, photography, physics, Ayn Rand, the Spanish-American War, George Soros, Broadway, automobile repair, plumbing and many, many other things).

It wasn’t always that way.  Like all of us, I was born knowing nothing.  By the time I was in my teens, I knew everything and held onto that for several years.  In fact, my knowledge level peaked with my actually knowing more than everything, that is, knowing not only all there is to know but also knowing things that aren’t even generally known.

Chart showing the author’s knowledge level in relation to his age. Note that for a brief time in my late teens/early 20’s I exceeded the human capacity level for knowledge of all things.

I estimate that by the time I was 35, I only knew 75% of everything, having learned through fire that I did not know many things I had taken for granted.  For example, by then I had two children and was quite aware that there were many things I did not know, like how to prevent diaper rash.

My knowledge level has continually decreased to the point that I now know only half of everything.  Truthfully, that’s an exaggeration, as I am sure that I don’t know that much.  However, knowing that gives me extra credit and justifies inflating the figure to 50%.

I have some concern that this downward trend will continue.  Perhaps it will.  I am fortunate to have two teenage sons who can fill in the gaps of knowledge with all they know.

Folks my age are fond of saying “If I only knew then what I know now….”  What they really mean is “If only knew then what I think I know now….”  Here’s the deal, if you were young and were as opinionated and grouchy and self-righteous as most people my age, you’d have no friends.  Period.  Remember when you were a teenager.  If you’d had a friend who acted like a 50-year-old man, you would have beaten him with a bag of door knobs.

The best part about knowing that I don’t know everything is that I will sometimes listen to people who know about things that I don’t know anything about.  Then, I learn.

LIVING IN THE GOOD OLD DAYS

My father was fond of saying that there were no “Good Old Days.”  This was primarily because he lived a Dickensian existence of want.  Thanks to him, I lived no such childhood.  Nevertheless, I agree wholeheartedly with his assessment, albeit for different reasons.

These are the good old days for me.  I’m healthy.  I have a good job.  I like my job.  I have disposable income.  My children are healthy and seem to be fairly decent sorts.  I have a good wife. I do most of what I want to do when I want to do it.  No one tells me what time to go to bed or get up or where to go or what to do when I get there.

Hey, what about the teen years?  Don’t you want to live that again?  ARE YOU CRAZY?  I had fun as a teenager, especially college, but I wouldn’t do that again for anything.  The angst, the drama, the idiotic decisions.  Being a teenager is best left to the teens.  By the time they realize they and their friends are idiots, they’ll be my age.

Here’s something that’s cool.  I’m not far away from the age where I can hug young women and say inappropriate things and be dismissed as “sweet.”  I’m not there, yet, though.  I’m still young enough to be considered creepy and dangerous.

I’M AN ADULT

I’m an adult. I’m 50.  I can eat pork rinds for dinner if I want.  Last night, I ate a huge piece of cheesecake.  I can do that for breakfast, too.  I can stay up late (assuming I don’t naturally just fall asleep–not insubstantial risk after sundown). These are all good things.

I also have credibility.  At 50, I’m a grown man, you know.  Gray hair helps (on a man, that is).  I look like I might know a few things.  I can call people “son” or–if I’m on edge–“boy.”

Gray hair means I’m worldly and must be taken seriously

Reading glasses also lend an air of respectability.  I can take them off and gesture with them.  I can look at things and give the impression that I’m really paying attention.  I can chew on the ear piece to appear to be deep in contemplation.

Your author demonstrates how the use of a $10 pair of reading glasses creates an authoritative aura lacking in today’s youth.

Young people have none of these tools available.  Much like wearing a tie, these simple accoutrements makes life easier.  Below is an example of my foolish efforts to be taken seriously in my youth:

At age 26, your author naively believed that such things as a coonskin cap and a noisemaker would make others respect him.

When I go to Starbucks or a restaurant, pretty young women call me “honey” and “sweetie.”  Okay, it’s a little patronizing, but I like it.  Recently, a comely lass at the gym asked me how old I was and whether I used a trainer.  “I still got it,” I thought and responded:  “I’m 49, but I don’t use a trainer.”  She said: “Oh, I just wondered.  My dad is 45 and wants to get in shape.”  Oh well.

Mostly, it’s all good.  People call me “Sir” and “Mister.”  Some of my kids’ friends’ parents even call me “Mister.”  I don’t correct them. I like it.

KIDS ARE GOOD

Most people my age have children, or so it seems.  I’m glad I have children.  They’ve been fun and only occasionally have I wanted to kill them.

