This isn't a new topic by any means. Since 9/11, there have been calls from Westerners for so-called moderate Muslims to take a stand and denounce what they claim are radical elements within Islam that are perpetrating crimes against the West in particular and against anyone, Muslim or infidel, who does not abide by sharia law. There have been heinous examples of Islamofascist intolerance, from beheadings of innocent contract workers to the torture, murder and defilement of Westerners' bodies to the stoning of women who were raped to the recent use of chemical weapons against insurgents in Syria. Despite the countless pieces of evidence against the radical fringe of Islam, the moderate majority remains silent.
Westerners, not surprisingly, are outraged by both the attacks as well as the silence. Calls for moderate Muslims to stand up and denounce these acts remain unanswered. In fact, on the twelfth anniversary of 9/11, there is a very misguided Million Muslim march that aims to bring awareness to the alleged plight of Muslims seeking their civil rights in this country. Needless to say, Americans are not supportive.
There is a very telling post Karen got from some place that reads: In every country that Muslims are a minority, they are obsessed with minority rights. In every country with a Muslim majority, there are NO minority rights. The double standard is stark. Moderate Muslims should feel entitled to equal protection under the law, but they fail to realize that the same holds true for Westerners in Muslim countries. What's more, Westerners are leery of acceding to their demands when they fail to stand up and be counted against the radical fringe from which they hastily distance themselves when news of another outrage is heard.
In this country, we say that freedom isn't free. Most often, that's construed to mean that we must defend our rights and protect the country in which we enjoy them. But there's also another element to that, and that's the need to stand up and speak out when something is amiss, whether it's our country's involvement in Vietnam, the coup in Chile or other actions taken by the government with which we disagree. It's our civic duty to call these things out and condemn them for their wrongfulness. Moderate Muslims refuse to do this for any number of reasons: Fear of reprisal, religious or ethnic loyalty or perhaps because they are the equivalent of sleeper cells who are the advance team for the Islamofascists seeking to convert the world to Islam.
Whatever the motivation, it's wrong not to denounce the evils of Islamofascism. No matter whether the target is America, Europe or some poor young girl in Pakistan seeking education for girls, what moderate Muslims need to do is get involved, even if that only amounts to supporting more vocally or visibly those who are willing to denounce openly the outrages committed in the name of sharia law. If they truly want equal protection under the law, they must support equal rights for all people, not just themselves, and part of doing that involves standing up and being counted. They cannot sit back and let others do the talking and the fighting if they truly believe that what the radical elements within Islam is wrong.
There is a poignant poem that addresses this problem:
First they came for the Communists,
but I was not a Communist so I did
not speak out.
Then they came for the Socialists and the Trade Unionists,
but I was neither, so I did not speak out.
Then they came for the
Jews,
but I was not a Jew so I did not speak out.
Then they came for the
Catholics,
but I was not a Catholic so I did not speak out.
And when they
came for me,
and there was no one left to speak out.
Pastor
Martin Niemöller
Under sharia law, unless a person toes the line exactly as the Islamofascists say, he risks penalties ranging from prison, to dismemberment to death. Moreover, the imams are fickle in the application of sharia law, using it at times to settle blood feuds. Moderate Muslims would do well to read that poem and ponder how safe they'll be under sharia law, then consider how safe they are under western law, and start engaging themselves in denouncing their radical brethren.
The alternative is not pretty for anyone, them included.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
Death
All of us will pass through its portals. We never know when, or at least we hope we can put it off for as long as possible. Sometimes, if we're really lucky, we live until we're in our eighties or nineties. Other times, we die prematurely, through no fault of our own or through our own devices.
Our Mother died relatively young at age sixty-four. For nearly forty of those years, she imitated a chimney. There are reasons that explain why she did it, but there's no denying that smoking cigarettes was at least a contributing factor to her death.
Reckless behavior, poor dietary habits, lack of exercise -- there are myriad reasons that bring about death. If we're lucky, truly lucky, death arrives via old age. But few these days are so lucky.
Yesterday, I learned from online sources that my Uncle John and my Aunt Joyce -- siblings or our Mother -- died within a month or so of each other. Uncle John was eighty-six, Aunt Joyce ninety-one. Our uncle died from Parkinson's and our aunt from Alzheimer's. Both were accomplished in their respective fields -- Uncle John was a priest who oversaw three parishes in the Upper Peninsula and Aunt Joyce was a trailblazer who first got a degree in chemistry when women didn't attend college and then, some twenty-five years later, got a law degree when it still wasn't fashionable to do that. O', and she had raised four boys in between her degrees.
But what's disturbing about both deaths, apart from the fact that they died and that none of my siblings saw fit to alert me about their deaths, is that they died alone. Aunt Joyce had been widowed for nearly thirty years; Uncle John, of course, had no immediate family. I think about their last moments, what they were thinking, what family members they remembered last, and wonder what it will be like when I go. It's also incredibly sad, even though all of us essentially die alone, because no matter how faithful they were, it had to be a little scary for them, especially in their advanced years and with the illnesses from which they suffered. Our Mom died with people around her, but neither Aunt Joyce nor Uncle John had that luxury, as it were. My heart grieves for them.
I'm also troubled by the fact that my insensitive siblings stole the decision from me to be there to honor their memories. It's doubtful that I would have been able to make it to the Upper Peninsula for Uncle John, but I most certainly could have been there for Aunt Joyce. Yet my siblings were thoughtless enough to rob me of that opportunity.
Thirty years ago, the pair took me on a trip to Ireland. I often joke that I had all my contingencies covered, because I was traveling with a priest and an attorney. Uncle John was trying to travel incognito, seeming to think that as a priest he would be greeted as if he were the fifth Beatle. When they went to Dublin Castle to look up dead relatives, I at twenty-two went to the Guinness brewery. We had Mass in our hotel room -- remember, he was the only Beatle wearing a Roman collar -- and went to cultural events across the country. The high point for Aunt Joyce and me was when the priest was waylaid by some distant cousins in Skerries who reminded me of the pair of sisters in Arsenic and Old Lace. Seeing the otherwise imperturbable priest unable to get a word in edgewise with these two was priceless.
For me, their thoughtfulness and generosity knew no bounds. Aunt Joyce guided me through the legal world deftly, and Uncle John both lent me money and debated theology with me. I like to think I won a point or two with him. Both were highly intelligent, highly stubborn and somewhat combative. They may have been the only aunt and uncle I ever knew, but they were excellent in their roles, and I was darned lucky to have them.
I will miss them greatly. I'm just glad I had the times with them that I did.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Our Mother died relatively young at age sixty-four. For nearly forty of those years, she imitated a chimney. There are reasons that explain why she did it, but there's no denying that smoking cigarettes was at least a contributing factor to her death.
Reckless behavior, poor dietary habits, lack of exercise -- there are myriad reasons that bring about death. If we're lucky, truly lucky, death arrives via old age. But few these days are so lucky.
Yesterday, I learned from online sources that my Uncle John and my Aunt Joyce -- siblings or our Mother -- died within a month or so of each other. Uncle John was eighty-six, Aunt Joyce ninety-one. Our uncle died from Parkinson's and our aunt from Alzheimer's. Both were accomplished in their respective fields -- Uncle John was a priest who oversaw three parishes in the Upper Peninsula and Aunt Joyce was a trailblazer who first got a degree in chemistry when women didn't attend college and then, some twenty-five years later, got a law degree when it still wasn't fashionable to do that. O', and she had raised four boys in between her degrees.
But what's disturbing about both deaths, apart from the fact that they died and that none of my siblings saw fit to alert me about their deaths, is that they died alone. Aunt Joyce had been widowed for nearly thirty years; Uncle John, of course, had no immediate family. I think about their last moments, what they were thinking, what family members they remembered last, and wonder what it will be like when I go. It's also incredibly sad, even though all of us essentially die alone, because no matter how faithful they were, it had to be a little scary for them, especially in their advanced years and with the illnesses from which they suffered. Our Mom died with people around her, but neither Aunt Joyce nor Uncle John had that luxury, as it were. My heart grieves for them.
I'm also troubled by the fact that my insensitive siblings stole the decision from me to be there to honor their memories. It's doubtful that I would have been able to make it to the Upper Peninsula for Uncle John, but I most certainly could have been there for Aunt Joyce. Yet my siblings were thoughtless enough to rob me of that opportunity.
Thirty years ago, the pair took me on a trip to Ireland. I often joke that I had all my contingencies covered, because I was traveling with a priest and an attorney. Uncle John was trying to travel incognito, seeming to think that as a priest he would be greeted as if he were the fifth Beatle. When they went to Dublin Castle to look up dead relatives, I at twenty-two went to the Guinness brewery. We had Mass in our hotel room -- remember, he was the only Beatle wearing a Roman collar -- and went to cultural events across the country. The high point for Aunt Joyce and me was when the priest was waylaid by some distant cousins in Skerries who reminded me of the pair of sisters in Arsenic and Old Lace. Seeing the otherwise imperturbable priest unable to get a word in edgewise with these two was priceless.
For me, their thoughtfulness and generosity knew no bounds. Aunt Joyce guided me through the legal world deftly, and Uncle John both lent me money and debated theology with me. I like to think I won a point or two with him. Both were highly intelligent, highly stubborn and somewhat combative. They may have been the only aunt and uncle I ever knew, but they were excellent in their roles, and I was darned lucky to have them.
