Argument

My girl posted a thing on Facebook today that reads:  You can lead a human to knowledge but you can't make him think, with the picture of a horse standing to the side.  If's funny, it's non-partisan and arguably doesn't invite any particular response.  It could be taken in any number of ways, including political, ethnic, sporting, educational, etc.

One of Karen's friends from high school posted the following in response to the original post:

That's why one percent of the people are rich and the other 99 percent don't think.

Not being entirely sure what was meant by that, but knowing that (a) I'm not rich but (b) I think, I found the statement a little broad, so I posted:

I think it's a pretty broad generalization to say that because 1% of the people are rich, the other 99% don't think.  There is no direct correlation between riches and thinking, although it can be argued that thoughtful people make more money.  Heirs, dumb luck, gamblers, athletes whose collective IQ's are in the double digits -- I can point to plenty of dumb or lucky people who are rich through no thoughtfulness.  On the flip side, there are plenty of thoughtful people who are middle class or even lower class, economically.

If I say so myself, that's hardly an antagonistic reply, although I certainly disagree with the original post strongly.  It certainly leaves the door open to a counter, perhaps even some statistics that show the fallacy of my argument.  In no way was it offensive; calling a statement broad is by no means insulting; courts do it all the time when addressing legislation that infringes on private rights.  Whatever I was expecting as a reply, I didn't think this was going to be it:

XXXXXX get a life I have free speech so shut the f*** up.

Well.

First of all, I think the reply was disproportionate.  I never said the original poster didn't have the right to post what he wanted to post, no matter how stupid.  I simply challenged the assertions he made and for that I was told not to infringe his right to free speech and to shut up.

There are, second, lessons to be learned from this exchange:

1.  If an argument is to be had, use proper grammar and punctuation. Technically, he should have written:

XXXXXX get a life.  I'm entitled to free speech, so shut the f**** up.

The lack of proper grammar and punctuation tends to muddle the message and detracts from the message. I've never thought of free speech as a possession as much as it's a right to be exercised.

Third, don't swear.  If there's a linguistic equivalent to Godwin's Law, it's swearing.  The first person who swears has basically lost his cool and odds are will lose the argument.

Fourth, don't tell someone else to do something as if one is the parent.  I know for me, being told what to do by someone in my age group simply adds to my perception that that person is my inferior.  I can't remember the last time I actually abided by someone's instruction to do something in an argument.  It's one thing to suggest to an opponent to check out a fact, to read an article or to watch a video or film.  It's quite another to tell someone to shut up, to sit down or to perform an unnatural and physically impossible act.

Fifth, don't leave gaping holes in the argument being asserted that provides an opening to counterattack.  To wit:

Get a life?  That's a pithy retort.  You post an inanity like that and expect it to go unchallenged? And who do you think you are to order me to do anything? What's funny is that the same right to free speech that you hoist for yourself you would deny to me.  You mistakenly think I'm the government infringing on your First Amendment rights, because the First Amendment doesn't apply to private citizens.  So, I renew my statement:  Your initial post is overly broad (another legal concept:  you can look it up) and therefore must fail scrutiny.

One cannot assert a right that is common to every American citizen and then try to deny the same right to the opponent.    Which leads to the sixth suggestion -- make sure what is being discussed is familiar.  In our example, my interlocutor would have me respect his right to post something while at the same time he tried to deny me my right to do the same thing.  He also can't assert the First Amendment because, as I'm not a government or governmental employee, it has no applicability to the issue at hand.

So in thirteen short words, one of which was my name, my opponent screwed the pooch.  Not surprisingly, the coward hasn't returned to argue. Perhaps he's busy, perhaps he's looking up words in the dictionary still, although my last post was about an hour ago.  He may well return, in which case the battle will be renewed. Somehow, I doubt it.  Because I think that whatever else he may not have learned from our little exchange, he may have learned what is perhaps the most invaluable lesson:

Don't bring a knife to a nuclear war.

(c) 2014 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles

Random Musings

No, I'm not going to address last night's SOTU (when did it become this???) since I didn't watch it. Instead, I'm just going to let my mind wander.

--  It took four -- four -- adults, including two veterinary professionals, Karen with her knowledge and experience with bulldogs and me, bringing nothing more to the party than my considerable girth, to subdue Custer so the vet could put some ointment in his ear to alleviate his itching.  Good thing there's no video available or PETA or the ASPCA might yank him and Sherman from our house.

-- Spring training is right around the corner.  Just make it 106 years and counting and wake me when it's 2015 already.

-- Say what you want about the shows, but The Following and The Blacklist captivate me.

-- I love watching older movies that I've never seen before just to see what young actor or actress was in a lesser role.  Sometimes it's interesting to see what humble beginnings some of the larger stars had before they hit it big.

--  When the bulldog we're fostering barks she sounds like Carol Channing.

--  I hate the snow that builds up in the wheel wells behind the tires on my car.  Almost every time I drive I have to kick the snow off or out of the wells before I drive again.

-- The books I read for January are probably the best books I've read in a given month in a long time.

--  I've grown tired of Mexican food.  I like Tex-Mex better.

--  The number of rewards programs to which I belong is ridiculous.  I already carry a second wallet full of just rewards cards as it is.  There has to be an easier way.

--  Every time I read a new book, just about, I learn something.  For example, I had no idea that Stalin's purge in the '30's was the result of misinformation planted by the Germans.

--  It's award show season, and Jacqueline Bissett is the frontrunner for the wackiest acceptance speech of the year.  These shows are nothing more than self-indulgent pap, but every once in awhile, there's pure entertainment in them.  What's truly ridiculous, however, is that even awards shows can win awards.

--  Whatever happened to Jo Dee Messina?

-- There's no point in setting the alarm clock, as I continue to wake myself up fearful that either I failed to set it properly or a brownout caused it to reset.

--  I'm glad to know I'm not the only one moderately interested in pens.

--  Hot tea is a perfect winter drink, right after good, Spanish hot chocolate.

--  I miss baking, now that I think about it.

--  Two and a Half Men has become positively raunchy -- embarrassingly so.

-- My girl is an excellent artist.  I just thought everyone should know.

-- Joe Biden is a tool.



(c) 2014 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles

Abandon Ship

There is nothing that says that a voter must continue to support a candidate for whom he voted no matter what.  There are plenty of voters who have been disabused of the error of their ways when the rubber met the road, both liberal and conservative.  It even happens with Supreme Court Justices:  Earl Warren famously surprised Dwight Eisenhower by turning out to be more liberal than anyone would have believed possible when Ike nominated him to the Chief Justice position.  In politics, on any level, it's possible for a leopard to change its spots.

Even so, the gnashing of teeth, the rending of garments and the pulling of hair among the Hollywood elite is fascinating, if not downright entertaining.  What pushed me to this post was the recent emergence of Charlie Sheen, poet.  He just sent out a poem taking the President to task for not providing armed guards at schools and lashing out at Obamacare, albeit obliquely.

Mr. Sheen is just the latest self-assured celebrity to criticize, grudingly, the President whom he supported ardently in two separate elections.  That Mr. Sheen is late to the party should not be held against him; compared to some of his guild members, he's positively early.

Ed Asner has the gumption to say out loud what many in Hollywood wouldn't:

A lot of people don't want to feel anti-black by being opposed to Obama.

Barbara Walters joined the bandwagon a few months after Mr. Asner's comment:

We all thought he was going to be...the next messiah.

Of course, after having heard Jamie Foxx describe the President as our Lord and Savior, Ms. Walters' comments aren't as laughable as they might seem.

In a way, seeing all these supporters express their disappointment is hilarious.  These same people -- not necessarily the aforementioned celebrities, but certainly some of their peers -- were insistent that those of us who opposed Mr. Obama were wrong, deluded, biased and even racist.  There wasn't a chance we were looking critically at the President's policies and rhetoric and --gasp! -- making our minds up for ourselves instead of listening to the self-appointed spokespeople and simply take their word for it.  It was almost as if they were friends of the most popular person in school who was running for student body president and to oppose him would result in public shunning.

How the tables have turned.

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned...or a celebrity disappointed.  Sure, there are hardcore supporters like Bill Maher, Alec Baldwin and that nutjob Melissa Harris-Perry who, despite the fact she blindly continues to stump for the President doesn't have a clue how to pronounce correctly Semper Fi.  But hey, even Goebbels stuck by his buddy until the end.  The last two elections had nothing to do with electing the most qualified candidate but electing the most popular candidate.  And the President did his part, providing an electable minority candidate who spoke well (as opposed to rhyming his way through the campaign like Jesse Jackson), was educated well and presented a wholesome image with some youthful missteps in his past that many in the electorate could share with him.

