Well here we are.
Texas has begun its annual death-march called summer. And, it is a wet heat!
The Astros are in the tank. I told you before, it’s the pitching!
Iran is firing off missiles and the U.S. is peeved, but not so peeved that it hasn’t increased its trading with that country by 10 times under the Bush administration. What, you ask, are we selling to Iran? Well, sez I, would you believe bull semen, brassieres, fur clothing, sculptures, perfume, musical instruments and cigarettes and assorted knick-knacks(weapons?).
Not that trading with folks is a bad thing. Really, I think it's a good thing...maybe making you less likely to bomb the hell out of someone buying your wares. Who in their right mind would consider that? Yeah--OK, him for sure, but who else? OK, OK, the mendicants, felons, and sociopaths surrounding him. But, I did say in their right mind, now didn't I.
About those cigarettes, Republican presidential hopeful, Senator John McCain cracked wise with the comment that maybe we’re trying to kill them (the Iranians) with them. Here we are, very seriously stumbling toward the bottomless pit of war with Iran, and the guy is making with the jokes. Very dumb, seventh-grade level jokes at that...guffaw, guffaw, guffaw!
Lieberman must of let him off his leash.
He’s giving maturity a bad name. Would someone please dope slap the guy so that he catches a clue?
But, a two-cheek, smick-smack, punk-slap (think Leo Gorcey & Huntz Hall) is in line for Bush after his insult of the Italian Premier. The White House has offered embarrassed apologies to Italian Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi after it handed out an unflattering portrait of the premier and his country's politics.
Briefing notes given to reporters accompanying President George W. Bush to the G8 summit in Japan described Mr. Berlusconi as one of the "most controversial leaders in the history of a country known for government corruption and vice".
Boy I’d sure hate to think these guys might ever manage a war and our economy for us.
Huh?
Oh yeah. Riiiiight!
Dang and it’s not even August yet, when it gets really hot.
09 July 2008
07 July 2008
Join in the new Poll....
Take a look over to your right. You'll find a new poll that is set to expire on July 21. You may post multiple answers, so you're not locked into just one choice.
I'd like to see what are your concerns, so I can tailor the focus and resources of the blog to them.
And while this blog is targeted specifically to older Texans, (50+), please if you're younger or live outside Texas, join in...I want your input.
Let me know through comments or the "Guest Book" if you'd like to have added other choices of concern.
Speaking of the new "Guest Book", take a moment and sign it, even if you've been here before. I just added it this weekend, and look forward to seeing some of the "peeps" behind the visits
I'd like to see what are your concerns, so I can tailor the focus and resources of the blog to them.
And while this blog is targeted specifically to older Texans, (50+), please if you're younger or live outside Texas, join in...I want your input.
Let me know through comments or the "Guest Book" if you'd like to have added other choices of concern.
Speaking of the new "Guest Book", take a moment and sign it, even if you've been here before. I just added it this weekend, and look forward to seeing some of the "peeps" behind the visits
05 July 2008
Cornyn Sock Puppet Exposed!
Ah! that deceit should steal such a gentle shape,
And with a virtuous visor hide deep vice!
DUCHESS OF YORK, Richard III,II.ll.27
And with a virtuous visor hide deep vice!
DUCHESS OF YORK, Richard III,II.ll.27
04 July 2008
The Best 4ths Ever!
Every person, every family, every community and every region of the country has its own way of celebrating the Fourth of July. For some it’s the annual fireworks display; from noisy kids in the backyards with sparklers after the family barbeque to community-based, professionally prepared, half-hour fireworks shows drawing in viewers from miles away—some include concerts and laser light shows. Whatever the specifics, the annual ritual unfolds.
My favorite Fourths were when I was a child, spending my summers with my grandparents in the rural settlement of Springerton, deep in the black-dirt area of Southern Illinois known as Little Egypt. Summers there were as hot as hell’s hub and nearly as humid as a teenage boy’s breath on the occasion of his first arrival at second base in the back seat of dad’s car.