I will miss them greatly. I'm just glad I had the times with them that I did.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Friday, August 23, 2013
Ponderous questions
Every once in awhile, things occur to me for no good reason. There are questions that come from things I see out and about, or on television, or when I listen to the radio, that are actually quite mundane but at the same time get me to wonder how they arose or came into being. Mostly, they're nonsensical, but then again, I'm pretty nonsensical. Just ask Karen.
So here are the most recent ponderous questions that one can waste time thinking about, unless you know better.
Just what is chai tea, anyway?
How is it that three words that look so similar -- though, through and tough -- are pronounced differently than each other?
Why do women put themselves through torture to wear things like high heels just for fashion?
In that vein, who dictates what's fashionable?
Is it possible that Rihanna and Prince are the same person (I can't take credit for this observation, but the similarity is quite stunning)?
How are royalties paid on books and more interestingly on music?
Who ever thought of putting rat intestinal mucosa (Heparin) and porcine intestinal mucosa (Coumadin) in humans?
Does it really make any difference if one drives on the right side of the car versus the left side, or the right side of the road versus the left side?
What exactly is a pixel?
Why would Batman have a robin as a sidekick?
Does anyone know exactly how the word gringo came into being?
For that matter, can anyone explain conclusively why Spaniards speak with a lisp, as it's commonly called?
Shouldn't brainwashing be called brainsoiling instead?
Why are men's and women's buttons on opposite sides of garments?
Does one suspend belief or suspend disbelief?
Who came up with the names for chartreuse and mauve?
Why would anyone eat a cooked egg?
Who thought to drink cow's milk first?
Why did James Naismith use a peach basket and not a bushel basket?
What makes sand?
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
So here are the most recent ponderous questions that one can waste time thinking about, unless you know better.
Just what is chai tea, anyway?
How is it that three words that look so similar -- though, through and tough -- are pronounced differently than each other?
Why do women put themselves through torture to wear things like high heels just for fashion?
In that vein, who dictates what's fashionable?
Is it possible that Rihanna and Prince are the same person (I can't take credit for this observation, but the similarity is quite stunning)?
How are royalties paid on books and more interestingly on music?
Who ever thought of putting rat intestinal mucosa (Heparin) and porcine intestinal mucosa (Coumadin) in humans?
Does it really make any difference if one drives on the right side of the car versus the left side, or the right side of the road versus the left side?
What exactly is a pixel?
Why would Batman have a robin as a sidekick?
Does anyone know exactly how the word gringo came into being?
For that matter, can anyone explain conclusively why Spaniards speak with a lisp, as it's commonly called?
Shouldn't brainwashing be called brainsoiling instead?
Why are men's and women's buttons on opposite sides of garments?
Does one suspend belief or suspend disbelief?
Who came up with the names for chartreuse and mauve?
Why would anyone eat a cooked egg?
Who thought to drink cow's milk first?
Why did James Naismith use a peach basket and not a bushel basket?
What makes sand?
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Thursday, August 22, 2013
Racial hypocrisy
The uproar over the Zimmerman acquittal has subsided, but new fires break out daily, or so it seems. Only now, the perpetrators are the victims, and the victims have no recourse to having the crimes committed against them declared to be hate crimes.
A couple of weeks ago in Florida a video surfaced in which three older black teenagers on a bus were seen pummeling a younger teenager who we later learned is white. The reason for the beating is that the white ratted them out for an attempted drug deal. Whatever the reason, the three older teens are seen viciously beating the younger teen for a terribly long time, resulting in contusions and a broken arm. The incident is being categorized merely as assault and battery and not a hate crime because there is no evidence that race was a motivating factor.
Meanwhile, in Oklahoma three teens shot and killed an Australian exchange student in the back, leaving him to die on the side of the road. The motivation? They were bored. Yes, they were bored so they shot him in the back. The victim's race is Caucasian. Two of the teens are black, one is being described as white despite the fact his surname is Luna (odd that George Zimmerman was described as being a white of Hispanic descent, but Chancey Luna, who committed a crime far worse than anything Zimmerman faced, is white).
Now comes information that one of the youths was in the street gang the Crips and one of them had racially negative social media content on his Twitter account. Yet authorities still won't charge the three with a hate crime.
What's more, black leaders who were foaming at the mouth trying to equate Trayvon Martin's death to that of Emmett Till are either silent or, as Jesse Jackson did, frowning upon these incidents of violence. Long a critic of Mr. Jackson, I give him credit: At least he said something condemning these attacks. Where's Al Sharpton? Where's Oprah? Or do white lives mean nothing?
But my beef isn't so much with them because I've come to expect that hypocrisy. What bothers me is the inbred systemic reverse discrimination that the largely white majority is foisting on itself. In the Martin incident, the description of Zimmerman as a white of Hispanic descent strained credulity to the point rendering credulity irrelevant. The only purpose for doing that was to inject race into the discussion, despite the fact that there was no racial angle, as later proven at trial. This merely served to gin up a sexier story line for the MSM and enflame emotions, reopening scars that were finally beginning to heal.
Yet with the bus beating, nowhere in the MSM was there any hint that race played a part. Only Fox News, the AntiChrist of the MSM, dared to raise the issue. More people were concerned with whether the bus driver, who was also black, had an affirmative obligation to stop the outrage (some states have laws specifically prohibiting drivers from intervening). And lest anyone think these teens came from broken homes, their fathers accompanied them to their arraignments.
But that case is a weak one on which to base a hate crime, because there isn't really much to base it on. I've heard no audio, and it may very well be that it's about a failed drug deal. But what's troubling is that the point was never raised in the MSM.
The Oklahoma shooting is simply depraved. The Australian was doing nothing but minding his own business. They shot him in the back and left him to die, at best because they were bored and at worse, we may have learned, because at least one of the youths hates whites. If that doesn't qualify as motivation for a hate crime, I don't know what does. It's certainly one of the most depraved murders to have been committed by teens in recent years, and one of the most senseless. Yet all we have for charges, from what I recall seeing, is garden variety murder. I'm sure there are some lesser, additional charges, but no hate crime. In the end, when these murderers are convicted, it won't matter. But if it doesn't matter in this case, why was there such a rush to try to include a hate crime designation for the Martin-Zimmerman case, and why such outrage at the acquittal? It makes no sense if the person is going to do the same amount of time, and all it does is serve the bloodlust of the populace to wrap it up the way it wants it. But if the Martin-Zimmerman case should have been a hate crime -- which I don't believe it should -- then most certainly the murder of the Australian should have been. But even comparing the two cases, one of them should be, and it wasn't he one in Florida.
Still, the MSM is reluctant to paint that as a hate crime because to do so would, besides reporting the obvious, enflame tensions, the very thing is sought to do in Zimmerman's case. Why is it all right in one case and not the other? Is it white guilt? Is a black killed in a hate crime a sexier story than a white killed in a hate crime? Does that mean that blacks' lives are worth more than whites' lives? Shouldn't every life have the same value?
Well, prepare yourself. A new case has come out, and if the Australian's murder was depravity, this redefines it: I just learned of a case that was committed nearly two years ago in which twenty black men and teens raped an eleven-year-old Latino girl. Is this a hate crime? Does black on Latino crime rate as hatred? Or it a hate crime only when a white person causes damage (murder, rape, battery, robbery, etc.) to a black?
The nettlesome issue is that by declaring that crimes committed against certain groups or with certain motivations are elevated (lowered?) to a new level by virtue of the victim's identity or the perpetrator's identity is about a ludicrous as the notion that there can be rules for war. By the very nature of crime, violence and hatred are involved, just as they are in wartime. But to have the MSM as moral arbiter designating what it or isn't a hate crime, and having spineless functionaries unwilling to label scandalous behavior as a hate crime simply because the victim isn't black is senseless. It detracts from the whole reason for having a hate crime designation in the first place and renders it another entitlement specifically for a limited number of groups.
If we are to regard people of all races as equals, the laws must treat them equally. And for all its highbrow behavior, the MSM needs to return to the days of merely reporting and not engage in editorializing the news by selecting which stories merit inclusion or how they are to be told.
Otherwise, racial hypocrisy will never end.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
A couple of weeks ago in Florida a video surfaced in which three older black teenagers on a bus were seen pummeling a younger teenager who we later learned is white. The reason for the beating is that the white ratted them out for an attempted drug deal. Whatever the reason, the three older teens are seen viciously beating the younger teen for a terribly long time, resulting in contusions and a broken arm. The incident is being categorized merely as assault and battery and not a hate crime because there is no evidence that race was a motivating factor.
Meanwhile, in Oklahoma three teens shot and killed an Australian exchange student in the back, leaving him to die on the side of the road. The motivation? They were bored. Yes, they were bored so they shot him in the back. The victim's race is Caucasian. Two of the teens are black, one is being described as white despite the fact his surname is Luna (odd that George Zimmerman was described as being a white of Hispanic descent, but Chancey Luna, who committed a crime far worse than anything Zimmerman faced, is white).
Now comes information that one of the youths was in the street gang the Crips and one of them had racially negative social media content on his Twitter account. Yet authorities still won't charge the three with a hate crime.
What's more, black leaders who were foaming at the mouth trying to equate Trayvon Martin's death to that of Emmett Till are either silent or, as Jesse Jackson did, frowning upon these incidents of violence. Long a critic of Mr. Jackson, I give him credit: At least he said something condemning these attacks. Where's Al Sharpton? Where's Oprah? Or do white lives mean nothing?
