As an attorney, part of my job involves public speaking. I don't mind it much if I have to give a presentation or argue in court. For whatever reason, I can do those things easily. Acting or singing solos in public are other matters entirely. I don't get apprehensive when preparing to speak, although I do concentrate on the best way to present the material. I will readily admit that when I was in high school, the thought of speaking in public caused me plenty of worry. But over time, and with plenty of practice, I've gotten used to it.
In the run up to a trial, I've even begun approaching it as if it were an athletic contest. I feel the same pre-game jitters as I did when I played sports, but once the trial begins, the nerves leave and it's time to perform. A natural instinct takes over and there are no more butterflies.
For some people, this isn't so. I belong to a networking group, and listening to the different presentation styles is interesting, if not instructive. For sure, there are people whose industries don't involve much public speaking. But there are others who speak with clients all day long who, when called upon to speak, are about as uneasy in that role as anyone. The attorneys are all quite comfortable, as are the guys in the auto industry. Others, depending on their personality, are either good or poor public speakers. It really doesn't matter what the industry is so much as the comfort of the person speaking.
There are, however, some interesting tendencies that some speakers share. One group, notably, stands up and gets behind its chairs when addressing the group, as if they're shielded from the audience by the chairback that only comes up to their waists. Others rub their hands together in different fashions, a nervous habit that probably gives them some measure of comfort, as if they were fingering their rosary or worry beads.
Others speak as quickly as they can so they can sit down again as quickly as possible. Others speak in a voice barely above a whisper, making it difficult to hear them. Some are witty, others are dry, some are humorless. When I speak, I try to be informative and concise. Some are unable to condense their material in a short presentation and run over their time allotment.
When the longer presentations are made, some rely on audio-visual equipment to make their pitches. This is effective, but it also relieves the speaker of the need to talk. Others prepare 3" x 5" cards and rely heavily upon them. I speak without referring to my notes too much, which can be both a good and a bad thing.
It's just interesting to watch how different speakers, who aren't professional speakers, handle public speaking. Sometimes, they're even better than the pros.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Wednesday, December 18, 2013
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
Lost Things
Karen thinks I'm a hoarder. She's wrong, but there's no dissuading her from the position. I have a lot of books, but I read all of them and continue to use many of them after I'm done reading them. I even get rid of badly written books -- hello Walter Cronkite -- despite what she thinks. I've also donated plenty of clothing, although Karen says I still own more clothes than any other (straight, not metrosexual) man she knows. There's a reason for that that has nothing to do with hoarding and everything to do with the clothing industry not providing sufficient stocks and styles to less-than-perfect men. But I digress.
I've never had much of an acquisitive streak. I don't want fancy cars, fancy clothes, an airplane, a helicopter or expensive jewelry. Sure, I like books, but I don't even look for first editions or signed copies. So to call me a materialist is a bit of a stretch, especially when one considers all the different types of collections that are out there. I tried, as a kid, to collect coins but lost interest. Stamps never interested me. I had a beer can collection as a teenager, but space concerns and maturity conspired to rid me of that passing fancy.
So I'm not a collector of much, besides books. Karen will argue that I place sentimental attachment on too many things, and she's partially right. There's a reason for that that doesn't require exposure here. Besides, I would never pay a therapist to delve into it, so why should I waste time on that here?
Still, there are some things that I possess for sentimental reasons. One of my most cherished possessions is an aluminum hórreo, or Galician chicken coop, that one of my Spanish students gave me when I left Spain. José was a vice president at ENDASA, a Spanish subsidiary of Alcoa, and I'd been his English instructor for nearly a year. Here's a picture of it:
It measures 2"x 2.5", so it doesn't take up a great deal of space.
There are a few other things that I have that have meaning to me, like a collection of all the tickets to sporting events that I intend to frame someday, or the Chicago Is Different article out of the ABC newspaper in Spain that appeared a month and a half after I arrived in 1984 that I'd also like to frame. Not one of them is big, so keeping them isn't much of an issue.
But there are a few things that I've lost that cause me some grief. Among them:
Posters from Spain: During my travels in Spain the year I lived there, I collected posters. When I left for Barajas Airport, I inadvertently left the tube in which I had them rolled up in the elevator of my apartment building. Perhaps my old roommate got them. If so, I hope that offsets the huge phone intercontinental phone bill I ran up because he'd been a jerk. Still, I wish I still had them.
St. Patrick's statue: Our grandmother had given me this little wooden St.Patrick's statue whose arm holding the shepard's staff rotated. He had this goofy look on his face, and in and of itself it wasn't that important to me. I brought it with me to Ireland because Grandma had never been to the ancestral homeland, and this was a little piece of her that I brought along instead. I left it in the door pocket of the rental car at Shannon airport (I notice a theme with lost items and airports developing...). I comfort myself knowing that something of Grandma's made it to Ireland and stayed.
El juego del ángel, by Carlos Ruíz Zafón: The second installment in the La sombra del viento triology, it was damaged in a freak rainstorm in our old house in Illinois. Karen was just happy to see one more book go. I'd like to retain the integrity of the series. Besides, hardbound Spanish books aren't as easy to get here.
The Voyage of the Catalpa: I lent this to a friend of my estranged brother. That was a mistake. I haven't seen it since. It's only the best true life jail break story ever.
My two catalpa trees: I didn't lose these so much as I had to leave them behind at a house in Illinois, they represent the only two plants I didn't kill with my black thumb. I even saved one of them after a windstorm damaged it.
Skeleton key: Another of Grandma's gifts, I still don't know what happened to it. It probably didn't unlock anything anyway.
Trophy and baseball cap: I lost these in a move a couple of years ago. The trophy was merely one of those participation rewards, but it was for the team that won the Diocesan tournament in eighth grade. The other is the All Star cap I wore in Little League. No matter. I know what I did.
I can't really think of too much else. Karen would contend that's because I still have everything else. I disagree, but that argument won't end until one of us dies. These are things that I would have liked to keep just because. There's no rhyme or reason to my attachment to them. And Karen's right, in part, that I probably keep more than other people would.
It could be worse. I could collect cars.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
I've never had much of an acquisitive streak. I don't want fancy cars, fancy clothes, an airplane, a helicopter or expensive jewelry. Sure, I like books, but I don't even look for first editions or signed copies. So to call me a materialist is a bit of a stretch, especially when one considers all the different types of collections that are out there. I tried, as a kid, to collect coins but lost interest. Stamps never interested me. I had a beer can collection as a teenager, but space concerns and maturity conspired to rid me of that passing fancy.
So I'm not a collector of much, besides books. Karen will argue that I place sentimental attachment on too many things, and she's partially right. There's a reason for that that doesn't require exposure here. Besides, I would never pay a therapist to delve into it, so why should I waste time on that here?
Still, there are some things that I possess for sentimental reasons. One of my most cherished possessions is an aluminum hórreo, or Galician chicken coop, that one of my Spanish students gave me when I left Spain. José was a vice president at ENDASA, a Spanish subsidiary of Alcoa, and I'd been his English instructor for nearly a year. Here's a picture of it:
It measures 2"x 2.5", so it doesn't take up a great deal of space.
There are a few other things that I have that have meaning to me, like a collection of all the tickets to sporting events that I intend to frame someday, or the Chicago Is Different article out of the ABC newspaper in Spain that appeared a month and a half after I arrived in 1984 that I'd also like to frame. Not one of them is big, so keeping them isn't much of an issue.
But there are a few things that I've lost that cause me some grief. Among them:
Posters from Spain: During my travels in Spain the year I lived there, I collected posters. When I left for Barajas Airport, I inadvertently left the tube in which I had them rolled up in the elevator of my apartment building. Perhaps my old roommate got them. If so, I hope that offsets the huge phone intercontinental phone bill I ran up because he'd been a jerk. Still, I wish I still had them.
St. Patrick's statue: Our grandmother had given me this little wooden St.Patrick's statue whose arm holding the shepard's staff rotated. He had this goofy look on his face, and in and of itself it wasn't that important to me. I brought it with me to Ireland because Grandma had never been to the ancestral homeland, and this was a little piece of her that I brought along instead. I left it in the door pocket of the rental car at Shannon airport (I notice a theme with lost items and airports developing...). I comfort myself knowing that something of Grandma's made it to Ireland and stayed.
El juego del ángel, by Carlos Ruíz Zafón: The second installment in the La sombra del viento triology, it was damaged in a freak rainstorm in our old house in Illinois. Karen was just happy to see one more book go. I'd like to retain the integrity of the series. Besides, hardbound Spanish books aren't as easy to get here.
The Voyage of the Catalpa: I lent this to a friend of my estranged brother. That was a mistake. I haven't seen it since. It's only the best true life jail break story ever.
My two catalpa trees: I didn't lose these so much as I had to leave them behind at a house in Illinois, they represent the only two plants I didn't kill with my black thumb. I even saved one of them after a windstorm damaged it.
Skeleton key: Another of Grandma's gifts, I still don't know what happened to it. It probably didn't unlock anything anyway.
Trophy and baseball cap: I lost these in a move a couple of years ago. The trophy was merely one of those participation rewards, but it was for the team that won the Diocesan tournament in eighth grade. The other is the All Star cap I wore in Little League. No matter. I know what I did.
I can't really think of too much else. Karen would contend that's because I still have everything else. I disagree, but that argument won't end until one of us dies. These are things that I would have liked to keep just because. There's no rhyme or reason to my attachment to them. And Karen's right, in part, that I probably keep more than other people would.
It could be worse. I could collect cars.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Mandela
Nelson Mandela is a historical figure of epic proportions. It might sound funny coming from someone who just wrote about hyperbole and its abuse in popular culture, but if ever there was a man to whom the term epic can be applied, it was Mr. Mandela.
Mr. Mandela is criticized by some conservatives as a communist because he consorted with them and dictators, too. Frankly, if I were living under the horrible conditions in which Mr. Mandela found himself and his people, I'd reach out to anyone who would help us get out of them. The old phrase the enemy of my enemy is my friend does have application in this situation.
There is historical precedent that many conservatives won't want to admit. Upon the outbreak of World War I, Roger Casement negotiated with Germany to get materiel with which to fight the British occupation forces, under whose boot the Irish had been living for centuries. The plot was uncovered, the weapons seized and Casement executed for treason to the crown. Had I been living in Ireland during that time, I would have been involved in the conspiracy.
That's why criticizing Mandela for his links to communism is a morally bankrupt exercise. Apartheid had segmented the population along the same lines as slavery and discrimination had in the United States prior to the 1970's. To complain that a person sought equality using any means possible once the non-violent ones were removed from the discussion is putting form over substance. The ultimate goals -- equality and freedom -- which are, after all, God-given, should be attainable by any means necessary once they've been denied democratic application. It's not the nicest outcome, but is the alternative, being subject to another people not by one's choice, better?
I'm sure there were some nasty episodes in Mr. Mandela's past. Armed rebellion isn't clean and pretty. But the ultimate goals were worth the struggle, and Mr. Mandela competently navigated his country through troubled waters. What's more, he had the good sense not to seek revenge once he came to power, something that should go a long way to negating the ugliness of the means he used to achieve freedom and equality for his people. History is replete with rebels who, upon overthrowing the establishment and assuming control, wrought havoc on the vanguished.
In the end, Mr. Mandela was a human with all the flaws and endowments the come with the condition. He should be judged accordingly and not solely on the basis of his time as a rebel.
As an aside, I am still troubled by the notion that the Irish could ever be slaveholders. To take my own argument and apply it, the Irish have all the flaws and endowments of any human, but for a people with such a long history of being subjugated, I'm ashamed and saddened that there were Irish slaveholders, first, and that some Irish still view blacks as less than human. In this sense, my fellow Irishmen could take a page out of Mr. Mandela's book and learn how to treat those whom they've overcome.
It's said that history is written by the victors. In purely imperial terms, the Brits beat the Irish. In survivor's terms, the Irish won. But as more and more history is uncovered and published about the Brits' treatment of Ireland and the Irish, just who won may be unclear. Still, the Irish and those descended from them should keep George Santayana's dictum in mind, because it's the right thing to do to treat others equally.
Thucydides wrote in his magnum opus History of the Peloponnesian War wrote that it was even more important to be magnanimous in victory as it is to be humble in defeat. Mr. Mandela understood this, and his country and its people have benefited from his guidance.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Mr. Mandela is criticized by some conservatives as a communist because he consorted with them and dictators, too. Frankly, if I were living under the horrible conditions in which Mr. Mandela found himself and his people, I'd reach out to anyone who would help us get out of them. The old phrase the enemy of my enemy is my friend does have application in this situation.
There is historical precedent that many conservatives won't want to admit. Upon the outbreak of World War I, Roger Casement negotiated with Germany to get materiel with which to fight the British occupation forces, under whose boot the Irish had been living for centuries. The plot was uncovered, the weapons seized and Casement executed for treason to the crown. Had I been living in Ireland during that time, I would have been involved in the conspiracy.
That's why criticizing Mandela for his links to communism is a morally bankrupt exercise. Apartheid had segmented the population along the same lines as slavery and discrimination had in the United States prior to the 1970's. To complain that a person sought equality using any means possible once the non-violent ones were removed from the discussion is putting form over substance. The ultimate goals -- equality and freedom -- which are, after all, God-given, should be attainable by any means necessary once they've been denied democratic application. It's not the nicest outcome, but is the alternative, being subject to another people not by one's choice, better?
I'm sure there were some nasty episodes in Mr. Mandela's past. Armed rebellion isn't clean and pretty. But the ultimate goals were worth the struggle, and Mr. Mandela competently navigated his country through troubled waters. What's more, he had the good sense not to seek revenge once he came to power, something that should go a long way to negating the ugliness of the means he used to achieve freedom and equality for his people. History is replete with rebels who, upon overthrowing the establishment and assuming control, wrought havoc on the vanguished.
In the end, Mr. Mandela was a human with all the flaws and endowments the come with the condition. He should be judged accordingly and not solely on the basis of his time as a rebel.
As an aside, I am still troubled by the notion that the Irish could ever be slaveholders. To take my own argument and apply it, the Irish have all the flaws and endowments of any human, but for a people with such a long history of being subjugated, I'm ashamed and saddened that there were Irish slaveholders, first, and that some Irish still view blacks as less than human. In this sense, my fellow Irishmen could take a page out of Mr. Mandela's book and learn how to treat those whom they've overcome.
It's said that history is written by the victors. In purely imperial terms, the Brits beat the Irish. In survivor's terms, the Irish won. But as more and more history is uncovered and published about the Brits' treatment of Ireland and the Irish, just who won may be unclear. Still, the Irish and those descended from them should keep George Santayana's dictum in mind, because it's the right thing to do to treat others equally.
Thucydides wrote in his magnum opus History of the Peloponnesian War wrote that it was even more important to be magnanimous in victory as it is to be humble in defeat. Mr. Mandela understood this, and his country and its people have benefited from his guidance.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Friday, December 13, 2013
Hyperbole
As should be readily apparent, I like words. I like communication. I prefer that it be less opaque typically, although I do enjoy allusion, chiasmus, metaphor, simile and other rhetorical devices. Every once in awhile, even hyperbole is all right. But it's run amok.
Karen enjoys The Voice, both for the singers it presents and for the most beautiful man God ever created, Adam Levine. I will admit he seems like a nice guy. And I'll admit that compared to American Idol, it's far superior with the talent it draws. Some of the singers that have appeared on the show are very, very talented. Aside from that, it provokes a meh from me.
What I noticed, however, is that the show is given to taking hyperbole to new heights. Forgive me, but I don't know the titles of the various rounds in which the contestants sing, but what I'm describing happens almost regularly after the vetting process that starts each season. Some people sing off against each other, sometimes singing at the same time, which somehow gives the four judges an idea of which is a better singer -- although I have no idea how. Then there are the individual performances, some of which are quite good, others grating on the ears.
But what cracks me up is the constant praise couched in elevated terms that comes from not only the judges but also Carson Daly, the host. I don't know much about Mr. Daly, who seems congenial enough, but from my perspective, he's about the most wooden television host I've ever seen. I can't believe that someone with the good sense to dump Tara Reid can be that stiff, that boring, but he comes off that way. Which makes his comments after a contestant is singing all the funnier to me.
After a contestant finishes a song, Daly is the first person to comment before he tosses it to the judges for their comments. Almost invariably, Daly rates the performance as incredible, or amazing, or fantastic. Given that this is a competition, I would have thought that there had to be some differentiation between the contestants' efforts. To hear Daly state it, every one of the contestants is superior. That simply can't be.
I understand the notion of being polite and complimenting them, but is hyperbole supposed to be trotted out every single time? Doesn't that lessen the value of the compliment when contestant after contestant does something incredibly, or amazingly or fantasticly?
To put it another way, since the show is about finding the next great singer, what's so incredible or amazing about a good performance? By diluting the meaning of the words he overuses, Daly cheapens the show's ultimate aim.
Not that the audience has any qualms about this. They cheer rabidly during and after each contestant's song as if Whitney Houston had just risen from the dead to reprise her national anthem. I can understand cheering to support the contestants and even being appreciative of the efforts. But to overstate the result doesn't do anyone any good.
Then it's the judges' turn. Aside from repeating what Mr. Daly says in the loftiest of terms, the judges then fawn all over the contestants, telling them how much they love them, how much they love their voices, etc. It's a wonder they call this a competition at all. The judges drone on about how wonderful, incredible, fantastic and amazing the singer was. I thought the role of the judge was to be critical.
What's odd about this is that the judges should know better. What they're doing is equating the contestants with their own peers, people who have performed for a living for years and in many cases who have received accolades that exceed what their voices merit.
To be fair, the judges do offer constructive criticism during the vetting round. And more than that, they're kind with the criticism, unlike judges on other shows who seem to delight in being as snarky as they can when offering criticism. Unless a contestant asks for it, I see little reason in belittling the person on national television, and The Voices's judges are pretty good about that. But for as tame as they are when rejecting a contestant, they're not critical at all when it comes to actually judging the competitive rounds portion of the show.
Perhaps I'm too cynical. Perhaps I'm too old. But it seems that praise and criticism has reached lunatic levels, the one being over-the-top and the other, in some instances, being too cruel. I would reserve the elevated rhetoric for those performances that really stand out.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Karen enjoys The Voice, both for the singers it presents and for the most beautiful man God ever created, Adam Levine. I will admit he seems like a nice guy. And I'll admit that compared to American Idol, it's far superior with the talent it draws. Some of the singers that have appeared on the show are very, very talented. Aside from that, it provokes a meh from me.
What I noticed, however, is that the show is given to taking hyperbole to new heights. Forgive me, but I don't know the titles of the various rounds in which the contestants sing, but what I'm describing happens almost regularly after the vetting process that starts each season. Some people sing off against each other, sometimes singing at the same time, which somehow gives the four judges an idea of which is a better singer -- although I have no idea how. Then there are the individual performances, some of which are quite good, others grating on the ears.
But what cracks me up is the constant praise couched in elevated terms that comes from not only the judges but also Carson Daly, the host. I don't know much about Mr. Daly, who seems congenial enough, but from my perspective, he's about the most wooden television host I've ever seen. I can't believe that someone with the good sense to dump Tara Reid can be that stiff, that boring, but he comes off that way. Which makes his comments after a contestant is singing all the funnier to me.
After a contestant finishes a song, Daly is the first person to comment before he tosses it to the judges for their comments. Almost invariably, Daly rates the performance as incredible, or amazing, or fantastic. Given that this is a competition, I would have thought that there had to be some differentiation between the contestants' efforts. To hear Daly state it, every one of the contestants is superior. That simply can't be.
I understand the notion of being polite and complimenting them, but is hyperbole supposed to be trotted out every single time? Doesn't that lessen the value of the compliment when contestant after contestant does something incredibly, or amazingly or fantasticly?
To put it another way, since the show is about finding the next great singer, what's so incredible or amazing about a good performance? By diluting the meaning of the words he overuses, Daly cheapens the show's ultimate aim.
Not that the audience has any qualms about this. They cheer rabidly during and after each contestant's song as if Whitney Houston had just risen from the dead to reprise her national anthem. I can understand cheering to support the contestants and even being appreciative of the efforts. But to overstate the result doesn't do anyone any good.
Then it's the judges' turn. Aside from repeating what Mr. Daly says in the loftiest of terms, the judges then fawn all over the contestants, telling them how much they love them, how much they love their voices, etc. It's a wonder they call this a competition at all. The judges drone on about how wonderful, incredible, fantastic and amazing the singer was. I thought the role of the judge was to be critical.
What's odd about this is that the judges should know better. What they're doing is equating the contestants with their own peers, people who have performed for a living for years and in many cases who have received accolades that exceed what their voices merit.
To be fair, the judges do offer constructive criticism during the vetting round. And more than that, they're kind with the criticism, unlike judges on other shows who seem to delight in being as snarky as they can when offering criticism. Unless a contestant asks for it, I see little reason in belittling the person on national television, and The Voices's judges are pretty good about that. But for as tame as they are when rejecting a contestant, they're not critical at all when it comes to actually judging the competitive rounds portion of the show.
Perhaps I'm too cynical. Perhaps I'm too old. But it seems that praise and criticism has reached lunatic levels, the one being over-the-top and the other, in some instances, being too cruel. I would reserve the elevated rhetoric for those performances that really stand out.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
Gun Ownership
Yesterday, I bought my first gun.
I came from a state where gun ownership was not so much outlawed as it was frowned upon and taxed so much that it was unofficially discouraged. Sure, there were hunters in parts of the state, but that was about the extent of it. Until the Seventh Circuit Court of Appeals overturned a City of Chicago ordinance that banned concealed carry, the gangs and their illegal guns ruled the streets. From what I understand, Springfield and Chicago are trying to craft a law that meets with the Seventh Circuit's concerns about protecting Second Amendment rights while at the same time making it as restrictive as possible for law abiding citizens to carry guns. Talk about trying to fit a square peg into a round hole.
I've always been intrigued by guns, mostly the military style guns, because of the amount of military history I read. The last time I ever shot a firearm of any kind, prior to moving to our present state, was in Boy Scout camp when I shot a .22 rifle on a range when I was eleven-years-old. Until I moved here, I hadn't even handled a weapon.
For personal reasons, Karen and I felt owning a gun for personal protection and for fun shooting on a shooting range would be worth the investment. We looked online, went to a gun show, went to a gun shop were we shot a couple of guns on an indoor range monitored by experienced shooters and asked questions at every opportunity. In fact, Karen got very frustrated with me because I took an overly cautious approach to my purchase, of which there is more anon. But rather than buying the first firearm we saw, or getting the one that had the most potential to cause death and mayhem, we were responsible and took a mature approach to our purchases.
Karen ordered her gun over the weekend. Yesterday I bought mine. I have to take the appropriate steps in registering it with the police, which I tried to do yesterday immediately after I bought it, only to be told by our local police station that the county police and not the municipal police took registrations. So now I have an unregistered pistol sitting at our home, without any ammunition. The weapon will be registered with the police tomorrow morning.
My approval for the gun purchase took a matter of moments. The application form asked a slew of questions regarding my criminal and mental health history. It took my vital statistics to ensure that I wasn't some imposter. Then the seller's agent called someone and recited the information I'd provided. Shortly thereafter, I was approved for the purchase.
Does this make me a good risk to be a gun owner? I think so, although I still need to take the class that tells me how to operate the weapon safely. I intend to pore over the owner's manual and practice operating the gun without any ammunition until I feel sufficiently secure in using it. Then there will be more practice.
What aggravated Karen so much was what she considered my dithering over the choice between a Glock and either a Ruger or a Smith & Wesson. The Glock has only one safety, whereas the other two have multiple safeties. I was told by more experienced gun owners that for novices, the Glock had a risk in that the safety system allowed for accidental misfires more than the other weapons. When I'd bring up the Rugers and S&W's, I was told the safeties were redundant, but that in an emergency situation it could lead to a split-second delay that could be fatal. In short, I was torn, knowing that my relative inexperience made the Glock, an otherwise admirable firearm, dangerous in my hands until I had more experience. The last thing I wanted was for me to accidentally shoot Karen or one of the boys due to my ignorance.
In the end, price and native pride won out and the Ruger was my choice. I'm not ruling out the Glock at some future date, but for now, I'm going to become proficient with the Ruger. This will give Karen piece of mind and protect us in the event of an unlikely home invasion.
The point for others is this: When one mounts the high horse of gun control advocacy, consider that not everyone purchasing a firearm is a rabid right-winger with trenchant disregard for safety. Some of us consider safety above all other things and, like me, worry about it to the point of putting off the purchase. My vow is to learn how to operate the weapon safely and efficiently so as to avoid the possibility of misfires. I want something that guarantees our family the chance of safety, and in the Ruger I have the tool. Now I have to learn how to use it so as to maximize its utility. The good operator, after all, doesn't blame his tools.
I am not mentally deficient. I am not violent. I am not a drinker. I don't take drugs. I abide the law for the most part, jaywalking and the occasional speeding episode aside. It would be unfair to limit my Second Amendment rights simply because there are other unhinged people in this society who use weapons for evil means. In fact, I should be encourage to exercise my Second Amendment rights specifically because there are unhinged people with access to weapons.
If there is something that needs to be addressed in the gun control debate, it is mental health, not the restriction of gun ownership for others. My background check took all of ten to fifteen minutes. I don't know at what databases the person at the other end of the phone was looking, but I'm hopeful he was able to cross-reference them to discern whether I was a mental health risk.
We've all heard the saying countless times before: Guns don't kill people, people with guns kill people. Well, I suggest a tweak to that. Guns don't kill people, but mentally challenged people often kill other people. The federal, state and municipal governments need to find a work-around privacy laws to ensure that mentally -- and this includes emotionally -- challenged people do not own or operate firearms.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
I came from a state where gun ownership was not so much outlawed as it was frowned upon and taxed so much that it was unofficially discouraged. Sure, there were hunters in parts of the state, but that was about the extent of it. Until the Seventh Circuit Court of Appeals overturned a City of Chicago ordinance that banned concealed carry, the gangs and their illegal guns ruled the streets. From what I understand, Springfield and Chicago are trying to craft a law that meets with the Seventh Circuit's concerns about protecting Second Amendment rights while at the same time making it as restrictive as possible for law abiding citizens to carry guns. Talk about trying to fit a square peg into a round hole.
I've always been intrigued by guns, mostly the military style guns, because of the amount of military history I read. The last time I ever shot a firearm of any kind, prior to moving to our present state, was in Boy Scout camp when I shot a .22 rifle on a range when I was eleven-years-old. Until I moved here, I hadn't even handled a weapon.
For personal reasons, Karen and I felt owning a gun for personal protection and for fun shooting on a shooting range would be worth the investment. We looked online, went to a gun show, went to a gun shop were we shot a couple of guns on an indoor range monitored by experienced shooters and asked questions at every opportunity. In fact, Karen got very frustrated with me because I took an overly cautious approach to my purchase, of which there is more anon. But rather than buying the first firearm we saw, or getting the one that had the most potential to cause death and mayhem, we were responsible and took a mature approach to our purchases.
Karen ordered her gun over the weekend. Yesterday I bought mine. I have to take the appropriate steps in registering it with the police, which I tried to do yesterday immediately after I bought it, only to be told by our local police station that the county police and not the municipal police took registrations. So now I have an unregistered pistol sitting at our home, without any ammunition. The weapon will be registered with the police tomorrow morning.
My approval for the gun purchase took a matter of moments. The application form asked a slew of questions regarding my criminal and mental health history. It took my vital statistics to ensure that I wasn't some imposter. Then the seller's agent called someone and recited the information I'd provided. Shortly thereafter, I was approved for the purchase.
Does this make me a good risk to be a gun owner? I think so, although I still need to take the class that tells me how to operate the weapon safely. I intend to pore over the owner's manual and practice operating the gun without any ammunition until I feel sufficiently secure in using it. Then there will be more practice.
What aggravated Karen so much was what she considered my dithering over the choice between a Glock and either a Ruger or a Smith & Wesson. The Glock has only one safety, whereas the other two have multiple safeties. I was told by more experienced gun owners that for novices, the Glock had a risk in that the safety system allowed for accidental misfires more than the other weapons. When I'd bring up the Rugers and S&W's, I was told the safeties were redundant, but that in an emergency situation it could lead to a split-second delay that could be fatal. In short, I was torn, knowing that my relative inexperience made the Glock, an otherwise admirable firearm, dangerous in my hands until I had more experience. The last thing I wanted was for me to accidentally shoot Karen or one of the boys due to my ignorance.
In the end, price and native pride won out and the Ruger was my choice. I'm not ruling out the Glock at some future date, but for now, I'm going to become proficient with the Ruger. This will give Karen piece of mind and protect us in the event of an unlikely home invasion.
The point for others is this: When one mounts the high horse of gun control advocacy, consider that not everyone purchasing a firearm is a rabid right-winger with trenchant disregard for safety. Some of us consider safety above all other things and, like me, worry about it to the point of putting off the purchase. My vow is to learn how to operate the weapon safely and efficiently so as to avoid the possibility of misfires. I want something that guarantees our family the chance of safety, and in the Ruger I have the tool. Now I have to learn how to use it so as to maximize its utility. The good operator, after all, doesn't blame his tools.
I am not mentally deficient. I am not violent. I am not a drinker. I don't take drugs. I abide the law for the most part, jaywalking and the occasional speeding episode aside. It would be unfair to limit my Second Amendment rights simply because there are other unhinged people in this society who use weapons for evil means. In fact, I should be encourage to exercise my Second Amendment rights specifically because there are unhinged people with access to weapons.
If there is something that needs to be addressed in the gun control debate, it is mental health, not the restriction of gun ownership for others. My background check took all of ten to fifteen minutes. I don't know at what databases the person at the other end of the phone was looking, but I'm hopeful he was able to cross-reference them to discern whether I was a mental health risk.
We've all heard the saying countless times before: Guns don't kill people, people with guns kill people. Well, I suggest a tweak to that. Guns don't kill people, but mentally challenged people often kill other people. The federal, state and municipal governments need to find a work-around privacy laws to ensure that mentally -- and this includes emotionally -- challenged people do not own or operate firearms.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Friday, December 6, 2013
Immigration and Obamacare
Recently, the President made noise about making his next great legacy piece immigration. In fact, he met with some groups supporting amnesty for illegal immigrants over Thanksgiving -- instead of meeting with the troops who protect this country, but I digress. I fully support immigration reform, but not in the fashion some people hold near and dear.
First, a disclaimer: I speak fluent Spanish, although I don't possess a drop of Latino blood. I've worked with Latinos for year and respect how hardworking they are, how family oriented they are and how welcoming they can be. I read their literature, know their customs and enjoy their lifestyle, for the most part. But that doesn't mean I'm in favor of lawbreakers getting a free pass.
I understand conditions in Mexico are hard. Instead of coming here, however, why don't they take that work ethic and change their own country? As it is, they send back an inordinate amount of their earnings to family in Mexico. But why must they come here and try to recreate what they have in their home country here?
I have no truck with Mexicans becoming US citizens. But they should do it legally. Whether there is trouble in their homeland isn't my concern, so long as it's not persecution worthy of political asylum. I don't agree with those who see a humanitarian issue every time someone suffers a paper cut. These people must follow the rules entering the country. Otherwise, how are we to be sure they'll follow the rules once they're in the country legally?
The reason this has me miffed today is that lawmakers -- that is, Democratic lawmakers -- are complaining that Obamacare should be extended to cover illegal immigrants. As it is, Democrats cravenly try to purchase votes by extending all sorts of welfare to illegal immigrants. Now, they want to bankruptcy the country by extending an already unworkable law that's hamstringing the economy to millions of undocumented people living in this country. Again, this is nothing more than a crass attempt at gaining political advantage come election time.
Were the tables turned, and millions of Americans were residing illegally in a foreign country, we wouldn't have the level nor the number of benefits that illegal immigrants have in this country. From the language to voting to schools to medical treatment to housing, illegal immigrants have it far better in this country than we would elsewhere. To pull out a well-worn argument from past blogposts, there is little likelihood that if I were living illegally in a Spanish-speaking country, the authorities would not only let me vote, they'd put the ballot in English for me. It's crazy.
I'm all in favor of humanitarian efforts where they're warranted. But in this instance, ironically, we're making it easy for a hardworking people who are too lazy, or too impatient, to follow the immigration laws. We're putting an immense burden on our country by adding to the welfare rolls people who don't belong here. We should be taking care of our own first. Extending the benefits of an already doomed law to illegal immigrants makes no sense whatsoever.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
First, a disclaimer: I speak fluent Spanish, although I don't possess a drop of Latino blood. I've worked with Latinos for year and respect how hardworking they are, how family oriented they are and how welcoming they can be. I read their literature, know their customs and enjoy their lifestyle, for the most part. But that doesn't mean I'm in favor of lawbreakers getting a free pass.
I understand conditions in Mexico are hard. Instead of coming here, however, why don't they take that work ethic and change their own country? As it is, they send back an inordinate amount of their earnings to family in Mexico. But why must they come here and try to recreate what they have in their home country here?
I have no truck with Mexicans becoming US citizens. But they should do it legally. Whether there is trouble in their homeland isn't my concern, so long as it's not persecution worthy of political asylum. I don't agree with those who see a humanitarian issue every time someone suffers a paper cut. These people must follow the rules entering the country. Otherwise, how are we to be sure they'll follow the rules once they're in the country legally?
The reason this has me miffed today is that lawmakers -- that is, Democratic lawmakers -- are complaining that Obamacare should be extended to cover illegal immigrants. As it is, Democrats cravenly try to purchase votes by extending all sorts of welfare to illegal immigrants. Now, they want to bankruptcy the country by extending an already unworkable law that's hamstringing the economy to millions of undocumented people living in this country. Again, this is nothing more than a crass attempt at gaining political advantage come election time.
Were the tables turned, and millions of Americans were residing illegally in a foreign country, we wouldn't have the level nor the number of benefits that illegal immigrants have in this country. From the language to voting to schools to medical treatment to housing, illegal immigrants have it far better in this country than we would elsewhere. To pull out a well-worn argument from past blogposts, there is little likelihood that if I were living illegally in a Spanish-speaking country, the authorities would not only let me vote, they'd put the ballot in English for me. It's crazy.
I'm all in favor of humanitarian efforts where they're warranted. But in this instance, ironically, we're making it easy for a hardworking people who are too lazy, or too impatient, to follow the immigration laws. We're putting an immense burden on our country by adding to the welfare rolls people who don't belong here. We should be taking care of our own first. Extending the benefits of an already doomed law to illegal immigrants makes no sense whatsoever.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
Ugly Beauties
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. I understand that very well. But there are some women touted as beautiful that I just don't understand.
Recently, everyone's been going nuts over Jennifer Lawrence. Although I think Ms. Lawrence is talented and seems to be a lot of fun in a down-to-earth way, I don't think she's a raving beauty by any means. Just because a woman's fit doesn't make her beautiful. Ms. Lawrence has many fine attributes, but being beautiful is not one of them.
Some of the names that follow have probably been covered before, but Ms. Lawrence's candidacy prompts a review of the list and perhaps some new additions to it:
Cameron Díaz: Seriously? She has a great body I guess, but she looks like a frog facially. Perhaps she's a good comedic actress, but the fact that she's bedded some famous men doesn't convey beautiful status on her.
Drew Barrymore: Don't get it and never will. So her mother appeared in Playboy. So her father's a Barrymore. So what? She ain't beautiful.
Gwyneth Paltrow: Unbelievable that she's even mentioned in this vein. She's not only not beautiful, she's borderline plain, missing cute by miles.
Farrah Fawcett: Once the paragon of sexiness, I never got it. She bored me.
Christie Brinkley: The epitome of Californian beauty to many, I'll concede she's good-looking, just not beautiful. She's cute and attractive, but in no way is she classically beautiful. Besides, there's not a lot going on between the ears.
Kate Moss: The New Age Twiggy, I don't discount her because she's a Brit. I just never thought she was beautiful. She's gotten better with age -- no small feat -- but she's got Paltrow-quality looks.
Victoria Beckham: I suppose being in a girl band counts for something, as does being married to a man who's actually prettier than she is, but she's another woman who's lionized as beautiful simply for being fit.
Khloe Kardashian: She's.Not.Beautiful. End of discussion.
Diane Sawyer: Sure, she was in a beauty contest when she was younger, but whoever thought she was beautiful needs to visit the eye doctor.
Katie Couric: While we're on news anchors, Ms. Couric is the perpetually cute cheerleader type. But she ain't beautiful.
Julia Roberts: Pretty Woman? How about Really Cute Woman? But I'd have a beer with her any time.
Katie Holmes: Beside questioning her intelligence for marrying that twit Tom Cruise, she's another perpetually cute type, nothing more.
Giada DeLaurentis: Let's get this straight right away: Were it not for her bosom Ms. DeLaurentis would merely be another celebrity chef.
Claire Danes: This is another one on which Karen and I differ (Ms. Barrymore being the first) -- great actress though she may be, there is nothing remotely beautiful or cute about Ms. Danes. Nothing.
Anne Hathaway: I used to think she was a nose-job away from being beautiful. Then she did Les Miz and got overly obnoxious. Now I don't even think she's cute.
Kathy Ireland: This is almost blasphemous to call someone with this surname ordinary, especially since she was part of the original supermodel craze, but Ms. Ireland is nothing more than cute to me. In fact, she looks even more like a frog than Ms. Díaz. That being said, she seems very nice.
Claudia Schiffer: I suppose for many she's the dream blonde, but I look at her and see a dominatrix in model's clothing.
Linda Evangelista: Of all the Canadian women to call beautiful, she's not one of them.
Andrea Tantaros: One of the rotating women on The Five, Ms. Tantaros tries to compete with Kimberly Guilfoyle, another woman overrated on this scale, for being the hottie on the panel. Ms. Tantaros is annoyingly smug and frankly, not even cute.
Kimberly Guilfoyle: The aforementioned Ms. Guilfoyle is attractive and very photogenic, but she's not beautiful. Men salivate over here, and I can see why, but her intelligent sex kitten routine is undercut by her flighty topic choices and the fact that the camera does her no favors unless it's a still shot.
Sofia Vergara: The latest Latin hottie does have a phenomenal body, given her age, but her face is about as off-putting as they come. Any time she mugs comedically for the camera she looks like a pig. She's not ugly by any means, but by the same token, neither is she beautiful.
Jennifer Anniston: Another well-preserved older woman whose fame, I believe, derives from being in the cast of Friends and her failed marriage to Brad Pitt, which garnered her a great deal of sympathy. She seems to be quite a nice person and has turned out be one heck of a comedic actress, but she's no beauty.
Angelina Jolie: It's only fitting that she be considered after Ms. Anniston. There are men who think she's the sexiest thing on two legs. The drool over her lips. I find her tattooed body off-putting and her lips far from enticing. About the only thing that she stands for -- and she does this in tandem with Ms. Anniston -- is proof that Mr. Pitt has horrible taste in women. He could do so much better....
Sofia Vergara: The latest Latin hottie does have a phenomenal body, given her age, but her face is about as off-putting as they come. Any time she mugs comedically for the camera she looks like a pig. She's not ugly by any means, but by the same token, neither is she beautiful.
Jennifer Anniston: Another well-preserved older woman whose fame, I believe, derives from being in the cast of Friends and her failed marriage to Brad Pitt, which garnered her a great deal of sympathy. She seems to be quite a nice person and has turned out be one heck of a comedic actress, but she's no beauty.
Angelina Jolie: It's only fitting that she be considered after Ms. Anniston. There are men who think she's the sexiest thing on two legs. The drool over her lips. I find her tattooed body off-putting and her lips far from enticing. About the only thing that she stands for -- and she does this in tandem with Ms. Anniston -- is proof that Mr. Pitt has horrible taste in women. He could do so much better....
I'm sure there are more, but I'm out of time today.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Tuesday, December 3, 2013
Women and Opinion
This is an ongoing issue with me and Karen. Karen is a highly cultured, artistic, thoughtful woman. I'm a slug by comparison. Where she sees beauty in the arrangement of a table setting, with the food immaculately prepared and presented, I see a meal. The finer aspects of most things are lost on me. I could blame it on my crooked chromosome, as Karen calls it, but how does that explain gays and metrosexuals, most of whom have an abiding interest in and skill for decorating and fashion?
The issue gets us in some tangles, not that I don't try to avoid them. When we're going out, Karen will look at something I put on and tell me I can't leave the house dressed like that, that I have to change or she won't be seen with me in public. For the unaware, we're not talking plaids and paisleys mixed together. We're talking about otherwise complimentary colors that might be a shade off, or colors that Karen says don't mix, or wrinkled clothing that don't pass her aesthetics test. It's to the point that if I know we're going out, I just ask her to pick out the shirt that she deems will match the pants I've chosen -- assuming, of course, the pants are acceptable to her in the first place.
I mention this because I've noticed an odd twist in this dynamic. The other day we were doing the Black Friday shopping thing and Karen was looking for bargains. I have a general idea what she likes -- good-looking clothes as she defines them, whatever that is -- but otherwise, it's best for me to keep my gob shut because I really have no clue what looks good. That's not entirely true: I know if something is hideous, or I think I do. But if she likes it, I'm fine with it. Karen's a beautiful woman and the clothes are just an enhancement of her beauty.
Still and all, for the life of me, I don't know why she asks me whether a particular garment is good-looking or not. I appreciate that she includes me in her choices, but in the end, given that she has to pick out shirts for me, am I the best choice for a fashion opinion when it comes to women's clothing? I mean, I can't dress myself -- apparently -- and I'm a guy. Asking me whether a particular dress or skirt is cute -- more on that anon -- is like asking a blind person to read a road map. But every time we're in a store together, she asks me for my opinion. Almost invariably I tell her it's fine. What else am I supposed to say?
Ah, but there is a fallback answer. I have to attribute this to my estranged brother who once noted, insightfully, that for women, the universal adjective for anything they think is attractive is cute. If a hat looks good, it's cute. If a puppy is adorable, it's cute. If there's a tender moment between a returning serviceman and his children, it's cute. Cars are cute. Houses can be cute. Hotel rooms can be cute. Heck, sports plays can be cute in women's vernacular. Dresses, gloves, skirts, blouses, hats, jackets, coats, tights, shoes, jewelry and any combination thereof can best be described as cute when they meet with the approbation of the wearer. The application of cute knows no bounds. Karen also likes to declare eyewear cute, haircuts cute and ties cute. And here I thought that only babies were cute....
Far be it from me to criticize use of the word cute when it comes to describing a $900 pair of Manolo Blahniks or Jimmy Choos, but apparently that's perfectly acceptable.
For men, to describe a pair of $250 Air Jordans as cute would be...well...weird, and I'm using the PG term. No straight man in his right mind would describe shoes as cute. If he did, he wouldn't be thought of as straight anymore.
I think using cute in this context would be acceptable, however, since (a) it's part of the language that Karen herself uses and understands, (b) it's for women's clothing and (c) if any guys nearby hear it, the unwritten Man Code says that we have to be keep this to ourselves and not rat each other out. We are, after all, in the women's clothing section when it happens.
Frankly, I'm less at risk getting maxi-pads for Custer's diaper than I am giving my opinion on Karen's clothing purchases because there's little chance I can go wrong buying the maxi-pads. Besides, Custer hates that he has to wear the diaper regardless, so it doesn't matter what I get him.
So while I appreciate Karen's asking me my opinion on her wardrobe, I think we both understand that she's merely being nice. She doesn't really want my opinion, nor does she need it. She's intelligent and beautiful and has a much firmer grasp on what looks good than I ever could.
But still, it's cute that she asks.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Monday, December 2, 2013
Thanksgiving in Kentucky
Karen and I visited her cousins in Kentucky over the Thanksgiving holiday. It's always good to get together and catch up. They're wonderful people, giving and thoughtful. I enjoy going there because it's such a different world from what I'm used to. Still, there are things that, in a vacuum, would cause an eyebrow or two to be raised, and last weekend was no exception.
The drive to Kentucky was fine. We arrived slightly sooner than we anticipated, but still later than we wanted. Of course, despite the need to be up at the buttcrack of dawn the next morning, we stayed up talking until around midnight. The weather was mild, compared to the sleet and snow we were warned about by the talking heads of weather.
So, here's our Thanksgiving in a nutshell of ruminations and observations:
-- Any vegetable can be put in a casserole, apparently. Corn, broccoli, squash, green beans -- you name it, if it grew in the ground it can be combined with other ingredients, put in a 13"x 9" pan, baked in the oven and people will eat it. Just not men.
-- There is too little dark meat on most turkeys.
-- Furthermore, there can never be enough turkey at Thanksgiving. Never.
-- Ohioans are a different lot. On this I agree with Karen. I also think they can be unnecessarily rude.
-- Driving 75 mph in a 55 mph zone for over fifty miles in some beautiful country is truly a delight, even if one is driving.
-- Sirius XM radio is to long trips what the Ipod is to shoveling snow or mowing the lawn: It takes the drudgery out and replaces it with fun distraction.
-- I'm still shaking my head at that little person with the pornstache wearing overalls in the mall.
-- Not offering ESPN with basic cable television packages is un-American.
-- Card playing isn't too bad with the right people.
-- Talking with older people is just pure joy, and the ornrier they are the better.
-- That being said, watching some older people at auctions reminds me they would do better playing shuffleboard.
-- Speaking of auctions, is it rude to wear a hazmat suit to an auction?
-- Sometimes, just sometimes, GPS's screw up. I'm just sayin'.
-- I'll probably jinx us by saying this, but this has to be about the third or fourth long trip that we've taken where a major accident occurred in the lanes going in the opposite direction, backing up traffic for miles and probably hours.
-- People move slower in West Virginia and Kentucky than they do in the north. That being said, they don't have to move so slowly that others think rigor mortis is setting in.
-- I really need to pack more sensibly next time. Sitting around in blue jeans instead of sweats all weekend was uncomfortable.
-- In the same vein, I need to take a look at my email at least once every three days. I came back to over two hundred emails, most of them worthless.
-- Southern men are either very gallant or remarkably rude to their women. There doesn't seem to be much middle ground.
-- Retailers playing bait-and-switch and other dirty games at any time of year tick me off, but especially at Thanksgiving, what with all the Black Friday and Cyber Monday offers going on.
-- Since when did microwaves become so expensive?
-- I know it was for the best, but I didn't like being without Sherman and Custer that long.
-- Speaking of our rock stars, it was no surprise that everyone fell in love with Sherman, but it shocked me that Custer jumped into the back of Karen's car unassisted.
-- How many bedazzled shirts of different colors do some people need? Or Christmas tchotchkes? Or colanders, for that matter?
-- People really need to learn what the left lane of a highway is for and drive accordingly.
-- And if anyone's interested, we bought gas for $2.94 a gallon in Lima, Ohio. It's been years since I bought gas for less than $3.00 a gallon. Get it while you can.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
The drive to Kentucky was fine. We arrived slightly sooner than we anticipated, but still later than we wanted. Of course, despite the need to be up at the buttcrack of dawn the next morning, we stayed up talking until around midnight. The weather was mild, compared to the sleet and snow we were warned about by the talking heads of weather.
So, here's our Thanksgiving in a nutshell of ruminations and observations:
-- Any vegetable can be put in a casserole, apparently. Corn, broccoli, squash, green beans -- you name it, if it grew in the ground it can be combined with other ingredients, put in a 13"x 9" pan, baked in the oven and people will eat it. Just not men.
-- There is too little dark meat on most turkeys.
-- Furthermore, there can never be enough turkey at Thanksgiving. Never.
-- Ohioans are a different lot. On this I agree with Karen. I also think they can be unnecessarily rude.
-- Driving 75 mph in a 55 mph zone for over fifty miles in some beautiful country is truly a delight, even if one is driving.
-- Sirius XM radio is to long trips what the Ipod is to shoveling snow or mowing the lawn: It takes the drudgery out and replaces it with fun distraction.
-- I'm still shaking my head at that little person with the pornstache wearing overalls in the mall.
-- Not offering ESPN with basic cable television packages is un-American.
-- Card playing isn't too bad with the right people.
-- Talking with older people is just pure joy, and the ornrier they are the better.
-- That being said, watching some older people at auctions reminds me they would do better playing shuffleboard.
-- Speaking of auctions, is it rude to wear a hazmat suit to an auction?
-- Sometimes, just sometimes, GPS's screw up. I'm just sayin'.
-- I'll probably jinx us by saying this, but this has to be about the third or fourth long trip that we've taken where a major accident occurred in the lanes going in the opposite direction, backing up traffic for miles and probably hours.
-- People move slower in West Virginia and Kentucky than they do in the north. That being said, they don't have to move so slowly that others think rigor mortis is setting in.
-- I really need to pack more sensibly next time. Sitting around in blue jeans instead of sweats all weekend was uncomfortable.
-- In the same vein, I need to take a look at my email at least once every three days. I came back to over two hundred emails, most of them worthless.
-- Southern men are either very gallant or remarkably rude to their women. There doesn't seem to be much middle ground.
-- Retailers playing bait-and-switch and other dirty games at any time of year tick me off, but especially at Thanksgiving, what with all the Black Friday and Cyber Monday offers going on.
-- Since when did microwaves become so expensive?
-- I know it was for the best, but I didn't like being without Sherman and Custer that long.
-- Speaking of our rock stars, it was no surprise that everyone fell in love with Sherman, but it shocked me that Custer jumped into the back of Karen's car unassisted.
-- How many bedazzled shirts of different colors do some people need? Or Christmas tchotchkes? Or colanders, for that matter?
-- People really need to learn what the left lane of a highway is for and drive accordingly.
-- And if anyone's interested, we bought gas for $2.94 a gallon in Lima, Ohio. It's been years since I bought gas for less than $3.00 a gallon. Get it while you can.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
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