The Black Lives Matter movement is a well-intentioned idea that's been largely highjacked by extremists who use it as a Trojan horse to cause mischief not anticipated by its founders. Or perhaps they considered it but rejected it. I find it hard to believe that a group having the words lives matter in its title wopld espouse such violent means to accomplish its goals.
That being said, there are elements of truth -- some would say more than a few -- in the underlying motivation for the creation of the group. There has been a rash of police shootings of black men that are hard to justify, hard to explain. Although I'm not in the club that says the Michael Brown shooting was murder -- I think it was a righteous shoot -- there are far too many extreme examples of shootings (and in the case of Eric Garner, suffocation by strangulation) by police of black men to justify them on any grounds. The South Carolina shooting, the Chicago shooting, the St. Paul shooting, and now, in Florida, the shooting of a man lying on the ground with his hands raised. Fortunately, the last example did not result in death. What in heavens name possessed the cops to shoot these people.
Some will notice I didn't include every example of recent memory. For one, the Baton Rouge shooting that preceded the St. Paul shooting by a couple of days may in fact turn out to be legally justified. The death of the Baltimore man in the back of the police van is proving to be an unfortunate accident or a result of pre-existing injuries. I'll be blogging on Baltimore in the days to come.
Still, those exclusions in no way justify the shootings I did cite. The man in South Carolina was running away from the police; he was shot eight times in the back. The kid in Chicago was shot sixteen times as he backed -- skipped -- away from the police cruisers. The St. Paul shooting was equally unjustified, and the shooting today in Florida is mind-boggling.
I do not think most police are racists. I'm sure that within the ranks there are some racists, and I think that having to deal with the public had coarsened some police so badly that they see justification where there is none. In some instances, the training was insufficient or non-existent, or the cop just didn't pass muster. Whatever the reason, the ranks of the police, as with any other profession, include people who are just bad or incompetent.
A larger problem is the closing of ranks. That may sound callous and indifferent, but when good police allow bad police to operate under cover of the shield and refuse to turn them in or voice their concerns to superiors, the public trust is violated. Sure, people lose their lives as well. But we as citizens can no longer rely on the notion of serve and protect. This is no surprise to blacks in this country, who suffer indignities ranging from being pulled over for driving while black to being shot in the back. But for all citizens irrespective of race or gender, this is a burgeoning problem.
I spoke with someone who theorized that it's because the police have veterans who, having returned from the wars, suffer from PTSD. Perhaps. And although there are therapists available for all police, I question how many police avail themselves of the benefit; it's probably not seen as virile.
But we as citizens have a right to feel protected by the people whom we're paying to protect us. We also have a right to expect that they will do the right thing and report those fellow officers whom they suspect of harboring racist or murderous tendencies. The police are to serve and protect us -- not just from criminals not wearing a badge, but from those who do, as well. It's a sad truth but it's something that needs to be said: Within the ranks of the police there are criminals or criminals waiting for their opportunity.
Blacks should have the same expectation of justice that whites or any other races do. They shouldn't have to worry about being gunned down for no good reason. The police need to weed out the bad cops and not worry about being labeled as turncoats. Most police are excellent and do a great job, handling stresses we can't comprehend. They shouldn't allow the closing of ranks to tarnish this reputation. That doesn't mean it should be open season on cops. But the cops need to do a better job of policing not only in the communities in which they serve, but also the precinct stations in which they work. Closing ranks does no one any good.
(c) 2016 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Thursday, July 21, 2016
Tuesday, July 19, 2016
Ponderables
One particular question sparked this, so one can try to figure out which one it is. In the meantime, other questions have cropped up, basically writing this blogpost for me:
-- Carmelo Anthony, the basketball player, is encouraging other athletes to stand up and become more civically involved. Forgive my cynicism, but his idea of activism, no matter how hard he tries to gussy it up as something praiseworthy and noble, rings just a little bit hollow. Why? Am I the only one who remembers that Anthony was in a video called Stop Snitching? Wasn't the person who produced that video sentenced to twenty years in jail? Is Anthony going to publicly repudiate his involvement -- allegedly he already has, but if so, I missed it -- and tell black youth that they have a duty to cooperate with police? Has hell frozen over yet?
-- If Karen and I host a dinner party and invite vegan or vegetarian guests, it's expected that we'll serve something to accommodate their tastes. If vegan or vegetarian hosts invite omnivores to their houses, will they do the same and have meat on the menu?
-- If the state is going to have construction efforts going on at night, and drivers are required to drive no more than 45 MPH in construction zones, why does it have the work going on right by the lane dividers while there's a six inch drop off on the right side of the lane?
-- Why does anyone suggest that blondes have more fun when redheads are more fun?
-- Who greenlights commercials for products on television? I mean, some of these ads are moronic in the extreme. Does the advertiser have final say or is there a term in these contracts that gives them refunds for horribly devised and executed advertisements?