But my beef isn't so much with them because I've come to expect that hypocrisy. What bothers me is the inbred systemic reverse discrimination that the largely white majority is foisting on itself. In the Martin incident, the description of Zimmerman as a white of Hispanic descent strained credulity to the point rendering credulity irrelevant. The only purpose for doing that was to inject race into the discussion, despite the fact that there was no racial angle, as later proven at trial. This merely served to gin up a sexier story line for the MSM and enflame emotions, reopening scars that were finally beginning to heal.
Yet with the bus beating, nowhere in the MSM was there any hint that race played a part. Only Fox News, the AntiChrist of the MSM, dared to raise the issue. More people were concerned with whether the bus driver, who was also black, had an affirmative obligation to stop the outrage (some states have laws specifically prohibiting drivers from intervening). And lest anyone think these teens came from broken homes, their fathers accompanied them to their arraignments.
But that case is a weak one on which to base a hate crime, because there isn't really much to base it on. I've heard no audio, and it may very well be that it's about a failed drug deal. But what's troubling is that the point was never raised in the MSM.
The Oklahoma shooting is simply depraved. The Australian was doing nothing but minding his own business. They shot him in the back and left him to die, at best because they were bored and at worse, we may have learned, because at least one of the youths hates whites. If that doesn't qualify as motivation for a hate crime, I don't know what does. It's certainly one of the most depraved murders to have been committed by teens in recent years, and one of the most senseless. Yet all we have for charges, from what I recall seeing, is garden variety murder. I'm sure there are some lesser, additional charges, but no hate crime. In the end, when these murderers are convicted, it won't matter. But if it doesn't matter in this case, why was there such a rush to try to include a hate crime designation for the Martin-Zimmerman case, and why such outrage at the acquittal? It makes no sense if the person is going to do the same amount of time, and all it does is serve the bloodlust of the populace to wrap it up the way it wants it. But if the Martin-Zimmerman case should have been a hate crime -- which I don't believe it should -- then most certainly the murder of the Australian should have been. But even comparing the two cases, one of them should be, and it wasn't he one in Florida.
Still, the MSM is reluctant to paint that as a hate crime because to do so would, besides reporting the obvious, enflame tensions, the very thing is sought to do in Zimmerman's case. Why is it all right in one case and not the other? Is it white guilt? Is a black killed in a hate crime a sexier story than a white killed in a hate crime? Does that mean that blacks' lives are worth more than whites' lives? Shouldn't every life have the same value?
Well, prepare yourself. A new case has come out, and if the Australian's murder was depravity, this redefines it: I just learned of a case that was committed nearly two years ago in which twenty black men and teens raped an eleven-year-old Latino girl. Is this a hate crime? Does black on Latino crime rate as hatred? Or it a hate crime only when a white person causes damage (murder, rape, battery, robbery, etc.) to a black?
The nettlesome issue is that by declaring that crimes committed against certain groups or with certain motivations are elevated (lowered?) to a new level by virtue of the victim's identity or the perpetrator's identity is about a ludicrous as the notion that there can be rules for war. By the very nature of crime, violence and hatred are involved, just as they are in wartime. But to have the MSM as moral arbiter designating what it or isn't a hate crime, and having spineless functionaries unwilling to label scandalous behavior as a hate crime simply because the victim isn't black is senseless. It detracts from the whole reason for having a hate crime designation in the first place and renders it another entitlement specifically for a limited number of groups.
If we are to regard people of all races as equals, the laws must treat them equally. And for all its highbrow behavior, the MSM needs to return to the days of merely reporting and not engage in editorializing the news by selecting which stories merit inclusion or how they are to be told.
Otherwise, racial hypocrisy will never end.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Friday, August 16, 2013
Interesting words
Words interest me. When I was growing up, whenever our Mother used a word that was unfamiliar to me, I'd ask her what it meant, and she'd tell me to look it up. That encouraged me, indirectly, to become an avid user of words (much to Karen's amusement) and, naturally, a voracious reader.
I remember clearly how I came to learn both the pronunciation and meaning of the word victual. I was reading Plato's Republic in high school (yes, my nerdiness began early) and came across this word. Considering the tome I was reading, imagine my surprise when I found out that victual means food and is pronounced vittle. Interesting things like that fed my appetite to learn more and, much to Karen's consternation, led to a lifetime of word usage that is out of the norm.
Yesterday I was reading a biography of Abraham Lincoln that Karen had given me for Christmas. I finally got to the part where he was shot and his breathing was described as stertorous. I'd never heard that word before and had to look it up. It means labored. I don't know why David Herbert Donald felt the need to use that word, but I'm glad he did, because I learned a new word. Look out Karen.
But there are words that I run across infrequently that I just like. It can either be because of how they look, or what they mean or a combination of the two. I don't intend to go all William F. Buckley, but here are some words that I like to read now and then.
Gewgaws. It means decorative trinkets. Think baubles or, if you want to get ethnic about it, tchotchkes.
Ukase. It means an authoritative pronouncement or declaration. It sounds like a disease.
Kerfuffle. It means disorder or confusion.
Akimbo. It means to stand with one's hands on one hips. Women do it a lot, which is only fitting.
Ken. It means range of vision. Not to be confused with what Barbie sees. Although, I guess, she could see Ken in her ken which, when one hears it, sounds weird.
Zugzwang. It's a situation found usually in chess, but also in various other games, where one player is put at a disadvantage because he has to make a move when he would prefer to pass and make no move. The fact that the player must make a move means that his position will be significantly weaker than the hypothetical one in which it was his opponent's turn to move. Yes, I like chess and yes, this happens to me on occasion.
-use words. Check out obtuse and abstruse. Discuss.
There are more, but I'm pressed for time.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
I remember clearly how I came to learn both the pronunciation and meaning of the word victual. I was reading Plato's Republic in high school (yes, my nerdiness began early) and came across this word. Considering the tome I was reading, imagine my surprise when I found out that victual means food and is pronounced vittle. Interesting things like that fed my appetite to learn more and, much to Karen's consternation, led to a lifetime of word usage that is out of the norm.
Yesterday I was reading a biography of Abraham Lincoln that Karen had given me for Christmas. I finally got to the part where he was shot and his breathing was described as stertorous. I'd never heard that word before and had to look it up. It means labored. I don't know why David Herbert Donald felt the need to use that word, but I'm glad he did, because I learned a new word. Look out Karen.
But there are words that I run across infrequently that I just like. It can either be because of how they look, or what they mean or a combination of the two. I don't intend to go all William F. Buckley, but here are some words that I like to read now and then.
Gewgaws. It means decorative trinkets. Think baubles or, if you want to get ethnic about it, tchotchkes.
Ukase. It means an authoritative pronouncement or declaration. It sounds like a disease.
Kerfuffle. It means disorder or confusion.
Akimbo. It means to stand with one's hands on one hips. Women do it a lot, which is only fitting.
Ken. It means range of vision. Not to be confused with what Barbie sees. Although, I guess, she could see Ken in her ken which, when one hears it, sounds weird.
Zugzwang. It's a situation found usually in chess, but also in various other games, where one player is put at a disadvantage because he has to make a move when he would prefer to pass and make no move. The fact that the player must make a move means that his position will be significantly weaker than the hypothetical one in which it was his opponent's turn to move. Yes, I like chess and yes, this happens to me on occasion.
-use words. Check out obtuse and abstruse. Discuss.
There are more, but I'm pressed for time.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
Entitlement mentality
The other day Karen and I were shopping at the grocery store. Karen went to the deli counter to get some lunchmeat for her work lunches and approached the counter as any normal person would, not knocking anyone over, pushing them aside or being otherwise rude. She approached that ticket dispenser that gives customers a number to tell them when it's their turn. As she approached the counter, a woman was standing there, off a few feet from the dispenser. As Karen pushed the button and took her number, the woman standing there hit the dispenser after her, turned to Karen and said, in essence, I was standing her long before you were so I'll just switch numbers with you, and took Karen's number. Being deaf as a doorknob and otherwise oblivious, I didn't know what was happening, so when Karen turned around with a slightly startled look on her face, I asked her what happened. She explained then what happened, which caused my jaw to drop which in turn rendered me speechless.
I was so flummoxed that I couldn't bring myself to say anything other than Are you frigging kidding me? repeatedly. I was so angry, so appalled, that I wanted to address the situation right there. It wasn't a matter of us being inconvenienced, since right after Ms. Entitlement was called, Karen's new and higher number was called. It was the principle of the thing.
Since when was a person who was too stupid to take her proper number entitled to simply call dibs and take another person's number on the questionable pretense that there exists, in the universe of codified or uncodified laws, some statute that mandates that a person standing in line who doesn't take her ticket is vouchsafed an earlier place in line simply by personal fiat and a quick flick of the wrist to wrest away the earlier ticket. I'm still flabbergasted.
Yes, I'm Irish enough to make sure that the next time I see this wench, I will do everything I can to cut in front of her and claim that I was standing directly in front of her for hours before she got there, simply so I can give her a taste of her own medicine. Of course, were I to do that I'd probably be violating some corollary of the Entitlement Law that stipulates that those who hold prominent positions of entitlement are immune from attack, collateral or otherwise, simply by virtue of their exalted status.