But, long before girls and cars, my cousins and I celebrated the Fourth with a carefree spirit and near martial élan, which would have made our forefathers burst with pride. Lafayette, we had arrived…with contraband. You see, firecrackers were outlawed in Illinois, except as part of a legally sanctioned community display. But, each year, the cousins and I would gather enough pennies, nickels, and dimes from tasks, the selling of scrap-metal and soda-bottles returns to lay in a fair supply (from the traveling John Deere salesman’s trunk) of Black Kat firecrackers, cherry bombs, torpedoes, M-80s, Silver Salutes and some lady-fingers to use to torment girls.
A few lady-fingers tossed behind, and, at the feet of, a gaggle of snotty girls were always good for squeals and screams. But, that was mere prelude to the cannonade and bombast, which was to follow throughout the morning. Dogs and cats, wise to way of boys armed with firecrackers, vanished under cars, burrowed under corn cribs, and crawled deep and out of reach into grottoes formed by the wisteria bushes shading porches. Chickens took to the highest rafters in the barn. The only thing missing was a wild-eyed, terrified peasant lad running through town screaming, “The Visigoths are coming, the Visigoths are coming!”
A disquieting stillness would settle over that small town of two hundred gentle, Christian souls as my cousins and I, and six or seven other town boys made our way to the elementary school playground and well away from adult oversight.
It should come as no surprise that it was my generation, which first launched solid metallic objects into earth orbit and landed a human on the moon. These deeds were the direct result of early experimentation with two cherry bombs ignited simultaneously under a Del Monte pineapple can. The principle was laid, we merely had to refine the fuels a bit, but, earth orbit was ours from that day! Applied science and empirical research at their finest.
Cherry bombs launched tin cans skyward, M-80s shattered Royal Crown and Orange Crush soda bottles into sub-atomic particles, and torpedoes strung across the nearby road to Mill Shoals and Fairfield exploded as unwary motorists ran over them and slammed on their brakes thinking they had blown a tire. And, the richer among us, with more than one pack, would set off an entire string of Black-Kats as we staggered about, clutching our guts, and falling and rolling on the ground as though we had been machined-gunned by invading hordes of “Commies”.
By mid-day, our arsenals expended, each suffering some sort of injury; bleeding and scarred by glass and metal shrapnel or suffering powder burns and impaired hearing, we parted, good-fellows all, bonded by boyhood codes and primal combat brotherhood, to our separate holiday repasts. The cousins and I would make our way to grandma and grandpa’s where all the uncles, aunts, spouses and older cousins would be gathering for the feast.
We’d wash up out on the porch pumping water into a metal basin and scrubbing with hard lye soap that grandma had made. With knowing winks at each other, we'd half-listen to the dire promises of our parents of ass-whippings to be rendered later in payback for our rowdiness of the morning. “You think we didn’t hear that carrying-on." "Poor old Mrs. Clingbitter like to of died of fright from the ruckus and carrying on." "Her cat is so far up the tree it might never come down." "You boys will be the death of someone." "The hens ain’t gonna lay for a week." "I’m gonna take the skin off your back mister.”
Grinning and smirking like French diplomats, we’d grab a couple of plates to load up with food that had been laid out on tables in the main room for the adults. The kids would eat separately out on the screened porch on card tables covered with oilcloth; and we knew by the time everyone had full bellies, smoked cigarettes, and told their stories and jokes we’d be forgotten about.
The main tables were straining under the weight of plates and bowls filled with roast beef, fried chicken, baked ham, fried perch and blue-gill from the mill pond, corn-on-the-cob, sliced tomatoes, mashed potatoes, potato-salad, coleslaw, radishes, fresh garden salads, green onions, onions and cucumbers bathed in vinegar and salt water, snap beans, black-eyed peas, cooked carrots, boiled new potatoes with green beans flavored with a slab of fat-back, cornbread, huge soda biscuits, candied sweet potatoes, fried okra, fresh peach ambrosia, and cakes, cookies, pies and cobblers of every description.
