Generals' update

It's been awhile since we've looked in on the Generals.  Here's how they looked about an hour ago:

It's only about six o'clock in the evening here, but they've had a long day.  Heck, they've had a long month.  They're tuckered, and rightfully so.

Because we're moving, and because we have logistical nightmares trying to keep the boys with people who both want them and know how to take care of them, they have been shuttled around the better part of two states.  Today I picked them up and drove two hundred and fifty miles home.  Sure, the back of the car was air-conditioned, but they're tuckered.  For the last week they've been in tight quarters in a loving home, surrounded by children and at least one other dog.  Most importantly, they haven't seen Karen, who calms them and knows how to take care of them best.  We had to buy run-of-the-mill dog food because we were caught with having to remove them from one location and take them to another without bringing along their regular food.  The person who was allegedly watching them went to play golf on July 4th and didn't leave any air conditioning on, no fan on and no water.  Even though we were able to provide water, the room was stifling.  Karen and I got them out of there and took them elsewhere, where they were cooped up and left along a lot over the weekend.  Then they were driven about a hundred miles to a new venue where they've been for a week.

Before that, they were with a young couple and their two-year-old daughter who played dress-up with Custer.  Given Custer's proclivities for small children, it's not hard to imagine the brute sitting calmly next to the little girl as she put bows and ribbons around his ears.  I just wish we could have seen pictures of him like that.

Each weekend we go home we take them with us.  That's a three-hundred mile drive both ways in the back of the car, sometimes with the sun beating down on them through the rear window.  Although my car has vents for the air conditioning to blow on them, Karen's car doesn't.  We have to make stops to let them do their business and give them water.  Inevitably, when we get out, people want to pet them and ask about them.  They're always on call whenever get out of the car.  It has to be tiresome for them to be petted all the time, although you'd never know it looking at them as they lap up the attention.  But then it's back into the rear of the car where, if they're really lucky, Karen will throw something from her lunch to them, usually bouncing it off the interior roof of my car.  Somehow, she never seems to bounce it off the interior roof of her car...

...These are our boys.  We love them and try to take care of them as best we can.  It's been rough on us not being with them, but nowhere near as rough as it's been on them being passed around like the collection plate at church.  Through it all, they've borne the indignities and strains of being in new locations with new people almost weekly extremely well.  If it were me, I'd feel unwanted, no matter how much it was explained to me otherwise.  It doesn't matter how much we tell them because they don't understand a word we say.

Sherman and Custer are the best dogs I've ever been around.  Sure, they have their problems, whether it be physical (Sherman) or mental (Custer).  But they are the most loving dogs a human could ask for, and we're darned lucky to have them in our lives.

(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles

Pens

I can't put my finger on exactly when I took an interest in pens, but somewhere earlier in my career I started buying nice pens.  I still use the reliable Bics and other mass produced commercial pens, but when I have to write a nice letter or sign an important document, I try to use one of my nicer pens.

Along the way, I learned some things about finer pens.  I know that one of the brands that brings oohs and ahhs from most people is Waterman.  It's a nice pen, but I don't think it's worth the price.  I may be wrong, but I think one is buying the name more than a quality of a pen with Waterman.

For me, I prefer Cross and Parker pens.  Not just any Cross or Parker pens.  I'm particular when it comes to them.  For Cross pens, the very first one I owned was given to me by our Grandmother for my First Communion.  It's the classic Century model, one too small for my meat cleaver hands.  I keep it out of respect for Grandma, and I've actually bought a couple more since then, but I don't use them that often.

My favorite Cross model is the Century II.  It's fatter and rests more easily in my hand.  Unlike the classic Century model, this doesn't get lost in my fingers.  It weighs just the right amount and doesn't feel clunky, like some of the fatter, thicker models do.

The Parker model I prefer is the Sonnet.  It's similar to the Cross Century II in size and shape, which is why I prefer it, probably.

For both brands, I prefer the classic black or silver versions.  I don't like all the hip new colored pens out there.  My preferred choice in ink color is black, which I know runs against the grain when it comes to signing legal documents, but it's what I prefer.

I even took a liking to fountain pens, thinking it would be a more sophisticated look.  It turns out that it's more messier than anything, and the writing it produces isn't as refined as I'd like.  I prefer an extra fine nib, and even then the writing is splotchy and broad.  I like my cursive to be thin.

Ordinarily, I don't prefer pens to be loud or have too much in the way of design to them.  But Karen got me a Frank Lloyd Wright pen, in fact, this one:

and I cherish it, bringing it out only for special occasions.  I used to have a pen made by Tomtom, but I can't find it.  That's one pen I really miss.