But now, the cool kids are disillusioned because the promises in which they put so much trust have turned out to be illusory.  Attempts to blame the uncool kids, also known as the Republicans, have met with little success because, thanks to the cool kids' own efforts in supporting the President, his visibility is so great that it magnified his errors.  Now, the cool kids are in danger of being held complicit and they don't like it.

There are some notable critics within the cool kids camp.  Matt Damon, just smart enough to get himself in trouble with his double standards, has distanced himself publicly from the President.  Robert Deniro is trying to walk a fine line between criticism and acknowledgement.  Jane Lynch is angry at him, Barbra Streisand is disappointed.

Lost in all this is any acknowledgement that perhaps Mitt Romney was in fact better qualified.  I think that in 2008, it was the lesser of two evils.  I wouldn't vote for John McCain if he was the only candidate; he's the Republican version of Dick Durbin, doing or saying anything that's politically expedient.  His service for this country doesn't necessarily qualify him for the White House.  Mr. Romney is a good man.  One can disagree with him but he can't criticize him for being unkind, uncaring and unintelligent.  In that, he's at least the President's equal.  He also has more experience for the Presidency than the President did when he was first elected.  The President's first term should have been an indictment, not an endorsement, for a second term.

Well, the sheep's clothing has come off and the President is being revealed for what he truly is.  Hollywood is aghast, shocked, to see that their champion isn't descended from Mount Olympus.  Taking up Mr. Asner's candor, they're at a loss how to criticize the President and still qualify for their ultra-liberal union card.  To put it bluntly, the President has underperformed.  Some say he's lied.  Others say he should be impeached. But in no way, contrary to Mr. Foxx's suggestion, should we be equating the President with the likes of George Washington or Abraham Lincoln.

There's no shame in that, actually.  Few presidents have ever measured up.  But liberals should take note of what happened to their now-tarnished icon, John F. Kennedy.  As historians dig deeper and reveal more about the charismatic president assassinated in the middle of his term, warts appear, stories take their true shape, illusions are blown away as if they were mist.  That it's happening to the President during his second term is unfortunate for him, but more unfortunate for his supporters.

At least with President Kennedy, many of his most ardent supporters are dead and can't hear the criticism. This President's supporters are very much alive and likely to remain so for a couple of decades more. Historians, as is their wont, will do to him what they've done to Mr. Kennedy.  When that happens and more unseemly material is published, the President will no longer justify all those lofty accolades heaped upon him as if he were an Olympic champion.

They may find out, instead, that he's nothing like the man they touted to the general public.

And by then, the President's political career will have ended.  He'll write books, open a museum, tour the world, sit on highfalutin boards and earn gobs of money doing it.

The celebrities will have their support thrown in their faces at every opportunity, like Hanoi Jane still hears about her support for the North Vietnamese in 1970.

To paraphrase Shakespeare -- and yes, that's intentional -- uneasy sits the mouth that supported vigorously but stupidly the wrong candidate.

(c) 2014 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles

Daily Nuisances

In everyone's life, there are nuisances that repeat themselves on a weekly if not daily basis that serve to frustrate, annoy or even anger us.  They're not as dire as having an auto accident, or losing one's wallet, but they add up, especially if you have several occurrences of the same ones in a day.  I noticed this the other day when every little thing that could go wrong went wrong, amounting to death by a thousand paper cuts...although obviously, I didn't die.

Here then are a few of mine.  Perhaps I'm just a clutz.  But I wonder if anyone else has these happen to him.

Step on shoelaces while trying to tie shoes:  I can walk around, up and down stairs, with my shoes untied and never trip.  But get ready to tie my shoes and a lace or two invariably ends up under the shoe.  I can't remember the last time I had an errorless shoe-tying.

Electric cord twisting:  Each and every time I vacuum, the electric cord tangles.  It doesn't matter if I hold the cord while I'm vacuuming.  At some point, I get it twisted around the vacuum, the furniture or myself.  It's a miracle I don't work the cord into a noose and hang myself, inadvertently.

Typing:  I'm probably larger than the average male, but by no means am I gargantuan.  My hands are probably normal for my body size, but they were always too small to throw a football properly.  Be that as it may, if there are four keys within proximity of my thumb, I'll hit all four of them at once, either reformatting what I'm typing or causing the screen to go dark.  I hate Bill Gates.

Finding my hand braces:  I have nerve damage in my hands.  I don't know if it's carpal tunnel, but when I sleep my hands hurt so much I wake up, unless I'm wearing my braces.  I put them behind my pillows when I wake up.  When I go to bed, I put the braces somewhere on the bedding so I can find them.  After I put the first one on...I can't find the other one.  It's either wrapped up in the bedding, down behind a pillow or on the floor beside the bed.  But the best part is that I can never find it until after I'm already under the covers, necessitating me to get out of bed and start the process all over.

Cursor obstruction:  You know when you're going to type something in an online form, say for a contest or an application, and you click in the space you're about to fill?  Well, whenever I do that, the cursor covers up what I'm typing, partially, so that I can't see whether I've typed a mistake or not.  I realize that techies all think we're Japanese and make everything as small as possible, but someone should figure out a way to remove the cursor once we've clicked on the blank so that we have a cursor-free space in which to type.

Accessing phone contacts:  Knowing my cyber-challengedness, Karen lovingly programmed the more common phone numbers into a list for one-touch dialing.  I don't care what any of the techies say:  When I hit the (micro-small) square X next to Karen's name, it sends me to another screen that displays her phone number, which I then hit only to be sent to yet another screen, where I can either choose not to call her or call her.  What's the point of having a shortcut?

Reading documents on the computer:  It never fails:  If I need to see what was back on page eleven when I'm on page twenty-three, it'll take me three times as long to locate page eleven on the computer than it would were I have to have the paper document in my hands.

Filled pens that won't write:  At least half the time I pick up a pen that has ink in it, it won't write.

Parking lot parking spaces:  If anyone can miss vacant parking spaces and pass them up, or just miss the one that opened up after I passed it, it's me.  I spend an inordinate amount of time looking for parking spaces.

Misplacing my coupons:  No matter how diligent I am about bringing home my coupons from the grocery store, I somehow lose them.  Currently, they're misplaced either in Karen's car, my car, the garage or the house.

Forgetting the one thing I told myself to remember:  Today, I had to vacuum my office, get the file I left at the office yesterday for tomorrow's meeting, go the store and get the things on Karen's list and return the movies to Redbox.  I forgot the movies and had to go out again after I returned home.  I could easily have forgotten any of the other things without penalty, but I forgot to bring the movies.

Plugging something into a socket:  This won't come as a surprise to many who know me, but I don't know the names of the two prongs on most electrical plugs that are put into the wall sockets.  One of them is fatter than the other.  Invariably -- an almost statistical certainty -- I will try to put the fatter end into the narrower socket hole.  It.never.fails.

Pulling the wrong lace when untying a shoe:  Because of my funky feet, I have to double tie my shoelaces.  When I try to untie the laces, I invariably pull the lace end that does nothing to release the knot.

There are more, no doubt, but these are the daily nuisances that I can remember for now.

(c) 2014 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles

A Trip to the Casino

Karen and I aren't gamblers.  I bet no more than five dollars when the lottery hits $100M, a dollar or so for anything between $50M and $100M.  Other than that, I don't gamble.  The reasons for my abstinence are set forth in an earlier post.

Last Wednesday, Karen and I went to a casino for a show of one of our favorite comedians.  Because of the distance, we left with plenty of time to spare, since we would have to fight through rush hour traffic and the weather.  We arrived at the casino about two hours before the scheduled start of the show, and Karen, as only Karen can do, giggled about playing the penny slots.

At this point, it should be noted that I have absolutely no experience whatsoever with slot machines.  I've never tried my hand at one.  I thought I understood the general concept, but that was before we entered the casino last Wednesday night.

This being but the second time I've visited a casino, the first being the time we bought the tickets for this show, I must admit that the general appearance of the fellow gamblers in the casino was somewhat improved over the first time.  That's not to say that they were of the same model quality that appear typically in the commercials seen on television, but they were a cut above what I saw the first time.  To be kind, most of the gamblers didn't need walkers or oxygen bottles this time.  Still, no one was getting a call from Sports Illustrated or GQ for a cover shoot.