-- The chatter today is whether Melania Trump's speech last night plagiarized Michelle Obama's from eight years ago. Interesting. Did anyone in the MSM raise the fact that Jesse Jackson's patchwork quilt speech was lifted from an earlier speech?
-- Why is it that churches are always the First Presbyterian this, the First Methodist that? Why is there never a Seventeeth Unitarian Church, or a One Hundred and Second Congregational House of Worship? Everyone can't possibly be first, can they?
-- Blue ink or black ink?
-- If we expect moderate Muslims to turn on the so-called radicalized Islamists who are doing their best to make a mockery of their religion, why don't we expect police to turn on bad cops who are indiscriminately gunning down (largely) innocent black men and then trying to claim that they had no other option?
-- With a record such as the one Cankles brandishes, who in his right mind would vote for that person, history or not?
-- That being said, who really wants to vote for Mr. Celebrity Apprentice? Isn't that like taking a spoonful of castor oil because no matter how bad it tastes, it's supposedly good?
(c) 2016 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
-- Carmelo Anthony, the basketball player, is encouraging other athletes to stand up and become more civically involved. Forgive my cynicism, but his idea of activism, no matter how hard he tries to gussy it up as something praiseworthy and noble, rings just a little bit hollow. Why? Am I the only one who remembers that Anthony was in a video called Stop Snitching? Wasn't the person who produced that video sentenced to twenty years in jail? Is Anthony going to publicly repudiate his involvement -- allegedly he already has, but if so, I missed it -- and tell black youth that they have a duty to cooperate with police? Has hell frozen over yet?
-- If Karen and I host a dinner party and invite vegan or vegetarian guests, it's expected that we'll serve something to accommodate their tastes. If vegan or vegetarian hosts invite omnivores to their houses, will they do the same and have meat on the menu?
-- If the state is going to have construction efforts going on at night, and drivers are required to drive no more than 45 MPH in construction zones, why does it have the work going on right by the lane dividers while there's a six inch drop off on the right side of the lane?
-- Why does anyone suggest that blondes have more fun when redheads are more fun?
-- Who greenlights commercials for products on television? I mean, some of these ads are moronic in the extreme. Does the advertiser have final say or is there a term in these contracts that gives them refunds for horribly devised and executed advertisements?
-- The chatter today is whether Melania Trump's speech last night plagiarized Michelle Obama's from eight years ago. Interesting. Did anyone in the MSM raise the fact that Jesse Jackson's patchwork quilt speech was lifted from an earlier speech?
-- Why is it that churches are always the First Presbyterian this, the First Methodist that? Why is there never a Seventeeth Unitarian Church, or a One Hundred and Second Congregational House of Worship? Everyone can't possibly be first, can they?
-- Blue ink or black ink?
-- If we expect moderate Muslims to turn on the so-called radicalized Islamists who are doing their best to make a mockery of their religion, why don't we expect police to turn on bad cops who are indiscriminately gunning down (largely) innocent black men and then trying to claim that they had no other option?
-- With a record such as the one Cankles brandishes, who in his right mind would vote for that person, history or not?
-- That being said, who really wants to vote for Mr. Celebrity Apprentice? Isn't that like taking a spoonful of castor oil because no matter how bad it tastes, it's supposedly good?
(c) 2016 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Friday, July 15, 2016
Microaggressions
As an Irishman, I know how to hold a grudge. Just ask the Limeys. There are also a couple of attorneys I'm gunning for who won't know what hit them when I get done with them, and their misdeeds were committed years ago. In short, if anyone knows how to hold a grudge, it's me.
That being said, I don't believe I'm unreasonable. My grudges are for acts that were beyond the pale, not perceived slights that to an ordinary person would be laughable. Just because someone looks at me sideways, or acts gruffly, or doesn't acknowledge me, is not a reason to go to war or even stage a protest. Apparently, however, there are people who are aggrieved for slights that very few people would recognize.
Recently, students at a school not in California -- it's a surprise that the school's not in California -- but in Ohio, Oberlin College, have complained that the unsuccessful attempt to make authentic Asian food was a microaggression in that it was a cultural appropriation. That is, for trying to provide an authentic Asian dish but failing, the students suffered a microaggression and have a grievance. Rather than looking at it as an attempt to acknowledge, honor and include elements of a foreign culture into the American melting pot, the failure to authentically complete the dish is an insult worthy of protest.
The term microaggression arose in the 1970's when a professor at Harvard University named Chester M. Pierce developed the theory. Whether it's been hijacked I can't say; I think most of psychology is just common sense with labels. But it's spawned a cottage industry that allows it to be extended to women, other minority groups and people in categories that didn't even exist when Professor Pierce coined his new word.
What this really is is victimhood. People with an axe to grind -- real or imagined -- can elevate their nonsense by using this pseudo-science and making it sound that much more important. It's gotten to the point that virtually an act taken by one person can cause a claim of microaggression by another person. Or, to flip an old saying, one man's free speech is another person's microaggression.