In learning about pens, I was amazed to find that there are pens that cost more than the down payment on some houses.  For example, check out these pens:

The last pen shown only costs $4,000.  The second pen costs $730,000.  Amazing.  First of all, I don't like how either of the three shown looks.  As works of art, they may have some merit.  But as a writing instrument?  Please.  Second, who needs anything that ostentatious with which to write?  It makes no sense.  I've lost plenty of pens in my time and if I lost one costing $730,000, I'd be heartbroken.  I can't find my Tomtom and it only cost about $60.

Whatever the case, I have my little collection of pens.  They really are writing implements.  I don't see them as a collection, or as art.  They're tools.

One day, I hope to sign a book with my FLW pen that Karen bought me.

It would help if I got published first.

(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles

Free speech and its consequences

The First Amendment is in the news these days, and not for the best of reasons.  Once again, celebrities and wannabe celebrities are the culprits, fueling a debate that's as chaotic as it is puerile.

Paula Deen started it off with her deposition testimony for a lawsuit brought by a former worker.  In it, she testified that in the past, she had called an African-American a nigger.  Nigger is a word I deplore and loathe.  I've even gone so far as to read Professor Randall Kennedy's incisive work Nigger:  The Strange Career of a Troublesome Word, to better understand the word's origins and uses.  I don't use the term and I'm quick to criticize those who do.  That Ms. Deen was emotional about her experience of being held at gunpoint by a robber is understandable, but it doesn't justify the use of the word.

After the revelations of the deposition testimony, Ms. Deen's sponsors began to cut ties with her. This had to be expected.  I don't find it to be sanctimonious -- for most of them.  Whether Smithfield Hams or the Food Network cuts ties with Ms. Deen is largely a business decision, and I understand that. Where I part company with a sponsor is Wal-Mart who, otherwise, would be a natural to divest itself of Ms. Deen for her language choice.  The problem is that Wal-Mart sells CD's that have lyrics on them much worse, in my opinion, than what Ms. Deen said some thirty years ago.  For as raunchy as those lyrics may be, the artists have every right to use them and I have the choice to ignore them and the artists.  But for Wal-Mart to let Ms. Deen go and keep those CD's on their shelves is hypocrisy, plain and simple.

Then there's this asinine reality show called Big Brother on CBS.  Because we only receive one channel for the moment, all I can watch are CBS shows.  So I watched these puerile, self-important post-pubescent narcissists acting out for the first episode of the current season, shrugged my shoulders and vowed never to watch it again.  A couple of days later I went online and saw that a couple of the people on that show had been fired by their jobs -- but because they're on lockdown in the house, they don't know this yet.  And the reason they were fired?  They made racist and homophobic comments that were aired on the streaming computer portion of the show, not the portion televised by CBS.  The employers were alerted to the statements and fired them from their jobs, not wanting to be associated with racists and homophobes.

As with the Paula Deen situation, I don't disagree with the actions taken by the employers whatsoever. Where I find it amusing is that CBS continues to allow the racists and homophobes in the house, using their misfeasance as a ratings attraction to pull in more viewers who want to see what all the controversy's about.  Ratings, after all, matter.

In the acme of irony, Julie Chen, who is only married to Les Moonves, the head of CBS, is the host of Big Brother.  Ms. Chen is of Asian descent.  Some of the racist comments made by the housebound narcissists were against Asians.  And still, CBS won't take the offending parties and remove them from the show, despite the outcry from fans of the show threatening a boycott.

The First Amendment only protects speech from government infringement.  None of Ms. Deen's sponsors, none of the houseguests' employers, nor is CBS a governmental agency, so the First Amendment protections don't apply in these situations.  Those entities can take whatever actions they like, which some of them have.  The problem is the inconsistent application of the standards.  This is natural, since each is a separate entity.  But it also points out the difficulty in navigating politically correct waters.

In no way do I approve of either Ms. Deen's use of nigger or the narcissists' use of racist and homophobic language.  I support their right to use it, but I also support the rights of sponsors, employers and others to distance themselves from the source of that language.

Years ago, Natalie Maines of the Dixie Chicks slammed then-President George Bush to a crowd in Europe.  Fans and radio stations reacted by crushing stacks of Dixie Chicks' CD's and refusing to play their music.  Since then, the Dixie Chicks have faded into obscurity.  This is how it should happen:  A statement is made, a (reasonable and sensible) reaction against it is made. End of story. And for the record, I happen to like the Dixie Chicks. But just as Ms. Maines had the right to make her statement, fans and radio stations had their right to react to it.

I'm not sure how any of this will end.  But the politically correct world that we inhabit is treacherous for anyone who opens his mouth.

(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles

Oklahoma City v. New Orleans

There continue to be benefit concerts for the victims of the tornadoes that hit Oklahoma recently, and I've been noticing something very curious.