Karen and I wandered aimlessly -- more like cluelessly -- through the rows of machines with blinking lights and obnoxious beeping until we found one that caught Karen's eye.  For me, one was as good, or as poor, as the next.  But Karen found one that she liked and sat down to try her hand at it.  I sat in the chair next to her, with a longtime gambler on the other side of me.  She paused for a nanosecond, sized me up with a sneer and went back to gambling.  Ah, society.

For a few seconds, Karen looked at the machine trying to determine how to play the game.  There were directions, but she might as well have been reading the launch codes for an intercontinental missile.  There was no rhyme or reason to them.  This is a rough approximate of what we were looking at:

I suppose we could have blown the whole two hours before the show trying to decipher the vagueries of the machine, but we decided to wing it.  We were only playing penny slots, and we only had five dollars to blow on it, so why not?

Karen put in her money and pulled the bandit's one arm.  The discs rotated and came to a stop not in a line, but with three lines unevenly displayed in the window.  For example, sometimes it would read across the main line:  7, Wild Card, Bonus, 7 and a 7 with a flame underneath it and we'd lose.  Our tab would be subtracted by some weird amount, say .18 cents, and we'd look at each other and ask what just happened. Karen would pull the lever again and roughly the same line would appear, but now we added back in .6 cents.  There was absolutely no logic, no consistency to the outcomes Karen was getting.

Sometimes, items in different rows would light up, signifying that we had won something by getting three or four of a kind, diagonally.  I didn't even know you could do that.  Again, the Humpty-Dumpty directions provided no guidance.  Karen pulled the arm or pushed the oversized button and she either won a few cents or lost more than a few cents.  Largely, it was like watching the stock market ticker during the Great Depression.  Still today I have no idea what was going on.  Were a Martian to ask me to explain how the machine worked, I'd have better luck explaining the nuances of Sanskrit.

The more this went on, the more I thought of the Germans' Enigma machine from World War II:

At least that machine had a purpose:  Type in a G, and the rotors, electrically manipulated, would spit out a P from one of the four rotors contained in the box.  Had the Allies not had the Poles to help them with the initial bombes, the masterful minds at Bletchley Park, the brave Royal Navy men who sacrificed their lives to get one of the machines out of a U-boat sinking in the Atlantic and the IBM computer sorting machines, we might never have won the war.  The Enigma machine was designed to encipher messages and keep the enemy in the dark.  The Royal Navy men lost their lives getting the machine out of that sub, but they helped win the war with their sacrifice.  I wasn't about to risk my life to help us beat a penny slot machine.

We switched machines trying to figure out less complicated schemes, but it got progressively worse:  Bet five, bet seven, bet twenty-five.  It didn't matter.  Karen lost money algebraically, offset by incremental wins, which she sardonically noted with every five or eight cent increase.  I sat there bemused, noting the elderly couple behind Karen, where the wife was seated gambling at another one-armed bandit while her dutiful husband stood vigil behind her, hand resting on the backrest.  That's me in twenty years, I thought to myself.

Karen lost her five dollars and got another five dollar credit on a different machine, although her results never changed.  It was beginning to seem as if only Stephen Hawking or the NSA super computer was going to defeat the machine.  The losses kept mounting, the slight wins only delayed the inevitable.  There would be no jackpot for us tonight.

We decided to seek guidance on the machines from an employee of the casino, not so much to increase our odds but to eliminate us as the only fools in the place who didn't know how to gamble.  The television ads now made sense to me:  The people in the ads were neophytes who were attracted by the bright lights and jingly bells.  The people we saw now in the casino were those same people who had stayed in the casino for months if not years learning how to play the machines.  The dour, expressionless faces silently told us Abandon hope all ye who enter here.

As Karen sought directions from the helpful casino employee, I waited until she'd shown Karen some of the basics to using the machines to ask where the comedian's show was being held.

The show's been cancelled, she told us.  The comedian had been bedridden with pulmonary embolisms for the last three weeks.  Somehow we, and other patrons, never got an email telling us the show'd been cancelled.

And that pretty much sums up our trip to the casino.

Ironically, however, we left the casino with more money than we entered, since we were able to get a refund for the show tickets.

It's probably the only time I'll leave a casino with more money than I enter it.

(c) 2014 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles

Racist Code

This past weekend the NFL held its conference championship games.  As anyone who reads this space knows, I'm at best a casual fan of the NFL, I abhor the Super Bowl but I love the draft.  I can't explain it, but there it is.  Consequently, I paid next to no attention to the games on Sunday.

Afterwards, however, there was little avoiding one incident that took place after the Seattle Seahawks beat the San Francisco 49ers.  Richard Sherman, regarded by many as the best cornerback in the NFL, ranted about Michael Crabtree, a 49ers receiver with whom he'd had a week-long verbal battle prior to the game. The tirade, which frankly I found to be pretty standard macho fare from an NFL player, was much criticized afterwards by people across the country.  Some, apparently, found Sherman's behavior unacceptable, referring to Sherman as a thug.

For the record, here's what Sherman said:

I'm the best corner in the game.  When you try me with a sorry receiver like Crabtree, that's the result you going [sic] to get.

He went on to refer to Crabtree as a mediocre receiver.

It should be noted that although this outburst was given at maximum volume to a startled Erin Andrews, the network's startled sideline reporter, it lacked any profanity or threats.  Frankly, I don't see what all the fuss was about.

But on social media, people are allegedly ripping Sherman for being a thug.  I find this so far out there that I'm agog at it.  Thug?  I guy says the above, albeit in a loud voice, and he's a thug?  Really?  I find a player like Richie Incognito a much likelier thug than Richard Sherman.  I don't like what Sherman did, and I wouldn't do it myself, but I understand the emotion behind it.  The only thing that was wrong about it in my estimation was the delivery.

If people are looking for thugs, there are better examples in the NFL.  The aforementioned Mr. Incognito, for example, qualifies.  But if thuggery is really sought, try the NHL.  Check out this game between the Calgary Flames and the Vancouver Canucks which took place the day before the Seattle-San Francisco game:

A mere two seconds into the game, the players on the ice began fighting.  The teams put out their fourth lines, not their most talented players and ones usually populated by enforcers, on the ice for the puck drop. Hockey touts the manly nature of its game to justify fighting, and sometimes, sadly, there may be good reason for a fight.  But two seconds into a game?

So those critics who labeled Mr. Sherman as a thug were wrong.  One may disagree with his delivery -- odd for a communications major from Stanford -- but by no means was what he did thuggish.

Mr. Sherman, however, couldn't leave it alone.  Tired of the complaints that came in the aftermath of his post-game comments, Mr. Sherman said this:

The reason is bothers me is because it seems like it's an accepted way of calling somebody the N-word now.  It's like everybody else said the N-word and then they say thug and that's fine.  It kind of takes me aback and it's kind of disappointing because they know.

Essentially, I disagree on this point with Mr. Sherman.

I have not, nor will I seek out, the tweets and other commentary wherein the term thug has been thrown around.  If someone has suggested, obviously, that Mr. Sherman is a nigger thug, that is unconscionable. Thug behavior isn't associated with any particular ethnic group, and use of the term nigger is patently offensive.  So without the benefit of reviewing a good sample of social media associated to Mr. Sherman's outburst, the first point is that anything transparently racists in the commentary is simply wrong.

Second, as Mr. Sherman's behavior after the game can be expected -- he just helped his team reach the Super Bowl, so his excitement should be anticipated -- so too should the detractors and racists who will come out of the woodwork at any opportunity.  There is an element within our society that will never accept true equality between the races, and thanks to social media, they have a forum to express their base views. It's an unfortunate result of living in a free society.

But Mr. Sherman takes things to far by suggesting, without limitation, that the use of the term thug when applied to a black person is a dodge around using the term nigger.  Ndamukong Suh, who plays for the Detroit Lions, is often criticized for his on the field play.  Here's one such play that was roundly criticized:

Here's Albert Haynesworth, by no means the equal of Mr. Suh on or off the field, doing about the same thing:

I have no trouble accepting the application of the term thug to either of these incidents.   I disagree with its application to Mr. Sherman's comments, but I don't see how stomping on another player's head qualifies as anything other than thuggery.

Should I refrain from labeling these incidents as thuggery simply because both perpetrators are black?  That makes no sense.  To try and cherry-pick racist comments from otherwise race neutral language is dangerous. I fully understand hatred of the word nigger -- although at the same time, I'm mystified and horrified at its continued use within the black community -- but this notion that people have shifted to thug as a suitable replacement strikes me as sophistry.