Not surprisingly, Lena Dunham, the highly liberal darling of the Left, is a leader in claiming microaggressions or in standing with the unwashed masses, graduated from Oberlin. It would appear that Oberlin is in the business of producing people highly trained at perceiving microaggressions and calling them out. A professor, Joy Karega, claimed this past spring that ISIS was, in actuality, a joint CIA-Mossad creation and that Jews were behind the 9/11 attacks. It's positively amazing how Oberlin people can see things other people can't even imagine.
This blog, then, must be a constant source of aggression for Oberlin graduates. I'd like to think, however, that instead of being a mere microaggression, it's a macroaggression, because I don't give a rip about these people's feelings. If they're offended by something I post, I applaud their perception, because I'm not about to apologize for expressing my beliefs and if they're insulted or offended, they probably deserve to be.
Molon labe.
(c) 2016 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
That being said, I don't believe I'm unreasonable. My grudges are for acts that were beyond the pale, not perceived slights that to an ordinary person would be laughable. Just because someone looks at me sideways, or acts gruffly, or doesn't acknowledge me, is not a reason to go to war or even stage a protest. Apparently, however, there are people who are aggrieved for slights that very few people would recognize.
Recently, students at a school not in California -- it's a surprise that the school's not in California -- but in Ohio, Oberlin College, have complained that the unsuccessful attempt to make authentic Asian food was a microaggression in that it was a cultural appropriation. That is, for trying to provide an authentic Asian dish but failing, the students suffered a microaggression and have a grievance. Rather than looking at it as an attempt to acknowledge, honor and include elements of a foreign culture into the American melting pot, the failure to authentically complete the dish is an insult worthy of protest.
The term microaggression arose in the 1970's when a professor at Harvard University named Chester M. Pierce developed the theory. Whether it's been hijacked I can't say; I think most of psychology is just common sense with labels. But it's spawned a cottage industry that allows it to be extended to women, other minority groups and people in categories that didn't even exist when Professor Pierce coined his new word.
What this really is is victimhood. People with an axe to grind -- real or imagined -- can elevate their nonsense by using this pseudo-science and making it sound that much more important. It's gotten to the point that virtually an act taken by one person can cause a claim of microaggression by another person. Or, to flip an old saying, one man's free speech is another person's microaggression.
Not surprisingly, Lena Dunham, the highly liberal darling of the Left, is a leader in claiming microaggressions or in standing with the unwashed masses, graduated from Oberlin. It would appear that Oberlin is in the business of producing people highly trained at perceiving microaggressions and calling them out. A professor, Joy Karega, claimed this past spring that ISIS was, in actuality, a joint CIA-Mossad creation and that Jews were behind the 9/11 attacks. It's positively amazing how Oberlin people can see things other people can't even imagine.
This blog, then, must be a constant source of aggression for Oberlin graduates. I'd like to think, however, that instead of being a mere microaggression, it's a macroaggression, because I don't give a rip about these people's feelings. If they're offended by something I post, I applaud their perception, because I'm not about to apologize for expressing my beliefs and if they're insulted or offended, they probably deserve to be.
Molon labe.
(c) 2016 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Wednesday, July 13, 2016
Local Radio
In our travels, Karen and I like to listen to the radio in the car. We used to have Sirius XM, but that became a joke with the cost and the renewals, so we let that go. Instead, when we travel we tune into whatever radio station catches our fancy.
Last year we took a trip to D.C. and were traveling back through Kentucky on our way home. Karen found a station that played bluegrass and Christian music. What got our attention, however, was the folksy manner of the host, who kept referring to musicians with whom he'd played that had recorded the songs he was about to play. Added to that were the announcements for garage sales that were going on in the county. We were transfixed. Think of it as a kind of southern Lake Woebegon.
We were genuinely tickled. The moderator, an older gentleman, spoke with that easy, Southern drawl from southern Kentucky. He was so matter-of-fact that it made us feel as if we'd known the man for ages. He waxed nostalgic as he reviewed the musicians and the work on which they'd collaborated. The announcements for the garage sales were so earnest that one would have thought he had a stake in their outcome. The garage sales themselves were broken down with the items for sale announced over the radio, followed by an encouragement to stop by and check out the sale. Larger items -- car engines, truck wheels, lawn mowers -- were described in detail and hawked as if the moderator had personally tried each item before it was listed. But make no mistake: This was no hard-sell. It was about as gentle a sales pitch as there could be.
When we finally traveled out of the range of the station we were genuinely disappointed.
Our hometown radio station is unintentionally funny. To begin with, and to our utter amazement, the woman who does the weather -- let's call her Heidi Mayer -- cannot pronounce her title: Meteorologist. Ms. Mayer instead calls herself a meteorolovist. No, she doesn't have a speech impediment. There is no discernible reason why she can't pronounce her title, but no one mentions this openly weird fact on the air. As far as I'm aware, no one has ever called in and asked about it on the air, either.
But it's the reports on events in our neighborhoods that get me going. One report involving a local high school's purchase of a new scoreboard for the football field took five minutes. Five stinking minutes. They went through how the money was appropriated, why the new scoreboard was necessary, why the old scoreboard was no longer useful, an interview with the athletic director about the new scoreboard, how the scoreboard would enhance the experience at the game and when it would be installed. If one thought the report ended with the date of its installation, one would be wrong. The facts about the installation were then examined. As with the Kentucky moderator, the reporter gave us all this information with an earnestness so true that one almost believed that the story about the new scoreboard merited even more airtime.
Not to be outdone by a new scoreboard, the station had a story about the same high school purchasing new band uniforms. Without exaggerating, this story included news on how long it had been since new uniforms had been purchased, how much they would cost, the history of the band's accomplishments, an interview with the band director, news of the invitation the band had received to participate in the Tournament of Roses (or some such event) parade, how many members were in the band and sundry details that no one really needed to know. A story that should have lasted less than a minute went five minutes easily.
At least this station plays the kind of music I like.
For Memorial Day, Karen and I visited Michigan's Upper Peninsula. The land of the Yoopers promised to have unintentionally entertaining radio, and we weren't disappointed. Somewhere in the Keweenah peninsula a radio station was offering for sale discount coupons for amenities at restaurants and other shops. For example, one could purchase for $8 a coupon for a walleye dinner for two that regularly sold for $20. Or a $4 coupon for the purchase of beers at a bar that regularly cost $12. The deals were fantastic. I called from the road as we were headed south toward the Wisconsin border and was told that we only had two more hours to purchase coupons; we were at least three hours away from the station in Eagle River. As with the Kentucky moderator, this sales pitch was laid back, albeit with the Yooper accent, and like the Kentucky offers, presented excellent deals.
These kinds of experiences aren't going to be found on radio stations in major cities or on XM stations. Sure, XM has some interesting shows. It even has some shocking shows. But these stations are a throwback to an earlier, more innocent time. There are still people who appreciate the less urbane, the less hip.
Count me and Karen among the latter group. We can't wait until we take another trip so we can find more hidden gems like these.
(c) 2016 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Last year we took a trip to D.C. and were traveling back through Kentucky on our way home. Karen found a station that played bluegrass and Christian music. What got our attention, however, was the folksy manner of the host, who kept referring to musicians with whom he'd played that had recorded the songs he was about to play. Added to that were the announcements for garage sales that were going on in the county. We were transfixed. Think of it as a kind of southern Lake Woebegon.
We were genuinely tickled. The moderator, an older gentleman, spoke with that easy, Southern drawl from southern Kentucky. He was so matter-of-fact that it made us feel as if we'd known the man for ages. He waxed nostalgic as he reviewed the musicians and the work on which they'd collaborated. The announcements for the garage sales were so earnest that one would have thought he had a stake in their outcome. The garage sales themselves were broken down with the items for sale announced over the radio, followed by an encouragement to stop by and check out the sale. Larger items -- car engines, truck wheels, lawn mowers -- were described in detail and hawked as if the moderator had personally tried each item before it was listed. But make no mistake: This was no hard-sell. It was about as gentle a sales pitch as there could be.
When we finally traveled out of the range of the station we were genuinely disappointed.
Our hometown radio station is unintentionally funny. To begin with, and to our utter amazement, the woman who does the weather -- let's call her Heidi Mayer -- cannot pronounce her title: Meteorologist. Ms. Mayer instead calls herself a meteorolovist. No, she doesn't have a speech impediment. There is no discernible reason why she can't pronounce her title, but no one mentions this openly weird fact on the air. As far as I'm aware, no one has ever called in and asked about it on the air, either.
But it's the reports on events in our neighborhoods that get me going. One report involving a local high school's purchase of a new scoreboard for the football field took five minutes. Five stinking minutes. They went through how the money was appropriated, why the new scoreboard was necessary, why the old scoreboard was no longer useful, an interview with the athletic director about the new scoreboard, how the scoreboard would enhance the experience at the game and when it would be installed. If one thought the report ended with the date of its installation, one would be wrong. The facts about the installation were then examined. As with the Kentucky moderator, the reporter gave us all this information with an earnestness so true that one almost believed that the story about the new scoreboard merited even more airtime.
Not to be outdone by a new scoreboard, the station had a story about the same high school purchasing new band uniforms. Without exaggerating, this story included news on how long it had been since new uniforms had been purchased, how much they would cost, the history of the band's accomplishments, an interview with the band director, news of the invitation the band had received to participate in the Tournament of Roses (or some such event) parade, how many members were in the band and sundry details that no one really needed to know. A story that should have lasted less than a minute went five minutes easily.
At least this station plays the kind of music I like.
For Memorial Day, Karen and I visited Michigan's Upper Peninsula. The land of the Yoopers promised to have unintentionally entertaining radio, and we weren't disappointed. Somewhere in the Keweenah peninsula a radio station was offering for sale discount coupons for amenities at restaurants and other shops. For example, one could purchase for $8 a coupon for a walleye dinner for two that regularly sold for $20. Or a $4 coupon for the purchase of beers at a bar that regularly cost $12. The deals were fantastic. I called from the road as we were headed south toward the Wisconsin border and was told that we only had two more hours to purchase coupons; we were at least three hours away from the station in Eagle River. As with the Kentucky moderator, this sales pitch was laid back, albeit with the Yooper accent, and like the Kentucky offers, presented excellent deals.
These kinds of experiences aren't going to be found on radio stations in major cities or on XM stations. Sure, XM has some interesting shows. It even has some shocking shows. But these stations are a throwback to an earlier, more innocent time. There are still people who appreciate the less urbane, the less hip.
Count me and Karen among the latter group. We can't wait until we take another trip so we can find more hidden gems like these.
(c) 2016 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Friday, July 1, 2016
The Appearance of Impropriety
Attorneys admitted to the bar in any state of the union know that one of the bedrock ethical principles to which we must adhere is to avoid the appearance of impropriety. It's not a defined term, but the thrust of the admonition is clear: Don't do something that would call into question the profession, your place in the profession or your handling of a case.
This past week the Attorney General of the United States had a meeting in Phoenix with Slick Willy, husband of the Democratic candidate for president, Cankles, and also the focus of an ongoing investigation. Slick Willy himself is designated as a person of interest.
Any attorney worth his salt will tell you that this smacks of impropriety, not just its appearance. For the Attorney General, of all people, to do so, is confounding.
What did she and Slick Willy discuss? Did Slick Willy promise Ms. Lynch anything for going easy on Cankles? Did he offer her a job at CGI after President Obama leaves the White House in exchange for not pressing charges? Did he ask her to limit her public comments about Cankles, or slow down the investigation?
All of these -- and many more, believe me -- are plausible inquiries of that private meeting. In fact, if Cankles and Slick Willy aren't indicted, the outcry will not just be loud, it will be justified.
Do these people not understand that this undermines the public's confidence in the justice system? If power and privilege are allowed to break through and influence decisions, how is Lady Justice supposed to be blind? Do we expect some poor kid in the ghetto to have similar treatment with a prosecuting attorney? With the recent Stanford rape case decision, people were outraged at the light sentence meted out. Likewise, the affluenza case called into question the guidelines for sentencing. Is this behavior by the top attorney in the country any better?
To be fair, it's almost necessary that an indictment be filed, election be damned. If nothing else, an indictment will allow an impartial jury to decide whether Cankles broke any laws. But having an unelected official appointed by a president from the same party as the Democratic nominee meeting that person's spouse in private a mere five months before the election smacks of impropriety on a massive scale. Having a trial is the safest way to make sure that no funny business was conducted between Slick Willy and Ms. Lynch that will have any influence whatsoever over the filing of an indictment.
It's amazing that neither the administration, Ms. Lynch or Slick Willy and Cankles has any trouble with this. My cynicism tells me Slick Willy and Cankles both knew that by his meeting with Ms. Lynch, they were poisoning the well. I'm sure they were confident that Ms. Lynch would do their bidding. I'm not sure they thought there would be such a hue and cry and that Ms. Lynch would pull back, publicly. What President Obama does remains to be seen; publicly, through his mouthpiece and sycophant Josh Earnest, he mouths the law and order line.
The approach to legal matters under this administration has been deplorable. I'd say it bordered on the lawless, but there are laws in place that it's interpreting like the Delphic Oracle. How much damage has been done can't yet be calculated. My only hope is that whatever administration follows this one returns to a more proper approach to the law.
(c) 2016 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
This past week the Attorney General of the United States had a meeting in Phoenix with Slick Willy, husband of the Democratic candidate for president, Cankles, and also the focus of an ongoing investigation. Slick Willy himself is designated as a person of interest.
Any attorney worth his salt will tell you that this smacks of impropriety, not just its appearance. For the Attorney General, of all people, to do so, is confounding.
What did she and Slick Willy discuss? Did Slick Willy promise Ms. Lynch anything for going easy on Cankles? Did he offer her a job at CGI after President Obama leaves the White House in exchange for not pressing charges? Did he ask her to limit her public comments about Cankles, or slow down the investigation?
All of these -- and many more, believe me -- are plausible inquiries of that private meeting. In fact, if Cankles and Slick Willy aren't indicted, the outcry will not just be loud, it will be justified.
Do these people not understand that this undermines the public's confidence in the justice system? If power and privilege are allowed to break through and influence decisions, how is Lady Justice supposed to be blind? Do we expect some poor kid in the ghetto to have similar treatment with a prosecuting attorney? With the recent Stanford rape case decision, people were outraged at the light sentence meted out. Likewise, the affluenza case called into question the guidelines for sentencing. Is this behavior by the top attorney in the country any better?
To be fair, it's almost necessary that an indictment be filed, election be damned. If nothing else, an indictment will allow an impartial jury to decide whether Cankles broke any laws. But having an unelected official appointed by a president from the same party as the Democratic nominee meeting that person's spouse in private a mere five months before the election smacks of impropriety on a massive scale. Having a trial is the safest way to make sure that no funny business was conducted between Slick Willy and Ms. Lynch that will have any influence whatsoever over the filing of an indictment.
It's amazing that neither the administration, Ms. Lynch or Slick Willy and Cankles has any trouble with this. My cynicism tells me Slick Willy and Cankles both knew that by his meeting with Ms. Lynch, they were poisoning the well. I'm sure they were confident that Ms. Lynch would do their bidding. I'm not sure they thought there would be such a hue and cry and that Ms. Lynch would pull back, publicly. What President Obama does remains to be seen; publicly, through his mouthpiece and sycophant Josh Earnest, he mouths the law and order line.
The approach to legal matters under this administration has been deplorable. I'd say it bordered on the lawless, but there are laws in place that it's interpreting like the Delphic Oracle. How much damage has been done can't yet be calculated. My only hope is that whatever administration follows this one returns to a more proper approach to the law.
(c) 2016 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Wednesday, June 29, 2016
Errant Thoughts
Despite Istanbul and the administration's ridiculous response thereto, I'm not going to address it today, preferring to wait until details come out that support my suspicions.
So in the meantime, here are some of my errant thoughts:
-- There are these things on Facebook where people my age post a picture of a dial telephone, or an early computer or some other antique and suggest that the image be shared if one used the item or know what it was for. One thing that millenials and their ilk are missing out on is seeded watermelon. Where have all the seeded watermelons gone? Why have they gone away? How do they grow watermelons without seeds? How are watermelon seed spitting contests held now?
-- Weird Al is a genius.
-- I've witnessed two drag races in traffic in the last month. These weren't just simple over-the-speed-limit things. These were people weaving in and out of traffic at niney-plus miles-per-hour. I blame it all on the Fast and Furious franchise.
-- I've only been to a Hooters once in my life, never to a Twisted Kilt. I don't see the attraction. Really.
-- Every time the weatherman tells that our ninety-degree weather missed the record high by X number of degrees and that the record was set in 1880, I wonder where the term global warming came from.
-- Does Cankles think her new grandbaby can vote for her in November?
-- I just like the name Penobscot, no matter how patrician it sounds.
-- Why have fireworks for July 4 a week before? What's the point?
-- I saw the following on foxenews.com:
In keeping with [Leonardo] DiCaprio’s ecowarrior status, the island’s almost
entirely powered by wind and solar energy, via three wind turbines and a 1.5-acre solar field.
Now, unless DiCaprio rowed or sailed to the Bahamas, how did his carbon footprint lessen?
-- It's amazing how a little thing like a new office printer makes work easier.
-- I found my bulldog mouse pad this morning, finally.
-- So I'm finally getting around to reading Moby Dick and it would appear to me that Herman Melville can be summed up in one word: Wordy. Egads. I'm reading the Library of America version and am on page 970. I still have 438 pages to go. Pray for me.
-- Speaking of books I've never read, count 1984, Animal Farm, A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court, Catch-22, Roots, The Godfather and Gone with the Wind.
-- Last week a man named Ronald McDonald was shot at a Sonic restaurant in South Carolina. I'm not making this up. Really.
-- Yes, I called Sonic a restaurant. Please forgive me.
-- John Kerry is feckless. There's no other way to call it.
-- I will never understand the fascination with Andrea Tantaros.
-- Those who laugh at my musical tastes can bite me.
-- I'm not sure whether oven-roasted peanuts are better than salted peanuts or not.
-- What's with posting naked selfies? For that matter, what's with selfies?
-- I'm completely baffled why anyone looks to entertainment celebrities for opinions or advice on anything.
(c) 2016 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
So in the meantime, here are some of my errant thoughts:
-- There are these things on Facebook where people my age post a picture of a dial telephone, or an early computer or some other antique and suggest that the image be shared if one used the item or know what it was for. One thing that millenials and their ilk are missing out on is seeded watermelon. Where have all the seeded watermelons gone? Why have they gone away? How do they grow watermelons without seeds? How are watermelon seed spitting contests held now?
-- Weird Al is a genius.
-- I've witnessed two drag races in traffic in the last month. These weren't just simple over-the-speed-limit things. These were people weaving in and out of traffic at niney-plus miles-per-hour. I blame it all on the Fast and Furious franchise.
-- I've only been to a Hooters once in my life, never to a Twisted Kilt. I don't see the attraction. Really.
-- Every time the weatherman tells that our ninety-degree weather missed the record high by X number of degrees and that the record was set in 1880, I wonder where the term global warming came from.
-- Does Cankles think her new grandbaby can vote for her in November?
-- I just like the name Penobscot, no matter how patrician it sounds.
-- Why have fireworks for July 4 a week before? What's the point?
-- I saw the following on foxenews.com:
In keeping with [Leonardo] DiCaprio’s ecowarrior status, the island’s almost
entirely powered by wind and solar energy, via three wind turbines and a 1.5-acre solar field.