I see this a lot with drivers. Some drivers, who shall go nameless -- but they typically drive BMW's, Benz's, Lexuses and minivans (for some strange reason... -- are always, and I do mean ALWAYS, entitled to cut you off simply because they can see a sliver of daylight between you and the car immediately ahead of you. What's more, I should recognize the superiority not only of the machine they're driving, but their advanced motor skills as a driver.
Needless to say, when it comes to Entitlement Law, I'm a lawbreaker. When someone thinks it's his right to cut me off when he has to merge out of his soon-to-be-ending-under-construction lane into my quite available lane, instead of waiting his turn, I block him. If he thinks that passing me on the right to go around me so he can leapfrog the very truck I'm trying to pass is his birthright, I speed up. I'm quite secure in my manhood -- nay, personhood -- but I'm not about to suffer the indignity that someone's purchasing power gives him an inalienable right to cut me off with impunity.
The notion that courtesy has no place in modern life is just wrong. This isn't war, after all. We're talking about waiting five minutes more to buy those deli meats and cheeses we shouldn't be eating anyway, or getting into a lane that isn't obstructed by construction cones. If someone would just read the signs and act more courteously toward other drivers, there'd be less road rage, not to mention less accidents.
This whole notion of someone-died-and-left-me-in-charge is an illness. It can be cured. But until this unwritten Entitlement Law is repealed, the scourge that is Me-Firstism will never go away. It makes life messier and less enjoyable for all, even the Me-Firsters.
Because I'm Irish and I have a long, very long, memory.
Somewhere, there's a clueless woman thinking that her life is just gilded with lilies and she can take whatever she wants. She's unaware that I'm stalking her and will be only too sure to post myself in front of her at the deli counter the next time she needs to put her needs over someone else's. If she tries that stunt with me, I think I'll find a person with three screaming kids and offer my ticket to her instead.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
I was so flummoxed that I couldn't bring myself to say anything other than Are you frigging kidding me? repeatedly. I was so angry, so appalled, that I wanted to address the situation right there. It wasn't a matter of us being inconvenienced, since right after Ms. Entitlement was called, Karen's new and higher number was called. It was the principle of the thing.
Since when was a person who was too stupid to take her proper number entitled to simply call dibs and take another person's number on the questionable pretense that there exists, in the universe of codified or uncodified laws, some statute that mandates that a person standing in line who doesn't take her ticket is vouchsafed an earlier place in line simply by personal fiat and a quick flick of the wrist to wrest away the earlier ticket. I'm still flabbergasted.
Yes, I'm Irish enough to make sure that the next time I see this wench, I will do everything I can to cut in front of her and claim that I was standing directly in front of her for hours before she got there, simply so I can give her a taste of her own medicine. Of course, were I to do that I'd probably be violating some corollary of the Entitlement Law that stipulates that those who hold prominent positions of entitlement are immune from attack, collateral or otherwise, simply by virtue of their exalted status.
I see this a lot with drivers. Some drivers, who shall go nameless -- but they typically drive BMW's, Benz's, Lexuses and minivans (for some strange reason... -- are always, and I do mean ALWAYS, entitled to cut you off simply because they can see a sliver of daylight between you and the car immediately ahead of you. What's more, I should recognize the superiority not only of the machine they're driving, but their advanced motor skills as a driver.
Needless to say, when it comes to Entitlement Law, I'm a lawbreaker. When someone thinks it's his right to cut me off when he has to merge out of his soon-to-be-ending-under-construction lane into my quite available lane, instead of waiting his turn, I block him. If he thinks that passing me on the right to go around me so he can leapfrog the very truck I'm trying to pass is his birthright, I speed up. I'm quite secure in my manhood -- nay, personhood -- but I'm not about to suffer the indignity that someone's purchasing power gives him an inalienable right to cut me off with impunity.
The notion that courtesy has no place in modern life is just wrong. This isn't war, after all. We're talking about waiting five minutes more to buy those deli meats and cheeses we shouldn't be eating anyway, or getting into a lane that isn't obstructed by construction cones. If someone would just read the signs and act more courteously toward other drivers, there'd be less road rage, not to mention less accidents.
This whole notion of someone-died-and-left-me-in-charge is an illness. It can be cured. But until this unwritten Entitlement Law is repealed, the scourge that is Me-Firstism will never go away. It makes life messier and less enjoyable for all, even the Me-Firsters.
Because I'm Irish and I have a long, very long, memory.
Somewhere, there's a clueless woman thinking that her life is just gilded with lilies and she can take whatever she wants. She's unaware that I'm stalking her and will be only too sure to post myself in front of her at the deli counter the next time she needs to put her needs over someone else's. If she tries that stunt with me, I think I'll find a person with three screaming kids and offer my ticket to her instead.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
Adjectival advertising
Admittedly, I know next to nothing about business. I couldn't take any business courses in college because I couldn't get past the weed-out statistics and calculus courses taught by sub-continental graduate assistants whose curried accents made math that much more difficult for me. I don't know that I would have been any good in business, since I'm too cynical and lack the schmooze factor that so many in business seem to possess.
But today I was listening to the radio on my way into work and as the host read the copy, something jumped out at me that has oftentimes made me wonder. The ad was for some sandwich made by a franchise and it referred to a harvest wheat bun. Perhaps I'm being too picky, but isn't all wheat that's used for food harvested? Or is there some special strain of wheat called Harvest Wheat?
From what I've been able to glean from those knowledgeable about marketing, the way advertisers market is to appeal to our basest senses -- taste, smell, touch, sound and sight. That's why the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue is so popular. No heterosexual man I know cares about the latest swimwear and doesn't equate it to sports. But beautiful models in various stages of undress? Any of them will go for that everytime. And SI reaps it's prurient profits from the sale of that edition of its magazine.
Countless women's fashion magazines combine both sight and smell with pages filled with pictures of slinky models next to inserts of fragrances that can be scratched and sniffed.
But it's more the descriptions that crack me up. For example, how many times has the phrase hand-dipped shakes been heard? First of all, is there another way to dip a shake? I know they can be extruded from a machine, but is there another way to dip a shake? And furthermore, how is a hand-dipped shake any better? Isn't it the process of blending that makes a shake? What if I shot the ice cream into the blender with a T-shirt gun? Would that make it better?
Hand carved. Another of my favorite descriptions. Unless a computer is guiding a knife, is there any other way for meat to be cut? One way or the other, a hand is going to be involved. What makes that so special?
Pan-fried. Oven roasted. Oven baked. When we hear these descriptions, our mouths water. But why exactly? What's the difference between them and fried, roasted or baked? Aren't they, like Harvest Wheat, just redundant or unnecessary descriptions?
There are plenty of other such descriptions that elude me right now. But it amuses me that ad execs wax nostalgic, or culinary, or fashionable when if what they said was broken down, one would realize just how stupid the line really is.
Then again, when the phrase from whence is thought to sound elevated by even some of the better writers out there, it's not that surprising that we have these phrases in adverstising.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
But today I was listening to the radio on my way into work and as the host read the copy, something jumped out at me that has oftentimes made me wonder. The ad was for some sandwich made by a franchise and it referred to a harvest wheat bun. Perhaps I'm being too picky, but isn't all wheat that's used for food harvested? Or is there some special strain of wheat called Harvest Wheat?
From what I've been able to glean from those knowledgeable about marketing, the way advertisers market is to appeal to our basest senses -- taste, smell, touch, sound and sight. That's why the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue is so popular. No heterosexual man I know cares about the latest swimwear and doesn't equate it to sports. But beautiful models in various stages of undress? Any of them will go for that everytime. And SI reaps it's prurient profits from the sale of that edition of its magazine.
Countless women's fashion magazines combine both sight and smell with pages filled with pictures of slinky models next to inserts of fragrances that can be scratched and sniffed.
But it's more the descriptions that crack me up. For example, how many times has the phrase hand-dipped shakes been heard? First of all, is there another way to dip a shake? I know they can be extruded from a machine, but is there another way to dip a shake? And furthermore, how is a hand-dipped shake any better? Isn't it the process of blending that makes a shake? What if I shot the ice cream into the blender with a T-shirt gun? Would that make it better?
Hand carved. Another of my favorite descriptions. Unless a computer is guiding a knife, is there any other way for meat to be cut? One way or the other, a hand is going to be involved. What makes that so special?
Pan-fried. Oven roasted. Oven baked. When we hear these descriptions, our mouths water. But why exactly? What's the difference between them and fried, roasted or baked? Aren't they, like Harvest Wheat, just redundant or unnecessary descriptions?
There are plenty of other such descriptions that elude me right now. But it amuses me that ad execs wax nostalgic, or culinary, or fashionable when if what they said was broken down, one would realize just how stupid the line really is.
Then again, when the phrase from whence is thought to sound elevated by even some of the better writers out there, it's not that surprising that we have these phrases in adverstising.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Monday, August 12, 2013
Celebrity revelations
Recently, there have been a couple of more celebrities telling us in an interview how cruel the world has been to them. I don't know how cathartic this is for them, or whether it's a part of their therapy, but I really don't need to hear how mean the world treated a very rich person who is beyond popular. For that matter, I don't care about their illnesses, what they're doing to treat them or anything else that most people without the narcissistic penchant would keep to themselves.