Martin Luther King said content of character versus color of skin as the factor to be considered in judging. It's a worthy standard.  But the standard should be applied equally.  To claim that someone using the term thug is being racist simply because the speaker is white is wrong.  One can question the judgment of the critic invoking the term thug, but I don't believe racism can be imputed.

Dr. King did not say or even suggest that judgment, or by implication criticism, could not be leveled at blacks.  He hoped that it would be a race neutral criticism.  He didn't say that the criticism had to be correct, either.  Knuckleheads who couldn't see Mr. Sherman's tirade for what it was are out of line to suggest thuggery.  Mr. Sherman, likewise, is wrong to find racism in every criticism.

Sometimes, we need to consider the words of that other King, Rodney, and just try to get along.

(c) 2014 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles








































The reason it bothers me is because it seems like it's an accepted way of calling somebody the N-word now," he said. "It's like everybody else said the N-word and then they say 'thug' and that's fine. It kind of takes me aback and it's kind of disappointing because they know.

Twit-speak

I don't tweet, or us Twitter.  I don't understand the need or the concept itself.  Why must anyone know what I'm thinking at a given moment?  Is my commentary, instantaneously sent through the ether the minute I witness something, that much more important than anyone else's?  I suppose that in an emergency situation Twitter has some use, but why not a cellphone or a CB radio?  I guess I'm just old.

One thing that Twitter has given rise to is what I refer to as Twit-speak.  From what I glean from discussions about Twitter, individual posts on Twitter are limited to one hundred and forty characters.  As a result this is to blame for people abbreviating words like are with R and you with U.  For becomes 4.  Then there are the unintelligible acronyms that one learns along the way, like TTYL, which stands for Talk To You Later.  It's enough to make one's head spin.

In certain realms, abbreviations are necessary due to the need for quick communication.  In the military, a QRF is a Quick Reaction Force, and asking for that in three letters is much faster.  We all know the IRS as the Internal Revenue Service; it's much easier to spit out the initials than say the dreck that is that institution's full name.  Some area's of the country group things together, such as Chicagoland, which refers to the Greater Metropolitan Area of Chicago and Gary, Indiana, although, to be sure, this disgusts some people.

Since I don't engage in Twitter, I don't much care how people talk there.  I find it odd and leave it at that. But when it crosses over into mainstream communication, I balk.  It's bad enough that most people can't speak English correctly, or even moderately correctly.  But to use all these Twit-speak affectations is annoying.

For example, I was listening to sports talk radio in the car and heard about a presser.  At first, I thought someone had borrowed this term from the Brits (and they may have, although I can't find out for sure online). What happened to press conferences?  Is that too much for people to say?  Is it unclear what's going on? When I heard about a presser, I thought they were speaking about someone who worked in a dry cleaner's who'd somehow done something at a sporting event.

Then there are the young folk.  This is where I start to feel old.  Someone was talking about something being cray cray.  I'm not sure what the correct spelling is, but that's how it was pronounced.  And what does that mean?  Crazy.  Yes, crazy.  One extra syllable was too much for someone, so they said the first syllable of the word...twice.

There's a commerical with Don Cheadle for some television device, and he refers to an oppo.  At least I think he does.  Having heard the commercial a couple of times now, I think what he's saying in Twit-speak is opportunity.  I don't care enough to look it up, but from the context, that's what I understand.  It's ridiculous.

I'm not against language evolving, because that's what languages do.  But when language is bastardized because people are too lazy or illiterate to communicate effectively, it's tiresome.  I'll never be hip -- I doubt I ever was -- and I'm not opposed to people being so in their dress and language. But this notion that everyone is going to understand abbreviations that are used on Twitter is unsound. I  don't know what the numbers are on Twitter usage, but I doubt that every person on the globe is using it.

I'll never tweet.  I'm not that interesting.  Besides, I doubt I've ever had a post here that was one hundred forty characters or less.  So I leave Twitter to those more interesting, more aware, more hip and more technologically advanced than I am.

Besides, I remember when this # was merely the pound symbol.

(c) 2014 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles

Benghazi

With any luck, there will be some good to come out of the attack on our consulate in Benghazi, Libya, on 11 September 2012.  Beside the strengthening of all our consulates and embassies around the world, this will hang like an albatross around the neck of the Democrats in general and Cankles specifically.

The official story immediately after the attack on 11 September 2012 was that it was tied to a popular uprising in anger of an anti-Islamic video produced by some refugee living in Los Angeles, despite that fact that there was no credible evidence for such a link.  The administration propagated this myth despite the fact that people within the government spoke out and repudiated the stated reason for the attack, and when military and intelligence organs reported what they had told the White House and what they, in turn, were told to do by the White House.

Last month, the New York Times, that venerable liberal news organ, came out with a story denying that Al Qaeda had anything to do with the attack.  A Senate report, released last week, blew that theory to smithereens.  The result is that it is no longer a question that the attack was politically motivated, and not by some offensive movie, the White House through its various offices lied about it and perpetuated the lie for months and that four brave Americans died with nary a thought from the government that retribution should be meted out.

This is hardly the worst scandal brewing.  By far, the NSA and Obamacare will wreak more havoc on the country than Benghazi.  But what's troubling about Benghazi, again, is the way the MSM is handling it. Instead of revisiting it, as it should, it has turned to Bridgegate, the politically motivated payback initiated, at the very least, by the office of Governor Chris Christie of New Jersey, if not the Governor himself.  Mr. Christie has some laudable traits, one of which is his outspokenness, but he can also be a lout when he wants to be.  For liberals, he is the foremost potential challenger to Cankles for the presidency in 2016.  Without having been asked, directly, the MSM is doing the Democrats' bidding by digging into this story as if it were Watergate revisited.  Perhaps there's a scandal to be had there.  But this issue pales in comparison to Benghazi.

First, no one died because of Bridgegate.  No Americans were targeted for death.  No American territory was compromised.  Inconvenience for thousands of New Jerseyans and New Yorkers was all that happened.

Second, Mr. Christie acted with dispatch by firing two aides whose emails detailing their plot were released. To this day, none of the four fall guys for Benghazi have been fired.

Third, unlike Cankles, Mr. Christie apologized for Bridgegate, and he did so without having to be summoned before a congressional hearing.  Cankles outlandishingly asked the congressional panel What does it matter? regarding the reason for the four deaths in Benghazi, and has failed to satisfactorily explain her role in leaving the consulate defenseless.

Fourth, Bridgegate was taken up within days of the revelation of the staffers' emails.  It took nearly a year for there to be anything approaching an acknowledgement that there was no spontaneous uprising and that Al Qaeda was in fact involved in the Benghazi attack.

Fifth, unlike Benghazi, which the MSM has avoided like the plague, Bridgegate has been examined with a thoroughness we could only wish for the Benghazi attack.

My liberal friend hit the nail right on the head:  The MSM is doing a disservice to the country in the way it is giving this administration a free pass.

I am not a Christie supporter by any means.  I think there are far better conservative candidates out there. I am an avowed opponent of Cankles' candidacy.  What irks me is how the MSM continues to push a liberal agenda and declare, at the same time, that it is merely reporting the news.  I state again:  The MSM are no longer journalists but editorialists who choose what news they will report, which gives them incredible power to shape political dialogue.

The traditional Fourth Estate has become, in actuality, an offshoot of the Fifth Column, hiding behind the First Amendment's protections of freedom of the press.

This is not what the Founding Fathers envisioned, I'm quite sure.

(c) 2014 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles

More Hollywood Hypocrisy

This stuff just can't be made up.  On the heels of recent liberal criticisms about Lone Survivor being jingoistic and right wing propaganda, Harvey Weinstein, the overlord of Miramax, has come out and declared that he's going to make a movie that he's going to make a movie with Meryl Streep, and we're going to take this head on.  And they're going to wish they weren't alive after I'm done with them.

About whom is Mr. Weinstein talking?  Well, the NRA, of course.  

Mr. Weinstein has the right to express his opinions.  That is undeniable.  But there are troubling inconsistencies with Mr. Weinstein's viewpoint.  First, he carves out an exception for Jews who should have been able to defend themselves from the Nazis had they had the wherewithal to do so, conveniently ignoring the fact that because of a national registry, the Nazis were able to confiscate the Jews' weapons.  It's a slippery slope one which Mr. Weinstein doesn't want to step, because there are countless examples of why people need guns for self-defense that would render his argument a nullity.  

But those arguments have been aired myriad times already.  By now, any American with a pulse and an eighth grade reading comprehension should be able to rattle off the reasons for and against gun control.  No, Mr. Weinstein's bigger problems come with his hypocritical stance.