When I was young, I didn’t know if having kids would be important or not.  Then, I had one.  Man, oh, man, was it important!  I changed many, many diapers.  I got thrown up on–not to mention other bodily discharges.   I was fascinated.  Still am.

I’ve blogged about kids before, so I won’t wear you out with that again.  My point:  I’m glad I have kids, and they’ve kept me young.  At 50, I have a ten-year old son.  That’s very cool.

DON’T DISCOUNT LUCK

No one likes give credit to luck.  But, like Ignatius P. Reilly bemoaning  in A Confederacy of Dunces, “Oh, Fortuna…”, we will give luck all the blame.  I’ve found luck to be a valuable asset.

Like most people, my ego whispers in my ear telling me that I deserve all the good things but none of the bad.  I deserve the good, of course, because I’ve earned it, by God.  The bad stuff is caused by everyone else or just plain old bad luck.

Branch Rickey said that “Luck is the residue of design.”  I don’t know what the hell that means.  Another Baseball Hall of Famer, Grover Cleveland Alexander said: “I’d rather be lucky than good.”  I know what that means, and I agree with it.

Grover Cleveland Alexander was a wise–and hard living–man. He looked like this at 40. Maybe he’d run out of luck.

I’ve had more than my share of good luck.  I’ve been married 24 years.  I’d love to take credit for that, but luck plays a role.  I’m lucky she married me and lucky she puts up with me.  I’m lucky to be alive.  I’ve done a stuff that could have killed me, but it didn’t.  Luck.

I’ve had bad luck, too, like everyone else.  I quit saying “Why me?” a long time ago.  Now, I say “Why not me?”  Luck cuts both ways, but I’m glad I’ve had more good than bad.

LIGHTEN UP

I’m not that important.  Seriously.  Neither are you.  Sorry, but it’s true.  If you’re lucky (that word again!), your family and maybe a few friends think you’re important.  Maybe your dog, too.  That’s about it.

What about work?  If you think you’re important in your job, try this:  Quit.  I did that one day.  Just quit a job I’d had for 18 years.  They were fine with it.  If you quit, some people will want you to stay, some will be glad to see you go and all of them will forget about you in a few weeks.

Of course, it’s possible that you actually are really important in your job.  Maybe you’re the best there is.  If you are, I’m willing to bet you monumentally suck at something very important in your life.  Back off your job and take a look at some of those other things.

You could also just die–the ultimate test of your importance.  The downside is that you may not be able to see what happens next.  Here’s what happens.  A handful of people are really upset, a few are concerned and most don’t give a damn.  That’s it.

Life isn’t a long, slow trudge to the grave.  At least it shouldn’t be.  Work, politics, religion, taxes, injustice–all those things will survive after I’m long gone.  Lighten up.

Once I lightened up (and it took years to do), I learned my final, most important lesson.

LIFE IS GOOD

When Leon Trotsky was living in exile in Mexico, he famously penned in his journal “Life is beautiful.”  He wrote this knowing that assassins were after him and would soon succeed in their quest.  And they did.  I used to think Trotsky was a nut.  He wasn’t.

Life is beautiful.  Not only that, it’s good, too.  It took me a long time–too long–to believe that.  Why is life good?  Here’s why:

  • Laughing
  • Things that smell good
  • Little kids
  • Kissing
  • Sports
  • Books
  • Movies
  • The Internet
  • Naps
  • Food
  • Friends
  • Microwave Ovens
  • Television
  • The beach

We all enjoy at least some of these.  If you don’t, you’re missing out, and it would suck to be you.

©thetrivialtroll.wordpress.com 2012

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The Politics of Facebook

I’m not ashamed to admit that I love Facebook.  I first joined in 2008 to see what my kids were doing on there.  After I figured out that they weren’t joining any cults or plotting my demise, I started to enjoy it.  I post something almost everyday.  It has brought me in touch with many folks I’ve lost track of over the years.  I would never be able to catch up with all the people I know on FB.  Now, I’m up to speed on people who I knew well for many years, a lot of whom I’d forgotten.

I find social media superior to actual socializing in many ways.   I don’t have any way to keep up with this number of people on a daily basis.  I don’t hang out in bars or go to parties.  I don’t like talking on the phone.  Even if I did, I’d still only be in touch with a small number of people.  Social media doesn’t require awkward chit-chit, although I am very skilled at small talk.  I like looking at photos of people’s families but–unlike the slide show of days of yore–I can cut out when it gets dull.  There are also folks that post things that make me laugh.  I’m really big on laughter.  If you can make me laugh, you have a fan for life.