We wash it down with iced tea sweetened with store-bought sugar poured in so heavily that there would be a thick layer of un-dissolved sugar on the bottom of the glass.
After dinner we’d loaf around, read comics, or play cards and board games, and stay utterly the hell away from the adults (just in case) until that golden hour of evening, when we’d close out the day playing kick-the-can while hearing the occasional distant sound of a cherry bomb going off, or that staccato, rapid fire sound of a string of Black-Kats being set off.
I’d give a bit, to get to do it all over again, just that way.
My favorite Fourths were when I was a child, spending my summers with my grandparents in the rural settlement of Springerton, deep in the black-dirt area of Southern Illinois known as Little Egypt. Summers there were as hot as hell’s hub and nearly as humid as a teenage boy’s breath on the occasion of his first arrival at second base in the back seat of dad’s car.
But, long before girls and cars, my cousins and I celebrated the Fourth with a carefree spirit and near martial élan, which would have made our forefathers burst with pride. Lafayette, we had arrived…with contraband. You see, firecrackers were outlawed in Illinois, except as part of a legally sanctioned community display. But, each year, the cousins and I would gather enough pennies, nickels, and dimes from tasks, the selling of scrap-metal and soda-bottles returns to lay in a fair supply (from the traveling John Deere salesman’s trunk) of Black Kat firecrackers, cherry bombs, torpedoes, M-80s, Silver Salutes and some lady-fingers to use to torment girls.
A few lady-fingers tossed behind, and, at the feet of, a gaggle of snotty girls were always good for squeals and screams. But, that was mere prelude to the cannonade and bombast, which was to follow throughout the morning. Dogs and cats, wise to way of boys armed with firecrackers, vanished under cars, burrowed under corn cribs, and crawled deep and out of reach into grottoes formed by the wisteria bushes shading porches. Chickens took to the highest rafters in the barn. The only thing missing was a wild-eyed, terrified peasant lad running through town screaming, “The Visigoths are coming, the Visigoths are coming!”
A disquieting stillness would settle over that small town of two hundred gentle, Christian souls as my cousins and I, and six or seven other town boys made our way to the elementary school playground and well away from adult oversight.
It should come as no surprise that it was my generation, which first launched solid metallic objects into earth orbit and landed a human on the moon. These deeds were the direct result of early experimentation with two cherry bombs ignited simultaneously under a Del Monte pineapple can. The principle was laid, we merely had to refine the fuels a bit, but, earth orbit was ours from that day! Applied science and empirical research at their finest.
Cherry bombs launched tin cans skyward, M-80s shattered Royal Crown and Orange Crush soda bottles into sub-atomic particles, and torpedoes strung across the nearby road to Mill Shoals and Fairfield exploded as unwary motorists ran over them and slammed on their brakes thinking they had blown a tire. And, the richer among us, with more than one pack, would set off an entire string of Black-Kats as we staggered about, clutching our guts, and falling and rolling on the ground as though we had been machined-gunned by invading hordes of “Commies”.
By mid-day, our arsenals expended, each suffering some sort of injury; bleeding and scarred by glass and metal shrapnel or suffering powder burns and impaired hearing, we parted, good-fellows all, bonded by boyhood codes and primal combat brotherhood, to our separate holiday repasts. The cousins and I would make our way to grandma and grandpa’s where all the uncles, aunts, spouses and older cousins would be gathering for the feast.
We’d wash up out on the porch pumping water into a metal basin and scrubbing with hard lye soap that grandma had made. With knowing winks at each other, we'd half-listen to the dire promises of our parents of ass-whippings to be rendered later in payback for our rowdiness of the morning. “You think we didn’t hear that carrying-on." "Poor old Mrs. Clingbitter like to of died of fright from the ruckus and carrying on." "Her cat is so far up the tree it might never come down." "You boys will be the death of someone." "The hens ain’t gonna lay for a week." "I’m gonna take the skin off your back mister.”