Here's a partial list of movies on which Mr. Weinstein was the executive producer:

Reservoir Dogs

Kill Bill, Vols. 1 $ 2

Inglourious Basterds

Pulp Fiction 

Rambo

Django Unchained

Sin City

I've seen some of these movies, but I haven't seen all of them. But from what I know of the movies I have seen, and what I've read of the movies I haven't seen, is that there's some serious gunplay in them.  In fact, one might even say that there's the glorification of gun violence in the movies.  Only two of  them -- Inglourious Basterds and Django Unchained -- would fit the exception articulated by Mr. Weinstein.  The rest of them are gratuitously violent films that have no moral or ethical underpinning allowing for the use of firearms.

So Mr. Weinstein, because he's a poobah in the movie industry and has an anti-gun proclivity, is allowed to make a propaganda film attacking a group that supports a right protected by the Constitution, yet the makers of Lone Survivor, from the author to the people involved in the making of the film, have to justify their product...and Hollywood yawns.  Admittedly, the First Amendment is a protection against government infringement of speech, so this isn't technically a First Amendment issue.  Yet, it's irresponsible at best for Hollywood to sit on the sidelines and say nothing of the liberal bloggers attacking Lone Survivor or Mr. Weinstein attacking the NRA.  I'm well aware that fear may be a large part of the silence involved in the latter, since Mr. Weinstein can throw his considerable power around and ruin careers of those who dare to disagree with him.  But this is the same set that rightfully reviles the McCarthy Era.  To not speak out against these outrages is cowardly.

Parenthetically -- and this is directed at both sides of the aisle -- there needs to be less ad baculum and ad hominem argument.   Ted Nugent unsurprisingly spoke out against Mr. Weinstein's plans, but in so doing referred to Mr. Weinstein as a fat punk.  Similarly, pundits are attacking Chris Christie for his weight.  It would seem that unless someone is rail thin, his size is fair game for his detractors.  Women get this all the time, unfairly so, and it has no place in civilized discourse.  By raising the issue of Mr. Weinstein's weight, Mr. Nugent has discredited both himself and his message.  I agree with Mr. Nugent on the substance of his argument against Mr. Weinstein, but I distance myself from his references to Mr. Weinstein's weight.  Mr. Nugent should also be well advised to familiarize himself with Godwin's Law.  

(c) 2014 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles

Open Letter to Amy Nicholson

This is an actual review of the movie Lone Survivor by Amy Nicholson:

Here's a movie that'll flop in Kabul. Lone Survivor, the latest by Battleship director Peter Berg, is a jingoistic snuff film about a Navy SEAL squadron outgunned by the Taliban in the mountainous Kunar province. After four soldiers — played with muscles and machismo by Mark Wahlberg, Taylor Kitsch, Emile Hirsch and Ben Foster — get ID'd by Afghan goat herders, they're in a race to climb to the top of the nearest summit and summon an airlift before these civilians can sprint to the nearest village and alert local leader Ahmad Shah. It doesn't go well.

Berg's flick bleeds blood red, bone-fracture white, and bruise blue. It's based on the memoirLone Survivor: The Eyewitness Account of Operation Redwing and the Lost Heroes of SEAL Team 10 by sole evacuee Marcus Luttrell (played by Wahlberg) — and that's only a spoiler if you've ignored the title. Luttrell didn't exactly write his book. Rather than sitting in front of a word processor, he was back in action in Iraq. Instead, the United States Navy hired British novelist Patrick Robinson, who, among other embellishments, upped the number of enemy Taliban fighters from 10 to 200. Hey, whatever, man. Those aliens inBattleship weren't real, either.

Lone Survivor's problems are more complex than its Rambo-esque exuberance for machine-gun fire. The near-wordless second half is a deadly dubstep of bullets and snare drums punctuated with the occasional curse. Here's 90 seconds of dialogue transcribed in its entirety: "Goddamn, this sucks!" "Fuck you!" "Fuck!" "Damn, fucking burns!" This doesn't help advance the plot, which can pretty much be summed up as: Don't die. And the film actually gets worse when the guys open their mouths.

These four men were heroes. But these heroes were also men. As the film portrays them, their attitudes to the incredibly complex War on Terror, fought hillside by bloody hillside in the Afghan frontier with both U.S. and Taliban forces contributing to an unconscionably high civilian body count, were simple: Brown people bad, American people good. When the guys debate whether to kill the three goat herders who've stumbled onto their hiding place — a dilemma that, morality aside, could have been solved if any of them had recalled that middle school logic problem about the fox, the chicken, the feed, and the too-small boat — Foster grabs an unarmed teenager by the face and insists, "That's death. Look at death." And when the firefight starts, he bellows, "You can die for your country — I'm going to live for mine."

We're meant to cheer, not that anyone in my theater did. But there will be audiences who do, and I'm not entirely sure I'm comfortable with what they're cheering for. This is death. Look at death.

Berg is no dummy. He's done the right thing by refusing to whitewash these guys as saints, although three of the four are depicted as devoted husbands and fiancées, and the fourth gets to be Mark Wahlberg. And Berg is justified in hoisting these guys up as real-life action stars, building his case with an opening montage of actual Navy SEAL training footage in which screaming instructors winnow a pack of athletes into an all-for-one-one-for-all band of badass brothers who, when forced to float in freezing ocean waves, link arms and sing "Silent Night."

They were ready for action. "We wanted that fight at the highest volume," Wahlberg says, "the loudest, coldest, darkest, most unpleasant of the unpleasant fights." OK, but did the local villagers whom we see get caught in the crossfire want that fight? Each, like Wahlberg's Luttrell, had families and friends and a full life, and each gets dispatched without a second thought.

I'd like to think that, on some level, Berg is questioning the sense of a film — and a foreign policy — that makes target practice of our magnificent teams of hard-bodied, hairy-chested, rootin'-tootin', shootin', parachutin', double-cap-crimpin' frogmen, these soldiers who decorate their bunks with baby pictures of themselves next to an American flag and are so nobly eager to sacrifice their lives for each other and their country. But the ammo doesn't stop blasting long enough for their deaths to have weight. Instead, Lone Survivor just reads like a quasi-political exaggeration of a slasher film: the cellphones that don't work, the rescuers just out of reach, the killers chasing our victims through the woods.

What are we meant to learn from this waste of life? Who is even to blame? All Lone Survivor offers is the queasiest apology of the year. Grunts a battered Wahlberg to his even more-battered best buddy, "I'm sorry that we didn't kill more of these motherfuckers." Replies his fellow soldier, "Oh, don't be fucking sorry. We're going to kill way more of them."

Dear Ms. Nicholson, 

I reprint the review so that no one thinks I took anything out of context because, unfortunately, you do just that in addressing the movie.

For starters, I haven't seen the movie yet, but I have read the book. The author, Marcus Luttrell, has stated that the movie's faithful to the book, so I feel that I can comment intelligently given that endorsement.  If after I see the movie I think that's in error, I'll post a retraction.

Let's start at the beginning:  Lone Survivor, the latest by Battleship director Peter Berg, is a jingoistic snuff film about a Navy SEAL squadron outgunned by the Taliban in the mountainous Kunar province.   Really?  This is a snuff film, with a title like Lone Survivor?  Isn't that taking artistic license a bit too far?  Sure, people die in the movie.  Yes, there's plenty of gunfire.  But to call this a snuff film is to confuse the issue.  Ms Nicholson, what were the SEALs supposed to do when the Taliban, notorious for torturing and beheading its captives, approached them with weapons blazing?  Were they supposed to hold an Algonquin Round Table meeting and sing Kumbaya?  If anything, the fact that the SEALs didn't shoot the goatherders who stumbled upon their hide should belie the notion that this was a snuff film.  But to mention that would detract from your premise.

Ms. Nicholson, what do you know about Navy SEALs?  Do you seriously think that a SEAL team of four members would be defeated by ten Taliban?  Do you know anything about the exceptionalism of the best fighting force the world's ever known?  About the only way they would have lost to ten Taliban is if they'd somehow been taken unawares and been shot in the back.  A running gunbattle between four SEALs and ten Taliban would have been over in a matter of minutes, and three SEALs would not have been lost.  They might have suffered wounds, one might have died, but there little chance three SEALs would have lost to ten Taliban.  It also begs the question how you even believe that there were only ten Taliban there.  Were you there?  Do you have unimpeachable eyewitness accounts, satellite imagery or any other probative evidence disproving Luttrell's assertions that there were upwards of at least one hundred Taliban confronting the four SEALs?

