My Kindergarten Commencement Address

I have already tackled the difficult task of preparing a high school commencement speech. Not surprisingly, no one took me up on my offer to speak at any high school commencement. High school, though, is not the only ground upon which to impart my wisdom.

Perhaps I should speak to a college or university. Public figures and captains of industry often do that. Alas, I am neither. That goal simply isn’t realistic.

What about elementary or middle school grads? I didn’t go to a middle school, so I don’t know anything about that. As far as those entering high school, most of them are morons and won’t listen anyway.

This leaves me with kindergarten, that Petri dish of preschoolers ready to take on real school. I graduated from kindergarten as part of the Harlan Kindergarten Class of 1968. It was my only foray into private school, as there was no public kindergarten in those days. I graduated with a haughty sense of entitlement.

Your author’s natty attire belied his naiveté as a kindergartener.

I would have benefited from wise counsel in those days. I now stand ready to educate kindergarteners on what lies before them. To paraphrase the late, great drummer, Buddy Rich: These people. They are my kind of people. So, here goes:

Hello, kids! Thank you for allowing me to speak to you today. Today is an important moment in your young lives. After today, you are no longer preschoolers. You are students and shall remain so for many years to come.

As you are no doubt aware, “kindergarten” is from the German, meaning “children’s garden.” It was created by a German named Friederich Frobel in the village of Bad Blankenburg. Stop giggling! That’s the name! You’ll be calling the world ahead of you blankin’-burg soon enough.

Up to this point, many of you have gotten by on your appearance. You are, as we say, cute. That will rapidly fade in elementary school. We will lose teeth and become awkward as you grow. Being cute means nothing. Every misanthrope and human monster was once your age. Look at this darling child [I hold this up for the audience]:

$Adolf_Hitler_Childhood_Photos-{1}$

His name? Adolf Hitler. Cute, isn’t he?

Many–if not most–of you are unprepared for school. A great number of you are complete illiterates, unable to so much as correctly spell your full name. Others are only functionally illiterate. You cannot read even at the 1st grade level. Your ability to understand or complete even a simple job application is nil. Even rudimentary math is beyond your comprehension at this point. As a result of these limitations, you are unable to function in modern society. These handicaps, daunting as they may be, can and will be remedied in the coming years–at least to some extent.

Some of you now begin your long, slow trudge to failure–sad but true. You will annoy your teachers. You will gravitate to the worst of your lot and mimic their behavior. Perhaps you will be the ring leader of a group of miscreants. If so, make no mistake: You can and will be written off at a young age. The good news is that–for the only time in your life–time is on your side. As unlikely as it may be, you can change your behavior for the better.

Many of you are angels or so your parents have led you to believe. You are sweet and when you aren’t, you are simply misunderstood. Your failures and shortcomings are not your own. They are the product of misinformed individuals or society as a whole. Your parents are failing you daily, but I do not expect you to understand. Being egocentric as you are, you are comfortable with this arrangement. This comfort sows the seeds of your ultimate downfall. When you fall short of expectations at school, your parents will harangue your teachers, blaming them for your sloth and intellectual shortcomings. Only when you are much older will you realize that your house stands upon sand. Then, it will be too late.

Some of you are tethered to your parents like pets. You never leave their sight. They are determined to protect you from the evils of the world and the world itself. They will often lunch with you at school. Perhaps they will volunteer in your classroom. Some may even seek gainful employment at your school. They seek to smother you with their attention. And they will succeed.

A few–and I hope very few–of you are little more than street urchins deposited at school by uncaring parents who neither deserve to have children nor any other human relationship. There is good news for you. It is possible–not likely, but possible–that you will encounter someone who can exert a positive influence upon you outside your home. School is the most likely place to find such a person.

You may be an only child. By that, of course, I mean you are the only child in your immediate family. YOU ARE NOT THE ONLY CHILD ON EARTH! Just remember that.

Of course, you will encounter teachers. In my experience, the good far outnumber the bad. The good ones will care about you like no one outside your own family. The bad ones will want to herd you on the next grade while they detest you almost as much as they do their dead-end jobs. Most of your teachers do the best they can. Your cooperation will help.

Your teachers may occasionally criticize or correct you. That is their job. That is how you learn. This may be foreign to you. Your parents may be the type who praise everything you do from feeding yourself to basic hygiene. Your teachers shall prepare you for the real world where such tasks are not viewed as accomplishments at all. In fact, society fairly demands you master them.

Your teachers also cannot praise your every move. I have no doubt that all of you have drawn pictures for your parents. Let’s say you draw what you called a “horsey.” In reality, this horse resembles nothing so much as random scrawling with no form. It is, in fact, completely unrecognizable as a horse or any other living creature. When you present this picture to your parents they exclaim “Oh, what a pretty horsey! It’s beautiful!” Such lies are meant to boost your self-esteem by lauding your crude art work. If an adult produced such a drawing and insisted that it was horse, he or she would branded as mentally deranged. Institutions and unemployment would be their future.

A decent parent would look at your drawing and ask “What exactly about that looks like a horse?” or “Why don’t we just call it a wildebeest or a fire hydrant? Makes as much sense.” I doubt that you have ever received such constructive criticism. Those days are done.

No teacher worth his or her salt can engage in such foolishness. If you declare that 2 + 2 equals 11, you cannot be praised. You are not praiseworthy.

Despite what your parents think, there is almost no chance that you are a genius. That you are able to distinguish letters of the alphabet means little. It is axiomatic that most of you are average. That’s not to say that there aren’t exceptions. Some of you are far, far smarter than your peers. That will not change, although you shall be witness to many years of people trying to bring your peers up to your level or you down to theirs. But you are smarter than these people, too, and they will fail.

You are now headed to a world where failure is, in fact, an option. The good news is that the educational system is designed to prevent failure. In addition to your teachers, there are counselors, tutors, study plans and even medication at your disposal. Perhaps you are now addicted to amphetamines in an effort to help you pay better attention in school. That might help. Of course, the downside to living as a speed freak is well-known but better discussed at your middle school graduation.

No doubt you reflect today that time flies. It seems like only yesterday that you soiled yourself simply because you knew no better. For a few of you, it literally may have been yesterday. In any event, those days are behind you now–hopefully. A new day dawns.

You now leave the garden and head straight into the jungle. Knowing your penchant for distraction, I have kept my words brief. Some of you have picked your noses throughout my talk while others have squirmed with annoyance. Welcome to the rest of your life.

©thetrivialtroll.wordpress.com 2013

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First posted back in the Spring. I’ve updated it some on the anniversary of Richard’s death.

Coal Troll's Blog

Richard Kent Williams was five years younger than me. He was my brother, and he’s been dead for over 25 years now–more than half my life. “Been dead” isn’t exactly right. He is dead. It took me a long time to say that. Passed, passed away, gone or lost were much gentler terms. Eventually, I could say that “he died.” Something about the past tense took the edge off it, as though one could die and that be the end of it. This ignores the obvious: those who die remain dead. They are dead. That’s the case with my brother. He would be middle-aged now, but he isn’t. He was 20 when he died, and 20 he remains.

Richard died in the early morning hours of September 26, 1987, but I’ve always thought of the 25th as the right date. That was his last day. He was a student at the…

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I think I fixed all the snafus from my original posting. This should be the entire tome.

Coal Troll's Blog

I recently posted my thoughts on certain aspects of religion. Some folks enjoyed it, while I’m sure others were greatly offended. With that in mind, I’ve decided to stick my toe into the deep waters of politics to ensure offending the other half.

I was asked once why I don’t post a lot of political musings on Facebook and Twitter. I don’t really have a good answer other than it’s just too serious for me. I deal with a lot of serious issues in my job. I prefer to get away from all that when I’m not at work. Like most of the decisions I make in my personal life, not much thought goes into it. Also, politics just doesn’t interest me much. As a result, I can’t think of anything good to say, as will be shown below.

If you post a lot of political stuff, please read…

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My Political Ennui

If you post a lot of political stuff, please read the following:

I AM OKAY WITH YOUR DOING THAT. JUST BECAUSE I DON’T DO SOMETHING DOESN’T MEAN I AM AGAINST THOSE WHO DO.

Thank you. Also, I don’t mind reading stuff with which I disagree. Someone much smarter than I am once said that he never learned anything from people with which he agreed. That’s certainly true for me.

I DO have political views, of course. I’m just not sure everyone wants to hear about them. Plus, nothing is more ponderous than a political argument. You think what you think. I think what I think. I’ve had enough political discussions to know that we’re not going to change each other’s minds.

A bartender told me one time that the worst customer was the guy who sits at the bar and tries to engage in political banter with the other patrons. He said nothing clears the barstools quicker.

As with most things, I am cynical about politics. I’m also the type who tends to distrust anyone in power. This makes it hard for me to become all starry-eyed over any politician. Mostly, I just don’t care. With that in mind, I’ll offer some of my political observations and thoughts.

WHAT AM I?

The most important thing for anyone who reads political rants is to determine at the earliest possible moment whether the writer is a conservative or a liberal. It’s not conservative or liberal. It’s a conservative or a liberal. Your tag. What ARE you?

Well, I’m not telling. Folks who know me well know the answer. Folks who don’t know me well are usually confused. Those on the far left think I’m an arch-conservative. The hard right think I’m a wild-eyed liberal. Maybe I am. Or not.

THIS AIN’T NO PARTY. THIS AIN’T NO DISCO.

Life During Wartime is one of the catchiest songs ever. Unfortunately, I’m not talking about those Talking Heads. I’m talking about the ones that fill the airwaves and blogosphere with their opinions about politics. They don’t even wear that cool giant suit like David Byrne.

For someone bored by most political debates, I listen to, and read, a surprising amount of political ravings. And I’m not picky about it, either. Oh, and I disagree with almost everything I hear and read, whether it’s Beck, Limbaugh, Maddow, Olberman or any of the countless other disembodied heads and voices which have somehow found public forums. In fact, Howard Stern may be the only person with whom I agree most of the time. I don’t know what that means, but I’m sure it’s nothing good.

Conservative talkers are more entertaining than the liberal ones. That’s just a fact. Here’s why: They’re basically entertainers. Beck and Limbaugh are DJ’s. A good DJ and a good program director can entertain doing the same things at the same time every single day. Howard Stern does that, too. He knows what his audience wants to hear and delivers it consistently.

Take Glenn Beck. If he believes everything he says, he’s a mad man. In his world, there is a massive worldwide conspiracy to turn the planet into a caliphate ruled by Van Jones and William Ayers. This world will be a Mad Max nightmare with cites burning and no food or fuel. We’ll eat our dogs. Only Glenn and his Byzantine wall of chalk boards stand between us and this fate. Of course, if we pull the right lever or punch the right chad, it will all go away.

I’m sure he doesn’t really believe all that, but that’s not the point. His fans (and that’s what they are) WANT to believe that. He knows that. Like a DJ playing Li’l Wayne or Lady GaGa nonstop, he knows what his audience wants. He delivers.

The folks on the left have never figured out the entertainment angle. Al Franken used to have a radio show. It was awful. Al was serious and angry most of the time. Al Franken is one of the funniest people on Earth. If you can read his book Why Not Me? without laughing out loud, you are a soulless, humorless person. Al seemed to think he was educating people. Wrong. Howard Stern says his listeners love lesbians. Thus, he has lesbians on his show. He doesn’t try to convince the world to love lesbians. Beck’s listeners want to believe in wordwide caliphates. The left thinks they can convince the world they are right. Just find your audience and tell them what they want hear–everyday over and over.

Anger can sell, too. Sean Hannity is an angry dude. I suspect his devoted audience is pretty angry. He’s good at fueling that. He’s outraged daily over everything. Bad news outrages him but not as much as good news. If a Republican candidate murdered his entire family, Sean would rail against the Mainstream Media for failing to report that Charles Manson was a Democrat. It’s his schtick.

Sean’s not the only angry fellow. Take Keith Olberman, for example. He’s so mad at the right that he’s hateful about it. Plus, he’s unpleasant, which may explain why he gets fired from his jobs. His counterpart on the right, Michael Savage, is also too angry. I think that’s why I usually hear him at night. Really angry people probably sit by the radio at night brooding.

The real news media is no better. Let’s say that unemployment drops. Here’s the MSNBC headline (in typeface normally reserved for declarations of war):

UNEMPLOYMENT FALLS TO TWO YEAR LOW!

Here is the Fox News headline:

WHAT’S THE REAL STORY BEHIND SO-CALLED LOWER UNEMPLOYMENT?

If this is how you stay informed, good luck to you. I’d rather watch reruns of Hillbilly Handfishin’. If you ever get a chance watch the 1950’s film, A Face in the Crowd, directed by Elia Kazan. Elia knew what was coming.

What’s this have to do with me? Not much, other than I will listen to this stuff, and it wears me out. I’d hate to think that I’m like any of these folks or, worse, the people who call their shows or believe everything they read. I’m find them entertaining, but none of this shapes my views, whatever they might be.

I’M NOT ALWAYS RIGHT, BUT I’M NEVER WRONG, AND NEITHER ARE YOU.

One of the fundamental tenets of politics is that I must: (1) Agree with everything my politician supports; and (2) Disagree with everything my opponent supports. A caveat to that is that if I do, in fact, agree with my opponent, I must somehow give credit to someone I like, regardless of the analytical gymnastics required to do so.

I just can’t do this. Sometimes, both sides are so adamant about not giving any credit to the other that they won’t acknowledge that something good actually works. Here’s an example: The Troubled Asset Relief Program (TARP) was devised by Hank Paulson under George W. Bush. It had one purpose: To prevent the collapse of the American banking system from the top down. I scoffed at it, mostly because Hank Paulson looks evil. I was wrong. Bad wrong. It had bi-partisan support, and it worked, albeit a little differently than originally planned. No one wants to claim TARP now, because both sides have called it a bank bail out for so long. BOTH SIDES SUPPORTED IT! The right calls it big government gone wild, and the left calls it corporate welfare. The result is that neither side will endorse it out of fear that the other side will make them look bad. That’s insanity.

Here’s another one. Osama Bin Laden is dead. Both President Bush and President Obama deserved credit for this. Job well done, men. Republicans will grudgingly say that Obama deserves credit for following Bush’s lead. Democrats say that Obama has succeeded where Bush wholly failed. It took 10 freaking years to find this guy! Let’s face it. It was a team effort.

I’m not always right. In fact, I’m frequently wrong. I’m also brighter than most of the clods we elect to office. They can’t be right or wrong all the time, either.

LCD ISN’T JUST A COOL TV

Politicians cater to the Least Common Denominator (LCD). Come on, you know it’s true. That’s why they spend so much time trying to scare the bejesus out of us. It’s not enough to point out the serious flaws in government health care. We must talk about death panels and forced euthanasia, too. If you support a tax increase on the wealthy, you must do so by claiming that the wealthy are a group of elitists destroying the country and exploiting the rest of us. The LCD likes all that talk.

You know LCD. He’s the guy who can believe any of the following:

I am poor but will benefit by other people becoming rich.
I am poor but the government will help me become affluent.
Although I am too old, infirm or just plain too sorry to be in the military, I support all wars.
I resent Mexicans for taking the jobs I don’t want anyway.
A tax increase would be a good idea, as long as it’s not my taxes.
There is a massive conspiracy about something.
Although I’ve never read the Constitution, I know that anything I don’t like is unconstitutional.

Those are just a few examples. The LCD and I don’t geehaw, as they say. You aim at him, and you miss me. Back to Hillybilly Handfishin’.

POLITICIANS

Another big reason I lose interest in politics is that I don’t really care much for politicians. They’re overpaid and underworked. Congress has a 10% approval rating. The only thing surprising about this is that apparently 10% of those polled didn’t understand the question.

U-S-A! U-S-A!

I live in the United States of America, the greatest country on Earth. Why do I say that? Two reasons: (1) I do, in fact, live in the USA; (2) I’ve never lived anywhere else, and my life is pretty damn sweet. Why wouldn’t I believe that?

According to Wikipedia (the source of all my knowledge), there are over 200 countries on Earth. I couldn’t possibly figure out if the US is better than all of them. Now, I’ll dare to assume that we’re better than a lot of them: India, Mexico, most of the Middle East, Commies, any country ending in “stan,” all the really cold places, Bangladesh and Canada. I’ll also throw in any country with a goofy-ass royal family. That still leaves a bunch of countries that may be just fine. What’s the point of this?

Here’s the point: We’re Americans, by God. As Bill Murray famously said in Stripes, we’re the mutts of the world. We’ve been thrown out of every decent country on the planet. Even people with whom I disagree are Americans. We always end up okay, even in the midst of our fights, because we’re Americans. I don’t hate others because of their politics. I have good friends who are polar opposites of me politically. So what? They are my fellow mutts.

Here’s the other point. Even those in power are my fellow mutts. I don’t want them to fail and destroy the country just so my candidates get elected. I don’t think these folks are engaged in conspiracies to bring down the republic. Maybe they’re misguided or just plain stupid. Just because I disagree doesn’t make them evil Communists, Socialists, Nazis or closeted Caliphs. It may make them idiots or it may make me one. Time will tell.

SO, WHAT I AM?

Figured it out, yet? Neither have I. Here’s a small list of my likes, dislikes and general grumblings to assist us both:

I don’t think you should wildly spend money you don’t have.
Congress is full of idiots.
Occupy Wall Street was pointless.
We’ve had two good presidents in my lifetime.
I am an abashed, unapologetic supporter of the coal industry.
I don’t care whom you marry as long as it isn’t a child.
You can read or watch anything you want, as long as no one is harmed
I’m not “green.” I drive a foreign car with an internal combustion engine, and I like it.
You have the right to hate people.
I don’t like wars, but I greatly respect the military. There should be a law that the person who starts the war should be the first to die for his country.
I don’t like religion mixed with government.
You have the right to carry a gun
I supported the war in Afghanistan but not the one in Iraq.
I don’t care about my neighbor’s religion or lack thereof.
I don’t care if you’re gay. I’ve spent most of my time around straight people, and they’ve been no treat.
I don’t hate Muslims.
I don’t mind paying taxes, but I want to pay the least required.
Not all poor people deserve to be poor.
Almost anything the government touches gets worse, not better.
I don’t believe in any conspiracies, except ones where people have been caught
It doesn’t bother me that Hispanics speak Spanish. My ancestors in Pennsylvania spoke German, and Ben Franklin wanted them thrown out of the country.
I have no interest in what you do in your bedroom.
You can protest whatever you want.

There you have it. What am I? A mess, evidently. But, I’m an American, by God!

©thetrivialtroll.wordpress.com 2012

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Hell and Other Bad News

I drive a fair amount in my job. I like to listen to radio preachers while I drive. This is odd, considering that I’m not particularly religious nor do I enjoy listening to preaching in church. There is something about radio preachers that always catches my interest. My travel is largely confined to Eastern Kentucky (business) and the southern United States (vacation). These areas are a mother load of radio preaching.

This post is not a theological piece nor is it intended as a criticism–or defense–of Radio Preachers. Also, please do not take it as some anti-Christian screed. It just so happens that Radio Preachers are Christians. That’s a fact. I’ve never heard a radio rabbi or imam, although I’m sure they exist. Many of my devoutly Christian friends believe they are persecuted because of their beliefs. That may well be true, but this post is not part of that persecution. These are just some of my observations from my years of listening.

Oh, Hell

Radio Preachers enjoy talking about Hell. Now, whether you believe there is a Hell or not, Hell sounds like no fun. I guess that’s the point. While driving through Alabama recently, I heard this description:

Listen to me, young people. THERE IS NO PARTY ROOM IN HELL! There is no good time! If you think there is, you are WRONG! You will be too busy weeping and wailing and burning to have a good time!

Wow. That sums it up, I guess. Of course, it got me thinking: Is there some group of misguided youngsters in Alabama who think–like the great band AC/DC–that “Hell ain’t a bad place to be?” If so, why? If you believe in Hell, then you surely know that in addition to weeping and wailing, there will gnashing of teeth and eternal damnation. You might even tear at your robes (they did that a lot in the Bible), assuming your clothes haven’t been burned off. None of that will be good.

Hell is the bad cop to Heaven’s good cop. The radio preachers make it clear that it’s really easy to go straight to Hell. It’s discouraging.

I’ve always been baffled by why Jesus didn’t spend a lot of time threatening to send people to Hell if they stepped out of line. Even the most casual reader of the New Testament will notice that the Disciples–for all the good they did–were kind of pain to deal with. Ever notice how many times they question Jesus? I think this is why he taught in parables. These guys just weren’t that bright. Honestly, I don’t think Jesus was all that concerned about Hell. If he had been, he would have said something like: “Step out of line one more time, and it’s straight to Hell. I mean it.”

The only time I think about Hell is when I listen to a radio preacher. Sadly, they usually convince me that I’m GOING to Hell. I don’t want that. It would be bad. No party room.

Super Jesus

Radio Preachers are always torn between Jesus the man and Jesus the Savior. Or at least it seems that way. They always stress that Jesus was (“is”) God’s son, but he was also a man. As God’s son, He was God incarnate; thus, infallible. As a man, He was flesh; thus, flawed–but not really, because He was Jesus. It’s like they want you to know that Jesus was human, but don’t want you to really believe that. Very confusing.

I figure Jesus was a regular guy. He was a carpenter. I’ve known a bunch of carpenters, and they’re all pretty normal. Jesus probably was, too. If they had sports, he would have liked them (although, I’m not sure he would have like that “Kick The Goat’s Head” game they play in Iraq). Jesus was Jewish. He probably looked like Dustin Hoffman. Radio Preachers, it seems, are concerned that if they make Him sound too human, then they’ll take away his God qualities. This makes no sense to me, but what do I know?

As everyone knows, the New Testament has a big gap in Jesus’s life. I figure it’s because he was just working as a carpenter and living a normal life during that time. Probably not much to report. He certainly didn’t have disciples charting his every move.

Radio Preachers take everything related to Jesus and make it as dramatic as possible. Here’s a recent description I heard about the Sermon on the Mount:

And the multitudes had gathered to see Jesus and touch the hem of his garments. Jesus stood before them. Oh, can’t you see Him with His arms raised to the Heavens? Can’t you imagine the glorious moment when He spoke? He then spake unto them: [Radio Preacher then goes on to read from the Sermon on the Mount].

Now, I really enjoy the Sermon on the Mount. It’s real preaching, and good stuff, too. But, it’s pretty clear that the folks gathered there were the sick and demon-possessed. That means sick and INSANE. And sick means REALLY sick. Leprosy sick. Thanks to modern medicine I’ve never known anyone with leprosy, but back then people were slap eat up with it. They made you wear a big old damn bell around your neck to warn people. Notice what Jesus did? He healed them. He didn’t say: “Oh, don’t worry about that leprosy. Just ring your bell.” Even Jesus didn’t mess with it. He just got rid of it. Imagine what a motley and disturbed bunch this was. It would have been horrifying. This is what Jesus was able to draw as a crowd. This is not a bad thing. These are the folks who were the outcasts and needed help. Frankly, that makes for a better story; however, there was probably a certain grunginess to it.

My other favorite Jesus story is in the garden of Gethsemane. Radio Preachers love this story, especially around Easter. To me, it’s the story that makes Jesus human. He’s doing what I would do, saying: “Hey, I’ll do this if I have to, but I’m okay with you getting me out of it, too.” Nothing wrong with that. It’s a great, great story. Radio Preachers spin it to say that Jesus was REALLY saying that he was ready to roll. Maybe so. I’m no theologian, but I don’t take it that way.

Radio Preachers also like to call on Jesus to perform miracles, usually to heal people. This presumes that Jesus is like a genie in a bottle. Conjure him up and “POOF!” he takes care of things. What was Jesus’s first miracle? I think it’s when he turned water into wine. Kind of a magic trick really but pretty cool. Importantly, though, you’ll notice that he didn’t say: “Oh, and if you ever need me to do any of these things for you, just give me a holler.” Sorry, Radio Preacher.

God Is A Republican

Radio Preachers don’t hesitate to talk about politics. In fact, they love it. I’ve learned one fact which is undeniable: God is a Republican. I’m not saying that’s good or bad, but it’s a fact. He supports Republican candidates for all public offices. Jesus may have said “Give unto Caesar what is Caesar’s”, but God wanted Caesar to join the GOP.

Radio Preachers tell me that I need to pray for God to elect certain folks to office. Here’s my problem: If God decides who wins, why do I need to make a request? Is He really confused? Does He need MY input? I don’t think so. Now, if God’s candidate loses, which happens from time to time, what does that mean? Here’s what it means to me: God doesn’t care about elections.

Interestingly, Jesus was Jewish. Seems like a lot of Jewish folks are Democrats. It wouldn’t be the first time that a son took a different political view than his Father, I suppose.

End of Days

This is probably the most popular topic for Radio Preachers–the end of times. Why? I guess because it’s terrifying and segues nicely into talking about Hell. Much like Hell, I’ve determined that the end times will be awful. Just a total mess.