When Katrina hit, celebrities from all over the country, and in fact from all over the globe, sped to New Orleans to raise funds and help out otherwise to help the displaced residents and raise funds. Mike Myers and Brad Pitt, notably, were in the vanguard of relief efforts to help New Orleans. There were plenty of other stars there, but I mention those two for a reason.

When tornadoes devastated Oklahoma, there was a very noticeable bent to the celebrities who aided the victims.  In New Orleans, entertainment and sports celebrities of all races helped the victims. But in Oklahoma, besides Usher, who was there because he has relatives and members of the NBA's Thunder, there were precious few black celebrities who aided the relief efforts.  There might have been one or two who grew up there or plays elsewhere as a professional athlete, but the vast majority of celebrities who have helped the relief efforts are white.  Most of them are country and western artists who hail from Oklahoma, but there are some others who are helping out.

Why is this?

I remember Kanye West infamously declaring, as he stood by the very pale Mike Myers, that George Bush hated black people.  Well.  Does the absence of Kanye West from Oklahoma mean he hates white people?  Given that a very white woman just bore him a child, he has an interesting conundrum facing him as he tries to answer that question.  Where are his black brethern and sistern?

I thought that the idea of helping fellow Americans transcended race.  That's why Mike Myers -- who's Canadian, by the by -- and Brad Pitt rushed to New Orleans.  But black celebrities -- unless they play for the nearby Oklahoma City Thunder -- can't seem to be bothered to help out.  It's a very curious double standard, one that is either being ignored completely or going by absolutely unnoticed.  For all the talk of a color blind society, it sure seems as if whites are only too easily importuned to help out when many of the victims are black but when the shoe's on the other foot, whites shouldn't expect any support from blacks.

I wonder why this is.

To be sure, there are plenty of blacks who have the means to contribute.  Perhaps they're doing so silently.  For a celebrity to donate large amounts of money silently would be a surprise, but I suppose it's possible.  Somehow, however, I doubt it.  I think that blacks celebrities feel no obligation to assist unless it inures to their pecuniary interest.

Whatever the reasons, this dichotomy stinks.

(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles

A woman's life

I've never considered the possibility of becoming a woman or, as it's called nowadays, gender reassignment.  I've never dressed up in women's clothing, other than the odd time or two when I put Karen's bra on my head as a joke which, not surprisingly, she didn't find as funny as I did.  I've never longed to deal with life from a woman's perspective, and I think there's ample reason for that.

First, the biological aspects are too much.  Menstruation, pregnancy, three types of cancer almost entirely female in nature...the list goes on.  Men have it infinitely easier from a biological standpoint, with the lone possible exception being getting our penises caught in a zipper.  I don't even want to consider what labor/delivery is like (I've been told it's like trying to push a bowling ball or a turkery between one's legs).  Women have it infinitely rougher than men and from what I can tell, not for real good reasons.

The next aspect that bothers me is the clothing.  Egads.  I'd have to have various and sundry parts of my body exposed for fashion?  Plunging necklines, rising hemlines, short sleeves.  Frilly, flouncy, multi-colored prints, slits up the sides and sides missing altogether.  No thanks.  And pink.  Heavens. If there's one color I detest more than orange it's pink.  I think it's a mandatory part of being a woman that you either surround yourself with pink or wear it at least four times a week.

The worst for me?  High heels.  What medieval inquisitor came up with these torture devices?  I can't imagine being strapped into them, much less have to walk or -- heaven forbid -- dance or run in them.  So they show of women's butts better.  Who cares?  I can think of few legitimate reasons women should wear high heels.

Then there's the warpaint, also known as make-up.  There is no way on God's green earth I could put that crap on my face, let alone wear it all day.  The thought of wearing warpaint makes me want to puke.

The worst part about being a woman, however, has to be having to deal with men.  I'm not talking about the day-to-day intercourse involved in loving, monogamous relationships.  I'm talking about dealing with men hitting on them, trying to get them to bed, discrediting them because of their gender, belittling the work they do, paying them less than they're worth, etc.  There are precious few arenas in which women are not men's equals -- many sports and the military are the only two that come to mind -- and there is no reason for the disparity of treatment between the two.  Yet men treat women like objects or second-class citizens, and I couldn't put up with that.

I'm glad I'm a man for many reasons.  But there are so many more reasons that I'm glad I'm not a woman.

(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles

Independence Day, 2013

Happy Independence Day, everyone.  Let freedom ring.

Today we celebrate the declaration of our independence from the tyranny of British overlords who, much like they did in every one of their colonies through history, wanted to use us to further their own interests.  Americans should reflect on what led the Founding Fathers to make the most courageous of declarations and then follow through with it.  We are truly blessed to live in the best country in the world.