Now, unless DiCaprio rowed or sailed to the Bahamas, how did his carbon footprint lessen?
-- It's amazing how a little thing like a new office printer makes work easier.
-- I found my bulldog mouse pad this morning, finally.
-- So I'm finally getting around to reading Moby Dick and it would appear to me that Herman Melville can be summed up in one word: Wordy. Egads. I'm reading the Library of America version and am on page 970. I still have 438 pages to go. Pray for me.
-- Speaking of books I've never read, count 1984, Animal Farm, A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court, Catch-22, Roots, The Godfather and Gone with the Wind.
-- Last week a man named Ronald McDonald was shot at a Sonic restaurant in South Carolina. I'm not making this up. Really.
-- Yes, I called Sonic a restaurant. Please forgive me.
-- John Kerry is feckless. There's no other way to call it.
-- I will never understand the fascination with Andrea Tantaros.
-- Those who laugh at my musical tastes can bite me.
-- I'm not sure whether oven-roasted peanuts are better than salted peanuts or not.
-- What's with posting naked selfies? For that matter, what's with selfies?
-- I'm completely baffled why anyone looks to entertainment celebrities for opinions or advice on anything.
(c) 2016 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
Monday, June 27, 2016
Being a Captive Audience
Well.
When I was younger I didn't go to a single musical event. Friends went to concerts, but I didn't have the money or the parents that would allow me to go see Aerosmith, The Doobie Brothers, Fleetwood Mac or any of the high-powered bands that provided the musical score to high school. As a result, when I began to attend concerts, I really didn't know much about how they operated.
Before I met Karen I attended a couple of concerts, Billy Joel's right after he got engaged to Christie Brinkley (yes, I'm dating myself) and then October Project before they disbanded. After meeting Karen, my concert attendance increased exponentially. I've seen diverse acts ranging from Flogging Molly to Ricky Skaggs to Great Big Sea. We've seen some entertaining acts -- mostly -- and a couple of clunkers. But in the process I've learned a thing or two about concerts.
One thing I haven't acquired is patience. Typically, I'm very patient with others and impatient as heck with myself. I tend to give the benefit of the doubt when things don't go just the way I want them to go because, well, things happen. But what happens with concerts is beginning to get on my nerves.
The absolute nadir was the first time I was held as a member of a captive audience. Given the fact that the Plain White T's concert was on a Sunday night, and given that we relied on public transportation to get us home in the suburbs after the concert, and given the fact that the Metra runs on a limited schedule on weekends, the timing of the concert was of major concern to us. Karen badly wanted to hear the group and I bought the tickets. When I bought the tickets, I specifically asked what time the concert began.
And that was my mistake.
Being a literalist and somewhat naïve about these things, I assumed that when I asked what time the concert began, it was understood that I meant the one band whose name was on the ticket: The Plain White T's. Big mistake. Huge.
Although they opened the doors at 5p as they told me they would, music didn't begin for at least an hour. When it began, it wasn't the Plain White T's up there. For the life of me, I can't even remember who it was, other than it wasn't memorable. Two other warm-up bands later, we were treated to a bunch of doofi (plural of doofus) who encouraged Chicago to Slut It Up -- whatever that was supposed to mean -- and the lead singer opened his raincoat to reveal a bare chest with electrical tape crossed over his nipples.
Nevermind that we didn't have seats (that's a completely different story). Nevermind that there were children there (it was the Plain White T's after all). That we were now pushing nine-thirty was the real concern.
But it wasn't over.
There was a fourth warm up band.
Just how warm an audience is needed to perform? What's more, when you're the headliner, aren't you concerned about boring or angering your audience? Even assuming that you're trying to give young acts a chance and some exposure, how many acts do you foist on your audience?
After the fourth warm-up act finished it was around 10.10p. We had a train to catch at 10.30p. There was no way we could stay and hear the Plain White T's. So we paid money to see one group and ended up seeing four mediocre acts who weren't even listed on the tickets we bought. Talk about bait and switch.
One Flogging Molly concert we attended had some lame Limey act named Beans On Toast open. Not only was he not advertised, he was politically awkward, lecturing Americans about our war. The next act, although markedly better than BOT, looked like Carter's Pills advertisements. The only cool thing they offered was the playing of the theramin.
Then there was this past weekend. Again, we bought tickets to see the main act, Weird Al Yankovic. Nowhere on the advertisement or the tickets were mentioned Stay 'Til Dawn or the horribly inappropriately named -- if unintentionally so -- Slick Jimmy. The first act was like a garage band and the second act -- which I liked better than Karen, who preferred the second -- was like a bunch of geisers trying to reclaim their youth. The worst part of Slick Jimmy -- besides its name -- was the bass guitarist's annoying habit of going over to the lead guitarist in every song and doing some ridiculous head bob after he compared guitar abilities.
The two acts pushed the six o'clock start time to closer to eight-thirty. Neither was advertised. Neither was very good. And they delayed us so much that we finally got home at one o'clock in the morning.
This is tantamount to someone coming to me for a consultation at six o'clock in the evening only to be told that they had to wait while I first finished my conference call that then lasts an hour and then my break for dinner, during which time they're forced to sit in the waiting room listening to muzak. The clients would be rightly outraged. Why music acts are allowed to get away with this stuff is beyond me. About the only time we hear complaints is when someone like Madonna doesn't show up for three or four hours after she's supposed to take the stage.
Next time we're scheduled to attend one of these concerts I'm going to make a point to ask very direct questions about who's taking the stage when. I'm tired of this.
PD: Weird Al was great.
(c) 2016 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
When I was younger I didn't go to a single musical event. Friends went to concerts, but I didn't have the money or the parents that would allow me to go see Aerosmith, The Doobie Brothers, Fleetwood Mac or any of the high-powered bands that provided the musical score to high school. As a result, when I began to attend concerts, I really didn't know much about how they operated.
Before I met Karen I attended a couple of concerts, Billy Joel's right after he got engaged to Christie Brinkley (yes, I'm dating myself) and then October Project before they disbanded. After meeting Karen, my concert attendance increased exponentially. I've seen diverse acts ranging from Flogging Molly to Ricky Skaggs to Great Big Sea. We've seen some entertaining acts -- mostly -- and a couple of clunkers. But in the process I've learned a thing or two about concerts.
One thing I haven't acquired is patience. Typically, I'm very patient with others and impatient as heck with myself. I tend to give the benefit of the doubt when things don't go just the way I want them to go because, well, things happen. But what happens with concerts is beginning to get on my nerves.
The absolute nadir was the first time I was held as a member of a captive audience. Given the fact that the Plain White T's concert was on a Sunday night, and given that we relied on public transportation to get us home in the suburbs after the concert, and given the fact that the Metra runs on a limited schedule on weekends, the timing of the concert was of major concern to us. Karen badly wanted to hear the group and I bought the tickets. When I bought the tickets, I specifically asked what time the concert began.
And that was my mistake.
Being a literalist and somewhat naïve about these things, I assumed that when I asked what time the concert began, it was understood that I meant the one band whose name was on the ticket: The Plain White T's. Big mistake. Huge.
Although they opened the doors at 5p as they told me they would, music didn't begin for at least an hour. When it began, it wasn't the Plain White T's up there. For the life of me, I can't even remember who it was, other than it wasn't memorable. Two other warm-up bands later, we were treated to a bunch of doofi (plural of doofus) who encouraged Chicago to Slut It Up -- whatever that was supposed to mean -- and the lead singer opened his raincoat to reveal a bare chest with electrical tape crossed over his nipples.
Nevermind that we didn't have seats (that's a completely different story). Nevermind that there were children there (it was the Plain White T's after all). That we were now pushing nine-thirty was the real concern.
But it wasn't over.
There was a fourth warm up band.
Just how warm an audience is needed to perform? What's more, when you're the headliner, aren't you concerned about boring or angering your audience? Even assuming that you're trying to give young acts a chance and some exposure, how many acts do you foist on your audience?
After the fourth warm-up act finished it was around 10.10p. We had a train to catch at 10.30p. There was no way we could stay and hear the Plain White T's. So we paid money to see one group and ended up seeing four mediocre acts who weren't even listed on the tickets we bought. Talk about bait and switch.
One Flogging Molly concert we attended had some lame Limey act named Beans On Toast open. Not only was he not advertised, he was politically awkward, lecturing Americans about our war. The next act, although markedly better than BOT, looked like Carter's Pills advertisements. The only cool thing they offered was the playing of the theramin.
Then there was this past weekend. Again, we bought tickets to see the main act, Weird Al Yankovic. Nowhere on the advertisement or the tickets were mentioned Stay 'Til Dawn or the horribly inappropriately named -- if unintentionally so -- Slick Jimmy. The first act was like a garage band and the second act -- which I liked better than Karen, who preferred the second -- was like a bunch of geisers trying to reclaim their youth. The worst part of Slick Jimmy -- besides its name -- was the bass guitarist's annoying habit of going over to the lead guitarist in every song and doing some ridiculous head bob after he compared guitar abilities.
The two acts pushed the six o'clock start time to closer to eight-thirty. Neither was advertised. Neither was very good. And they delayed us so much that we finally got home at one o'clock in the morning.
This is tantamount to someone coming to me for a consultation at six o'clock in the evening only to be told that they had to wait while I first finished my conference call that then lasts an hour and then my break for dinner, during which time they're forced to sit in the waiting room listening to muzak. The clients would be rightly outraged. Why music acts are allowed to get away with this stuff is beyond me. About the only time we hear complaints is when someone like Madonna doesn't show up for three or four hours after she's supposed to take the stage.
Next time we're scheduled to attend one of these concerts I'm going to make a point to ask very direct questions about who's taking the stage when. I'm tired of this.
PD: Weird Al was great.
(c) 2016 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
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