Grinning and smirking like French diplomats, we’d grab a couple of plates to load up with food that had been laid out on tables in the main room for the adults. The kids would eat separately out on the screened porch on card tables covered with oilcloth; and we knew by the time everyone had full bellies, smoked cigarettes, and told their stories and jokes we’d be forgotten about.
The main tables were straining under the weight of plates and bowls filled with roast beef, fried chicken, baked ham, fried perch and blue-gill from the mill pond, corn-on-the-cob, sliced tomatoes, mashed potatoes, potato-salad, coleslaw, radishes, fresh garden salads, green onions, onions and cucumbers bathed in vinegar and salt water, snap beans, black-eyed peas, cooked carrots, boiled new potatoes with green beans flavored with a slab of fat-back, cornbread, huge soda biscuits, candied sweet potatoes, fried okra, fresh peach ambrosia, and cakes, cookies, pies and cobblers of every description.
We wash it down with iced tea sweetened with store-bought sugar poured in so heavily that there would be a thick layer of un-dissolved sugar on the bottom of the glass.
After dinner we’d loaf around, read comics, or play cards and board games, and stay utterly the hell away from the adults (just in case) until that golden hour of evening, when we’d close out the day playing kick-the-can while hearing the occasional distant sound of a cherry bomb going off, or that staccato, rapid fire sound of a string of Black-Kats being set off.
I’d give a bit, to get to do it all over again, just that way.
02 July 2008
Social Security & Wall Street
For all but three-months of my life, older Americans have been able to count on their Social Security check to arrive on time, in its full amount, and always to clear the bank. That is a unique track record of 68-years of success in providing a safety-net keeping millions and millions of older Americans, widows, the disabled and orphans from falling into the dark, bottomless abyss of poverty.
Working families, low-wage unskilled workers, minorities, and much of the lower middle-class (blue-collar) perennially buffeted and sashayed by economic winds and social forces, and living one missed paycheck away from financial ruin, look toward Social Security as the one thing that will protect them from hunger and poverty in their old-age. They do not have 401Ks, pension programs, savings accounts, or income property to assure them a safe, secure and dignified old-age. Their earnings go to basic survival needs: food, shelter, clothing and health. They do, however, have Social Security; a check that always comes on time, always in the full amount, and which never bounces.
The first monthly payment was issued January 31, 1940 to Ida May Fuller (who looked remarkably like Jane Darwell, who played Ma Joad in Grapes of Wrath) of Brattleboro, Vermont. Ida May did, however, look quite a bit more cheerful than did Darwell in her Academy Award winning role.
Today nearly 49-million Americans receive benefits from the Old-Age, Survivors, and Disability Insurance program (OASDI) known as Social Security. Some 30-million are retirees, nearly 5-million are widows and widowers, close to 7-million are disabled workers, almost 3-million are spouses, and 4-million plus are children.
In Texas there are better than 3-million recipients; with close to 2-million retirees, 400-thousand disabled workers, 300-thousand widows and widowers, 200-thousand spouses, nearly 300-thousand children. Social Security beneficiaries represent 13% of the state’s population and 90% of the state’s over 65 population. Chances are that you or a family member, neighbor or friend is part of that population. Month-after-month they rely on their Social Security in order to stay ahead of the gnashing jaws of poverty.
It is well known, and accepted, that Social Security will have to be adjusted in some way to meet the needs of the coming “bubble” from the post-war baby-boom generation. There are many options, requiring only honest bipartisan negotiation, available to meet this need. Republicans claim that privatizing Social Security and handing it over to Wall Street in the form of managed “personal savings accounts”, which were a part of Bush’s failed domestic agenda, is the best solution.
Following the party-line, GOP presidential candidate, senator John McCain told the Wall Street Journal back in March (3/3/08) that, “I’m totally in favor of personal savings accounts...As part of Social Security Reform, I believe that private savings accounts are part of it—along the lines that President Bush proposed.”
Really?