Of course, the most loudly touted of the self-reveleations in recent history was Angelina Jolie's news that she had a double mastectomy because she carries the same gene many women in her family carry that results, eighty percent of the time, in breast cancer. I'm glad she took the initiative, understand why she did it and am glad that she'll be around for her children. I almost understand why people applaud her coming out with the news, if in fact it was intended to destigmatize double mastectomies for women in the same position. What irked me about this isn't so much her publishing the whys and wherefores of her decision in a major newspaper, but that she was then lionized for doing something so many women before her had done, some of whom are also celebrities themselves. But because they lacked the sterling boyfriend and pouty countenance of Ms. Jolie, she reaps the benefits of her courageous decision and the others are left to fend for themselves, no matter how courageously they acted long before Ms. Jolie made her decision.
These revelations seem to come out in droves, each new one emboldened by the one that came before it. Two more recent blurbs involve Mariah Carey and Oprah Winfrey. Ms. Carey once had a racial incident when she was a child. Ms. Carey, a biracial woman who has always identified more with her black roots, allegedly had a white adult spit in her face. I find it incomprehensible that a white adult would spit in the face of a biracial child in the mid- to late-1970's. Even so, if it happened, there is no follow-up on what happened to the adult. Was he/she arrested? Was he/she confronted? Did someone punch this person? No, all we hear is that Ms. Carey suffered an indignity as a child that she is only now willing to disclose. That it comes on the heels of the Zimmerman verdict is, I'm sure, nothing more than an amazing coincidence.
Likewise, Ms. Winfrey suffered an indignity when a shopgirl in Switzerland, allegedly, refused to show her a bag in an upscale shop. The allegation has been denied. Whatever the case, what could very easily have been a misunderstanding -- be it cultural or linguistic -- has now morphed into another racial incident. That this happened shortly after the Zimmerman verdict is, again, nothing more than a coincidence, I'm sure. Remember, Ms. Winfrey declared that the Zimmerman acquittal equated what happened in the Emmett Till case.
I'm sure that if I suggested that there was any connection between these recent incidents and Barack Obama's waxing nostalgic after the Zimmerman verdict about the trouble he and other blacks have seen I would be deemed a racist. Yet it's somewhat telling that -- again, shortly after the Zimmerman acquittal -- an incident involving three fifteen-year-olds beating the living tar out of a thirteen-year-old was quickly deemed not to be a hate crime or even involve any racial overtones. It was all the result of a foiled drug deal and a disclosure to authorities -- race played no part in it.
Here's the tape of the beating:
The bandwagon jumping to disclose sordid or sorry details of one's life has gotten out of hand. To be encouraged to label everything that happens between blacks and whites a racial incident is specious at best. But why do it? To show how you're just like an average black person? I'd bet there are far worse cases of racial injustice than being denied the opportunity to view a bag in an upscale shop in Switzerland (where they may not even know who you are...). Likewise, if the incident about being spat on was so horrible -- which it was, if it truly happened -- why is it only coming out now? Was Ms. Carey so traumatized that she forgot about it all these years? She was married to a white man at one point, so it couldn't have traumatized her too badly. But why even bring it up? The only conclusion I can reach is that she brought it up now to capitalize on the still-sensitive post-trial emotions that are elevated in the black community. At least with Ms. Jolie's revelations, there's some sort of attempt to help other people (although given the fact other celebrities had already undergone the procedure, I have to wonder). But with Ms. Carey and Ms. Winfrey, just what's the message? That as a child, someone spat on her? That she just remembered it? Or that Ms. Winfrey couldn't see and therefore buy a bag she wanted in Switzerland?
This is the sort of thing that makes me shake my head about Twitter. Instead of focusing attention elsewhere, people more and more are focused on gaining attention for themselves. I don't get it. And I don't understand debasing and important issue like civil rights with celebrity gamesmanship.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Of course, the most loudly touted of the self-reveleations in recent history was Angelina Jolie's news that she had a double mastectomy because she carries the same gene many women in her family carry that results, eighty percent of the time, in breast cancer. I'm glad she took the initiative, understand why she did it and am glad that she'll be around for her children. I almost understand why people applaud her coming out with the news, if in fact it was intended to destigmatize double mastectomies for women in the same position. What irked me about this isn't so much her publishing the whys and wherefores of her decision in a major newspaper, but that she was then lionized for doing something so many women before her had done, some of whom are also celebrities themselves. But because they lacked the sterling boyfriend and pouty countenance of Ms. Jolie, she reaps the benefits of her courageous decision and the others are left to fend for themselves, no matter how courageously they acted long before Ms. Jolie made her decision.
These revelations seem to come out in droves, each new one emboldened by the one that came before it. Two more recent blurbs involve Mariah Carey and Oprah Winfrey. Ms. Carey once had a racial incident when she was a child. Ms. Carey, a biracial woman who has always identified more with her black roots, allegedly had a white adult spit in her face. I find it incomprehensible that a white adult would spit in the face of a biracial child in the mid- to late-1970's. Even so, if it happened, there is no follow-up on what happened to the adult. Was he/she arrested? Was he/she confronted? Did someone punch this person? No, all we hear is that Ms. Carey suffered an indignity as a child that she is only now willing to disclose. That it comes on the heels of the Zimmerman verdict is, I'm sure, nothing more than an amazing coincidence.
Likewise, Ms. Winfrey suffered an indignity when a shopgirl in Switzerland, allegedly, refused to show her a bag in an upscale shop. The allegation has been denied. Whatever the case, what could very easily have been a misunderstanding -- be it cultural or linguistic -- has now morphed into another racial incident. That this happened shortly after the Zimmerman verdict is, again, nothing more than a coincidence, I'm sure. Remember, Ms. Winfrey declared that the Zimmerman acquittal equated what happened in the Emmett Till case.
I'm sure that if I suggested that there was any connection between these recent incidents and Barack Obama's waxing nostalgic after the Zimmerman verdict about the trouble he and other blacks have seen I would be deemed a racist. Yet it's somewhat telling that -- again, shortly after the Zimmerman acquittal -- an incident involving three fifteen-year-olds beating the living tar out of a thirteen-year-old was quickly deemed not to be a hate crime or even involve any racial overtones. It was all the result of a foiled drug deal and a disclosure to authorities -- race played no part in it.
Here's the tape of the beating:
The bandwagon jumping to disclose sordid or sorry details of one's life has gotten out of hand. To be encouraged to label everything that happens between blacks and whites a racial incident is specious at best. But why do it? To show how you're just like an average black person? I'd bet there are far worse cases of racial injustice than being denied the opportunity to view a bag in an upscale shop in Switzerland (where they may not even know who you are...). Likewise, if the incident about being spat on was so horrible -- which it was, if it truly happened -- why is it only coming out now? Was Ms. Carey so traumatized that she forgot about it all these years? She was married to a white man at one point, so it couldn't have traumatized her too badly. But why even bring it up? The only conclusion I can reach is that she brought it up now to capitalize on the still-sensitive post-trial emotions that are elevated in the black community. At least with Ms. Jolie's revelations, there's some sort of attempt to help other people (although given the fact other celebrities had already undergone the procedure, I have to wonder). But with Ms. Carey and Ms. Winfrey, just what's the message? That as a child, someone spat on her? That she just remembered it? Or that Ms. Winfrey couldn't see and therefore buy a bag she wanted in Switzerland?
This is the sort of thing that makes me shake my head about Twitter. Instead of focusing attention elsewhere, people more and more are focused on gaining attention for themselves. I don't get it. And I don't understand debasing and important issue like civil rights with celebrity gamesmanship.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Thursday, August 8, 2013
Moving, Part II
With the trip to Kentucky having refortified my spirit, if not my body, I feel like getting the second half of the move out of the way.
The expected difficulties with the tollway were compounded by the rain and the late start, which allowed more traffic on the road. The sound of the truck engine meant that I had to crank the radio up loudly so I could hear anything other than the engine. But what was silliest, once we got moving, was the effect of the road on the truck, causing its suspension to push me up on the bench seat. Of course, what goes up must come down, which turned me into a human shake-weight. If I hadn't packed the front seat so tightly I might have been jostled around. I almost could have used a hardhat.
We got to our first stop for food and gas, and I had to park with the trucks behind the restaurant. To be sure, my puny 26-foot truck wasn't in the same class as the semis parked there, but it was kind of cool parking with the truckers and not the overloaded SUV's in front of the place. Unfortunately, getting in and out of the truck was a bit of a hassle, and the walk was three times as long from the truck parking area to the restaurant.
I remember that both Karen and I were tuckered at that point, and we were only halfway home. We just both wanted to be done.
We got back in the vehicles and Karen resumed the lead. The problem was that although she had the car fully loaded, she could still go 70 miles per hour and more. I could barely top out at 72 miles an hour, but when I'd come to any kind of an incline, the odometer might have read 70 miles per hour but the rest of traffic was passing me by. And when I came upon semis, I passed on the left, but made progress at a glacial pace, no doubt angering the other commuters who could do well above 70.
The flipside, however, is that I was like a boulder on the downslopes. Karen said she'd lose sight of me once she went over the top of a small incline, only to see me hurtling toward her on the backside. Even so, I don't think the truck ever went over 70.
We finally made it to our destination and unloaded the car. It was a bit of a rude awakening to discover that, contrary to what we'd been led to believe, there were no shielding berms or trees to block out the sound from the highway that runs less than fifty yards from our front door, but the sliding glass doors more than blocked out the noise, thankfully.
The next morning we got up and went to the honeymoon hovel to load up our belongings in the two cars. When we returned there were four decidedly very young men waiting for us to unload the truck. We got out and Karen went into the apartment to direct traffic up there. I was to stay with the truck and tell them where things were to be put. But I wasn't just a traffic cop; I would also be unloading the truck and organizing the garage, which we were going to use as a storage facility. Downsizing from a house to an apartment left us with more stuff than we could reasonably fit into an apartment, but given that we'll only be in the apartment for a year before we buy another house, there is little sense in ridding ourselves of things that we'll need again the following year.
The men -- boys is too pejorative -- hustled. In fact, they had the truck emptied and the bed put together in three hours flat. The guys who loaded the truck took six hours to load it, but there were only three of them and it's harder to load a truck than to unload it.
As good as the men were, I was less than half that good. I was trying to organize the garage, unload the truck and help them assemble the bed while at the same time making sure Karen was getting what she wanted where she wanted it. It was a thankless task made slightly easier by the fact that we had decent weather, not too hot and with a few light sprinkles. Having moved in excessively hot weather before, I knew when to be thankful.
Once the men left, Karen and I just looked at each other as if to say What next? Although far from over, the hard part was largely ended. We could start putting things away, throwing other things into the garage. Most importantly, we could go get our boys.
We drove to the manager's office and went through the garage to find our boys as enthusiastic to see us as we were to see them. It was good to be a family again.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
The expected difficulties with the tollway were compounded by the rain and the late start, which allowed more traffic on the road. The sound of the truck engine meant that I had to crank the radio up loudly so I could hear anything other than the engine. But what was silliest, once we got moving, was the effect of the road on the truck, causing its suspension to push me up on the bench seat. Of course, what goes up must come down, which turned me into a human shake-weight. If I hadn't packed the front seat so tightly I might have been jostled around. I almost could have used a hardhat.
We got to our first stop for food and gas, and I had to park with the trucks behind the restaurant. To be sure, my puny 26-foot truck wasn't in the same class as the semis parked there, but it was kind of cool parking with the truckers and not the overloaded SUV's in front of the place. Unfortunately, getting in and out of the truck was a bit of a hassle, and the walk was three times as long from the truck parking area to the restaurant.
I remember that both Karen and I were tuckered at that point, and we were only halfway home. We just both wanted to be done.
We got back in the vehicles and Karen resumed the lead. The problem was that although she had the car fully loaded, she could still go 70 miles per hour and more. I could barely top out at 72 miles an hour, but when I'd come to any kind of an incline, the odometer might have read 70 miles per hour but the rest of traffic was passing me by. And when I came upon semis, I passed on the left, but made progress at a glacial pace, no doubt angering the other commuters who could do well above 70.
The flipside, however, is that I was like a boulder on the downslopes. Karen said she'd lose sight of me once she went over the top of a small incline, only to see me hurtling toward her on the backside. Even so, I don't think the truck ever went over 70.
We finally made it to our destination and unloaded the car. It was a bit of a rude awakening to discover that, contrary to what we'd been led to believe, there were no shielding berms or trees to block out the sound from the highway that runs less than fifty yards from our front door, but the sliding glass doors more than blocked out the noise, thankfully.
The next morning we got up and went to the honeymoon hovel to load up our belongings in the two cars. When we returned there were four decidedly very young men waiting for us to unload the truck. We got out and Karen went into the apartment to direct traffic up there. I was to stay with the truck and tell them where things were to be put. But I wasn't just a traffic cop; I would also be unloading the truck and organizing the garage, which we were going to use as a storage facility. Downsizing from a house to an apartment left us with more stuff than we could reasonably fit into an apartment, but given that we'll only be in the apartment for a year before we buy another house, there is little sense in ridding ourselves of things that we'll need again the following year.
The men -- boys is too pejorative -- hustled. In fact, they had the truck emptied and the bed put together in three hours flat. The guys who loaded the truck took six hours to load it, but there were only three of them and it's harder to load a truck than to unload it.
As good as the men were, I was less than half that good. I was trying to organize the garage, unload the truck and help them assemble the bed while at the same time making sure Karen was getting what she wanted where she wanted it. It was a thankless task made slightly easier by the fact that we had decent weather, not too hot and with a few light sprinkles. Having moved in excessively hot weather before, I knew when to be thankful.
Once the men left, Karen and I just looked at each other as if to say What next? Although far from over, the hard part was largely ended. We could start putting things away, throwing other things into the garage. Most importantly, we could go get our boys.
We drove to the manager's office and went through the garage to find our boys as enthusiastic to see us as we were to see them. It was good to be a family again.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Wednesday, August 7, 2013
Lack of perspective
The shooting of Trayvon Martin was a tragedy. Not only was a young life taken, but another life was changed irrevocably. Some people hate George Zimmerman, others pity him. The outcome of the trial was bound to disappoint someone.
No one will ever know for sure what happened that fateful night. But the facts of the case suggest that it was either a horrible accident that could have been avoided or the act of a bigoted, cowardly man. But to suggest anything beyond that is ludicrous.
Now comes word that some influential and very visible African-Americans are of the opinion that Trayvon Martin's case is equivalent to that of Emmett Till. As the Chicks on the Right put it:
Because the last time I checked, 14-year old Emmett Till was taken to a barn (back in 1955, mind you) by a group of white men, brutally beaten, he had one of his eyes gouged out, and then he was shot in the head by cold blood by said men. Then, his body was dumped in a river. And this was BECAUSE he was black and he flirted with a white woman.
The only similarities between Martin's death and Till's murder are that both the decedents were black. Zimmerman has been described as a white of Hispanic descent, which is the race-baiting way of saying he was biracial. There was no evidence presented at trial suggesting that Martin's race was the motivation for the shooting. There is no evidence that he flirted with a white woman. His eye wasn't gouged out, he wasn't shot in the head and his body wasn't dumped in the river. In fact, Zimmerman cooperated with police at the scene after the shooting.
The abject lack of perspective is appalling. It's one thing for the Forever Selma architect Al Sharpton to suggest this. But Oprah, the woman many people of both races view as balanced and reasoned, thinks Martin's case is the same as Till's case? It's preposterous to suggest that a murder so grisly as Till's could even be mentioned in the same breath as Martin's. Again, there is absolutely no similarity between the two deaths: One was a savage murder, plain and simple. The other was a tragic and quite unnecessary accident, or it was simple murder. But to link these two deaths is fatuous.
What's equally disappointing about the reaction to the Zimmerman acquittal by segments of the black community, whether it be the violence wrought by some or the ignorance spewed by others. I wonder why there wasn't outrage and subsequent rioting by whites after the O.J. Simpson verdict. There were plenty of disappointed watchers of that trial, yet there was no violence when he was acquitted (full disclosure: I didn't care then and I don't care now about the verdict. It was no more important to me than a run-of-the-mill murder case on the south side of Chicago).
What matters is that the justice system worked. There is no evidence of a prejudiced judge. prosecutor or jury that skewed the verdict toward acquittal. The defense wasn't given any more change to make its case and may actually have been hampered by the misdoings of the prosecutors' office. That African-Americans don't like the verdict I can understand. What I can't understand is the absolute abandonment of perspective about it.
Unless and until African-Americans of every socio-economic level understand Martin Luther King Jr.'s words and take them to heart, there will always be a divide between whites and blacks in this country. Here, again, is what he said:
I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character.
Justice should be blind. It attempts to be perfect but isn't. As part of man's greatest human experiment, the American judicial system continues to evolve to provide the nearest thing to true justice this world has ever known. That it doesn't satisfy everyone all the time is a by-product of the ongoing attempt.
Rioting and the abandonment of reason don't further the pursuit of justice one bit.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
No one will ever know for sure what happened that fateful night. But the facts of the case suggest that it was either a horrible accident that could have been avoided or the act of a bigoted, cowardly man. But to suggest anything beyond that is ludicrous.
Now comes word that some influential and very visible African-Americans are of the opinion that Trayvon Martin's case is equivalent to that of Emmett Till. As the Chicks on the Right put it:
Because the last time I checked, 14-year old Emmett Till was taken to a barn (back in 1955, mind you) by a group of white men, brutally beaten, he had one of his eyes gouged out, and then he was shot in the head by cold blood by said men. Then, his body was dumped in a river. And this was BECAUSE he was black and he flirted with a white woman.
The only similarities between Martin's death and Till's murder are that both the decedents were black. Zimmerman has been described as a white of Hispanic descent, which is the race-baiting way of saying he was biracial. There was no evidence presented at trial suggesting that Martin's race was the motivation for the shooting. There is no evidence that he flirted with a white woman. His eye wasn't gouged out, he wasn't shot in the head and his body wasn't dumped in the river. In fact, Zimmerman cooperated with police at the scene after the shooting.
The abject lack of perspective is appalling. It's one thing for the Forever Selma architect Al Sharpton to suggest this. But Oprah, the woman many people of both races view as balanced and reasoned, thinks Martin's case is the same as Till's case? It's preposterous to suggest that a murder so grisly as Till's could even be mentioned in the same breath as Martin's. Again, there is absolutely no similarity between the two deaths: One was a savage murder, plain and simple. The other was a tragic and quite unnecessary accident, or it was simple murder. But to link these two deaths is fatuous.
What's equally disappointing about the reaction to the Zimmerman acquittal by segments of the black community, whether it be the violence wrought by some or the ignorance spewed by others. I wonder why there wasn't outrage and subsequent rioting by whites after the O.J. Simpson verdict. There were plenty of disappointed watchers of that trial, yet there was no violence when he was acquitted (full disclosure: I didn't care then and I don't care now about the verdict. It was no more important to me than a run-of-the-mill murder case on the south side of Chicago).
What matters is that the justice system worked. There is no evidence of a prejudiced judge. prosecutor or jury that skewed the verdict toward acquittal. The defense wasn't given any more change to make its case and may actually have been hampered by the misdoings of the prosecutors' office. That African-Americans don't like the verdict I can understand. What I can't understand is the absolute abandonment of perspective about it.
Unless and until African-Americans of every socio-economic level understand Martin Luther King Jr.'s words and take them to heart, there will always be a divide between whites and blacks in this country. Here, again, is what he said:
I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character.
Justice should be blind. It attempts to be perfect but isn't. As part of man's greatest human experiment, the American judicial system continues to evolve to provide the nearest thing to true justice this world has ever known. That it doesn't satisfy everyone all the time is a by-product of the ongoing attempt.
Rioting and the abandonment of reason don't further the pursuit of justice one bit.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Tuesday, August 6, 2013
Switching sides
So I'm watching our newly installed cable TV the other night and who pops up with a new talk show but Queen Latifah, formerly known as Dana Elaine Owens. For as much as I can tell, Ms. Latifah is a nice enough person, talented more than most in the entertainment industry and probably a lot of fun to be around. I wish her success in her new endeavor.
But since when was Queen Latifah going mainstream? I mean, I know it's been some time, but isn't this the same woman who, in the 90's, was a rapper projecting a tough image? I admittedly don't know much about her music, but I recall seeing her in videos projecting this image of a tough dame who would throw down if antagonized.
She's hardly the first so-called hardcore rapper to go native. Ice-T is now part of the establishment, being in one of the Law & Order franchises and having a reality show about his life. Ice-T, f/k/a Tracy Morrow, was a badass, but he's gone native too.
LL Cool J is now on one of the NCIS shows. I don't know that he was as gangsta-affiliated as Ice-T, but he also projecting a tough-guy image. Now he's just another actor on another mediocre TV show.
Jay-Z, nee Shawn Carter, is now Mr. Beyoncé and a very visible albeit minority owner of the Brooklyn Nets, is a mover and shaker in music and now sports agency. For someone who dodged a lengthy jail sentence, he's awfully mainstream.
Sean Combs, or whatever Diddy-derivative name he goes by these days, is a mogul unto himself. Until he dated Jennifer Lopez I'd never heard of him. Now he's in commercials for Macy's and heaven-knows what else, along with producing music I've never heard. Good for him.
What amuses me is that these folks used to rail against the man, and now they are the man. Perhaps they've matured, but I suspect they saw the dollar signs that the man had compared to what was in their bank accounts and decided to switch sides.
On the other side of the fence, we have whitebread mainstreamers trying to act black. Years ago I was told that this was regarded by blacks as wigging, but I can't confirm that. Even so, I'll use the term, because there sure are a lot of whites wigging it. That reality show turned racist epicenter Big Brother has a girl who likes to throw down as if she were born in the hood. It's laughable, because she's a pageant coordinator who now, unbeknownst to her, is unemployed. That she shares a surname with the Trayvon Martin shooter is an unfortunate but humorous coincidence. But she walks around the house blurting all this stuff as if she were in a Jay-Z video. It's affectatious in the extreme, because she's not black on any level. She's trying to piggyback on black lingo to look cool. It's one thing for Queen Latifah to use it, but quite another from a wannabe black girl.
Even mainstream advertising has gotten in the act. Check out this ad:
Does anyone seriously believe that she's hip with the lingo? I mean, I get the irony, but is it necessary? Why not use a black actress in that role?
The blurring of lines between white and black is a good thing, ultimately, despite the ongoing misunderstandings and the attempts of the Forever Selma sect to keep the fires of racial division roaring. I'm not suggesting by any means a return to Separate But Equal. I do think, however, that it's amusing to see blacks embracing that against which they fought for so long and whites trying to act like blacks to fit in. Sometimes, people can lose their jobs despite trying to appear to embrace the other's culture.
But no matter. Perhaps Ginamarie Zimmerman can ask Jay-Z for a job. At least they're both from Brooklyn.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
But since when was Queen Latifah going mainstream? I mean, I know it's been some time, but isn't this the same woman who, in the 90's, was a rapper projecting a tough image? I admittedly don't know much about her music, but I recall seeing her in videos projecting this image of a tough dame who would throw down if antagonized.
She's hardly the first so-called hardcore rapper to go native. Ice-T is now part of the establishment, being in one of the Law & Order franchises and having a reality show about his life. Ice-T, f/k/a Tracy Morrow, was a badass, but he's gone native too.
LL Cool J is now on one of the NCIS shows. I don't know that he was as gangsta-affiliated as Ice-T, but he also projecting a tough-guy image. Now he's just another actor on another mediocre TV show.
Jay-Z, nee Shawn Carter, is now Mr. Beyoncé and a very visible albeit minority owner of the Brooklyn Nets, is a mover and shaker in music and now sports agency. For someone who dodged a lengthy jail sentence, he's awfully mainstream.
Sean Combs, or whatever Diddy-derivative name he goes by these days, is a mogul unto himself. Until he dated Jennifer Lopez I'd never heard of him. Now he's in commercials for Macy's and heaven-knows what else, along with producing music I've never heard. Good for him.
What amuses me is that these folks used to rail against the man, and now they are the man. Perhaps they've matured, but I suspect they saw the dollar signs that the man had compared to what was in their bank accounts and decided to switch sides.
On the other side of the fence, we have whitebread mainstreamers trying to act black. Years ago I was told that this was regarded by blacks as wigging, but I can't confirm that. Even so, I'll use the term, because there sure are a lot of whites wigging it. That reality show turned racist epicenter Big Brother has a girl who likes to throw down as if she were born in the hood. It's laughable, because she's a pageant coordinator who now, unbeknownst to her, is unemployed. That she shares a surname with the Trayvon Martin shooter is an unfortunate but humorous coincidence. But she walks around the house blurting all this stuff as if she were in a Jay-Z video. It's affectatious in the extreme, because she's not black on any level. She's trying to piggyback on black lingo to look cool. It's one thing for Queen Latifah to use it, but quite another from a wannabe black girl.
Even mainstream advertising has gotten in the act. Check out this ad:
Does anyone seriously believe that she's hip with the lingo? I mean, I get the irony, but is it necessary? Why not use a black actress in that role?
The blurring of lines between white and black is a good thing, ultimately, despite the ongoing misunderstandings and the attempts of the Forever Selma sect to keep the fires of racial division roaring. I'm not suggesting by any means a return to Separate But Equal. I do think, however, that it's amusing to see blacks embracing that against which they fought for so long and whites trying to act like blacks to fit in. Sometimes, people can lose their jobs despite trying to appear to embrace the other's culture.
But no matter. Perhaps Ginamarie Zimmerman can ask Jay-Z for a job. At least they're both from Brooklyn.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Monday, August 5, 2013
Kentucky
After a hard two and a half months of moving, Karen and I took some much-needed and much-appreciated time off and went to Kentucky to visit her cousin. Cheryl Lou is her closest relative and Robert, her husband, is just a dyed-in-the-wool good guy. He also plays in a band once a year, and this past weekend was the reunion.
We arrived Thursday night after Karen got off work early. Driving through Ohio -- my first time to really drive through an extended stretch of the state -- was boring. I was told to expect all sorts of cops, but we didn't see but one state trooper on the way down. What's more, Interstate 75 in Ohio is not scenic at all. Until we hit Cincinnati, there was precious little to see.
After we got on the AA Highway that runs along Kentucky's northern border beneath the Ohio River, it got dark, but the nicer thing was the lack of traffic. Karen hates the AA because it's boring -- which it is -- but I like it for the relative lack of traffic.
Once we got the boys situated, we went to bed, not sure what we were going to do the next day because both Robert and Cheryl Lou had to work. The first stop, as I knew it would be, was to Hardee's for breakfast. Karen loves the breakfasts at Hardees and, I have to admit, they're the best fast-food breakfast I've ever had. But more than that, the experience of going to a Hardee's in a small town, where everyone knows one another and can spot a Northern carpetbagger in a heartbeat, is something to behold. The stares weren't rude, but they were noticeable, just like all the hello's and how-are-you-doing's we got.
After that we went shopping, where we met a very voluble saleswoman in a shoe store. Of course, given the size of the town, she knew Cheryl Lou.
The rest of the day wasn't much about which to write home. Robert and Cheryl Lou got home, their daughters Erin and Staci came over, Staci bringing her adorable and very rambunctious son over, and we had dinner and caught up. They made dinner, then we proceeded to get ready for Saturday, which was both a family reunion as well as the band's annual reunion. Robert and I got the camper set up while Karen and Cheryl Lou cooked.
The next morning, Karen and I went to Morehead to visit her aunts, uncles and cousins who were there. The drive down the country lanes to Morehead is exquisite. More than that, it was great catching up. I helped Uncle Lum fix a bike. Old stories, heard often, were repeated, much to the delight of everyone present. This is something I never had in my life, and although I barely knew some of the people involved in the stories, it was fun listening to them talk and laugh.
We returned to Robert and Cheryl Lou's under storm clouds, but thankfully the rain held off and we began to set up the hay wagon that was to serve as the makeshift stage. People played cornhole, otherwise known as bags or beanbag toss up north, and food magically appeared to cover virtually every level space in their house and tables set up in the garage.
Once the band started playing, Karen begged me to dance, which I would only do if it got dark enough where people couldn't see me. I relented when it was dark enough and we laughed as she danced and I tried not to embarrass myself.
We slept in the next morning as late as we dared. With typical Southern hospitality Cheryl Lou whipped up breakfast for us before we left. After that we crossed the Ohio to take a different route to Interstate 75, and I gained a different appreciation for Ohio. The police presence, however, was much heavier than it was on the way down. Fortunately, I'd been forewarned and didn't get a ticket. When we finally made it out of Ohio, the drivers got more aggressive, the lack of a police presence encouraging them to be bolder. But we made it home in one piece, and I can't wait to go back to Kentucky.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
We arrived Thursday night after Karen got off work early. Driving through Ohio -- my first time to really drive through an extended stretch of the state -- was boring. I was told to expect all sorts of cops, but we didn't see but one state trooper on the way down. What's more, Interstate 75 in Ohio is not scenic at all. Until we hit Cincinnati, there was precious little to see.
After we got on the AA Highway that runs along Kentucky's northern border beneath the Ohio River, it got dark, but the nicer thing was the lack of traffic. Karen hates the AA because it's boring -- which it is -- but I like it for the relative lack of traffic.
Once we got the boys situated, we went to bed, not sure what we were going to do the next day because both Robert and Cheryl Lou had to work. The first stop, as I knew it would be, was to Hardee's for breakfast. Karen loves the breakfasts at Hardees and, I have to admit, they're the best fast-food breakfast I've ever had. But more than that, the experience of going to a Hardee's in a small town, where everyone knows one another and can spot a Northern carpetbagger in a heartbeat, is something to behold. The stares weren't rude, but they were noticeable, just like all the hello's and how-are-you-doing's we got.
After that we went shopping, where we met a very voluble saleswoman in a shoe store. Of course, given the size of the town, she knew Cheryl Lou.
The rest of the day wasn't much about which to write home. Robert and Cheryl Lou got home, their daughters Erin and Staci came over, Staci bringing her adorable and very rambunctious son over, and we had dinner and caught up. They made dinner, then we proceeded to get ready for Saturday, which was both a family reunion as well as the band's annual reunion. Robert and I got the camper set up while Karen and Cheryl Lou cooked.
The next morning, Karen and I went to Morehead to visit her aunts, uncles and cousins who were there. The drive down the country lanes to Morehead is exquisite. More than that, it was great catching up. I helped Uncle Lum fix a bike. Old stories, heard often, were repeated, much to the delight of everyone present. This is something I never had in my life, and although I barely knew some of the people involved in the stories, it was fun listening to them talk and laugh.
We returned to Robert and Cheryl Lou's under storm clouds, but thankfully the rain held off and we began to set up the hay wagon that was to serve as the makeshift stage. People played cornhole, otherwise known as bags or beanbag toss up north, and food magically appeared to cover virtually every level space in their house and tables set up in the garage.
Once the band started playing, Karen begged me to dance, which I would only do if it got dark enough where people couldn't see me. I relented when it was dark enough and we laughed as she danced and I tried not to embarrass myself.
We slept in the next morning as late as we dared. With typical Southern hospitality Cheryl Lou whipped up breakfast for us before we left. After that we crossed the Ohio to take a different route to Interstate 75, and I gained a different appreciation for Ohio. The police presence, however, was much heavier than it was on the way down. Fortunately, I'd been forewarned and didn't get a ticket. When we finally made it out of Ohio, the drivers got more aggressive, the lack of a police presence encouraging them to be bolder. But we made it home in one piece, and I can't wait to go back to Kentucky.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Thursday, August 1, 2013
Conservative celebrities
I've made no secret of the fact that I'm not wild about celebrities who get out there and tell us how to vote. Most of the time, these celebrities espouse liberal causes and candidates, and I lean more conservatively, although I'm no Republican. Just to refresh the general recollection, I'm not affiliated with any party. I can think for myself and understand what is being said and written just fine without the assistance of some person whose claim to fame is singing, dancing or acting.
That being said, it's a tad unfair that I've lambasted, largely, the liberal sect for its use of celebrities as pitchmen. Make no mistake: I'm vastly unimpressed by either the tone of the liberal celebrities utterances or the lack of substance to them. I find there to be very few liberal celebrities who are both unabrasive and thoughtful.
But the few celebrities willing to out themselves for conservative causes leave me wanting, also. Perhaps the best known conservative celebrity is Arnold Schwarzenegger. Besides marrying a Kennedy, then cheating on her and fathering a child whose existence he hid, he made Kindergarten Cop and other laughably bad movies. Sure, I like True Lies and Total Recall, but that's not enough to make me want to vote for someone.
Adam Sandler, much to my surprise, is a conservative, supporting Rudy Guiliani. I think Mr. Sandler is a likeable enough person, but his movies, or at least most of them, stink. Perhaps he's maturing, because I think he's a talented guy, but his humor is too lowbrow for me most of the time.
Victoria Jackson, the old Saturday Night Live cast member, is apparently a lunatic conservative. I don't follow her at all and only hear about her when she's ranted something insane.
Heidi Montag is another registered conservative. I don't know much about her other than she has had umpteen plastic surgeries and married some doofus named Spencer Pratt. That only makes me question her judgment and helps me steer clear of her.
Chuck Norris is another big conservative. He's not loud or obnoxious, but I never cared for his movies.
Lee Greenwood is conservative. I never cared for his music.
Nick Lachey is a conservative. He was married to Jessica Simpson and was in a boy band group. He may be a nice guy, but his judgment is questionable.
Billy Ray Cyrus is a conservative? He wears a mullet for heaven's sake.
Mel Gibson? Need I say more?
Just like with liberal celebrities, there are some conservative celebrities whose opinions I could value. The problem is that celebrities, no matter what their political stripe, seem to think they know better than the hoi polloi what's best for the country. And we already know that that great philosopher Charles Barkley explained the value of opinions in succinct terms, so I don't think I need to place any greater value on a celebrity's opinion simply because he or she is a celebrity.
I can think for myself. That doesn't mean that I'm necessarily going to be right, but I have at least as good a chance of figuring it out for myself as I would having a celebrity guide me. What celebrities have that I lack -- in political terms -- is access. Because of their names and visibility, they can talk with the candidates much more easily than I can. All that means is that they get fed directly what the stated platform is. They are no better informed, no wiser, than you or I.
Besides, who knew that Chaka Khan was a conservative?
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
That being said, it's a tad unfair that I've lambasted, largely, the liberal sect for its use of celebrities as pitchmen. Make no mistake: I'm vastly unimpressed by either the tone of the liberal celebrities utterances or the lack of substance to them. I find there to be very few liberal celebrities who are both unabrasive and thoughtful.
But the few celebrities willing to out themselves for conservative causes leave me wanting, also. Perhaps the best known conservative celebrity is Arnold Schwarzenegger. Besides marrying a Kennedy, then cheating on her and fathering a child whose existence he hid, he made Kindergarten Cop and other laughably bad movies. Sure, I like True Lies and Total Recall, but that's not enough to make me want to vote for someone.
Adam Sandler, much to my surprise, is a conservative, supporting Rudy Guiliani. I think Mr. Sandler is a likeable enough person, but his movies, or at least most of them, stink. Perhaps he's maturing, because I think he's a talented guy, but his humor is too lowbrow for me most of the time.
Victoria Jackson, the old Saturday Night Live cast member, is apparently a lunatic conservative. I don't follow her at all and only hear about her when she's ranted something insane.
Heidi Montag is another registered conservative. I don't know much about her other than she has had umpteen plastic surgeries and married some doofus named Spencer Pratt. That only makes me question her judgment and helps me steer clear of her.
Chuck Norris is another big conservative. He's not loud or obnoxious, but I never cared for his movies.
Lee Greenwood is conservative. I never cared for his music.
Nick Lachey is a conservative. He was married to Jessica Simpson and was in a boy band group. He may be a nice guy, but his judgment is questionable.
Billy Ray Cyrus is a conservative? He wears a mullet for heaven's sake.
Mel Gibson? Need I say more?
Just like with liberal celebrities, there are some conservative celebrities whose opinions I could value. The problem is that celebrities, no matter what their political stripe, seem to think they know better than the hoi polloi what's best for the country. And we already know that that great philosopher Charles Barkley explained the value of opinions in succinct terms, so I don't think I need to place any greater value on a celebrity's opinion simply because he or she is a celebrity.
I can think for myself. That doesn't mean that I'm necessarily going to be right, but I have at least as good a chance of figuring it out for myself as I would having a celebrity guide me. What celebrities have that I lack -- in political terms -- is access. Because of their names and visibility, they can talk with the candidates much more easily than I can. All that means is that they get fed directly what the stated platform is. They are no better informed, no wiser, than you or I.
Besides, who knew that Chaka Khan was a conservative?
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
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