Your criticism of the wordless portions of the movie I can't address directly, since I haven' t seen the movie, but conceptually, isn't a movie a visual medium at its core?  What's wrong with there being stretches with action and no dialogue?  Do you need the actors telling you what's going on to understand? And in an action film, what explanation is really needed?

Perhaps the most misleading and inflammatory portion of this screed is:  As the film portrays them, their attitudes to the incredibly complex War on Terror, fought hillside by bloody hillside in the Afghan frontier with both U.S. and Taliban forces contributing to an unconscionably high civilian body count, were simple: Brown people bad, American people good.   Again, really?  What about the locals, i.e., brown people, to borrow your term, who rescue  Luttrell and protect him against the Taliban who were bad brown people?  If all brown people were bad, why didn't the SEALs kill the goatherders, whom they were pretty sure would reveal their position? The fact of the matter is that as a matter of operational security, one of the options available to them was to kill them, not because they were brown people, but because of the risk they presented.  The same thing has happened in various theaters of war with various non-combatants of different colors, so this is a non-starter insofar as a match to light a controversy is concerned...except to the uninitiated.  And that's really your point, isn't it?

If there's one thing we seem to agree on it's the casting of Mark Wahlberg as Marcus Luttrell.  I applaud his resolve to make this film and stand up to Hollywood punks like Tom Cruise and Kanye West, but he's the wrong actor for this role, if for no other reason that he's too short.

If the movie shows a crossfire in which innocent civilians were caught, that's wrong, because that never happened. The Taliban did threaten villagers to give up Luttrell, and if that's what's being shown, that's fact.  But who threatened them?  Did Luttrell?  Only when he was first found by the villagers who ultimately saved him, and he was unaware of their intentions, did he threaten them.  But to lay any harm to villagers on the SEALs is unfair -- and wrong.  Had it been so, the military could have done the far more expedient thing of sending in warplanes with smart or not-so-smart bombs and take out the location of the target, thereby incurring collateral damage.  Or it could have used your friend Barack Obama's favorite toy, the drone, to possibly take out the bombmaker -- or innocent civilians.  The whole point of sending in the SEAL team was to make a surgical strike.  Think of it in these terms:  Surgical scalpel versus five hundred or a thousand pound bomb.

Your equating the mission in this movie to a political slasher film is ridiculous.  The fact of the matter is that the fog of war happens in every action to change the original plan.  Why do you think Michael Murphy was awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor?  It was because, when his communications didn't function properly, he exposed himself to gain a better vantage point to establish communication to request assistance for his team. This happens in war.  Perhaps you should read a book or two about actual operations before you blithely dismiss actual events in your rush to liken them to Courtney Cox and David Arquette plot twists.

You ask what we are asked to learn from this.  Well, let's try to figure that out together, shall we?  First, the esprit d' corps within SEAL teams is beyond exceptional.  SEAL teams are a finely honed edge, a tool that is used to further our country's foreign policy.  Your thinly veiled disgust with the movie belies your true motivation, and that is anti-war.  You're entitled to your opinion.  But consider that since we went into Afghanistan, since we took out Bin Laden, there have been no further attacks on U.S. soil by Al Qaeda or its minions -- unless, like me, you believe that Benghazi was an attack on U.S. soil...but you probably echo Cankles' reasoning, throw your hands in the air and ask What does it matter?

Those of us who never served also learned the unbelievable sacrifice that our fellow citizens make so that you can write the pap you so obviously revel.  We learned that exceptionalism comes from every corner of this country, in different sizes and shapes, and asks little from us in return.  

What apology does Lone Survivor offer?  You mistakenly take a line of bravado exchanged between brothers in battle and extrapolate to suggest that the movie has to have some political message.  Instead, you owe an apology to readers who have been misled into thinking that this movie is nothing more than a shoot-'em-up, macho lovefest, when in fact it embodies the best this country has to offer.  It shows how our men valiantly acted to protect each other and serve our country in the harshest of environments against a numerically superior force of religious zealots who would sooner have you covered head to toe in cloth than allow you to walk around as you are free to do in this country.

To criticize the cinematography, or the direction, or the acting, or the screenplay or any technical aspect of the film would be one thing, but your review is so transparently a slam of the military and what is does that it ventures into the realm of muckraking.  That you didn't like the movie was undeniable.  That you disagree with the subject of the movie is the more worrisome aspect of your review.  Your review should be offered as political commentary and not a movie review.

UPDATE:  Ms. Nicholson,

I've now seen the movie.  You, madam, are an idiot.

First of all, this silliness about the movie being propaganda...this is a movie about men in battle and those who didn't come home.  How on earth is that propaganda?  Insofar as the notion that this might be a recruiting vehicle for the SEAL teams, how, I ask, is the notion of pushing back into one's leg a part of the femur and digging out jagged shrapnel an enticement to join the SEALs?

I was right:  The Taliban was shown shooting Danny Dietz in the face.  If that's not bad, what is?  Failing to pick up the check for a woman who thinks she's snarkily witty?  And since a member of the Taliban actually did this -- trust me, they can figure this out forensically; have you ever seen CSI? -- wouldn' t that mean that there are bad brown people, as you designate them?  When did any of the SEALs utter a racial epithet?  Didn't good brown people rescue and protect Luttrell?

Ms. Nicholson, the only person who's guilty of propagandizing is you.  You have an agenda and decided to take the opportunity to trash an honest movie about an actual event to further that agenda.  You may be able to string words together, but your analytical abilities are woefully lacking.  This was about as much a piece of propaganda as was Mary Poppins.  In fact, both those movies share one common trait:  They were born out of a real life experience the author lived.  Thanks to Saving Mr. Banks, we know that now of Mary Poppins.

Movie reviews are not supposed to be the arena for pushing a political agenda.  Well, unless you're Josef Goebbels and Leni Riefenstahl.   Perhaps you should view Triumph of the Will and compare that to Lone Survivor.  Then you'd see what propaganda really is.

(c) 2014 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles

Propaganda Cinema

Recently, the movie Lone Survivor debuted in the part of the country not on the East or West Coast.   I've been waiting to see this movie since I saw it was being made, and Karen sweetly bought me the book, which I devoured in a few short days.  To say that it's a sobering book is an understatement.  For those who have seen neither the movie nor read the book, I won't spoil it, but the title pretty much gives one the idea of what happened.

Now that the rest of the country is able to see the movie, it's doing gangbusters at the box office which, no doubt, is disquieting to some liberals.  The book takes some shots at the liberal media, which isn't surprising, since the military is overwhelmingly conservative and despises the MSM.  The largest shells are saved for the ROE's, or rules of engagement, that bind the troops' hands insofar as how they're supposed to conduct the war.  Apparently, no one remembers the outcome of Vietnam anymore.

Suffice it to say, some liberal bloggers have decided that this movie is cliché and, worse, propaganda in favor of the war.  The author himself has responded:

Dakota Meyer, the Marine recipient of the Congressional Medal of Honor, has also responded to the liberal critics:

Their combined credibility makes any further commentary from me on the lunacy of labeling this movie propaganda unnecessary and duplicative.  There is a point, however, that remains.

If these movies are propaganda, what about the myriad anti-war movies made by liberal Hollywood that took President Bush to task for Iraq and Afghanistan?  What about movies like Lions for Lambs, Rendition, Jarhead, Generation Kill (admittedly, a mini-series) and other similar efforts.

In the Wikipedia entry for Lions for Lambs, it generously describes the movies this way:

With a title that alludes to incompetent leaders sending brave soldiers into the slaughter of battle, the film takes aim at the U.S. government's prosecution of the wars in the Middle East, showing three different simultaneous stories:  a senator who launches a new military strategy and details it to a journalist, two soldiers involved in said operation, and their college professor trying to engage a promising student by telling him their story.

I never read anywhere that the MSM labeled this movie as propaganda, despite the fact it clearly has an agenda of criticizing the war effort.  The same can be said for Rendition, which is described as being based on the true story of one Khalid El-Masri, who was confused with Khalid al-Masri, who was the target of CIA rendition.

Whatever one's judgment of rendition, the movie was based on a real life event.  So is Lone Survivor.  The only reason the latter is branded as propaganda and the former isn't is that the latter doesn't correspond to liberals' narratives about the war.  Despite what the author and Mr. Meyer state, these self-proclaimed omniscient critics see propaganda where there is none.  To label Lone Survivor a propaganda reel that glorifies war is demeaning to the three men who lost their lives in those mountains -- and one whose body was never recovered -- and a disservice to the author whose story lacked any venom except for that he holds for the MSM and the ROE's.

As for glorifying war...perhaps critics should read the book.  I haven't seen the movie yet, but at one stage, Luttrell watches the Taliban shooting repeatedly in the faces, at point blank range, of his down comrades. This may or may not have been depicted, however obliquely, in the movie.  But by what measure does that scene glorify war?  If there was a movie about an American serviceman committing a war crime, they would hail it for its truthfulness.  Why should a real life story be twisted to fit the message liberals want to propagate?

I was going to see this movie come hell or high water.  That liberal idiots have seen fit to try to tarnish its value makes me want to see it repeatedly.  The sacrifices made by Michael Murphy, Danny Dietz and Matt Axelson deserve more reverance than this.  They should not have their memories used as a political football. The book is about heroism and sacrifice.  If anything should be glorified, it should be that.  Instead, liberal hacks refuse to acknowledge their actions for what they are.  To paraphrase Rahm Emanuel, who infamously stated never let a good crisis go to waste, liberals never waste an opportunity to create a good crisis.  Theres is no glorification in this movie, no propaganda.  It's the heartfelt story of the one surviving member of a mission that went horribly wrong because the team was handcuffed by idiotic ROE's written by desk-bound attorneys in Washington who had no practical experience in the field.  If anything, the SEALs exemplified the best of the military by not wasting the people who, ultimately -- it's expected -- turned in their position to the Taliban.

Sooner or later, the double standard employed by the liberal MSM is going to catch up with them.  I just hope I'm alive to witness it.

Shame on the liberal MSM for denigrating the sacrifices of Michael Murphy, Danny Dietz and Matt Axelson.

(c) 2014 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles

Peanuts

Recently, I finished reading Schulz and Peanuts, A Biography by David Michaelis.  I can't say that I was a huge fan of Peanuts, his comic strip, but I did enjoy it.  Since I have a natural curiosity and love backstories, I bought this at some library book sale awhile ago.  I wasn't prepared for what I read.

Schulz was possessed of dogged determination.  Given his Scandinavian background, this isn't surprising. Even more so when one considers that he was an only child and his mother was emotionally neglectful most of the time.  His father was aloof, a very good barber but nothing more.  Schulz wasn't in the popular set in high school, although upon entering the Army during World War II, he found a certain acceptance and rose to the rank of sergeant.

Schulz was originally rejected by countless newspaper syndicates and even Disney, although later Disney did invite him to come in and test.  By then, Schulz knew enough about the business to reject Disney's offer, sure he was going to be lost amid all the artists in Disney's stable.  He got his big break at a relatively young age and, despite not having much legal or business counsel, worked out agreements that were as favorable tot he syndicates as they were to himself -- perhaps more so.    

Schulz was awkward with women throughout his life, something I feel we had in common.  He also had low self-esteem insofar as he believe other people perceived him, but he had a very strong faith in himself and his abilities.  The dichotomy made it difficult for people to understand him, another thing we shared.  He also said that comedy doesn't come out of happiness, that it comes from the absence of happiness.  This is another commonality we shared.

Weirdly, Schulz was involved in an affair with a much younger woman when he was in his forties, despite the fact that he had five children with his wife and the world by the tail.  They eventually broke up, and his marriage continued to falter.  Then, he met yet another younger woman, this time a married younger woman. Amazingly, while this was going on, he got in touch with the woman who broke his heart as a younger man who, by this time, was a longtime married woman and mother, and tried to convince her to rekindle their romance, together with the first younger woman.  He ended up with the younger married woman he met after the first younger woman broke it off with him.  Confused?

There were two facets of his life that I found interesting.  Anything that went on in his life made it into Peanuts, including his affairs, although he was subtle about it.  If anyone had been paying attention, they might have been able to read between the lines and figure out what was going on.

He was incredibly influential in cartooning, paving the way for The Far Side, Calvin & Hobbes and For Better or Worse.  He encouraged younger cartoonists while at the same time viewing them as rivals, despite the substantial market share he and his creation enjoyed.

The other interesting thing I found out was the origin of the name Snoopy.  It comes from a Norwegian term of endearment, Snupi, that is mortally sick mother suggested as the name for their next dog.  Perhaps that is why Schulz kept that name so near and dear to his heart, because it was the lone connection to the woman whose love and approval he sought for the majority of his life.

This is why I read backstories.  More often than not, they're more interesting than the story the public knows.

(c) 2014 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles

 

Constitutional Duplicity

The Obama administration is at it again, although given the recent spate of scandals triggered by this administration, I wonder whether Mr. Obama is aware of these.  In fact, there's no link between the two. Only when you consider the ramifications on constitutional rights and the duty to protect and defend the Constitution is there a link.

The first case comes from California.  There, an illegal immigrant not only graduated law school and passed the bar exam, but he's being admitted to the state bar there despite the fact that he is knowingly and willingly violating our immigration laws.  In it's infinite lack of wisdom, the state of California has enacted a law to allow such people to be licensed attorneys in that state.  Ordinarily, I'd be outraged simply at the state of California, but the Department of Justice, in a stunning departure from its duty of enforcing our country's laws, has decided that since the state has enacted this law, it's not going to contest this person's right to practice law.

This is the same DOJ that is considering going after those who smoke pot in states that have legalized the drug.  Apparently, DOJ has a buffet-style approach to the application and enforcement of law.

The cynic in me has a take on this, which I'll reveal later, but DOJ's waffling on pot smokers queers my thought just a bit.

Meanwhile, a group of nuns is contesting that part of Obamacare that requires them to provide birth control coverage to their employees.  The nuns balk understandably because artificial birth control is against their beliefs.  DOJ is opposing their efforts to obtain a waiver of this provision.  I can't even imagine what DOJ's argument is, given the fact that it's a First Amendment issue.  Yet DOJ has chosen to oppose the nuns yet won't oppose California's law as being violative of federal immigration law.

It would seem to me, both as an attorney and as a citizen, that a person who is clearly in violation of a federal statute has no business being licensed to practice law.  We take an oath to protect and defend the Constitution of the United States, its laws and the laws of whatever state in which we're licensed.  It is inimical to me how an attorney sworn to uphold the law can do so when he's in direct violation of a federal statute.  Moreover, for the federal government to turn a blind eye because of the panacea of a state law allowing such a thing is scabrous argument at best.

Then, to turn on the nuns who are only exercising their First Amendment rights not to have their religious beliefs limited or threatened by governmental interference is amazing to me.  On the one hand, there's a group of legal citizens exercising their rights under the Constitution.  On the other is an admitted violator of federal laws.  So DOJ sides with the violater and opposes the citizens.  That makes no sense whatsoever and smacks of selective prosecution.  The cynical viewpoint, to which I alluded above, is that illegal immigrants are more likely to vote liberal than are nuns, who are more likely to vote conservative, so going after the nuns runs no risk while going after the illegal-immigrant-success-story could hamper efforts to gain a larger share of the Latino vote.  I doubt that the thinking is that Machiavellian, but at the same time it wouldn't surprise me if it were true.  Whatever the motivations, this does nothing to instill confidence that an fair and equitable application and enforcement of the laws is happening at DOJ under this president.

                                                                 ---------------------

Apropos of nothing above, what is it with Republicans and bridges.  From Sarah Palin's Bridge to Nowhere to Chris Christie's Bridgegate affair, shouldn't Republicans just avoid bridges altogether?

(c) 2014 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles

Cooperstown, 2014

[WARNING:  MASSIVE SPORTS TALK THAT MAY BE HARMFUL TO CERTAIN READERS' HEALTH]


I'm not too wrapped up in who's inducted into baseball's Hall of Fame, unless it's a Cub.  I was chagrined that the idiots who vote for the honor waited until Ron Santo, only the second best third baseman of his time behind Brooks Robinson and Robinson's better at the plate, had died to elect him posthumously.  I was elated when Fergie Jenkins went in because, as a young player, I tried to model myself after him.  Otherwise, with perhaps the exception of the Pete Rose controversy, I have but a casual interest in who's inducted.

This year is different.  The best pitcher I've ever seen who only happened to start out as a Cub was elected. Greg Maddux, one of the smartest, craftiest and likeable of all pitchers, was voted in with about the fourth largest vote total in history.  He's the second highest vote-getting pitcher behind only Tom Seaver.  Maddux wasn't a power pitcher, he was a pitcher's pitcher.  He could throw to virtually any location, he could field his position, he could hit.  He was the total package.

