Thursday, April 20, 2017

Are the 2000s Really a Change from the 70s?

I was watching a little TV the other night and a commercial came on advertising  flowers. A man and a woman were carrying flats of flowers across the yard, the wife just jabbering away. The husband wants to know who she talking to.
“The flowers,” she says. “they like it.”
The question that always pops into my head when I hear this stuff, “How do they know?” How can she possibly know those flowers liked hearing her voice – or anyone’s voice, for that matter.  Maybe these were the flowers that developed a spritzer inside to punish those who said something they didn’t want to hear.
I thought about this for a few minutes then suddenly remembered somethings that happened back in the 1970s.
Many of you remember the Wacky Seventies. It was a wild and crazy time. The 70s had Clara Peller howling, “Where’s the beef?” Remember? And The Fonz  standing with a thumb in the air, telling you to “Sit on it!”
And there was Cap’n Crud cereal, Alpoo dog food, Chef Girl-ar-Dee spaghetti (as opposed to Chef Boy-ar-Dee. We had at our disposal  Knockoff’s Sugar Frosted Fakes, Cult .45 beer, Taster’s Choke Coffee, and Chimps Ahoy Cookies.
I think the 70s was the decade in which girls began wearing jeans with large holes so we could see they were really wearing underwear. (Or maybe it was the other way around).
Remember togas, bell-bottom pants, and shirts with huge collars that were seldom buttoned? Remember beads and Roman sandals?
TV was great. We had All in the Family, Happy days, Hawaii Five-O. There was the Dukes of Hazzard, Starsky and Hutch and M*A*S*H*
Some of the best movies were made in the 70s: The Godfather (Parts I and II), Star Wars, Alien, Rocky,  One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, and Jaws
Some hugely popular music arose from the 70s: Rain Drops are Fallin’ on My Head, One, American Woman, Ain’t No Mountain High Enough, and the great Merle Haggard singing “Okie From Muskogee,” and “Bonnie and Clyde.”
Not only entertainment was on the front burner during the 70s. There were giant steps made in the sciences. For space geeks, Stephen Hawking theorized the existence of Black Holes and, most importantly, developed The Big Bang Theory, which has provided us with a really funny sitcom all these years later. Truly wonderful television.
Huge developments occurred in computers. Much progress was made in lasers and electronics. Scientology was hot, as was the Mahareeshi  Maheesh Yogi and Transendental Meditation. (My wife and joined a TM class, and after being giving a near hours lecture on how it was supposed to work, were instructed that under no circumstances were we to divulge our mantra – the word repeated silently to yourself while mediating. We discovered later that everybody had the same mantra! Kind of took the zing out of it)
The Viet Nam War ended in the middle of the decade. “Tricky Dick” Nixon reminded us there were underhanded politicians, with Watergate. Nixon resigned, but we had Woodstock to brighten the times. Thank goodness for Janis Joplin and Jimi Hendrix. Boo to Roe v. Wade.
But I think one of the most important events occurring during the 70s came with the revelation that plants talked to each other and sang to each other. And the most amazing aspect of this was it happened in the Fourth Dimension! Yep, that’s what the girls were telling us. (To clarify, it was college girls who pushed this idea. As you well know, we all operate in the Third Dimension, but the ladies were sure it was the Fourth Dimension the plants were chatting in.) Guys laughed it off as typical female hootspa. But the girls were adamant. Some swore they were privy to the music, and a number of them claimed the conversations were on a higher plane when they were grooving behind other kinds of plants.
It seems to me that as the 70s gave way to the 80s the Talking Plants of the Fourth Dimension faded away also. College kids were wild and wacky forty years ago, but I wonder if there are fewer Snow Flakes. I don’t think they went anywhere, or if they did, THEY’RE BAAACK!
Maybe we should ask them if it’s the grass they’re smoking or the flowers that are singing to them that makes the difference, and why it is the boys have become as flaky as the girls. 
Do You think it's because the 2000s are as wild and wacky as the 60s and the 70s, and do you wonder if they will ever change?

Wednesday, April 12, 2017

The Empty-Headed Blogger

If anyone out there happened to wonder at the lack of solid Conservative reading material (mine)offered lately, I have an excuse.  As mentioned before, there’s been some problems with medications. If you want to feel as though you’re in a nether world, let your blood sugars rage. When blood sugars are out of whack – either too high or too low – it affects your thinking. In fact, it is difficult to form coherent thoughts at all.
A couple of months ago I invited a young fellow over to straighten out my computer, which seems to be in the intermediate stages of developing artificial intelligence – it really does have a mind of its own. When he arrived I was in a blue funk. I couldn’t think to tell him my username or password or … anything ! For him, it must have been a spooky experience. He left with a promise to return the next day, but I never saw him again.
I went through a time when I was having way too many of these experiences. Things settled down a little – the episodes were fewer and not as severe, though it is “spooky,” to feel yourself drifting off, light headed and not quite able to form a thought. You “awaken” to wonder where you are and what just happened, and I must say, a bit frightened, on occasion.
I had just gotten past the foggy episodes when I went to see a dermalogist for a rash that had developed on my face and wouldn’t go away. The doctor, obviously looking for a silver bullet, prescribed doxicycline, an antibiotic intended for serious infections. One of its many side effects is confusion; and boy, oh, boy, that’s what I needed more of – confusion. I truly had a terrible time getting past this confusion. It was everywhere, and came on willy-nilly, leaving me sitting there staring into space or wondering how I got where I was.
I think its cleared away, the foggy days are fewer. My primary wants me to see a neurosurgeon, although I don’t know what good it will do. But with all the different doctors I’ve been seeing and all the different prescriptions I’m told will make me better, who am I to argue? But I do pay closer attention to side effects.
If you are taking more than one med for what ails you, check the side effects. You’ll be amazed at what your system is putting up with. Several of the ones I’m taking mention drowsiness, loss of balance, confusion, yadda, yadda – little wonder I stagger once in awhile, feel sleepy a lot and sometimes feel confused. Why shouldn’t I? I’ve got three or four drugs in me to make sure I do. All you can ask is that these drugs do what they are intended to do.
It’s not that I had not intended to keep up with my writing. I had quite a stack of initial attempts to entertain you. But half way through each piece they stop. It’s pretty obvious what occurred. I ran out of things to say, and, later, couldn’t remember what I was trying to say in the first place. They have just been deleted. I refuse to allow them to continue confusing me. It is maddening to try to decipher something you’d just written and can’t make hide nor hair of. You’re never sure if it’s the side effects or encroaching age. The same was happening with books I was trying to read. I would read a paragraph then forget what I just read – or perhaps I simply wasn’t understanding it in the first place.  Same with television – the whole memory thing was a washout.

I think I’m thinking fairly straight nowadays. I have my moments but, all in all, thinking is running fairly smooth. We’ll see how it goes.

Wednesday, April 5, 2017

The Left a Gaggle of Honking Geese?

I have plumb got tired of listening to the evening news – though Fox seems to get it right, still. I thought the creeps and howlies and things that go bump in the evening might back off after the election. I mean, the election is over, Donald J Trump is president, and there is nothing these screeching idiots can do about it.
Or is there? The hoots and jeers seem to strengthen daily as each morsel of lies and innuendo reach the ears of wacko aficionados ready to spew “false news” over the airways. There is no lie that is too farfetched for these nuts to forget about. The President and his men go dutifully about Making America a Better Place; the liberal Democrats do nothing but bellyache and moan, and make the betterment of America a tougher job than it needs to be.
One might say, “the commies have come home to roost.”  This is the same batch of crazed lunatics that were raising hell back in the sixties. I was there. These clowns blew up buildings, led riots, stayed stoned and, low and behold, they grew up to be anti-American lunatics. Students became socialist professors, law students evolved into liberal judges out to destroy the fabric of what realAmericans stood for. The dumbest of the bunch went to work for MSNBC and CNN and NBC and CBS and ABC. Yes, there were jobs for all the dumb asses. And they all had the same agenda.
They really are a shameless bunch of sonsabitches. Their candidate barely escaped jail time for treason. They are doing everything in their power to destroy the rightful president of the United States.
A lot of what’s going on falls on the heads of the media. It has, through its wide circulation, acquired much too much power. The left represents bullying in the extreme. Anyone who falls afoul of the media has a tough row to hoe. They never give up pounding away, until eventually, their prey succumbs and goes wherever it is dead media prey disappears to. The media has absolutely nothing else to do but pound, pound, pound away at whatever poor sap they’ve decided not to like today.
The last great newsman was none of these clowns we see on TV every night (with the exceptional of Bret Baier, who I think is hugely professional). The last great newsman was Walter Cronkite. Cronkite was anchor man for the CBS Evening News for most of twenty years. His was considered America’s most trusted newsman. And he was a flaming liberal democrat!
But you never knew it. Cronkite never once let his political affiliation known on the air. He considered such a disclosure a violation of trust. Wouldn’t the evening news be more civil if there were a few more Cronkites  serving up the nations news?
I am bored with watching the likes of Chris Matthews  and the “false news” reporters on CNN attempt to bully every conservative politician they can think of. People who watch liberal news should be getting it by now – THERE’S NO SUCH ANIMAL AS A DECENT CONSERVATIVE. Even if you actually believe that, don’t you get a little tired of hearing it? I mean I get a little tired of thinking of liberals as assholes. I know most of them are, but I tire of hearing it all the time.
For the media, and I suspect other rabid pinkos, all conservative flaws are character flaws. There are few, if any, “nice guy” conservatives. We are all some kind of morphrodites. We are certainly racists, all, homophobes, all, we think people should use the biologically appropriate lavatories, and, yes, we think President Trump should do his best to keep terrorists out of our country. (It galls me there are so many so-called Americans against this idea. I wonder what the lib opinion would be if Trump was a democrat?)
If other than liberals considered we conservatives flawed, I might be worried. But as I look at the bunch of them from where I sit, I see a gaggle of honking geese with nothing better to do but squawk and flap around. Just aired headed squawking. It been going on for years, and I suppose I got used to it. I started getting the idea about the gaggle back in the seventies. Just recently President Trump’s budget put the kibosh on the global-warming krap the left has been trying to saddle us with for the past, what?, thirty years?

I need only remember this was the same gaggle of screwballs that were howling about an Ice Age back in the seventies. It’s true – look it up! 

Saturday, March 18, 2017

Explaining My Life Away

Yeah, I’m a little late in getting this piece to those of you who read it. I apologize.
Truth is, I haven’t much felt like writing.  Perhaps if I explain, you’ll understand.
I have several health problems that I’m dealing with. Usually, only one manifests itself at a given time. It might be the diabetic neuropathy, which can cause your feet to burn – there are no flames but it sure feels like there are. Often, the afflicted endures an especially exhilarating  experience, when your feet feel as if there are ulcers, or perhaps boils, on the bottom of the feet. There are no real sores , but it sure feels like there are. Or it might be the arthritic knee that starts throbbing , not allowing too much use. Or perhaps the worst of all  - spinal stenosis – shows up and raises hell for a few days. Stenosis is a strangling of the spinal column, which pulls the walls of the column into the nerves. Yes, there are real nerves there, and it sure feels like it.
There are medicines, palliatives really, that help … sometimes, but not particularly. Lyrica helps the feet. It really does take the pain away … but one of the side effects – Oh, those side effects! – is that it makes the user gain weight. I quit Lyrica for awhile and lost thirty pounds. When the feet started to hurt again I got back on Lyrica for a couple of weeks and gained ten pounds back! Meanwhile, Dan McManus, the realty guy, told me about Amitriptiline, which helps. I haven’t noticed any upward movement on bathroom scales, as yet. Wait and see.
When the knee is throbbing, there isn’t much that can be done. Just sit still and watch whatever ballgame comes on. Same with the stenosis. These two problems are only, sort of, fixable. The knee will keep getting worse until replacement becomes the only option. I dread the day. Unfortunately, the back is a different story. The last neurosurgeon I saw, Dr. CW Kung of Elmira, said he couldn’t fix what was wrong there.  Same with the Laser Spine Institute. They and Dr. Kung both said there is too much to fix. Ouch. That hurts. The last thing you want your doctor to say is, “I can’t help you.” My questions were all answered months later when yet another neurosurgeon, while holding  my MRI up to examine it, said, “Wow! I’ve never seen so much arthritis in one back, that’s for sure!” This was the guy who shot me down for getting one of those spine stimulators. He said there was so much arthritis, there was no room for the stimulator! Tired of getting bad news from neurosurgeons, I stopped going to doctors … except for the optician, the dermatologist, and the cardiologist I saw last week, I’m doing well.
I know what some of you are thinking: You’re thinking, aren’t you, that all the stuff that caused me to ail did not stop me from walking? You see? I know what you are thinking. Let me see if I can change your mind. It is true, is it not, that when you ail in a hurting way, you look for a comfortable place to sit. Once found, you thoughtlessly throw the family cat from that place and fall in to it. It feels so good to you, this comfy spot, that you swear you’ll never move from it.
Suddenly, you remember there is a term paper due tomorrow. You put it off all semester, but your time is up, and you have not even researched it. Not only that, Mrs. Battles, (or as you usually call your senior class teacher, Old Battleax)told the whole class that if the term paper was, for some godly or ungodly reason not turned in, or if it were not of senior class quality, that person would not receive his or her diploma.
“Oh, my God,” you say, “That woman, the Battleax, is ruining my sick days – hell, my whole sick weekend.”
You hatch a plan. You call your best friend, a very smart girl, and putting on your very best sick voice, you ask her to research the Battle of Fredericksburg, a Civil War battle.  And could she do it tonight, and you yourself will write the paper tomorrow when you’re feeling better.

And you think you won’t forgive me for turning in this late paper? Of course you will. You been here before, haven’t you. By the way, is your paper ready to hand in? I’d bet you are all in the library tonight. Whadya bet?

Wednesday, March 8, 2017

Thieves and Democrats think alike.

There certainly seems to be a lot of vermin around willing to crap on other people’s lives. They loot, tell lies, run fake protests, but I guess that’s Democrats for you.
Many people have emailed me to ask if there wasn’t something that could be done to remedy the situation. A few answers presented themselves but I thought the first thing to do would be to interview a Democrat and see what he thought.
“Tell me why people like you loot,” I asked a guy named Ratty Lowlife.
“Aw, go ahead, blame me, why don’t ya?”
“Hey, wait I wasn’t blaming you personally …”
“Yeah, but you were gonna. I know your type, Newshawk. You’re just like all the rest …”
“The rest of who?”
“You know. Cops. News reporters. Soc …social, people who study other people. Victims are always complaining and blaming people like me when lies are being told, and there are protests happening.”
“But you’re a Democrat. What do you think - there’s someone else to blame those things on? Certainly, you wouldn’t blame a Republican. It’s not our style. Republicans have more class than Democrats ever had. “
“Oh, pooh. Republicans have some nerve, blaming Democrats for all the nasty stuff that goes on. If there’s a riot, Republicans blame Democrats. Worse, they claim that wealthy Democrats are paying us to stage riots.”
“Well, it’s true!”
“Is not!”
“Is so!”
“Uh, uh!”
“I’ll bet you’re one of them that hates President Trump.”
“Oh, god, I thought I was gonna faint when he got elected.”
“Did you huddle in a doorway clutching your teddy bear tightly to your chest? You look the type!” I said with a big smile.
“Yeah, screw you, Newshawk. I was upset!”
“Oh, so you and all the other sissies were cringing somewhere, tightly holding your teddy bears?”
“Mine was a fuzzy lamb.”
“One you just stole from the toy department of some store, after smashing in the window?
“Well, yeah, I guess.”
“See what I mean? Did it have a pink bow around its neck?” trying to sound sympathetic.
“Naw, not when I got it. I had to …er … find one. Put it around her neck.”
“A bow you just stole from the toy department of some store, after smashing out the window?”
“Yeah, but, did you know these store owners have insurance on their stuff, in case it get stole?”
“Sure, they have to recover their losses somehow.”
Lowlife looked as if he were about to pop. “If shop keepers can get money back when their stuff gets stole, then I think we thieves should get paid for stealing it, in the first place.”
“Well, I … er … don’t doubt that you think that way.“
“But does anybody pay us for stealing the stuff in the first place … or breaking the window? N-A-A-A-W.”
“What do you think should be done to ease the plight of the hapless thief?” I asked.
“You’re saying that instead of being punished for being a thief, you should be paid for being one?”
“Yepper. You got it, Champ. Say I’m walking along and I see a car I like with the keys left in it. Now, you gotta know, man, it’s my duty to steal that car. I mean, it’s only right. Right?”
“Yeah, sure … I guess.”
“Say I don’ take the car and turn in a voucher and collect a couple of grand from an insurance company or a bank or someplace.  Everyone would be better off, ain’t that the truth?”

“Or you could go into left-wing politics – you think just like a Democrat!”

Thursday, March 2, 2017

Cowboy Don Takes on Lefty Rodeo

Several readers have asked why it is that I haven’t been writing anything about politics. Well, it’s like this: For the past eight years (or so) I’ve been picking up a lot of good material on a presidential type who is, was and always will be a liberal Democrat. And liberal Democrats are oh-h-h-h so much more interesting to write about than just about anything else I can think of to write.
Let’s face it, there’s a lot of shit wrong with liberal Democrats, especially this latest batch.
All this crap about riots and mobs and beating up people … who the hell do these people think they are, anyway? Shitheads having a hissy fit.
All of the turmoil, almost entirely aimed at President Trump, comes via the Democrats – we all know that. These riots are all bought and paid for by wealthy Democrats – George Soros, Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama (and many others – Chucky Schumer, Nancy Pelosi, Dingy Harry Reid, Moonbeam Jerry Brown, and so on, to name just a few). These people are seething because they lost the election. Never mind they had a poor, unlikeable candidate, who fully expected to win in a landslide, and the Left never once doubted her ability to pull it off. They thought they had a super female running for the most powerful job in the world, who couldn’t possibly lose to an outsider with no (or little) political experience. Donald Trump was not supposed to win that election, and nobody knows it better than the Democrats. And, man, oh, man, they are pissed. And man, oh, man, am I glad they’re pissed because I would hate to wake up every morning with the thought of dealings with Hillary Clinton as president. The right person won the election, no doubt about it, but it will be impossible to convince very many Democrats that that’s the case.
Democrats never admit they are wrong, just as they never allow a fellow Democrat to be successfully accused of anything. When that happens the entire party circles the wagons, to protect the accused. When a Republican is accused of something (doesn’t matter what it is), all Republicans run for the hills, so as not to attract any “taint” to themselves. In the current vernacular, they are thrown under the bus. Not so Democrats. Prime example: Hillary Clinton.  Everybody knew the woman was guilty of all that business with the emails and the shaking down of world leaders for very large sums of money as down payments for favors when she became president. Anybody else is in jail; Not Hillary. Why? The Left simply couldn’t afford to have its presidential candidate locked up for treason. Instead of habitating a jail cell, HRC is sitting home financing riots in America’s streets and doing whatever she can to disrupt the legitimate presidency of Donald Trump.
Meanwhile, the president is going about causing his campaign promises to come to fruition. He said he would build a wall between us and Mexico. He’s already proposed that legislation. He said he wanted to keep people whose backgrounds were unknowable out of the country; the Left blocked that move but it ain’t over yet. He wants to Repeal and Replace BOcare, and plans are in the mix. He wants to overhaul the nation’s infrastructure: he’s just asked Congress for a trillion dollars to do it. And there’s more, plenty more. All stuff he said he would do while on the campaign trail. There’s no B.S. in the Oval Office now, friends and neighbors. We got us a real action figure in Donald J. Trump.
Y’all kin call me names and all; Hell, I don’t care what you say. I’m just gonna sit back and enjoy the rodeo. I’m gonna sit back and watch as Cowboy Don ropes and ties them lefty heifers and bulls with any balls (if he can a lefty bull with any). Yessiree, and a fine show it will be – watching as Cowboy Don makes America Great Again. Yah, Ho-o-o-o!

And shame to any assholes who stand in his way.

Wednesday, February 22, 2017

Much Better Later Than Sooner

When ideas are tough to come by, the tough make up stuff - as you'll see.

Like most kids I had an imaginary friend. My friend’s name was Later, and the reason I got along so well with Later was that Later saw that I could put things off I didn’t want to do until sometime Later on. (Most of you will get what I mean.)
For instance, I wouldn’t have been able to buy so many things if Later hadn’t been there to inspire my purchasing. I’d have, say, 10 cents in my pocket and blow the whole wad on licorice twists. My ma would ask why I’d spent all my money on candy. “Fer Later,” I’d say. “I’ll eat a few of them now and save some fer Later.”
Being a typical grown-up, she didn’t understand, She didn’t realize I wanted to share my loot between Now and Later. It was, after all, when Later never came that I would eat all my candy Now.
“Now” was okay when it came to buying and eating licorice twists and Necco wafers, but I didn’t care much for Now when it came to picking up walnuts and pulling weeds. Now said chores had to be done Now and I always wanted to wait for Later.
What bothered me most about Now was his influence on Ma. She’ll tell me to go pick up walnuts. I’d say, “ah-h-h, Now? Can’t they wait fer Later. (Like Later was going to lend a hand!)
“Now!” she said, and sure enough Now got the job done. I don’t think Later minded much, lazy as he was and all; he’d rather put things off. That’s why he and I got along so well, you see.
If I was too slow picking up the nuts, Ma would stick her head out the window and say, kind of nasty like, “That oughta be done by Now.” That’s true I thought , I could use some help. But Now wouldn’t be coaxed into working any faster, especially if he could wait for Later.
Now stayed in Ma’s shirt pocket all the time – when she washed windows, scrubbed floors, ironed clothes, cooked dinner.  Being closer to her ear, Now kept Ma tuned into what I was doing all the time, kept her looking out the window to see what I was doing.
“Is he getting done, Now?” she’d want to know.
“Naw, not really. Seems he’d rather wait for Later,” the snitch would say. I came to dislike Now very much.
I didn’t like Again much either. Now and Again were very close with Ma, especially when it came to picking up walnuts and pulling weeds. I never could get my point across that if I didn’t want to do it Now, I couldn’t be expected to enjoy doing it Again. But no one seemed to care what I thought. None of my shenanigans worked. But I did manage to confuse Ma on several occasions.
She’d say, “It’s time to go pull the weeds in the garden Again. Go and do it Now, never mind Later.” (On second thought, maybe she hadn’t gotten them confused. They make perfect sense to me now that some time has passed.)
There were some other parts of speech around that I liked better than others. I liked Sooner okay, by not as much as Later, of course. “Go pull weeds Now,” she’d say. “Can’t it wait for Later?” I’d say. “It has to be done Sooner or Later, she’d say” mixing things up again. “How about after fishin’; will Then do?”  “Naw. It’s got to be Sooner than that! I’ve been where you fish.” I didn’t care for Now and Then any more than I cared for Now and Again. Both had the bothersome prospect of having to do something again sometime in the future.
Ma and I of course had our preferences. She liked Then only when it was closer to Sooner than Later, and I preferred Later when it was closer to Never. Ma despised Never. She was always saying things like, Better Late than Never, and Better Sooner than Later, and Never put off until Tomorrow(Later) what you could do Today (Now).
I liked There okay, but I didn’t care for Here and There together. “Here!” she’d say. “How about There?” I ask. “Okay, Here and There!” Ouch.
Not once did Ma ever suggest Now or Never, half of which I could have lived with. She liked making my choices difficult ones . For her, all that mattered was Here and Now or Now and Again (Soon) or the much preferred Here and Now. She would later take a shine to Right Here and Right Now.

 I would much prefer Left Now and Left Again – to go fishin’!

The Flip Side