There are those who would differ with that assessment.  Landscape, food, traditions, history -- there are several ways to measure greatness, and by no means am I suggesting that the United States has a monopoly on all the best in this world.  We have more than our share of warts, to be sure.  But in terms of what this country provides for its citizens, it is the greatest experiment in human history. Hopefully, the country will survive the present administration.

The United States' example is illustrative today because we see another country -- much older than the United States -- struggling to settle on an identity.  Egypt is in the throes of yet more upheaval, this time occasioned by the military forcing the democratically-elected government to step down. There will be those criticize the military for overthrowing the government, just as there will be those who praise the military for toppling what is seen by many as an illegitimate government who reneged on its promises.  As an outsider, I don't know what's best for Egypt.  That's up to the Egyptians.

What is clear, however, is that the Islamofascists have declared time and again that they would use our own tools against us. We see that in this country, where they use the First Amendment to spew invectives against our government and our way of life.  They'll use the Fourth Amendment to hide their arms and bombs and then protect themselves once they're caught.  They use the Fifth Amendment to protect themselves in trials.  They use the Sixth Amendment not to get a right to a speedy trial, but to ensure that they'll have a forum from which they can make political speeches. The Fifteenth Amendment they'll use to gain rights of suffrage and then vote in the Muslim Brotherhood, as they did in Egypt.  We're not up against camel-riding nomads.

That's why I'm torn about what's going on in Egypt.  Morsi was elected democratically, absent any showing of voting irregularities, of which I've heard nothing.  At the same time, once Morsi was elected, he tried to use democracy to install Sharia law, which is about as antithetical to democratic rule as any system on earth.  Democracy was hijacked to be used as a Trojan horse to usher in an ancient system that is anathema to modern ways.  The majority of people don't want to live under Sharia law, and the Muslim Brotherhood knew it had no chance of winning a popular election had it hewed closely to Sharia principles during the election.

This is for the people of Egypt to resolve.  They must decide how their country is to be going forward.  But it's instructive for all freedom-loving peoples -- especially Americans -- to see how their basic freedoms can be used against them and then lost.

We must abide by our cherished rights, but we must also protect them.  This is no easier a task than what faced our Founding Fathers two hundred and thirty-seven years ago.

(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles

Garage Sales

By no means am I experienced at garage sales.  I've been to a couple, had a couple myself, but I wouldn't dare write a book on how to hold a garage sale.   They're not my idea of fun, either as a buyer or a seller.  The haggling, the sitting around, the rain delays -- all of it is just wasteful to me, even if I am able, as a seller, to get rid of stuff and realize some cold hard cash in the bargain.

Last weekend Karen and I had another garage sale.  This one was done by the seat of our pants since we were throwing all manner of things out there without any rhyme or reason to it.  We had a bike rack, a bookshelf, various and sundry dishes and small kitchen appliances, a broken chainsaw, a fertilizer spreader, books, a defective map (it had the county listed as Londonderry and not Derry, which any good Irishman knows is simply wrong), garden tools, a wheelbarrow or two, a boxed ceiling fan -- in short, a menagerie of items for sale.

The people who attended our sale were both humorous and odd.  We didn't have any real jackasses, although there was a woman who wanted us to cut in half our price for the bike rack that was in almost pristine condition -- and was already being sold for less than one quarter of its original price.

One family, a couple with their two grown daughters, was a riot.  They fell in love with Sherman and Custer and bought a ton of stuff, staying roughly two hours.  An older man stayed with us regaling us with stories of his cherry-picking first edition books at garage sales for profit.  A pair of older women were so carefree, one of them buying cookbooks not because she cooks but because she likes to look at the pictures, the other offering Karen $5 to be allowed to dig up flowers in our flowerbed. Karen only paid $2 for them in the bargain bin.

A little neighborhood boy stayed with me for about a half hour just asking me questions.  Other children were with their parents, so I wasn't entirely comfortable with the situation, but no harm came of it.

The funniest incident involved a small community bus that pulled into our driveway and unloaded about twelve senior women, much like a small car pulling up and unloading an endless group of clowns.  Apparently, the village has this service for its seniors, who go from sale to sale looking for bargains.  It was hard not to lower prices for these cheerful women.  When they arrived I couldn't call Karen fast enough so she could come down to see the bus empty.

The other highlight of the sale was the number of Latino buyers who only spoke Spanish.  There were times when I was negotiating -- regateando -- in English and Spanish simultaneously.  Once, I didn't understand what someone said in Spanish, but Karen, who doesn't speak a whit of Spanish, did.  That's how confusing it was.

The rain cut both sales short and the second day Karen and I decided to go see World War Z.  I'm not into that whole zombie thing, but given the sometimes frenetic pace of the sales, seeing zombies was quite appropriate.

(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles