Me. Myself. And I.
Those are my preferred pronouns. But I’ve been called worse.
If you use your mind to study reality, you won't understand either your mind or reality. If you study reality without using your mind, you'll understand both.
I took the week off because I wanted to. Not because I needed to. Or had to. Or was told to. I took it off just because I WANTED to. When was the last time you did exactly what you wanted to do? If you can’t remember that last time, why?
If the goal of discipline is self-discipline, especially when pursuing an endeavor (academic, athletic, dramatic, etc.), what is censorship’s goal? Especially when pursuing liberty.
I posit self-censorship. If thoughts are fuel for language, social media mobs are self-installed governors gleefully suppressing the expression of such. Ancient public shaming is back. Is metaphorical stoning the first step to reality?
What keeps us from driving down the freeway at 100 miles per hour? What prevents us from throwing a brick through a store window? What forestalls us from joining a protest on the streets? What restricts a person from hurling wrong thoughts into the ether?
The CHP? Sometimes? The security guard? Occasionally. Fear of danger? Probably. The DGB? Absolutely. I say this as the driver of two vehicles exceeding 100 miles per hour, resulting in adverse legal ramifications. I wrecked every car (hyperbole, I say!) I have ever owned.
Psalms 18:36 describes my relationship with God
You enlarged my path under me, So my feet did not slip.
Remember when we were on a message search?
Ah, I love the nose of news@nine. Desperation descried. Secrecy snuffled. Exasperation espied. Aspirations ascertained. So fecund, this forlornness. And oh so sweet.
DGB? What the hell is that? Sounds like KGB? The brand-new and totally-rad Disinformation Governance Board. I cannot wait to see that in reality. For members of my Gen-X tribe, it’s just more of the same. The 80s and 90s are littered with tyrannical-authority intrusions into our personal freedoms and individual liberties. Starting with our parents. And teachers. And bosses. And cops. And so on.
The PG-13 movie rating was introduced in 1986. The first movie so designated? The Flamingo Kid. Yeah, the Matt Dillon oh-so-steamy rom-com for kids. NC-17 showed up in 1990 replacing the X-rating. Henry & June was the first NC-17 film shown in theaters. Sit in a theater with others to watch HBO@Night SoftPorn. Yuck. No.
I found a great website that tracks Music Censorship In America that pissed me off all over again! Speaking specifically of the 1980s, during which I came of musical age, churches in Iowa were burning John Denver albums and Prince gave Tipper Gore the vapors. Hardcore rock, whoa!
And in a sad-but-true story of suicide, Ozzy was sued for causing it via his lyrics in Suicide Solution. Nope. Song lyrics are constitutionally protected speech, so says the man!
Dee Snyder turns out to be the 1984 canary in the coal mine. Poor Tipper . . .
Remember this nutball? She actually said this crap in my lifetime, and now gay marriage is legal. Yeah, America is a fucked-up country.
„The male homosexual eats sperm, the most concentrated form of blood, they are eating life! As vampires need to recruit donors to survive, so does the homosexual.“ — Anita Bryant
I’m never failed by my quote of the day. Just when I was wondering how the hell I can even make sense of reality, Bodhidharma advises exactly the opposite. Experience reality in real-time. Use your senses. Don’t make them.
I’ve been anti-authority all of my life. I’ve railed against the man from an early age. I got kicked out of Sunday School for asking if I lost my arm and my leg in a car accident, and my dog was killed, do I get them all back in Heaven? I chose swats over suspension because it pissed off the principal. Aforementioned adverse legal ramifications. Due to driving indiscretions. Ahem.
I almost failed 11th-grade English to spite Mr. Hunter. He hated me. I hated him. He kicked my ass. Figuratively. I passed. Literally. With a D. In fricking English. And I write?
Let’s just say sex, drugs, and rock n’ roll were still alive and kicking for the Class of 1982. The Mom bailed me out to permit my high school graduation. I walked in late to an 8 am graduation practice with a Marlboro 100 dangling off my lip. Possibly intoxicated. With two new girlfriends.
Knowing my school-attendance-by-year record (new school every year grades 4-12), I forgot this hi-school did not allow smoking. Or a bunch of other stuff I did.
Teacher Mad: Ric Bad. The Mom, thanks to some choice profanity into the Dean’s ear over the phone (she was at work after all!), secured the Graduation tickets I walked out of his office with. White Tribes. What are you gonna do?
I have entire sections devoted to documenting my rage against the machine! Take this one for instance
Part of my self-imposed step-away was to allow my amazement to catch up with my amusement of human nature. The confluence of superheated news topics lifted all boats in my brain. Lifted them right over the falls! That’s ok, I needed an easy come-back, right?
The topics I think I thought I was thinking of as themes made the cut, but let’s just say we have a few walk-ons and pick-ups. The starters were going to be Student Loans and the DGB. The utility players would be Identity and Intersections. The battery would be Authority and Message.
But then the ringers became available: Leaky SCOTUS and The Destroyers of Democracy (Bad Orange & The Hillbilly) would be coming in off the bench. Checking the lineup card, it’s well to note that the collisions have moved from the metaphorical to the actual.
Just the other night, Dave Chapelle got physically attacked on stage for telling jokes. WHAT THE FUCK? Over the edge, people. And of course, in LA, that’s not a felony. At least he got his ass whupped and his arm broke.
Subways vs. Freeways
Overly simplistic and painted with a broad brush, that comparison attempts to gather tribes with a sliver of overlapping interests on one side and places a diametrically opposed collection of tribes with equally fraught solidarity on the other side.
Identity Intersections, if you will. I have a whole section for that too. Check it out here. I got to thinking about how every day is filled with those crashes. Micro-wrecks.
Some in society are being asked to identify and sort others into groups based on superficial appearances and unknown preferences. The common clodhoppers are then forced to utter familiar words in a foreign context. The unwashed peasants are then instructed on who to celebrate, how to celebrate, and where to celebrate.
If they fail to celebrate with the required enthusiasm, they’re called Something-Phobic. Finally, regardless of prior intent or post apology, the Wrong-Thinkers are rebuked and ostracized.
Let’s take Student Loans. I have two daughters with them. They qualify for forgiveness. I’m on the hook for a good chunk of it. It would be very helpful to my family. But is it right? I don’t know yet.
I admire a guy named Mike Rowe. He runs a foundation. I know, probably a Micro-Wreck to some. But hear it out. Click here if you want to check out his website. He grants scholarships to people that take his pledge: Work Ethic Certified Scholarships.
He talks a lot about student loans. And forgiveness. Not necessarily in the same sentence. He also talks about the Lost Vocational Arts. Wood and Metal Shop. Photography and Welding. Plumbing, HVCC, and Electrical.
The thing is, he doesn’t criticize college. If it works for you, make it work for you. But he has a point when he asks if we should talk about forgiving the cost of apprenticeships, work trucks, tools, permits, and fees?
I mean it’s a pretty simple question at the end of a dinner party on a Saturday night: toilet clogged up. Who you gonna call? My money's on the plumber. As always, freedom means you can call the Liberal Arts Major down at Starbucks to inquire if they can plunge your poop? Circle back to me on that one.
As I was watching Rowe on a talk show, I started wondering about the financials of work trucks and tools. I’m a gadget-geek and tool-tripper, so I have a pretty solid base because I go dream-shopping at Harbor Freight all the time. I just found a super-awesome old-school woodshop in Pasadena Rockler.
Check out these links to see how much it actually costs to become a Master Craftsman, start an Industrial Arts service business, and acquire the Tools of the Trade.
HOW TO START A PLUMBING BUSINESS
WHAT ARE THE STARTUP COSTS FOR A CONTRACTING BUSINESS?
The Real Cost to Buy a Food Truck (2021 Edition)
HOW MUCH DOES A SEMI-TRUCK COST? COMPLETE GUIDE
WOODWEB, a work-nerd chat site, has boards and forums on subjects like Truck, Van, or Trailer? Installation pros discuss the convenience, gas mileage, and security of various vehicle choices.
Reviewing the list of topics on my plate today, it’s hard not to notice the striking similarity amongst the apparent differences. Every single issue turns on what street corner one is standing on.
And it’s urban warfare against the others on the opposite side of the street. It’s not enough to let others just amble on by on their side of the street. A peculiar force is at work that compels some to insert themselves into the daily lives of others. Because those others are just pure evil.
It’s a great cost to society. One that’s morally bankrupted us. It’s not live and let live anymore. It’s more like stop living as you want and start living as I want you to. And while you’re at it, stop thinking, saying, and doing things I disagree with.
Every single topic has a division of tribes. Some Women support abortion, other Women don’t. Some Blacks support CRT, some Blacks don’t. Some Trans support Gender Ideology teaching in pre-K-3rd grade, other Trans don’t. A famous Trans athlete does not support another famous Trans athlete for competing in women’s sports.
So, as a cis white dude, where’s my dog in these fights? Hold my beer, as those three issues are not super-critical to my day-to-day life right now. And even if they were, as a cis white dude, my take on them probably reflects a point of view that is not a lived experience. Some would call that white privilege.