When I first joined FB, I was amazed at how quickly I could find folks I hadn’t seen in years.  We all enjoyed posting photos and updates on our current doings.  It was like a huge class/family reunion.  At the time, young people dominated it.  Over time, they’ve drifted away, just like with MySpace.  Now, it’s dominated by adults.  As such, of course, a lot of the fun has been wrung out of it.

Religion, dogs, cats, babies and random musings are all still very much present.  Oh, and don’t forget all the games.  Mafia Wars gave way to Farm Ville which has given way to City Ville and poker.  I don’t play any of those, that’s cool. Just don’t expect me to give you a cow or horse or something.  I don’t play.  Myself, I try to lighten the mood on FB.  Oh, and I brag about my kids, also a common FB topic.

As with all good things; however, there is a dark side.  The dark side, as in real life, is politics.  Today at lunch, out of curiosity, I scrolled down my wall and counted 26 posts about politics.  I’d say on a typical day the number approaches 100, far out-stripping dogs and religion–two other ubiquitous post topics.

Everything is political on FB–religion, contraception, medicine, the weather, gas prices, energy, war, peace.  Everything.  Except dogs.  Everyone loves dogs.

Facebook does a decent job of filtering out religious hate groups, so you’ll have to do some digging if you want to join a group bashing a religion.  On the other hand, if you want to wander into the political maelstrom, FB is your place.  Here are just a few of the Facebook groups awaiting you:

  • Republican Bigotry Hate Lies Fears and Distortion.
  • Republicans are Idiots and Arguing with them is a Waste of Time.
  • Obama Is A Dumbass.
  • Obama is A Disgrace to America.
  • Romney Is An Asshole
  • Obama Is Gay.
  • Obama Is So Stupid.
  • Obama Is A Llama.
  • Romney Is A Tool.
  • Romney Is An Animal Abuser.
  • Romney Is a Big Government RINO.
  • Democrats and Republicans are Destroying America.
  • Republicans are Morons.

These are all real.  If you don’t believe me, look them up.  These groups provide a veritable mother lode of material for you to post on YOUR wall, in case your friends don’t belong to the group.  For example, I’m not sure what Obama Is A Llama is about, but they probably have all kinds of good stuff about him being born in Africa.  You post enough of that stuff and people will believe it.  Seriously.

You can go to any of these groups and find incendiary and controversial things to post like these:

I could caption this: Projected welfare spending over the next 80 years and cause a monstrous debate.

You can post this with the comment: IF YOU DON’T WANT THIS FUTURE, VOTE FOR SOMEONE! Of course, I made up this graph and the statistics.  That’s insignificant.  I’m trying to make a point about something important.

Here’s another one I made up:

This chart is made up from whole cloth with no explanation of what it means. Yet, I assure you I could get many “likes” of it on FB.

This bit of total nonsense would be taken seriously and reposted by many.

Another favorite is to post a photo of a politician with an insulting and perhaps inaccurate caption, like this:

The President has never said this, as far as I know. That wouldn’t stop me from posting it.

Or, if your political bent is to the left:

The possibilities are endless.  Scroll down your wall on FB and see the many, many variations of this theme.  Doesn’t it influence your choice?  Oh, it doesn’t.  Welcome to the club, I suppose.

Now, please read the following:  I AM NOT TELLING YOU NOT TO POST SUCH THINGS.  I HAVE NO AUTHORITY TO DO SO.  Okay, let’s continue.  I just have a few helpful thoughts regarding this endless wallpapering.

NO ONE IS GOING TO CHANGE THEIR MIND

We all know that politics is like religion.  It can be fairly be thought of as religion’s stupid, obnoxious, deadbeat brother-in-law.  Like religion, people believe what they believe.  Let’s say you’re a communist.  God bless you, I say, although admittedly you may not be receptive to that.  As a believer in the collective nature of property and the state’s obligation to dispense resources, you won’t listen to my well-reasoned endorsement of capitalism.  Likewise, endless FB posts won’t change anyone’s mind.  They remind me of what I heard someone say of religion:  No one was ever shamed or screamed into church.  Same goes for your views.