Well consider this. Today “Bloomberg”, “Money” and “Marketwatch” all lead with a similar headline: U.S. Stocks Plunge: Worst Since Depression. As dire and bleak as that might be, it gets worse. The CEO for one of the nation’s leading builders, Lennar Corp, said that sector’s bottom has yet to be hit. Goldman Sachs is warning investors to bail out from General Motors stock and the chief market strategist at Jefferies & Co warns that General Motors will go out of business.
Now, putting aside all the other arguments against handing Social Security over to Wall Street (the vast amount of foreign (Chinese) debt it would require—for one) does attaching the most reliable and successful benefits program in our history to the chaos of today's economy make sense? Would you want your "personal savings plan" linked to General Motors stock?
Of course not! We have many other options. Apparently John McCain, who wants to fulfill Dubya’s third term, doesn’t know that. Fortunately, there are millions and millions of good, decent older Americans, disabled workers, widow and widowers, and orphans who will set him straight!
Working families, low-wage unskilled workers, minorities, and much of the lower middle-class (blue-collar) perennially buffeted and sashayed by economic winds and social forces, and living one missed paycheck away from financial ruin, look toward Social Security as the one thing that will protect them from hunger and poverty in their old-age. They do not have 401Ks, pension programs, savings accounts, or income property to assure them a safe, secure and dignified old-age. Their earnings go to basic survival needs: food, shelter, clothing and health. They do, however, have Social Security; a check that always comes on time, always in the full amount, and which never bounces.
The first monthly payment was issued January 31, 1940 to Ida May Fuller (who looked remarkably like Jane Darwell, who played Ma Joad in Grapes of Wrath) of Brattleboro, Vermont. Ida May did, however, look quite a bit more cheerful than did Darwell in her Academy Award winning role.
Today nearly 49-million Americans receive benefits from the Old-Age, Survivors, and Disability Insurance program (OASDI) known as Social Security. Some 30-million are retirees, nearly 5-million are widows and widowers, close to 7-million are disabled workers, almost 3-million are spouses, and 4-million plus are children.
In Texas there are better than 3-million recipients; with close to 2-million retirees, 400-thousand disabled workers, 300-thousand widows and widowers, 200-thousand spouses, nearly 300-thousand children. Social Security beneficiaries represent 13% of the state’s population and 90% of the state’s over 65 population. Chances are that you or a family member, neighbor or friend is part of that population. Month-after-month they rely on their Social Security in order to stay ahead of the gnashing jaws of poverty.
It is well known, and accepted, that Social Security will have to be adjusted in some way to meet the needs of the coming “bubble” from the post-war baby-boom generation. There are many options, requiring only honest bipartisan negotiation, available to meet this need. Republicans claim that privatizing Social Security and handing it over to Wall Street in the form of managed “personal savings accounts”, which were a part of Bush’s failed domestic agenda, is the best solution.
Following the party-line, GOP presidential candidate, senator John McCain told the Wall Street Journal back in March (3/3/08) that, “I’m totally in favor of personal savings accounts...As part of Social Security Reform, I believe that private savings accounts are part of it—along the lines that President Bush proposed.”
Really?
Well consider this. Today “Bloomberg”, “Money” and “Marketwatch” all lead with a similar headline: U.S. Stocks Plunge: Worst Since Depression. As dire and bleak as that might be, it gets worse. The CEO for one of the nation’s leading builders, Lennar Corp, said that sector’s bottom has yet to be hit. Goldman Sachs is warning investors to bail out from General Motors stock and the chief market strategist at Jefferies & Co warns that General Motors will go out of business.
Now, putting aside all the other arguments against handing Social Security over to Wall Street (the vast amount of foreign (Chinese) debt it would require—for one) does attaching the most reliable and successful benefits program in our history to the chaos of today's economy make sense? Would you want your "personal savings plan" linked to General Motors stock?
Of course not! We have many other options. Apparently John McCain, who wants to fulfill Dubya’s third term, doesn’t know that. Fortunately, there are millions and millions of good, decent older Americans, disabled workers, widow and widowers, and orphans who will set him straight!
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