Whatta Mighty Good Man!

It’s no secret I rather enjoy listening to Joel Osteen. He’s a talented motivational speaker. I don’t for a minute regard him as a “pastor” or look to him for especially insightful bible instruction. I wish he would embrace his talent and gift as a motivational speaker rather than promulgate what he does for a living as “religion.”

Whenever the Osteens appear on Larry King it’s hard to watch. Both he and his wife, the strangely Stepford-Barbie looking Victoria, struggle to defend or even explain their belief or the bible.

Joel is always forced into acknowledging he has no formal religious training, to concede others may well demonstrate a stronger knowledge of the scriptures than he, and almost invariably dissolve into a trembly-voiced, teary-eyed,  embarrassing display of bizarre emotionalism on camera.

Victoria is generally more dispassionate,  stating that what they lack in knowledge they more than make up for in “heart” knowledge. They “just know” they have God’s favor. They believe they don’t have to understand God’s word, his purposes or His will as much as simply believe and have faith. They never publicly declare or explain what it is they have faith in, though.

Happily for me, God is good.  His word the bible does not leave us twisting in the wind in an intellectually vacant, supernatural phenomenon dependent,  cerebral desert. The scriptures do more than support being hooked on a  feeling.

It’s a living, breathing document; a  guidebook for living that enables us to successfully cope with life by providing concrete, tangible answers rather than bizarre abstractions framed as “the natural” vs “the supernatural.” Fortunately, I don’t need those distinctions neither do I need spiritual shepherding by the Osteens. But I do enjoy his speeches. And I guess I was a little starved for association.

That’s why I bought a ticket to one of his worship events scheduled on Friday, February 20th in Oakland. I bought the ticket online in December. I looked forward to the trip and the experience for weeks. I flew to Oakland, and arrived at the Oracle Arena. The doors were opened at 6 pm. The house lights were on. From 6 pm to 7:30 pm a continuous video loop played on two large screens on either side of the speaker platform. The house lights remained on as people milled quietly about, boxed cheesy nachos or other purchased foodstuff in hand, making their way to their assigned seats.

According to my ticket, the event was scheduled to start at 7:30. I thought there would be the worship service, the music and the singing and the eyes squeezed shut and hand waving, and then, with the audience sufficiently worked up, Mr. Osteen would appear onstage (promptly at 7:30), deliver a half-hour long message, and like Cinderella with one shoe, I would dash out of the arena at 8:00 and race back to the airport to catch my 9:05 flight (the last flight out of Oakland) back to San Diego before my steeds turned back into mice.

Unlike Cinderella, however, this fairy tale did not exactly have a happy ending. At 7:35 a man appeared at the podium, stated there was no itinerary but that they were going to launch into their usual worship service. The musicians took their places behind the drums and the synthesizer, and the singers all formed a chorus line on the small stage. This was at 7:45. Like Cinderella with one shoe, I dashed out of the arena and raced back to the airport to catch my 9:05 flight (the last flight out of Oakland) back to San Diego.  My steeds did not turn back into mice.

I experienced the virtual no touch pat down at the terminal when my underwire set the alarm off, but except for that tiny delay, I made it onto the plane.

I didn’t get to be encouraged or refreshed by Joel Osteen that Friday night, but God is good. My disappointment was assuaged first on the Southwest Airline flight to Oakland.  I sat next to a rather loquacious gentleman who was kind enough not only to acknowledge me, but he looked at me and talked to me as well.

His name was Michael Schumacher, a 61 year old silver haired businessman in a fresh looking navy suit. He offered me his coupon for one complimentary drink. I ordered white wine. He shared with me that he’s never stepped out on his wife of over 40 years, and that on those occasions when he fanaticizes, he fanaticizes about her. He wishes he knew how to rock her world during the horizontal.  He wishes she would tell him what she wants and how, where she wants him to put it.

Then Mr. Schumacher gave me a gift I call the Olympia Dukakis  moment from 1987’s Moonstruck. Ms Dukakis played Cher’s long suffering mother, Rose Castorini, who is frustrated by the fact that she knows her husband, Cosmo, (played by Vincent Gardenia) is having an affair with a younger woman (played by Anita Gillette). A philandering college professor, Perry, (played by John Mahoney, who most of you will recognize as Fraiser Crane’s father in the TV sitcom, Fraiser***) develops something of a crush on Rose. For a split nano second, she is tempted, but she resolutly resistes his awkward advances,  saying  “because I know who I am.” 

Then she asks Perry a question: “Why do men cheat?”

He says it’s because they’re afraid of death. His response to her question was an epiphany, having the same effect on her then that the line “he’s just not that into you*” had on Amanda in Sex and the City  decades later.

“That’s it!” Rose exclaims. “Thank you!  Thank you for answering my question!” (It’s my favorite scene and line in the film).

The next morning at breakfast, armed with the answer to her question and standing solidly in her “I am,” she confidently confronts her husband and quietly demands he end the affair. Physically exhausted and just plain relieved, Cosmo happily capitulates. The couple quietly renew and reaffirm their love for each other and their commitment to their marriage.

What did Mr. Shumacher say? Well, during the hour long plane ride, he shared his wife bore him two sons, in whom he is enormously proud and who validate his life. I had natural child birth and so did his wife.  He was with his wife and witnessed the births of both his sons.  I explained that women can’t honestly describe the pain of child birth. All we tend to vaguely recall is that there was pain, but we cannot describe it because the memory of  the pain seems to vanish immediately after the child is born.

We talked about Jay Monahan,** Katie Couric’s late husband. Mr. Schumacher then said he would feel “embarrassed” to complain to his wife about any ache or pain he may experience because he has so much respect and admiration for her birth pangs. He talked about how he felt childbirth allowed women to be more in tune with their bodies, but men might wonder about some discomfort for a second, but then quickly dismiss it because they don’t have a point of reference. After all, men generally aren’t confronted with the recurring instance for pain every month, and a third of a year of their lives are not disrupted by the physical and hormonal demands of  pregnancy.

“We don’t really know when we feel bad and whether this is something we need to get everybody alarmed about.  Compared to what she went through, I’m embarrassed to complain,” he said.  I was struck by the genuine sincerity and introspection in his voice.

Could it be that this is the secret sentiment of all men who wait until the eleventh hour to complain of a health issue?

That’s it! Thank you for answering my question!

So ladies, if yer lissnin’, it’s not machismo or false bravado or any of the nonsense we hear about from network medical correspondents. Your man is  bewildered. He really doesn’t know nor does he understand what’s happening to his body. He really is that into you. Open up the dialogue. Help a brother out. Tell him what you want, show him where you want him to put it, and quit ‘cher bitchin’!

On the return trip to San Diego, I had the unique privilege to sit next to Derek Olson, a 6 ft, twenty-something returning home from a business trip in Oregon. God is good. A committed theocrat, we traded stories about how we came to a lifelong love of God and his word the bible. It just felt so good to really share a laugh with someone, and that was twice in the same day someone actually turned toward me, looked at me, acknowledged my existence and shared. Michael Schumacher and Derek Olsen extended a level of  goodwill toward me that day that I will forever be grateful for and will not soon forget.

I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.

Joel Osteen if yer lissnin’, perhaps it would be more loving to arrange it so that these stops on your worship event tours start a little more early, perhaps at three in the afternoon or promptly at 5 pm  rather than 8 or 9 pm. Most Christians are morning people, not vampires. We prefer to be home by midnight. I was also  struck by the relative absence of families with young children doubtless because of the lateness of the hour.

Was I disappointed that I didn’t get to see you or hear you deliver a speech that may have benefitted me? You bet I was. But God is good, and he allowed me to be refreshed, encouraged and comforted on the way to your worship event and upon my departing from it.

I guess I got rained on coming and going, Joel, thanks to you.

Michael Schumaker, God bless you and hang in there.  Marriage is hard work but it’s so much easier when two people have the attitude you do, that you have decided to love your wife, stick with your wife for better and for worse and  keep the focus mostly on the better.  I admire you for that. 

Has one found a good wife?  One has found a good thing…”  Prov 18:22 .  Now dance!

Whatta man, Whatta Man, Whatta mighty good man!
(Repeat 4 times)

I wanna take a minute or two, and give much respect to -
to the man’s that’s made a difference in my world.
And although most men are hoes, he goes on the down-low
cuz I never heard about him with another girl.
But I don’t sweat it because it’s just pathetic to let it,
get me involved in that he said she said crowd.
I know that ain’t nobody perfect, I give props to those who deserve it,
and believe me ya’ll he’s worth it.
So here’s to the future cuz we got through the past,
I finally found somebody who can make me laugh. (ha ha ha)
You so crazy…I think I wanna have yo baby.

Whatta Man, Whatta man, Whatta man, Whatta mighty good man!
(repeat 4 times)

My man is smooth like Barry, and his voice got bass.
A body like Arnold with a Denzel face. He’s smart like a doctor
with a real good rep, and when he comes home, he’s relaxed with pep.
He always got a gift for me everytime I see him.
Alot of snot nose, ex-flames couldn’t be him.
He never ran a corny line once to me yet, so I give him stuff
that he’ll never forget. He keeps me on cloud 9 just like intended.
He’s not a fake wannabe, tryin’ to be a pimp. He dresses like a
dapper don, but even in jeans, he’s a God sent original,
the man of my dreams.

Yes my man says he loves me, never says he loves me not. Not to
rush me good and touch me in the right spot.
See other guys that I’ve had, they’ve tried to play all the mac shit,
but everytime they tried, I’ve said “That’s not it!”
But not this man, he’s got the right potion, baby rub it down
and make it smooth like lotion. He’s the original highway to
heaven. From seven to seven he’s got me open like 7 eleven, and
yes it’s me that he’s always choosin. With him I’m never loosin,
and he knows that my name is not Susan. He always has heavy
conversation for the mind, which means a lot to to me cuz good men
are hard to find.

Whatta man, whatta man, whatta man, whatta might good man!
(repeat 4 times)

Whatta mighty mighty good man! Know what I’m saying? Whatta
might mighty good man ya’ll! Ya’ll don’t hear me. Now check
him out.

My man gives real lovin, that’s why I call him killa. He’s not a
wham bam, thank-you-ma’am, he’s a thrilla. He takes his time,
and does everything right. Knocks me out with one shot for
the rest of the night. He’s a real smooth brotha, never in a
rush. And he gives me goose pimples with every single touch, spends
quality time with his kids when he can. Secure in his manhood
cuz he’s a real man. A lover, and a fighter, and he’ll knock
another out. Don’t take him for a sucka, cuz it’s not what he’s
about. Everytime I need him, he always got my back. Never dis-
respectful, cuz his momma taught him that.

Whatta man, whatta man, whatta man, whatta mighty good man!
(repeat 4 times)

En Vogue | Very Necessary | 1993 | 

Moonstruck | 1987 |

*Sex and the City | Episode 78 | “Pick-A-Little, Talk-A-Little” |

**Jay Monahan | http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,996315,00.html

***Cast of Fraiser |  |September 16, 1993 – May 13, 2004

Mood: How It Feels Not To Have a Job

For all the talk about honesty and integrity and authenticity, the most life altering circumstance where these attributes are glaringly absent is during the job search process.  You may be driving on fumes, so hungry your stomach muscles are stuck in a painful concave or twisted up in a knot with fear about the phone and ISP bill that’s past due and you know full well there’s no income coming in this week… but when you show up at that interview you better look like you haven’t got a care in the world.  You better act like you don’t need this job.  

“People call me rude.  I wish we all were nude…  I wish there was no Black or White, I wish there were no rules…”  Prince/Controversy

The hiring process as it stands today makes thieves and liars out 0f all of  us.  Worse, it transforms otherwise law abiding, tax-paying wives and mothers, husbands and fathers, sons and daughters, sisters and brothers, Protestants and Catholics, Christians and Jews into cold-hearted murderers of the spirit before lunch at Subway.  Given the choice between having my spirit killed and being shot 42 times, in this economy, I choose the latter.

The 21^st century workplace is the new Roman Coliseum.  All it takes is the downturned thumbs of the masses for you, even you, to be thrown to the lions.  You don’t like somebody you work with?  Conspire to make the office environment so unbearably uncomfortable, the disliked person feels compelled to quit.  You don’t like somebody you work with?  Don’t like the way they look, or the way they type or breathe? Subscribe to the belief that “most Christians” believe that religion is a cult?   Start a bad rumor about them.  Have them fired. 

Never mind that person may have a child or two to support, or a mortgage, or car note, or college loans to repay, same as you.  Never mind that person you don’t like may want to look toward tomorrow with a modicum of hope and confidence, the same as you.

Never mind that every thread that constitutes the fabric of life is completely unattainable when one does not have a job.  You can’t make friends.  You isolate yourself from family.  You can’t own anything or even make plans.  You can’t provide for your children.  You can never let anyone in to know your shame and deprivation.  You are forced to keep terrible secrets.  You’re afraid all the time. You can never tell the truth. 

And that’s probably a good thing because the truth is not what prospective employers want to hear from job-hopping, gaps-in-your-resume-having, slow-bill paying, deadbeats like you.  That’s just the way it is.., Right?

Standing in line marking time
Waiting for the welfare dime
‘Cause they can’t buy a job
The man in the silk suit hurries by
As he catches the poor old ladies’ eyes
Just for fun, he says, “Get a job”

That’s just the way it is

Some things will never change

That’s just the way it is
But don’t you believe them

 They say, “Hey little boy you can’t go where the others go

‘Cause you don’t look like they do”

Said,”Hey old man, how can you stand to think that way?
Did you really think about it
Before you made the rules?”
He said, “Son”

That’s just the way it is

Some things will never change
That’s just the way it is
But don’t you believe them”

That’s just the way it is
That’s just the way it is

 Well, they passed a law in ‘64

To give those who ain’t got a little more

But it only goes so far
Because the law don’ change another’s mind
When all it sees at the hiring time
Is the line on the color bar

That’s just the way it is
Some things will never change
That’s just the way it is
That’s just the way it is, it is, it is, it is

 Performed/Lyrics Bruce Hornsby, 2004

Let’s just say for the sake of argument all that’s true?  What could anyone in this country or anywhere in the world for that matter possibly do that could be so terrible they may not be allowed to earn a living?  Or eat?  Or have a place to lay their head and store their stuff?  Or be?

W.E.B DuBois wrote in The Souls of Black Folk “…How does it feel to be a problem?”  (page 5, paragraph 1) 

It’s How It Feels Not To Have a Job.

Jubilee Year

A couple months ago I applied for a job at Marine base in San Diego that paid $10.00 an hour. You would have to wait at least half a year before health and life insurance benefits would kick in.

On the second interview, there was a panel of three with a list of questions and after each response (and even during), they would be busy jotting down notes. I remind you, this was a clerical, data entry, accounting position, on a Marine base in San Diego, that paid a whopping $10.00 an hour and offered no health benefits until after six months!  Hardly a corner office on the 80th floor.

One of the questions I was asked was what were my goals for the next five years. I am a college grad. I went back to college 10 years later and earned a K-12 teaching certificate. I taught in America’s urban schools for six years. Today, I am 51 years old, and I am unemployed. My five year goals are to be:

(1).  alive. John Kennedy, Jr. didn’t live to see 51. Diana, Princess of Wales didn’t. Eddie Kendricks didn’t. Billy Stewart didn’t. Kurt Cobain, Marilyn Monroe, Phyllis Hyman, John Coltrane, Martin Luther King, Jr., Bobby Kennedy, John F. Kennedy, Malcolm X, Medgar Evers, Jimmy Hendricks, Janis Joplin, River Phoenix, Donny Hathaway, those four little girls, Heath Ledger, David Foster Wallace, none of these people, not one, lived to see 51.

(2).  able to support myself (pay my bills) and not be a burden to my only child

(3).  able to care for my English Bulldog (EBD) ThatOne

(4).  able to have an EBD companion for ThatOne.

(5).  employed; to still be doing an honest days work; drive home; love my son; support my dogs.  Live a balanced life.

Alive.  Able.  Employed.  That’s it.   These are my simple, basic, unglamorous goals.

I don’t need diamonds and pearls.  I desire to remain content.  If ThatOne needs a hip x-ray I want to be able to afford that. When I run out of Bare Minerals, I want to be able to afford to replenish that.  I like to go to the movies. I love Asian cuisine.

I need access to the Internet. I enjoy my iTunes. That’s it. All I want to do is live until I die.

I have no delusions of grandeur. My needs and my wants are simple. I just want to feel content, just like I do now, only without the fear and anxiety. All I want to do is live until I die.

I have never been arrested. I have never committed a crime. I am a Christian.  I love God’s word, the bible. I don’t smoke, do drugs, drink to excess or indulge profanity.  I love to dance.  I love film. I love music. I appreciate writers and their writing. I love NPR and Public television. I enjoy Merlot, a good book, good news,  Stephen Colbert and a good joke. I am the Queen of Pop Culture and yet  I don’t watch The Bachelor or American Idol. I believe Ellen DeGeneres and Michelle Obama must be among, if not the most fortunate people on earth right now.

You would like me. I know I do.

There is a slovenly, bearded man who walks up and down Hwy 76 here every day, undoubtedly toting everything he owns. Every time I pass him by, I wonder: Where is he going? Why is he homeless? What’s his story? Who was he? Who is he now? Where did he come from? Why is he homeless? How did he come to be homeless? Why does he scare me?

Where do I want to be in five years? Ask me where I don’t want to be. I don’t want to be homeless, wandering up and down Hwy 76 or any other Highway in America. I don’t want to be pushing a shopping cart full of all my belongings up and down East Vista Way or any other Way in America. I don’t want to go to bed hungry. I don’t want to have to go without my Bare Minerals, or a shower or toilet. I don’t want to be afraid every day, or utterly and completely alone. Invisible. YOU (Employers; EE’s), YOU have the power to affect the course of a fellow Human Beings’ life.   Think about that.  YOU have the power!!!

Wow.

Who are You? I really want to know.

Don’t you?

http://www.barackobama.com/displayer/pages/econ-stories.php

Back during the Jewish system of things, every 50 years there was the Jubilee Year. The Hebrew word yoh-vel or yo-vel means “ram’s horn.” The sho-phar would be sounded during the 50^th year to proclaim liberty throughout the land. Le 25:9. The Land was to have complete rest. This meant freedom for Hebrew slaves, the return of all hereditary land possessions sold because of family financial reversals, and individuals returned to their families who had been sold into slavery.

“No family was to sink into the depth of perpetual poverty. No one should come to be poor among you.” Le 25:8-10, 13; De 15:4, 5.

“The Jubilee law, when obeyed, preserved the nation from gravitating into the sad state that we observe today, where there are virtually two classes, the extremely rich and the extremely poor. The benefits to the individual strengthened the nation in that none would be underprivileged and crushed into unproductiveness by an economic crisis, but that all would contribute their knowledge, skills, talents and abilities to the national welfare. The law was read to the people during the Festival of Booths (De 31:10-12).*“

It would be great if the stimulus money was funneled directly to each and every American with an income under $250,000.00. These families know how to stimulate themselves (http://killinmesoftly.wordpress.com/2008/12/11/so-president-elect-obama-if-yer-lissnin/).

These families would pay their bills off. Their paying down their bills would infuse money into businesses, money every American could all see and account for. This revenue infusion would stimulate business and perhaps extinguish layoffs.

The economy would be stimulated the old fashioned way:  by honest-hearted people happily paying their bills, and businesses happily  investing in their businesses, encouraging competition, promoting Laissez faire (from the French, meaning to leave alone or to allow to do is an economic and political doctrine that holds that economies function most efficiently when unencumbered by government regulation. Laissez faire advocates favor individual self-interest and competition, and oppose the taxation and regulation of commerce).

Adam Smith, father of classical economics, maintained in Wealth of Nations (1776) that Britain’s goal should have been the promotion of the welfare of individuals, rather than centering on national power and prestige. Freely functioning economies were capable of bestowing benefits to all levels of society**.

I wish President Obama publicly endorsed this more far-reaching, more historical grasp of economics and  history. We could learn a lot from looking at the original, pre-Christian model. The Jewish model failed because it was ahead of its time, and the people then did not support it as it should have been supported. Its legacy, however, lives on as a lesson for us today.

When I listen to the political shouting heads in the news, I am astonished by how unknowledgeable, naïve and utterly disinterested the House and Congress are in the financial machinations of Wall street and the Hamiltonian system. We have already “loaned” billions to companies that cannot account for how they spent this money.

Clearly, this infusion of cash during the last days of Bush 43’s administration did absolutely nothing to bolster the current economy. I want to know what happened to every cent of that initial bailout money. I want to know what happened to every cent of that initial bailout money. I want to know what happened to every cent of that initial bailout money!! Will I ever? Will the country?

Obama’s stimulus bill has already passed now. Can we learn lessons any from the old, pre-Christian Jubilee Year? Yes we can.

foxforum.blogs.foxnews.com

*Insight On The Scriptures |Watchtower Bible and Tract Society NYC | Vol II | 1998

**http://www.u-s-history.com/pages/h844.html

Everybody Knows I’m Not Like That

FOX News Blogs » FOX Forum » You Decide

February 19th, 2009 2:48 PM Eastern

Are We a ‘Nation of Cowards’ When It Comes to Race?

In a speech on February 18 marking Black History month Attorney General Eric Holder said:

“Though this nation has proudly thought of itself as an ethnic melting pot, in things racial we have always been and continue to be, in too many ways, essentially a nation of cowards. Though race related issues continue to occupy a significant portion of our political discussion, and though there remain many unresolved racial issues in this nation, we, average Americans, simply do not talk enough with each other about race.”

Some critics have called Holder’s comments “offensive” and others can lauded them as “honest” and “constructively provocative.”

YOU DECIDE: Are we a nation of cowards when it comes to race? http://foxforum.blogs.foxnews.com/2009/02/19/youdecide_holder_race/

Given the right situation and circumstance, the average, every day, experienced, habitual  practitioner of racism tend to be people who have an entrenched belief that they themselves are not racists.  

“You, African American, Black person, descendant of slaves may not work in my office, but I will happily welcome an Asian immigrant.  See?  I accept other races, therefore I am not racist.  How does this make me a coward?”

“You, African American, Black person, descendant of slaves may not work in my office.  I will not welcome your presence.  I will make the environment sooo hostile, so unpleasant.  I will try to provoke an anger response from you at every turn, and when you choose not to allow yourself to be provoked, I will decide you are a coward, you are weak and therefore I am entitled to torment you until you either quit or we succeed in getting you fired.  But my Middle Eastern immigrant co-worker likes me and I allow him so, see?  I’m not a racist.  How does this make me a coward?”

On Wednesday, February 18, Rupert Murdoch’s  New York Post published this political cartoon.  It clearly personifies our nation’s 44th president as a chimpanzee shot multiple times by police. 

The incendiary ramifications of this seemingly benign expression of 5th Amendment privilege is beyond the pale. It’s 2009.  We have elected an African American President and yet this decades old, hateful, racist comparison is still a subject for even-handed debate?  When are we going to simply just say no–  to racism?

If the subject of this so-called political cartoon was the Holocaust, the public outcry would have been overwhelmingly unanimous in its outrage.  The paper would have issued an apology so fast, the incident would have escaped the notice of the ladies of The View.  But no.

This cartoon has been defended as freedom of speech.  I have the right to yell fire in a crowded movie theater, but no one would defend this conduct in the absence of a fire, especially if people were hurt.  Just because you have the right to say it, doesn’t mean it’s right to say it. The defenders’ voices are also astonishingly mute around the fact that this cartoon’s inception and publication is a moral outrage.  It’s the middle finger in the face of every American who held a mistaken belief we were inching toward turning the page on collective racism.  

This cartoon is wrong on so many levels.  It invokes the memories of  Eleanor Bumpurs, Amadou Diallo, Sean Bell and reminds us of the antipathy that exists between the NYC police department and the black community.  It personifies our President as an animal, a “monkey.”

And then there’s that nasty subliminal subtext that makes it impossible for any thinking person not to reference Martin Luther King, Jr, Robert Kennedy, Medgar Evers, Abraham Lincoln, men all felled in a hail of an assassin’s bullets.   Worse, it has as its primary goal to undermine and disrupt (perhaps even crush?) the spirit of healing and growth that has galvanized the American psyche of late.

People genuinely began to allow themselves to believe President Obama’s election was a sign America was inching toward acknowledgement of and reconciliation for past crimes, attitudes and conduct.  This hateful, cynical, mean illustration was clearly designed to remind “haters” that some things will never change.  That’s just the way it is.  It really is about control.

I find it hard to believe this cartoonist would think there was anything funny or innocuous or even clever about this!This cartoon should never have been approved for publication by the managing editor.

It’s interesting to note Dog, The Bounty Hunter is now quietly back on the air.  Don Imus is back behind the mike at 77WABC morning radio, yet Isaiah Washington appears to have fallen off the entertainment radar.  So the New York Post will just skate on this just like all the others. And so  on, and so on, and so on…

“Stop the Madness!”

So Attorney General Eric Holder, while I appreciate what your words were maybe trying to acheive, I’m just not sure the expression “nation of cowards” was a characterization that was especially useful.  Your words are out there now, though.  You can’t unring that bell.  You should have just said it outright instead of trying to soft-peddle the message.  I disagree.  We are not a nation of cowards.  We remain, however, both to our chagrin and our horror, a nation that continues to excuse and tolerate racism toward descendants of slaves.  

“Everybody knows I’m not like that.  See? I am not a coward!  Now get out of here and let me get back to business as usual in my African-American free office!”

Virus & Rain

People say believe half of what you see.  Some and none of what you hear.  But it’s true what’s been said in that 70’s tune It Never Rains in Southern California.  It doesn’t just rain.  It pours.

 

We have been experiencing stormy weather since before Thanksgiving.  Christmas day was a complete and utter washout. It rains just about every weekend.

 

Needless to say this weather has been very hard on ThatOne.  And me.  He doesn’t like the cold and wet, but neither one of us is especially tolerant of heat, so I’ll take this over being hot any day.

 

He misses fraternizing with the other bullies at the meetups.  There was one scheduled for Saturday, the seventh (7^th), but it rained.  I wound up driving to Balboa Park anyway, but I wasted too much time wrestling with deciding whether to go or not.  By the time we got there, just about everyone had already left.

 

I did get to meet a few owners and their dogs and chat them up a bit, but ThatOne was not having any of it.  It was raining, and he was wet. 

 

Ironically, he loves water and he loves taking a bath.  He just doesn’t like getting rained on.

 

I downloaded the latest version of Windows IE and caught the Trojan virus.  Wouldn’t you know it?  This happened on Friday the 13^th. How the virus affected my computer was that it kept disabling the browser as soon as I launched it.  My life began to flash in a high speed blur before my eyes.

 

I thought I would have to take my notebook to Best Buy for the Geek Squad to look at.  I imagined it would cost at least $200.00, and right now, $200.00 may as well be the stimulus/bailout package.  There are so many needs this $200.00 needs to cover.  I’m fiscally paralyzed.

 

The wish list includes the need for two new rear tires, brakes, and a wheel alignment.  The left outer rear view mirror has fallen off.  I have it taped to the housing. And then there are the bills and attention must be paid to these before even considering anything else. I’d like ThatOne to have his hips x-rayed.  That’s on the wish list too.

 

Even the state of California is virtually bankrupt.  Yep, it never rains in California, man. It pours.

 

But I caught a break.  Joel Osteen would say I got rained on by God’s mercy and favor this morning.  I activated my Windows® Defender and the program successfully swept out the virus.

 

The moral of this story:  Be Careful when you download IE8-ENU and music website, Jango.  That’s how I wound up releasing Trojan.  It masquerades as a Windows based product called Antivirus Pro.  You can’t uninstall it.  You can’t even right click on the tray Icon. 

 

Thank goodness I also have  Apple’s Safari browser installed on my computer.  That was the only way I could interface with MS Windows and download Defender even though Defender was already preinstalled on my computer when I bought it.  If you don’t already have Apple’s Safari, I highly recommend it.  I also appreciate the newest version of IE.

 

Well, the rain has returned in torrents again.  I love the rain.  I love weather.  I always have.  We need the rain, and it will be nice to see the landscape hurrying to get green before the 100 degree temperatures turn everything to ash and burnt again.

 

It never rains in California.  It pours.  Man, it pours. Dig…

 

Got on board a westbound seven-forty-seven

Didn’t think before deciding what to do

All that talk of opportunities

TV breaks and movies, rang true

Sure rang true.

 

Seems it never rains in southern California

Seems I’ve often heard that kind of talk before

It never rains in California, but girl don’t they warn ya

It pours, man it pours.

 

Out of work, I’m out of my head

Out of self-respect, I’m out of bread

I’m under loved, I’m underfed

I wanna go home

It never rains in California, but girl don’t they warn ya

It pours, man it pours.

 

Will you tell the folks back home, I nearly made it

Had offers but don’t know which one to take

Please don’t tell ‘em how you found me

Don’t tell ‘em how you found me

Give me a break, give me a break.

 

Seems it never rains in southern California

Seems I’ve often heard that kind of talk before

It never rains in California, but girl don’t they warn ya

It pours, man it pours.

 

Recorded by Albert Hammond |(c) Copyright 1972 by Landers-Roberts Music.

 

- HIT PARADER, April 1973.

 

A Song For You

Dear God, is there somebody out there?

Is there someone to hear my prayer?

I’m a simple man with simple words to say

 

Is there some point in asking?

Asking for more only got us where we are today

Lost and alone and afraid

 

Give me, love for the lonely

Give me, food for the hungry

Give me, peace in a restless world

 

Give me, hope for the children

Give me, a worldwide religion

Give me, peace in a restless world

 

Dear God, can you hear me crying?

A whole world crying

Looking for something to say

We had it all and we threw it all away

 

Is there somebody watching

Somebody watching over the mess that we’ve made

We’re lost and alone and afraid

 

Give me, love for the lonely

Give me, food for the hungry

Give me, peace in a restless world

 

Give me, hope for the children

Give me, a worldwide religion

Give me, peace in a restless world

 

And we need to know there’s something good

Though all our years of solitude go on and on and on…

 

Give me, love for the lonely

Give me, food for the hungry

Give me, peace in a restless world

 

Give me, hope for the children

Give me, a worldwide religion

Give me, peace in a restless world

 

Dear God, is there somebody out there?

Is there someone to hear my prayer..?

 

 

Dear God | Midge Ure | Answers to Nothing | 1988

Soul, Sound/Fury, Soul

Hey, don’t you know I’m human
I have thoughts like any other one
Sometimes I find myself alone and regretting
Some foolish thing, some little simple thing I’ve done

I’m just a soul whose intensions are good
Oh Lord, please don’t let me be misunderstood

I understand why artists go crazy or do terrible things to themselves like abuse drugs and alcohol or commit suicide, or succumb to mental and emotional disease. To possess a voice, a fiery passion burning in your bones, eating through your mind like a cancer with no outlet for expression or feedback is torment.

To know you are different and have everybody know it as well, only they don’t necessarily think that’s a good thing.  To always, always find yourself surrounded by people and not know anyone at all. To desire to be heard, but you sound like an alien so people ostracize you, exclude you or worse, utterly ignore you,  but never without first humiliating you. Passive aggression to the nth degree because the world says you have to be different, just like everybody else.

100 years ago, I was watching American Bandstand. It was Prince’s television debut performance. I recall him saying he didn’t care if anyone liked his music. As the years and several of his incarnations have borne out, however, nothing could be further from the truth. We don’t care if people don’t like us. We care that people like what we produce, whether it be music, or the dance, or acting or thoughts we labor to memorialize in writing. We want people to see, to read, to feel, to know, to care about what we experience. Validate our I Am. Acknowledge we were. Value the produce of our living soul.

“The soul… itself shall die.” Eze 18:4, 20

“…and God proceeded to blow into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man came to be a living soul.”
Gen 2:7

Edgar Allan Poe, Virginia Woolf, Ernest Hemingway, Sylvia Plath , Georgia O’Keefe, Judy Garland, David Foster Wallace, Spalding Gray, Vincent Van Gogh, Jackson Pollack, Billie Holiday, Ella Fitzgerald, Donny Hathaway, Marilyn Monroe, Phyllis Hyman, Kurt Cobain, Willy Loman, Amy Winehouse (at least,not yet)… Tortured.  Tormented.  Once living, now departed. Souls.

Just a thimble full of the blood of the lucky ones. Everybody knows their names. Their roads may have been torturous, but they were heard (Some, sadly though, not in their lifetimes) and we remember. How come that wasn’t enough?

Unlike latter day “artists,”  people who announce on national television that their goal is to be “an icon,” who produce and then churn out formulaic, shrill, hollow noises celebrated as music, manic gyrations characterized as dance or excrement (animal and otherwise) that masquerades as artwork, these men and women, these Artists,  were literally publishing their souls. Every word was agony to produce. Every sound like the moon’s influence on the tide.

They were not interested in celebrity. These men–  these women–  habitually raped their own psyches and dared to peer into cramped crevices of their own minds and hearts to reveal inconvenient, universal, often incontrovertible truths  hoping only for some intellectual reciprocity but never really having any. Everybody looks and listens but no one seems able to share.

The Artist seems always to be alone inside their head wishing they had someone to talk to. Sometimes being your own best friend is enough. Many times keeping one’s own counsel is unhealthy and unwise. That’s the price exacted for needing to understand and be understood. The Artist cannot subjugate one for the sake of the other. That’s why these voices are timeless, why these voices still resonate like a boom when you think about the words and music rendered mute by death in graves.

Maybe that’s why the Artist is never an example in books about highly effective people with useful habits. The Artist doesn’t revere Oprah or Dr. Phil. The Artist doesn’t necessarily find joy and fulfillment in weekly group meetings although many  have tried and more than once.

The Artist always depend upon the kindness of strangers, may consume mass quantities of drugs or alcohol. Some attempt to explain and excuse these lapses in judgement and struggles with self-control by repeatedly uttering clichés about needing to dull the pain when what they really want is to understand, be understood and not be misunderstood. It’s an all consuming desire.

Mean People know how to spot the “weakness,” the gangrenous wound of acceptance and approval and then pour salt in it. That’s their talent.  That’s their gift to the world. Mean People believe they have souls, but Artists are Souls, dead or alive. Our soul–  our life is  present in everything we do.

That may be why we think about life and death a lot and we realize… Death is highly underrated. Just as life is the beginning, death is just the end. Sandwiched in between the crispy, cookie crust is the creamy nugget center called living.  All good things (and even all not-so-good things) must come to an end, right?

The Soul, living, breathing, is not some ethereal, mystical entity that detaches from you and lives on. You are the Soul.  The Soul is you. You and your soul are one. Alive, it’s kickin’. Dead, it’s done. It’s what we leave behind that lives on for as long as there exists someone who’ll remember,  and values that your living soul produced.

Edgar Allan Poe, Virginia Woolf, Ernest Hemingway, Sylvia Plath , Georgia O’Keefe, Judy Garland, David Foster Wallace, Spalding Gray, Vincent Van Gogh, Jackson Pollack, Billie Holiday, Ella Fitzgerald, Donny Hathaway, Marilyn Monroe, Phyllis Hyman, Kurt Cobain, Willy Loman, Amy Winehouse, Heath Ledger, Michel Mercer, Betty Davis, Ray Charles, Martin Luther King, Jr., Malcolm X—  “A name is better than good oil, and the day of death than the day of one’s being born.” Ec 7:1

Death of a Salesman

HYMAN

MARILYN

VAN GOGH

O'KEEFE

PLATH

HEMMINGWAY

GRAY

POE

HOLIDAY

FITZGERALD

POLLOCK

JUDY

COBAIN

WINEHOUSE

WOOLF

HATHAWAY

LEDGER

WALLACE

I’m just a soul whose intensions are good
Oh Lord, please don’t let me be misunderstood

Seals & Crofts | We May Never Pass This Way Again | 1973

Place Of Skulls | Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood | Benjamin – Marcus – Caldwell / Originally recorded by The Animals | 1965