Even if I were subject to being influenced, what would I believe?  Barack Obama is either a socialist, communist, anti-American, Kenyan Muslim whose sole goal in life is to destroy America and redistribute the wealth to illegal aliens and welfare mothers OR he’s a charming, brilliant, visionary who saved the country from destruction and will lead us into a new era of enlightenment.  What of Romney?  He’s an out of touch elitist who hates the poor, loves the rich, belongs to a religious cult, cheats on his taxes and wants to create a society of super-rich titans OR he’s a visionary businessman, who will cut everyone’s taxes and restore prosperity to every man, woman and child, as well as return American to its rightful place as the leader of the Free World.  Your posts confuse me.

BE PREPARED TO OFFEND

Remember, the more you talk about politics, the more likely you are to offend someone.  That someone might even be your friend.  We all know that some religions believe that you should proselytize, which means try to impose your views on others.  I suppose that politics works the same way.  If you think you can do that without offending people,you are sadly mistaken.  It’s long been recognized that politics and religion are two topics you should never bring up, unless you’re ready for a fight.

In my early days on FB, I had experience with this.  One of my “friends” posted a hateful post about Muslims, suggesting that they should all pack up and leave the U.S.  I commented that we are entitled to worship as we see fit or not at all.  I was told that America is a Christian nation and that if you don’t like that leave, suggesting that I probably need to leave, too.  Let’s just say that the discussion deteriorated from there.  I was “unfriended,” the harshest of all social media rebukes.

As far as I can tell, everyone on FB is either an evangelical Christian or an atheist.  Imagine that I start posting-multiple times a day–anti-Christian photos, jokes, etc.  I’m pretty sure my FB friends list would dwindle rapidly.  Why?  Because I would offend.  I’m surprised that the political posts don’t draw the same fire.

This is probably because that most of us accept political debate.  So, there must be a high level of tolerance for this stuff in social media, too.  But, if you do offend, don’t be surprised.  Now, understand that I am NOT offended. My friends-both on FB and in real life–run the gamut from left wingers who would gladly be Communists if it were still fashionable to ultra-right wing extremists who would have no problem with wearing a swastika were it not for the obvious associated stigma.  We get along fine.

MAKE YOUR POINT AND MOVE ON

I’m a bit of hypocrite on this point, because I post a lot on FB–probably enough to annoy most people.  I’m sure that a lot of my “friends” have blocked my posts.  If you’re one of them, to Hell with you, I say.  Where was I?  Oh, yeah, politics.

Here’s the deal:  Although politicians hold to the old standard of saying the same things over and over, I’m not sure it works in social media.  One or two posts a day on a particular topic

You don’t want to be accused of ranting.  Ranting is the act of lunatic.  If you’re a lunatic, no one will listen to you, unless they’re in the Tea Party.  (THAT’S A JOKE!  See how I like to lighten the mood?)

The biggest problem with repetition is that it’s just dull.  Who wants to hear the same things over and over and over?  Obviously, some people do, but most of us don’t.   One can be forgiven for being opinionated.  Boring is unforgivable.

WHAT’S MY POINT?

As usual, I don’t have one. I’m one of those odd people who don’t mind other people’s opinions, even if I disagree or they get ponderous.  People much smarter than I am have long observed that it’s hard to learn anything if one only listens to people with whom one agrees.  Whoever came up with that would love Facebook, because it’s not possible to go on your wall and not disagree with something.

I don’t discount the possibility that you don’t want me to agree with you.  Maybe you’re a pompous know it all.  That’s cool.  Maybe you hate people and need to vent.  That’s not so cool, but I understand.

I’m going to continue to post odd status updates, brag on my kids and post links to this blog.  You can continue trying to convince me to vote for someone.  It’s a free country, at least until one of those bastards wins.

©thetrivialtroll.wordpress.com 2012

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Wordsmithery

As a lawyer, I deal in language.  I read, write and speak quite a bit.  I’ve learned that how I say things can be just as important as what I say.  I have to write and speak persuasively.  My job is to persuade or influence someone, be it a judge, jury or opponent, to see my side of things.  To believe me.  I get paid to do this, and try my best.

I am but a mere piker compared to the rest of the world. Some call it spin or wordsmithing.  Regardless, there is one point–everyone wants me to think like they do, believe what they believe.  Most things aren’t really subject to “belief.”   For example, whether I believe that the sun is a giant star is irrelevant.  It is, whether I believe it or not.  I heard a guy say the other day that he doesn’t “believe in food stamps.”  Well, that’s unfortunate, because they exist.

We take language and twist it for our own ends. Over the years, I’ve identified several of these tricks most of which bombard me every day.

WHAT’S THE GOOD WORD?

Sometimes, we can change a few words and change the import of what we say.  Here are a few examples:

Entitlements:  This term is used, mostly by politicians, to describe anything to which the speaker believes folks are not entitled.  It’s a handout.  It’s a pejorative term implying that the recipient believes he or she is entitled to it, like a spoiled child.  On the other hand, the word “benefits” connotes something provided as bonus.  You might deserve a bonus.  You never deserve an entitlement, even if it’s like Social Security which you pay for.

Rain Forest:  I never heard this term when I was young, although I’m sure there were rain forests.  I think they were called jungles back then.  Who in their right mind would want to SAVE THE JUNGLES?  Jungles are dark and scary and filled with dangerous animals, maybe even cannibals.  Rain forests are nice and rainy and full of beautiful foliage and kind woodland creatures.  One can imagine strolling through a rain forest and being in awe of nature.  A jungle, by contrast, could be certain death by deadly insects, natives or wild animals.  Crazed tree monkeys, tigers, tse tse flies–you name it–stand ready to take you down.  None of that could happen in a rain forest.

Undocumented Workers vs. Illegal Aliens:  An undocumented worker isn’t a bad guy.  First, he works, which is always good.  He sounds industrious.  Second, he’s the victim of some paperwork snafu.  That’s happened to all of us at some point.  An illegal alien, by contrast, is bad, maybe even dangerous.  He’s illegal, which means he’s a criminal.  He’s also an alien which is just spooky.  Hard to believe they’re the same thing, huh?  Just this week I heard a new one:  U.S. Born Children of Illegal Aliens.  That’s a mouthful, but it sounds awful.  The translation:  Natural born U.S. citizens.

Climate Change:  This used to be known as Global Warming.  Global Warming just isn’t ominous enough sounding.  Everyone likes warm weather, right?  Plus, when it gets super cold or snows a lot, Global Warming doesn’t make much sense.  Climate Change, on the other hand, could mean anything.  500 degree Winters.  Tornadoes in New York.   You name it, it fits.

Mental Illness:  There was a time when medical professionals used terms such as moron, imbecile and idiot to describe people with various afflictions.  People like my father co-opted these terms and freely applied them to people like me.  Thus, they fell out of favor.  We had lunatic asylums.  Imagine someone directing you to a Lunatic Asylum full of morons, imbeciles and idiots.  Not a very pretty picture.  A hospital for the mentally ill is much better.  We don’t have much patience with idiots, but we do with people who are ill.  That’s a good thing.

Homeless: I’d be willing to bet that if you look at contemporary writings from 40-50 years ago, it would appear that there were no homeless people.  The world had plenty of deadbeats, bums, hobos, drifters and vagrants, though.  Homeless is a better–and more accurate–term.  I know people who have been homeless.  Some of them, no doubt, were bums.  Some weren’t.

Disabled:  Here’s another example of the language adapting to improve.  Remember when people were cripples?  We had hospitals for “crippled children.”  It’s not surprising that folks didn’t like that.  Now, some folks don’t like “disabled.”  I understand, but I can’t think of a better term.  Someone will.

Learning Disability:  Now, this one is interesting for a couple of reasons.  First, it uses “disability” but it’s okay.  In this context, it’s not out of favor, yet.  Second, there is no doubt that we’ve learned that some people have real, identifiable learning disorders which can be treated or at the very least addressed.  I believe that stupidity remains the number 1 learning disorder; however, we no longer accept that.  I once read of a football player in a prominent college whose “disability” was the inability to understand the written word.  He had to have pictures to understand things.  This brings to mind the old adage “I’ll draw you a picture.”  One might suggest that this unfortunate fellow was actually illiterate, which sounds harsh and judgmental.  He was disabled.

The above examples are either politically correct or propaganda, depending on one’s view.   Both are considered bad, of course.  Political correctness denotes simple-minded vacuity, while propaganda is evil conjuring up images of jack-booted Hitler Youth.

Besides trying influence the listener, words are sometimes changed for the most obvious of reasons–to obscure or misrepresent the true meaning.  Here are a few:

WORD OR PHRASE: REAL MEANING:

Visually impaired:  Blind

Scrappy ballplayer:  White ballplayer

Alternative Energy:  Energy which won’t work

Collateral damage:  Dead people

Exotic dancer:  Stripper

Adult cinema:  Porn

Limited potential:  Loser

White trash:  White trash

THE DUBIOUS ATTRIBUTION

An otherwise unimpressive statement can be prefaced or qualified to sound plausible or even authoritative.  Let’s say I make this  inane statement:  “Anthony Weiner should run for President.”  You laugh, as well you should.  Now, let’s put a little different spin on it:

“Many political observers believe that Anthony Weiner could be a viable third party candidate for President.”

Now, this is just as imbecilic as the first statement.   You want to dismiss it out of hand, but you think:  Hmm. What is it about Weiner that makes him a viable candidate? What do these observers know that I don’t?  Of course, this improved statement says nothing of substance.  What does “many” mean?  More than one?  What is an “observer?”  Probably anyone.

My brother had a friend who liked to preface outlandish comments with “Experts has proven…”  That way, he could say something like “Experts has proven that Big Foot lives in Harlan County.”  That sounds plausible.

People say things like “Many economists believe that a 0% tax rate would actually increase government revenue” or “Many economists believe that huge government deficits will result in a strong U.S. economy for years to come.”  They want me to agree with them and their many authorities.  Surely that many economists can’t ALL be wrong?

You might wonder if this isn’t actually a cleaned up version of lying.  Good question.  Perhaps, but no more so than when we cite “they” for some proposition.  They say that dog is man’s best friend.  They say that you can’t serve two masters.  They say that we’re going to have a bad winter.  They say all kinds of things.  They have credibility.

There are many variations of this technique. If you ever want to bolster an otherwise baseless opinion preface it with “Research has shown…”; “Studies reveal…”; “Leading scientists agree…”; or even “Experts has proven…”  Few will dare argue with such authoritative sources.  When desperate, you can even use “According to scripture…” or “I believe it was Paul who said….”  You can think of many more.

WHAT’S IN A NAME?

One of the best ways to win folks over to your side is to be sure you or your cause aren’t threatening.  Say that you belong to a group dedicated to the violent overthrow of the government.  Do not name your group something like The Anti-American Anarchy Society.  You’ll be so busy dealing with search warrants that you won’t get anything done.  Try something like The American Society for the Protection of Liberty.  That’s perfect.

The Patriot Act is a great example.  How could anyone oppose an act–regardless of how heinous it might be–that promotes patriotism?  What are you, a communist?  The Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act sounds much better than The Government Health Care Act (which is really what it is).  Some groups come up names that make little sense like The Tea Party, evidently named after the Boston Tea Party which dealt with taxation without representation which isn’t a problem now….but I digress.

As a rule of thumb, be suspicious of any group, cause or law which includes one or more of the following in its name:

  • Family
  • Freedom
  • Liberty
  • American
  • Children
  • Patriot

These are but a few examples of the way words fool us.  There are many other tricks out there, such as misquoting, quoting out of context, embellishment and outright lying.  Lying, in particular, can be effective but requires great skill.  It is best left to politicians.

The next time you listen to a talking head on radio or TV or read an article in the paper or on the Internet, remember:  They might be trying to fool you.  Research has shown that as much as 90% of all information we receive is deceptive.  See how easy it is?

©thetrivialtroll.wordpress.com 2012

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Of Dogs and Men

I’ve been thinking about dogs lately.  This is odd, since I don’t own a dog and have no plans to do so.  As any devotee of social media knows, you can’t escape the world of dogs.  Facebook, in particular, is a dog cult.  Regardless of how diverse one’s friends may be, you will see posts every day about dogs.  They transcend religious and political differences, age, race and sex.  From the most staunch right-winger to the wildest-eyed liberal, dogs are beloved.

None of God’s creatures enjoys such good PR as dogs.  Rin Tin Tin, Lassie, Old Yeller–beloved.  Even when dogs are bad, it’s not their fault.  Cujo was a good dog until that damn rabid bat bit him.  Even Devil Dog: The Hound of Hell was demon-possessed.  I’m sure he was a good boy, yes he was.

People don’t hesitate to say they hate cats.  In fact, if people love dogs, they usually hate cats.  Snakes are universally hated.  No one will admit to hating dogs.  Even Michael Vick–the most notorious dog abuser on Earth–says he likes dogs.  Go figure.

People will post pictures of their dogs on Facebook.  They will post pictures of other people’s dogs.  They will post funny photos, sad photos, sentimental photos.  The captions will range from the humorous to heart-rending.  There are posts about soldiers loving dogs, dogs loving soldiers, rescue dogs, abused dogs, dogs who dress like people–you name it, you’ll see it.  If alien life forms are monitoring our computer usage, they are likely to be surprised when they arrive here to find that the dogs are not in charge.

Anyone with a negative comment about this photo would immediately be placed on the Terrorist Watch List

You have to be careful, though. This humorous photo may draw the ire of both dog lovers and smoking haters.