Fair enough. I just call it being me. Fight for your right, for sure. But if you don’t get it, live with that outcome. Burning shit down because you don’t get what you want is what (rotten) children do. It’s called a temper tantrum. And that’s where you start pissing off people that formerly didn’t give a shit.
Even the women on the Supreme Court are split. Fun Fact: At the very moment straight white men are being castigated for original sin, it was a bunch of old white men that gave the thumbs-up to abortion in the first place.
I found this piece in Vox. Yeah, Vox. Arguing that the court is a bastion of white supremacy that has impeded personal freedom and individual liberties. So much so that seven old white men in the 1970s decided in favor of abortion rights.
In 2022, a Supreme Court made up of a diversity of genders, skin colors, and ideologies may decide to reverse that decision. Not really sure how that constitutes white supremacy. Oh yeah, they also approved gay marriage.
The case against the Supreme Court of the United States
The Court was the midwife of Jim Crow, the right hand of union busters, and the dead hand of the Confederacy, and is now one of the chief architects of America’s democratic decline.
And about abortion. I can’t imagine a person today in the US that hasn’t had an intimate connection to abortion. I knew a girl in school whose mom would arrange a secret procedure for girls whose parents would’ve freaked out. But I also knew girls whose parents shipped them out of state to give birth.
My Son was born when I was 19 years old. Although my contribution to his conception was genetically proven, I did not have decision-making authority over the pregnancy. I just as easily could not have a 38-year-old son today. This is a painful, personal decision. I don’t know the answer. I know one thing for sure: I love my son, and cannot imagine my life without him.
But I also know the facts. Non-sentient animals are imagined to feel pain while being abused and slaughtered, and those images of abuse and slaughter are made into TV commercials soliciting donations to prevent said abuse.
Imagine anti-abortionists using images of aborted fetuses and the process of abortion in a TV commercial to solicit donations to prevent abortion. It would be shocking, to say the least.
I can do more than imagine animals feeling pain. I know that they do. I grew up on a 5-acre hog farm. I killed animals. Chopping a chicken’s head off doesn’t feel too good. Shooting a pig you raised from birth is emotionally hard on an 11-year-old. The toothless old cowboy that was always in our barn on slaughter day imparted the secret of life to me: “Don’t name animals you’re gonna eat.”
But farm life is real life. I comforted animals feeling pain. I spent many nights in the barn birthing pigs, horses, cows, poultry, dogs, cats, and all other sorts of creatures. I have stuck my arm down a horse’s uterus to reorient the breeched foal to save its life. I spent many a day slaughtering animals as well.
It’s not hard for me to imagine a life with a beating heart inside a womb. I wish we could just agree on straight-up language. In this and all of our sticky societal situations. Pardon the tripe, but Follow the Science applies here, no?
Sonograms are not nothing, you know? Look, I don’t have the answer. Would I ever advocate for an abortion? Perhaps. Rape and Incest are huge mitigating factors. Health, adverse genetical information about the fetus, and a whole host of issues. Let the woman and doctor decide. How do we do that on a federal level? I do not know. But I imagine most states will keep it legal.
Listening to the protests and reading the signs completely miss the point of abortion. It’s not cancer. One doesn’t catch a fetus. Pregnancy doesn’t just happen to a birthing person. To become pregnant, (outside of rape and incest) one must engage in an activity that has been proven to cause pregnancy. Jus sayin.
Who doesn’t love a Hillbilly?
Especially a college-edumacated one! I love reading. And writing. The writing I love the most is called Memoir Essay. I didn’t know it until I knew it, like 30 seconds ago. But true.
I wrote about it there. In January 2021. Almost a year into the lockdown and just over a year ago. Reading that piece now still holds up. Optimism. No matter the obstacle. Without that, you’re 50% beat from the get-go!
It’s happening folks. Virginia. Ohio. Pennsylvania is next. Before we know it, Election Day 2022. Even California could have a governor. A real one, that is.
I read a Substack written by Ijeoma Oluo. I don’t agree with much of what she writes, but I love how she writes. It’s raw, powerful, and direct.
Have fun today. I will. I’m going to the LA County Fair with my Mom! How apropos.
Ric
Mike Rowe is my kind of guy! Great pledges on his website. Hmm. I even had a dirty job or two. A significant one was at the city street department's asphalt plant, though we did have plenty of time to drink coffee, waiting for the trucks to get back for another load!
35 years ago, we laughed at Ztipper Gorw. Now we’ve become her. DGB. Are they f’ing kidding us?!
As for student loans. I’m all for forgiveness ONLY as part of an overhauling of the education system. Forgiving them does no good if it still means new students get caught up in the same traps.