Evidently, we are in the end times, because the world has just gone to Hell (not literally, of course). There are wars, earthquakes, famines, immorality, homosexuality, abortion and all manner of debauchery afoot. Really. We’re probably the 1000th generation who thought the same thing. Why? Because we’re alive RIGHT NOW. Everything going on now is more important, because it’s happening to us! I find it all rather entertaining, since this presumes that the past was all butterfly kisses and unicorn rides.

Google the word “pederasty.” That’s a nasty little practice of a grown man taking on an underaged male lover. Used to be quite common and accepted by polite society. A harmless relationship between two consenting adults is pretty tame compared to that. Read the works of the Marquis de Sade. You’ll be hard pressed to find anything more vile today. How about slavery? Witch burnings (this means BURNED ALIVE)? Nice stuff. There have been quite a few famines and natural disasters throughout history. Ask our friends in China, Africa and Ireland about famines. War? Name a time when there wasn’t a war. We’re humans. We like to kill each other, especially over real estate. The upshot of it is that we don’t have anything better or worse going on now that ever before. Chill out, Radio Preacher.

I always heard that the end would come when we least expect it, like a thief in the night. I’m confident that the Radio Preachers don’t know any more about it than the rest of us, but it’s still entertaining to hear about.

One last thing, whenever end times are discussed, the book of Revelation has to be mentioned. First, it’s REVELATION, as in the Revelation of John. It is NOT RevelationS. I’ll stop listening when the Radio Preacher calls it Revelations (which is 90% of the time). Secondly, let’s all be honest–it’s totally incomprehensible. Most of the Bible is enjoyable to read, but this book is like something Hunter Thompson would have written in the midst of an acid trip. If you can figure out the imagery of horses, pale riders, 666, Whore of Babylon, etc., you yourself are a prophet. If so, please just write something coherent for the rest of us. I’ll tell one thing that doesn’t help: A Radio Preacher screaming about it. It just makes things worse.

Money

Radio Preachers need money. Your money. Well, it’s not your money. It’s God’s money, but God wants you to send it to the Radio Preacher as sort of a trustee for the benefit of God. God doesn’t trust you with His money. He trusts the Radio Preacher. You should, too.

Keep Listening

I’ll keep driving and listening. You may think that I’m a horrible cynic with no religious faith at all. Not true. Okay, the cynic part is probably true. I have my faith and my views of God, but I’m the type that keeps it to myself. I don’t really doubt the sincerity of the preachers I hear. Some of them are quite good and very persuasive. I’m just irreverent. As I heard the other day: “Brothers and sisters, Hell can’t fill up! There’s always room for one more!” Ouch.

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Eating for One

I’ve been on a road trip this week to Fort Walton Beach, Florida. My son is playing in a baseball tournament. I’m flying solo. The rest of my clan stayed home in Kentucky. I haven’t seen a whole lot of my son down here, except for his games and when he needs some cash. In the name of team-building, the players stay together and ride a bus to and from their games. The result is that I’ve had a lot of “me” time, which suits me to a tee.

I’ve been eating my meals solo, too. Yeah, I’m that guy, the pathetic fellow dining alone. I know this conjurs up images of a serial killer sitting in his tool shed eating gruel from a human skull. It doesn’t? Okay, maybe I’m the only one who thinks about that, but that’s for another blog. I’m quite accustomed to dining out alone. I travel a fair amount for work, and it’s usually solo. This time, it’s different. I’m actually on vacation and eating out among the vacationers. They don’t eat alone. But, I do. Here are a few of my observations from this week.

Where to Sit

Would you like to sit at the bar? I’m always asked this, and I think I know why. If you sit at the bar, it’s not obvious to the rest of the diners that you’re alone. You won’t trouble them by looking like a disturbed loner. Also, if you eat alone, I suppose there’s a more than fair chance you have a drinking problem. Sitting you within arm’s length of gallons of alcohol is just good business.

I don’t sit at the bar. Why not? First, I don’t drink, so I don’t need access to the bar. Second, the few times I’ve eaten at a bar, I invariably will be seated next to a talkative drunk. Mind you now, even though I don’t drink, I have no problem with those that do. Unfortunately, I don’t like making conversation with strangers or listening to some slurred discourse on topics in which I have no interest. I know now why people avoided me when I drank.

The exception to sitting at a bar is Waffle House, the poor man’s Cracker Barrel. Okay, it’s not a bar. It’s a counter, but it’s the same basic set-up. You eat beside someone you don’t know and, being Waffle House, he may well be drunk. I’m okay with it, because it fits the ambiance of Waffle House. I can also watch them prepare my meal. It’s like sitting in someone’s kitchen. Now,the cooking utensils seem really nasty, but they’re not. Waffle Houses usually have good health department grades. Who cares if the cook’s flop sweat occasionally drips into your scrambled eggs? The food’s good and cheap. Down here in Florida, I’ve eaten breakfast at Waffle House every day. Bacon, egg and cheese wrap; side of grits; coffee; and water for $7.95. Good eats.

I should also note that I do not include fast food restaurants and Cracker Barrel as dining alone, because they are set up that. No one cares if you eat alone at a fast food restaurant. People are there to get something quick with the assurance that they know how it tastes. Cracker Barrel has really good food, and I’ve eaten alone at many of them. It’s no big deal. They cater to travelers, many of whom are by themselves. It’s not a big deal to go solo for a stack of pancakes at 2:00 in the afternoon.

This week has been different. I’ve been to several sit-down restaurants alone. I usually have a copy of USA Today and my reading glasses hanging from the front of my shirt. I prefer a booth. Why? I don’t know. It just seems a little more private, plus the tables usually give me more room to spread out my paper. It also seems like fewer people are looking at me. They DO look at me, you know. All of them.

Attention Please

Dining alone, I never seem to have a problem with service. It’s odd, because one would think that a large table of customers–and potential tippers–would merit the most attention. Not so. I get checked on all the time. I think it’s because I seem pitiful. Look at that poor man who has no friends. We should be nice to him. I like that. Coffee and water always topped off. I never have to wait long for my check. It’s like they opened the restaurant up just for me.

Who are these people?

Of course, I’m not the only one. There’s always someone else eating by himself. I say “himself,” because it’s almost always a man. Even though I am doing the same, I can’t help but think: What’s the deal with that guy? Does everyone hate him? Probably. Poor, pathetic bastard. Glad I’m not him.

My reaction is similar to the rare occasion when I encounter the Day People. You know them. They’re the folks out doing stuff like shopping and washing their cars during the day. I always wonder why they’re not at work. It’s none of my business, so I never ask. When I get to the age where I can say anything, I’ll ask: “What are you doing out during the day? Don’t you have a job, hippie?” Something like that. Again, I digress.

I’m sure these folks look at me the same way and ask the same questions. I’m just a guy eating dinner alone. I refuse to order room service or eating crappy fast food just because I’m alone. Now, leave me alone.

Where do I go?

I’m sure you’re curious about where I’ve eaten this week, so I’ll tell you.

Waffle House: See comments above. It’s Waffle House. It’s consistent. And I always like it.

BD Pizzeria: I just ate at this place because it was convenient. Pizza buffet for $6.99. Nothing special.

Bridge Street BBQ and Cafe: I just saw this place while out scouting around. Kinda of a dump, but it looked like my kind of place. I was surprised when I went inside. It was nice, clean and looked like someone’s home. My waitress was about 70, and I’m sure she must be one of the owners. She was extremely nice. I had BBQ pork, green beans and mashed potatoes. It was nothing special. The pork was inexplicable chopped into chunks but was pretty good nonetheless. The beans and potatoes were of the cafeteria variety. That said, I really liked the lady who waited on me. There were only a couple of other folks in there. One guy was clearly drunk and just wanted to use the phone to call a cab. Of course, they let him. The other guy is pictured below:

Bridge Street BBQ and Cafe. Note pathetic patron dining alone.

Anglers: This is a seafood restaurant overlooking the Gulf. I had bacon-wrapped shrimp stuffed with crab; garlic mashed potatoes; and green beans. It was all outstanding but a little too pricey for what I got.

The view from Anglers

Mary’s Kitchen: I picked this place because it had a smoker out back. I ordered the BBQ chicken/pulled pork dinner with black eyed peas and cheese grits. The pork and chicken were as good as it gets, and I’ve eaten a lot of BBQ. The grits were the only thing lacking. They tasted like they had melted Velveeta in them. Nevertheless, I’d recommend this place to anyone. Excellent.

Old Bay Steamer: I got the one-person steamer: Snow crab legs; mussels; clams; shrimp; oysters; corn on the cob; and new potatoes. This was a home run. Everything was great. Ronnie the Waiter (who bore a disquieting resemblance to rapper Paul Wall) practically hovered over my table. My water glass was topped off repeatedly. Good service and great food.

The Steamer Pot at Old Bay Steamer

I’ve got a couple of nights left. I’m thinking about steak for tonight. I might go to Ruths Chris in Destin. I’m pretty sure Waffle House doesn’t have a steak, but it might. Wherever I go, it will just be me. And that’s okay.

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Captain America’s Team

My earliest memory of being a football fan was a 1969 Craig Morton football card. I was seven years old, and Morton was the quarterback of the Dallas Cowboys. I don’t know why, but I liked that card. It was held in almost as high esteem as my 1969 Willie Mays card, which I carried in my pocket. Because I liked Morton’s card, I also liked the Cowboys. It was that simple. I wouldn’t always like Craig Morton, but I always liked the Cowboys.

The first football game I remember watching was Superbowl V. Dallas v. Baltimore, 1971. It was actually a really crappy game, but I got to see Craig Morton play. I thought that was cool. My Dad watched the game with me and talked about the “other” quarterback for Dallas, a guy named Roger Staubach who had served four years in the Navy. Dad said he was great, so he must be. Understand that my Dad had been a Redskins fan, because the Redskins were broadcast on WLW’s 1,00o,ooo watt signal, and he heard a lot of their games. But if his 8 year old liked the Cowboys, so did he. Plus, Staubach was a military man, which Dad held in high regard. Alas, Dallas lost when a long-haired kicker named Jim O’Brien kicked a last second field goal. I hated that dude. I was crushed by a sporting event for the first of many, many times to come.

I was primed for the 1971 NFL season. Dallas coach Tom Landry devised an ill-conceived rotating quarterback system with Morton and Staubach, but I actually got to see the great Staubach play. As much as a 9 year old kid could decipher, he was as good as Dad advertised. He scrambled, he ran the ball, he threw the ball. By then, I had also become a die hard baseball fan who worshipped at the feet of Johnny Bench. Staubach was the football Johnny Bench.

Eventually Staubach overtook Morton as the Dallas starting quarterback. And the Cowboys won. And won. The Cowboys were back in the Superbowl. I watched every dominating second of Superbowl VI against Miami. Touchdowns by Lance Alworth and Mike Ditka; a 29 yard sack by Bob Lilly; Ditka on an end around; Staubach scrambling; Duane Thomas carrying the ball; Walt Garrison biting his tongue with blood pouring out of his mouth; and Chuck Howley returning an interception only to fall out of bounds when he ran out of steam. Cowboys 24, Dolphins 3. It may say something about my life, but I don’t know if any one event ever made me happier than that game.

If you ever see the NFL Films highlights of that game, watch at the end. When the final seconds are winding down, Craig Morton shakes Coach Landry’s hand and says: “Congratulations, Coach. I’m happy for you.” Morton, who lost his job, was on his way out of Dallas. He didn’t play in the game. He had every reason to resent Landry, but he was happy. I like to think he was a really good guy and worthy of my admiration.

Now, back to Staubach. I never enjoyed watching any athlete as much as I did this man. He led comebacks, he played hurt and he was a genuinely good guy. A lot of folks hate the Cowboys, and–by extension–anyone who played for them. But, you never heard Staubach called a phony or fake. He was married, religious and a straight arrow. If he had feet of clay, he never showed them.

I am over 50 years old, and I don’t remember a lot of details of my childhood, but I remember these things like yesterday:

Four Staubach Superbowls
1972 Playoffs. Cowboys down 12 to the 49ers with 90 seconds to go. Cowboys win.
1975 Playoffs. Cowboys down 14-10 to the Vikings less than a minute to go. No timeouts. Staubach heaves a pass for the end zone. Drew Pearson catches it at the 5 and walks in for the score. (Vikings fans: Yes, Pearson pushed Nate Wright). Staubach said he threw the ball and “said a Hail Mary.” Thus, the Hail Mary pass was born.
Jackie Smith dropping a TD pass in the end zone in the Superbowl, and Staubach screaming. But not as loudly as I did.
1979 vs. the Redskins. Staubach leads multiple comebacks for a Cowboys win in the best game I’ve ever seen.

Staubach retired in 1979 after multiple concussions. I was a teenager by then and too cool to be crushed by such things, but I was. I’ve remained a football fan. As painful as it is today, I’m still a Cowboys fan, but nothing compares to a kid hero-worshipping his favorite player. I lived and died with his exploits.

It was in the those days that the Cowboys became known as America’s Team, thanks to NFL Films. I never thought of them as that. They were Staubach’s team, and he was Captain America. He is over 70 years old now, which makes me feel at least that old to think about it. He’s still Mr. Cowboy, beloved in Dallas. I think he’s still a nice guy, but I don’t really know. Thanks to modern technology, and I can go on the Internet and watch him play any time I want. I get to be a kid again. And that is definitely cool. Thanks, Captain America.

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Thoughts About My Dad

My Dad died in 2008. I think about him often, but nothing sad or maudlin mind you. As he said a couple of days before he died: “No one wants to see a middle-aged man moping around about his poor old father.” I’m glad Dad lived long enough for me to know him as a man. He wasn’t a saint or perfect. He was a good friend and father. He could be funny, profane, impatient and exasperating. Mostly, he was just nice to me my entire life.

If you didn’t know him, this will tell you a bit about him. His long-time friend, J.W., tells a great story about how they met. Dad served in the Navy in WWII and then went to college. He graduated and joined the Air Force as an officer. In 1952, he was called up to Korea. The men from Harlan County all got on a bus in Harlan. J.W. was an enlisted man, and the bus was full of men who either volunteered or were drafted. Dad boarded the bus in full uniform. He was a lieutenant. J.W. said they didn’t know what to do when they saw him. Should they stand and salute? Now, my Dad was very fastidious about his appearance. I imagine his uniform cleaned and pressed, his hair slicked back and shoes spit-shined. Dad took the seat next to J.W. and introduced himself. He talked to J.W. for the whole bus ride. (If you knew Dad, that’s not hard to believe. Someone once said: “I’m not worried about the Japanese capturing Earl. He’ll just talk them to death.”) Dad never lost touch with J.W. after that day. They remained life long friends, even after J.W. ended up in Arizona. Later in life, J.W. worked for a clothing store and would send Dad shoes. Dad died in 2008 with 45 pairs of shoes, most of which came from Arizona.

I probably have some details of that story wrong, given that I heard it second-hand, but the gist of it is true. I watched a lot of ball games with Dad, talk politics and –when he got old–health issues. He’d repeat himself and tell me the same things over and over. Honestly, I got tired of listening to a lot it. Having said that (one of his favorite expressions), I’d like to have another of one of those phone calls.

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