I’m not a dog owner, but I like dogs, generally speaking.  Dogs are loyal to their owners and seem to be good companions.  They can’t talk (seriously, they can’t.  If you think they can, you may have a problem), which is good.  A mute companion is ideal.  I like the way they understand commands and respond to their names.  I like to see them do tricks, too.

My Granny had a chihuahua named Mousie.  He lived to be 19.  I really liked him.  When I was a kid my next door neighbor had a German Shepherd named Shirley.  We taught her to fetch our baseballs when they went over the fence.  I had a friend with a mutt named Sparky.  Sparky was good dog.  So, I’m not unfamiliar with dogs.

Much like my relations with humans, there are some dogs I don’t like.  I don’t like barking dogs.  I don’t like vicious dogs. I don’t like dogs that bite.  Out of fairness, I should note that I’ve been bitten by more humans than I have dogs, and I don’t like that, either.  Like their human counterparts, drooling dogs are kind of annoying.  I don’t particularly care for being licked by dogs.  Okay, now, I know what you’re thinking:  A dog’s mouth is cleaner than a human’s, by God!  I don’t where that comes from, and it may well be true.  But, I’ve seen dogs eat feces–and not just their own, either.  Plus, except under very limited circumstances, I’ve never enjoyed having a human lick my face, either.  If this ever becomes the accepted form of greeting, I’m not leaving the house.

Here’s a quick story about a dog–two in fact–that I didn’t like.  I once lived behind a house where there were two dogs.  A young couple owned them and clearly knew nothing about caring for them.  The couple would go out of town and leave the dogs in the back yard.  The dogs would bark…and bark…and bark, non-stop.  At first, it made me a bit sad, but that soon passed over into anger.  When the couple was home, the dogs ran in and out of their walk-out basement.  They (the dogs, that is) spent most of their time digging holes.  They dug around the utility transformer until they chewing through my TV cable–twice.

After the second destruction of my television reception (if you know anything about me, you know that is intolerable), I looked at the hole by the transformer.  They had dug down 2 to 3 feet, chewed through the cable and were working on the electrical cable.  I decided to pay Dog Boy and Dog Girl a visit to explain about the barking and the hole.  They steadfastly refused to do anything about their dogs telling me that the dogs were their “children.”  I kindly pointed out that if the dogs gnawed through the insulated cable, 12,000 volts would silence them.  Then, Dog Girl fairly screeched at me:  “We can’t make them stop barking!  That would be mean!  If you think you’re so smart, you get them to stop!”  In true Harlan County fashion, I kindly responded:  “Think about that.  Do you REALLY want me to shut up those damn dogs?  I will.”  We had no more problems after that.

I offer that tale only so you know that I’ve had my differences with dogs.  Rest assured, however, that I’ve never hurt a dog.  Okay, I did hit a dog with my car once.  I was driving through a neighborhood and this little lap dog ran in front of my car.  People came screaming, calling me names and saying I was driving too fast.  I probably was but–you know–the dog ran in front of my car.  Anyway, it was an accident.

A sad, tough truth that every dog owner should know is that not everyone loves your dog.  Dog owners reading this are now choking back bile, ready to attack–just like a dog.  Slow down, there.  If you have kids, think about this:  You probably love your kids.  You might even like them.  Not everyone feels the same way about them, though.  Some people don’t like your kids and almost no one else loves them.  That’s just how it is.

Why wouldn’t someone like a dog?  Well, I don’t know all the reasons.  Maybe they don’t like animals.  That doesn’t necessarily make one a serial killer, although it doesn’t eliminate one from suspicion either.  What if they don’t like “dog smell?”  Dogs do have a smell, you know.  It’s okay with some folks, but not with others.  Before you scream:  MY DOG DOESN’T SMELL!!” consider that I didn’t say they smell bad.  My Granny’s house smelled like snuff and mothballs.  I’m sure she didn’t notice, but I did.Some people are scared of dogs.  That’s true.  They are.  I’m not saying that’s right or can’t be overcome, but it’s a fact.  So, if someone doesn’t like your dog, they may have legitimate reasons, just like if they don’t like your kids.

Most dog lovers consider dogs to be vastly superior to humans.   Maybe they are.   They love the dogs, and the dogs love them.  The dogs won’t stopping loving them, either.  They won’t get bored with the relationship or go find new, younger masters.  Of course, one could point out that these are just the traits of any pack animal, but that would be unkind plus it would fall on deaf ears anyway.

Although they may be superior creatures, dogs are not people.  They’re dogs, and there’s nothing wrong with that.

If your dog looks like this, consider getting professional help or maybe a human companion of some type.

Even though dogs are dogs, they share certain characteristics with humans.  There are good humans and bad humans, just like good dogs and bad dogs.  Both are products of their environment or maybe their breeding.  Some humans are vicious and attack without provocation.  Some dogs do, too.  If dogs had opposable thumbs (or thumbs, at all), they’d use guns and knives, I’m sure.  The big difference is that we don’t blame dogs for their actions like we do humans.  A bad dog is caused by bad humans.  Bad humans are just bad.

I have a rule I try to follow at all times:  Don’t surround myself with creatures willingly and able to kill me.  That applies to both humans and dogs.  I’m told that Rottweilers, for instance, make great pets.  I’ve known folks that had them as pets. A Rottweiler could easily kill me, and there’s nothing I could do to stop it.  Not a good pet for me.  All he’d have to do is want to kill me, and I’m a goner.  A Maltese, on the other hand, couldn’t take me out regardless of its bad intentions.  I’d beat his ass.

Same thing with humans.  Some people are dangerous.  I don’t like being around them.  They could easily kill me on a whim.  I do my best to stay in the company of only those people unwillingly or unable to do me harm.  Admittedly, it’s much tougher to tell with humans.

I briefly touched on the topic of dog smell above.  Of course, humans smell, too.  Some good, some bad.  If a human is really funky, you don’t want that person around.  Maybe his or her family is okay with it, but you’re not.  Same with the dogs.  I don’t like touching smelly people, and I certainly don’t want them touching me.  Same with dogs.  I’ll pet just about any dog, but if you ever see me pet one, notice something.  I’ll quickly sneak a whiff of my hand.  Of course, I do the same thing after shaking hands with a human.

Dogs and human babies bring out the best in people.  The roughest, toughest people will often melt at the sight of a dog or baby.  People will smile at them, talk to them, touch them.  They’ll baby-talk to them.   Dogs and babies are the keys to peace on Earth.  When I was kid, the principal of my elementary school, Nick Brewer, was the most fearsome person I knew.  He terrified our entire school.  Once, I went to his house.  When he walked in the door, a gigantic Saint Bernard came running to him and jumped up on Mr. Brewer, licking and drooling all over him.  Mr. Brewer hugged him and said:  “Daddy is home! Yes, he is!  Daddy wuvs his baby boy, yes he does!”  Mr. Brewer never scared me after that.

Of course, dogs aren’t perfect.  Let’s say you live alone–except for your dog.  You’re happy together.  Like most dog owners, you fully expect to outlive your dog, but you don’t think about that.  One night, while sleeping, you die quite expectedly.  Being a bit of a recluse, no one checks up on you.  Your dog wonders why you won’t get out of bed and take him for a walk.  After awhile, he says “Oh, what the Hell!” and does his business inside.  He’s still got some food and water.  Eventually, the water runs out, but he remembers the toilet and partakes.  Pretty good.

After a couple of days, he’s out of food and pretty hungry.  He’s given up on you getting out of bed but decides to lick your hand a couple of more times to see if you’ll rouse.  Nope.  Hey….that hand is pretty tasty.  Yep, he eats you.  This won’t bother a true dog lover, of course.  He or she would relish being eaten by their dog, so that they and the dog could become one.

Now, let’s say the same thing happens, except your companion is a human.  After a few seconds to figure out that you’re dead, he or she calls 911 (there’s that thumb thing again).  Of course, there are the rare occasions when your human companion may eat your corpse, too, but we’ll leave that for another blog post.

In some cultures, humans turn the tables and actually eat dogs.  This is unthinkable in our society, but it happens.  Let’s be glad that we have plenty of other sources of protein.  Honestly, I would expect us to resort to cannibalism before we even get to dogs.

Finally, you dog lovers, be patient with those who aren’t or are just dog likers.  If we don’t want your dog jumping on us and licking all over us, imagine if one of my teenage sons treated you like that.  Oh, you might like it at first, but it would quickly grow old.  If we don’t comment on all your dog photos and posts, it doesn’t mean we don’t like them.  Now, go to bed and cuddle up with your dog.

One more thing, I guess dogs had it bad at one time, what with sayings like “talked to like a dog”, “treated like a dog”, etc.  No more.  We should all aspire to a dog’s life.

©thetrivialtroll.wordpress.com 2012

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