But for the ridiculously stupid Larry Himes, Maddux would have remained a Cub his entire career.  I had the fortune to see him pitch in his second tour of duty with the Cubs against the Milwaukee Brewers on 28 April 2006, a 6-2 win for the Cubs.  Maddux pitched six innings, gave up a walk while striking out six and allowed two earned runs.  We were seated behind home plate directly in line with the third base line, and I distinctly remember him striking out Prince Fielder.

Maddux was savvy.  He knew how to hit the corners, nibbling here and there without giving away good pitches to the hitters.  He won an staggering eighteen Gold Gloves for fielding.  He was always unassuming, never boastful and very soft-spoken.  He was to pitching what Cal Ripken.

It was a joy to watch him pitch.  Baseball is often criticized by detractors for being a slow game.  Maddux never dithered.  He always pitched quickly, which makes his cerebral approach to the game that much more fascinating.  He was able to plot out a strategy and then execute it without having to stop and think about it.

There are some players I thought should have been elected. Craig Biggio, for one.  I can't believe that there are whispers that he used PED's.  Jeff Bagwell is also being rumored to have used PED's, which I find ludicrous.

I think Jack Morris should have gotten in.  He'll get in via the Veterans' Committee, or whatever it's called now.

Raffy Palmeiro?  That's a blogpost for another day.  I still think Bonds, Clemens, McGwire and Sosa shouldn't get in.  But Pete Rose should.

Finally, Maddux shares a distinction with Fergie Jenkins now:  Besides both being in the HOF, both played for the Cubs, both wore number 31, and they are the only two pitchers in the HOF with more than 3,000 career strikeouts and less than 1,000 career walks allowed.  Maddux stopped just in time:  He ended up with 999.

How's that for a coincidence, Karen?

(c) 2014 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles

Inclement weather

I love challenges.  Not technological or mathematical ones, of course, because there's no challenge in it for me.  I know I'll fail those.  No, I like challenges where there's some prospect of actually triumphing.  That's why I like cold weather.

Many people, if not most people, hate cold weather. They prefer the stifling heat to the bitter cold.  The mere fact that people label extreme cold bitter points that out.  Karen has medical issues related to the cold, so for some, cold weather is indeed bitter.  But those who just don't like being cold find no sympathy from me.

I've said it countless times:  Assuming no personal bias, in cold weather you can always put on more clothing, but in hot weather, you can only take off so much clothing, at least in a civilized society that isn't located in a rain forest.  Sure, there are inconveniences associated with the cold:  Starting the car motors, shoveling, scraping windshields, not being able to stick one's tongue on metal poles.  But hot weather makes one lethargic, whereas the cold encourages activity which, last time I checked, was a good thing.

In extremely hot weather, about the only things one can do safely are sit on a beach or go swimming, whether it be in a pool, lake or ocean.  But in cold weather, there are myriad activities that can be pursued, from skiing to skating to chopping wood to sledding to snowball fights to snowshoeing.  One has to bundle up, certainly, but there's fun to be had in the lower temperatures.

Both extremes pose some health risks, but on average, hotter weather poses more than cold.  Unless someone is exerting himself shoveling snow, there's little risk of falling dead simply because of the temperature.  Long-term exposure to temperature can result in hypothermia, but the cold, for shorter periods of time, can't kill like extreme heat can through overheating.  Heart attacks can result from hotter weather even when there's no physical exertion.

For me, it's preference.  I don't mind getting outside and doing stuff in hotter weather provided I'm not expected to look presentable.  As a guy, I'm used to being grimy and sweaty.  It's when I have to don the monkey suit and brave the elements that real ugliness ensues.  Trying to look presentable before a judge when the temperatures in the eighties, the humidity's approaching the nineties and I have to walk six blocks through the concrete canyons results in me looking look a survivor from a shipwreck.

Sure, I played baseball.  I played it in some hot weather, too.  But I was younger, the risk of heart attack was distant to non-existent, and some games were played at night.  There aren't too many hockey games played outdoors at night for the simple reasons that there are no lights by the ponds, rivers and lakes.

I do understand the gripes.  I just don't agree with them.  That explains why, at 5.30a this morning, I was out taking the dogs to do their business, removing the snow from Karen's car and moving it so she could get to work comfortably.  I'd do that in the summer at the same time, but I'd suffer if I had to do it at 3.00p.  For me, there hasn't been too cold yet.  I'm not overly macho, I just prefer the cold to the heat.

(2014 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles

Flag Waving

As Americans, we take a lot of guff for waving the flag.  Here, we refer to it as being patriotic.  Apparently, for foreigners, it's not allowed for us to wave the flag, or to do it excessively, by their estimation.  We've a prideful nation, overly so.

Yes, chants of USA, USA at sporting events can grate.  I've never believed that superiority in a certain sport translated to world hegemony.  If it did, wouldn't Canadians rule the world given their prowess in curling? Or Brazilians for soccer?  Or New Zealanders for rugby?  How does one choose a sport to prove world domination, anyway?

Even so, as a proud American, I'm mindful of the slippery slope towards the flipside of patriotism, the Ugly American.  I remember being in a haberdashery along the Gran Vía in Madrid when a large, older American entered the store and without addressing anyone in particular began asking for directions in a loud voice to a location that turned out to be a block away.  I was less than thrilled with his performance and didn't want to be linked with him, but it was obvious that it wasn't going to stop until he got an answer, so I quickly gave him directions and turned to ask about clothes in Spanish to the attendant.   It was the first of too many episodes I've witnessed of the Ugly American phenomenon.  So I'm not unaware of it.

Still, why can't Americans be proud?  We've settled two world wars, walked on the moon, saved dozens of countries from crumbing economically, fed millions of people, rushed in to countless natural emergency situations to aid the indigenous population and done more good than many other nations combined.  It's not perfect, but it's the best social experiment in the history of mankind.

What irks me, however, isn't so much that the charge itself is made, because there's a grain of truth to it.  It's the ones pointing the fingers that cause me so much irritation.  Namely, the Brits. Talk about a prideful people.

Before I begin my rant, understand this:  It's not as if the Brits don't have a history of which to be proud. They do.  Amid all the horrible things it's done, Britain does have some notable successes, in economics, wars, literature, science, etc.  In just about everything, actually, except dentistry.  So I'm not claiming that Brits have no reason to be proud of their country, because they do.  Just as every country has its reasons for pride.

What galls me is that Brits wave the flag as much if not more than anyone else.  I swear, the Union Jack flies more than just about any national flag out there.  And if it's not the flag that's being flown, it's that damned anthem that's being sung.  It's as if Brits are trying to reclaim the glory days of the faded empire by dint of their constant shows of patriotism.

But in so doing, they try to put other's shows of pride down, namely ours.  For example, this little nugget comes not from 1783 but 2008:

And these are our allies?  If one is so inclined, click on the video and then read some of the comments from the loyal citizens of our greatest ally.  Imagine:  Booing the national anthem of the home country that's your greatest ally that helped you in two world wars.  Amazing.  But wave that flag!

Of course, it's not just against us that they wave the flag.  I was in Madrid watching the 1985 UEFA finale between Liverpool and Juventus of Milan, Italy, when this took place:

It can be argued that these were just fans of the particular British team that were involved in the fighting, but when this continued to occur in several European competitions, British fans were banned from attending games on the continent.  Brussels wasn't an isolated incident.

Even when the results aren't tragic, the flags are still there.  For the latest royal wedding, they even had a chopper fly a Union Jack around Buckingham Palace...just in case people didn't notice all the flags along the parade route for the new couple:

I won't even mention the flag waving at the birth of the couple's child two years later.

Again, the point isn't that Brits shouldn't wave their flags.  They shouldn't point the finger and accuse Americans of being overly proud.  We have just as many, if not more, reasons to be proud of our country despite being significantly younger as a nation as they do.  For the Brits to sniff and look down on our patriotism smacks of envy or jealousy, no matter what the cause.  Every country has its louts, and if the Brits are pointing to the rowdier elements of our society...well, as shown above, they're on shaky ground, because they've been proven to be as loutish as any country around.  The last time I checked, no Americans were barred from attending foreign sporting competitions for any reason, much less their unique brand of patriotism.

I am a proud American.  I believe I have a balanced perspective on what it is to be an American and what my country means to the world.  We're not perfect and we've done some pretty crappy things along the way. But no nation is perfect, and just because a country has done something wrong doesn't mean it can't celebrate what is good about it.

Even if the country's dental program hasn't progressed from the glory days of its empire.

(c) 2014 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles