This post is totally self-serving
As we kickoff a new year I figured it’s time for me to hang out my shingle on the Internet highway. Now days anybody can run a virtual store in the comfort of their t-shirt and boxer shorts. Though I haven’t searched, I bet you can buy anything from doggie diapers to sand from Florida on the Internet. In the web, nothing is obscure and if you’re selling it, somebody somewhere is looking to buy it. However web traffic is the hardest nut to crack. Just because you’re selling doesn’t mean the knucklehead wanting your product can navigate through clicks and search engines looking for your homemade Fat Belly Flash Dart, (it’s a fishing lure).
Tons of money can be spent on webmasters, web hosting, sitemaps, and so forth (nerds really run the world). Then more dollars on ads, search engine listings, web traffic, and on and on, (did I say nerds ran the world?) I’ve tried to understand this geeky world, but some things just don’t compute. Evidently, to get your website noticed you must put it in a language Google can understand. Sounds simple, right? I mean, Google isn’t an idiot; it should be able to read English, well, does this look like English? (Note: I had to remove the html code as an example. It throw this post out of whack and almost crashed my site)
Nerds are paying jocks back for every wedgie, gotch pull, and mervin ever displaced on ones underpants. In one fell swoop, the biggest wedgie of all is called “html code” and it’s the geeks who strut down the Internet hallway waiting to bully a dolt like me trying to create a sitemap for my website.
I’m not the sharpest knife in the drawer when it comes to web design. Best I can do with a nerd-less brain and a shoestring budget is to fumble around with my Mac and try to create something that looks better than a 3rd grader alone with a computer. Problem is Google doesn’t like Mac, which compounds my problem. Not only am I clueless about html codes, I’m trapped in a “War of the geeks” trying to negotiate through a minefield of algorithms, ftp files, and webspiders. Imagine being in Germany trying to communicate in Italian when you can barely speak English. That was my weekend. All I wanted to do was set-up shop and have a little business floating out in web-land, but mean old Mr. Nerd kept derailing my efforts.
Finally with some luck and fishing line my website is ready to launch. If Google can’t read it so be it.
Now I know what you’re thinking. What in the world could Ron possibly sell?
Would you believe a writing service? I’ll give you a moment to laugh and pick yourself off the floor while I explain.
I was searching for writing websites (that’s becoming my hobby) when I stumbled across letter writing services. One particular site caught my eye, it furnished custom love letters. Yep, with a few clicks and 50 bucks, you can get a love letter written for your sweetie. And it got me to thinking…. No, not writing sappy prose with X’s and O’s, but writing letters…huh. I could do that.
I’ve never lacked confidence in my writing, but I do lack confidence in other people understanding my writing. Here’s an Example, one time an English major told me that I put commas in the wrong place. No, I, put, commas, where, I, want, a, pause. But I digress, every time I think of that woman, I see red. She never understood a word I wrote. (Let it go Ron)
Anyway, I’ve amused a few people with my letters (stuff you don’t see here). I’ve been told I have a unique way of stringing words together. Maybe I do, maybe I don’t, but words are a passion of mine and I do the best I can. By putting my words out on the Internet, I can’t be concerned with what anyone thinks. Although comments are always accepted, I am what I am. And I can write a killer letter, if I say so myself.
So tell me, Ron, tell me the web address. Hold on, I’ll get to it.
But first, the beauty of an Internet store is that it never closes and the cost is cheap enough. If it flies all the better, but if it don’t it’s no biggie. My ego won’t even be crushed, because I don’t know how someone would find this site, I’ll just let it float out there. Maybe over time it will draw some attention, (like a fungus.)
The site Ron, where can I find the site? Ah, the build up.
Almost there, but first my friends, you must do something for me. Since friends and family are the only ones to read this blog, you must do your part. I need you to critique the site. Either leave a comment here or email me with your thoughts. I’ve even got a spiffy “Guestbook” page on the website that you can use for a quick message.
Answer these questions.
How does the site look? Fonts easy to read?
Would you buy a letter from this man?
Is the type of service offered clear in the first paragraph?
Are the sample letters a good example of my style and service?
Be advised, when you see the photos of me you’ll probably wonder why I didn’t chose male modeling as a side job, (one gift at a time). And now without further ado, I give you, “Letters That Leave a Mark,” at http://lettersthatleaveamark.com Go!
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Sunday, December 28, 2008
New names for new cars
Just thinking out loud, (or typing by myself) but once this auto bailout program gets underway (and it will) the names of cars need to change. For years a car’s character has been defined by its name. When you think Camaro or Charger, you think muscle car. It was the golden age of big blocks, horsepower, and 570 Lbs. of Torque. The 70’s brought us smaller cars with names to accompany such runts as Pacer, Pinto, and Chevette (think Corvette’s dorky step-brother.) It’s safe to say those names defined the market.
Today automakers find themselves with their hand out to congress while their potential buyers are more nervous than an SUV at a Green Peace convention. The “Big Three” need to find catchy names to smooth into the transition from capitalist corporations to one-government- run-and-regulated State Department automaker. If I were appointed to give the press release, it would read something like this:
“Chrysler Corporation will become the congressional division for government-run- automakers. They will manufacture cars exclusively for the elite and privileged. (Mostly congressmen and high powered lobbyist)
Chrysler’s staple model is the Kickback. It has enough bribing power to make Barney Frank feel ashamed. Fully loaded, the Kickback, meets the demands of a senator on the take. With fold down seats, the Kickback will comfortably accommodate a politician, his wife, and his girlfriend(s).
The Chrysler plant will also manufacture the Oversight. The Oversight is a discrete one-cylinder car used for bar hopping and midnight encounters.
The Dole, by Chrysler, will be handed out on a case by case evaluation. The Dole is compact and can easily get lost in bureaucracy. If you see a lobbyist driving down the street, you can bet they’re driving a Dole. The Chrysler Dole, apply for one, you never know.
The Chrysler Pelosi is a sophisticated, yet radical, sedan. The Pelosi promises 80 miles per gallon, a clueless navigation system, and a whining rear wheel. With brakes in front of each seat, the Pelosi can halt on any passenger’s whim and suddenly take a left turn. (Fender skirts sold separately, not available on the Hillary model)
The general public (the little people) will have a wide range of makes and models to choose from.
Gone are the days of the Thunderbird. Ford will introduce the new Buzzard as its post bailout sports car. The Buzzard will pick apart the competition by surviving on the carcasses of taxpayers. Like Henry Ford’s old cars, the Buzzard can be any color you want as long as it’s black. The Ford Buzzard, flock to one today.
The Ford Focus will no longer be in production, but I’m proud to announce the new Ford Fiasco. One word says it all for this little beauty. The concept comes from Ford’s union agreement with UAW. The Ford Fiasco, buy two we’ll make more.
In 2010 Ford will roll out the Inept. The Inept picks up where the Edsel left off, without the reliability. The Inept will take you back to the days of strange clicking sounds and the smell of burning wires. We’ve added a canteen and a flashlight in the glove box for those long walks the Inept will allow you to take. The Ford Inept, please buy one.
The name Patriot doesn’t work for Jeep in this politically correct environment. After a complete overhaul Jeep will only make one vehicle and it’s called the Foreclosure. With bucket seats, (I mean real bucket seats, like a keg cut in half and turned over bucket seats) the Foreclosure has all the feel of a house that’s been stripped and waiting for auction.
Mercury gets into the game by replacing the Grand Marquis with the breathtaking Grand Depression. The Grand Depression has all the comfort of the 1930’s, but ten times the price. Isn’t it the right time to step-up and slide behind the wheel of a Grand Depression?
Chevrolet Cobalt will be replaced with the new and exciting Chevy Default. Coming to a showroom near you, the Default is a name that’s on the lips of many Americans. Join the crowd and declare your Default today.
The name Chevy Avalanche is too mild of a word for what’s coming. Get ready for the Chevy Apocalypse, equipped with a four horsemen engine and tribulation suspension, this chariot can handle the heat. With end-of-the-world pricing and Satan himself at each dealership, it’s a great time to usher in the Apocalypse. The Chevrolet Apocalypse, this may be the last vehicle we make.”
Like I said, just thinking out loud.
Today automakers find themselves with their hand out to congress while their potential buyers are more nervous than an SUV at a Green Peace convention. The “Big Three” need to find catchy names to smooth into the transition from capitalist corporations to one-government- run-and-regulated State Department automaker. If I were appointed to give the press release, it would read something like this:
“Chrysler Corporation will become the congressional division for government-run- automakers. They will manufacture cars exclusively for the elite and privileged. (Mostly congressmen and high powered lobbyist)
Chrysler’s staple model is the Kickback. It has enough bribing power to make Barney Frank feel ashamed. Fully loaded, the Kickback, meets the demands of a senator on the take. With fold down seats, the Kickback will comfortably accommodate a politician, his wife, and his girlfriend(s).
The Chrysler plant will also manufacture the Oversight. The Oversight is a discrete one-cylinder car used for bar hopping and midnight encounters.
The Dole, by Chrysler, will be handed out on a case by case evaluation. The Dole is compact and can easily get lost in bureaucracy. If you see a lobbyist driving down the street, you can bet they’re driving a Dole. The Chrysler Dole, apply for one, you never know.
The Chrysler Pelosi is a sophisticated, yet radical, sedan. The Pelosi promises 80 miles per gallon, a clueless navigation system, and a whining rear wheel. With brakes in front of each seat, the Pelosi can halt on any passenger’s whim and suddenly take a left turn. (Fender skirts sold separately, not available on the Hillary model)
The general public (the little people) will have a wide range of makes and models to choose from.
Gone are the days of the Thunderbird. Ford will introduce the new Buzzard as its post bailout sports car. The Buzzard will pick apart the competition by surviving on the carcasses of taxpayers. Like Henry Ford’s old cars, the Buzzard can be any color you want as long as it’s black. The Ford Buzzard, flock to one today.
The Ford Focus will no longer be in production, but I’m proud to announce the new Ford Fiasco. One word says it all for this little beauty. The concept comes from Ford’s union agreement with UAW. The Ford Fiasco, buy two we’ll make more.
In 2010 Ford will roll out the Inept. The Inept picks up where the Edsel left off, without the reliability. The Inept will take you back to the days of strange clicking sounds and the smell of burning wires. We’ve added a canteen and a flashlight in the glove box for those long walks the Inept will allow you to take. The Ford Inept, please buy one.
The name Patriot doesn’t work for Jeep in this politically correct environment. After a complete overhaul Jeep will only make one vehicle and it’s called the Foreclosure. With bucket seats, (I mean real bucket seats, like a keg cut in half and turned over bucket seats) the Foreclosure has all the feel of a house that’s been stripped and waiting for auction.
Mercury gets into the game by replacing the Grand Marquis with the breathtaking Grand Depression. The Grand Depression has all the comfort of the 1930’s, but ten times the price. Isn’t it the right time to step-up and slide behind the wheel of a Grand Depression?
Chevrolet Cobalt will be replaced with the new and exciting Chevy Default. Coming to a showroom near you, the Default is a name that’s on the lips of many Americans. Join the crowd and declare your Default today.
The name Chevy Avalanche is too mild of a word for what’s coming. Get ready for the Chevy Apocalypse, equipped with a four horsemen engine and tribulation suspension, this chariot can handle the heat. With end-of-the-world pricing and Satan himself at each dealership, it’s a great time to usher in the Apocalypse. The Chevrolet Apocalypse, this may be the last vehicle we make.”
Like I said, just thinking out loud.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow lived one hundred and twenty years ago. He was an American poet, educator, and linguist. I’ve tried to read some of his work, but my brain doesn’t comprehend some of that “ye old school prose.” However, I find Mr. Longfellow an interesting fellow. One thing he did write that we all know is,
Listen, my children, and you shall hear
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,
On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-Five;
Hardly a man is now alive
Who remembers that famous day and year?
Longfellow found love again and married Frances Appleton on July 13th 1843. They had five children and for eighteen years Longfellow went about his business of father, writer, and teacher.
1861 would be a year he wouldn’t forget. In early spring his nation went to war. For the first time in the countries short history, Americans were killing Americans. While bloody battles covered his beloved land he witnessed an unthinkable event.
His wife was trimming their seven year old daughter’s hair. Afterwards, Frances wanted to save a few clippings. She tucked the hair in an envelope and grabbed candle used for sealing. Hot wax fell on her dress. Henry heard screams from the other room. He ran to find his wife engulfed in flames, grabbing a rug, he covered her up, but it was too late. She died a painful death and Henry was helpless only to watch her suffer. His burns were so bad he couldn’t attend his wife’s funeral. Now, not only was he a widower, he was a single dad who had to cope with a seven year old daughter who saw her mother die doing motherly things.
If you ever see a picture of Longfellow, you’ll notice his full beard. It’s not a fashion statement, it’s because the burns left his face too painful to shave.
The world went on and so did the war.
Henry always kept journal and the Christmas after his wife’s death he wrote, "How inexpressibly sad are all holidays."
The next Christmas Henry wrote, "'A merry Christmas' say the children, but that is no more for me."
I’m just speculating, but I bet Henry was sick of the war and tired with life. Americans were dying, his heart hurt, and his country was falling apart. Just before Christmas he received word that his son had been severely wounded in battle. A bullet went through his chest and left him with a spinal injury. On Christmas day, Henry wrote nothing in his journal. The man who found words so easy to come by was silent. His craft was no longer worth his time. He outlived two wives, his son shed blood in this never ending war and peace seemed only a dream.
I don’t know what demons he battled or how he overcame such a personal tragedy, Henry picked up his pen on Christmas Day, 1864.
These words were written in his journal.
I heard the bells on Christmas day their old familiar carols play and wild and sweet the words repeat of peace on earth, good will to men. I thought how, as the day had come, the belfries of all Christendom had rolled along the unbroken song of peace on earth, good will to men.
And in despair I bowed my head, “There is no peace on earth,” I said, “For hate is strong and mocks the song of peace on earth, good will to men.”
Then pealed the bells more loud and deep: “God is not dead, nor doth He sleep; the wrong shall fail, the right prevail with peace on earth, good will to men.'
Till ringing, singing on its way the world revolved from night to day, a voice, a chime, a chant sublime of peace on earth, good will to men.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
My list of 10
Every year we suffer through countless Christmas songs on the radio. And I do mean suffer. Radio stations start playing Christmas music before Thanksgiving, which leaves mostly rubbish in heavy rotation. I will ignore such insignificant songs like, “I’ll Be Stoned for Christmas,” and “Daddy don’t get drunk this Christmas.” What I’m after is the traditional stuff; the kind of music we’re told is classical Yuletide fair. Here’s my list of the 10 worst Christmas songs ever.
Number 10- The Twelve Days of Christmas
This song goes back to the 16th century where it should have stayed. A laundry list of nonsense is what it is. If my true love sent me nine ladies dancing I would have to question our relationship and where it’s headed. And what is a lord a’ leaping anyway?
There have been several spinoffs to this song, Twelve Days of a Redneck Christmas, Bob and Doug’s Twelve Days, Twelve Pains of Christmas, and each one more annoying than the last. Enough, it’s not funny.
Number 9- Last Christmas
Do you know this is the most recorded Christmas song of all time? My next question is why? I can’t listen to it without thinking of George Michael and his solicitation charge in a men’s room. Please let this be the last Christmas we have to hear this song.
Number 8- Oh Christmas Tree
The problems with this song are multifold. To begin with it’s also sung as, “O Tannenbaum.” Google the lyrics and you’ll find about 15 different versions, all of them pay some sort of homage to a tree. Here’s a sample,
“O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree, your branches green delight us. O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree, your branches green delight us. They're green when summer days are bright;
They're green when winter snow is white. O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree,
Your branches green delight us!”
Obviously the words come from a deranged environmentalist nut-job who refuses to accept the baby Jesus. While the rest of the world sings praises to the King, this clown is out in the forest snorting pine needles.
Number 7- Feliz Navidad
How many times can you repeat the words, “Feliz Navidad”? Answer, quince (15).
Number 6- Blue Christmas
Nothing gets you in the holiday mood like the blues. This song makes you want to stand under the mistletoe, pull the trigger and eat the bullet. Elvis, you should’ve been ashamed of yourself.
Number 5- Rudolph, the Red Nosed Reindeer
Rudolph was the product of a promotional gimmick by Montgomery Ward. How is it that the department store no longer exists, but this idiot reindeer get street cred each and every Christmas? It was lame when I was 5 and nothing has changed.
Number 4- Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer
This song is what Rudolph begat. The writer was no doubt a latchkey child with mama issues. Only in America can something so stupid get mass air play. We’re a nation of knuckleheads.
Number 3- Jingle Bell Rock
The lyrics start off weak and tail off from there. The opening verse goes,
“Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock
Jingle bells swing and jingle bells ring
Snowing and blowing up bushels of fun
Now the jingle hop has begun”
And I thought I wrote drivel. I could do a 500 word essay on why I hate this song. This mindless ramble gets more air play than Bing Crosby. If I had to sum it up in one word, “worthless.”
Number 2- Rockin’ Around the Christmas tree
I don’t know what drives me crazier; the lyrics or the tune? Just the first few cords of this tripe irritate me, nails on a chalkboard sound better than this ditty. This song is over 50 years old and it gets air play for reasons still unknown. The last two lines of this moronic rhyme goes.
“Everyone dancin' merrily,
in the new old-fashioned way.”
The new old-fashioned way? Spare the oxymoron, give me a barf-bag, I’m about to lose my pumpkin pie!
Number one- I saw mommy kissing Santa Claus
Let’s examine the lyrics
I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus
Underneath the mistletoe last night.
She didn't see me creep
Down the stairs to have a peep;
She thought that I was tucked up
in my bedroom fast asleep.
Then, I saw Mommy tickle Santa Claus
Underneath his beard so snowy white;
Oh, what a laugh it would have been
If Daddy had only seen
Mommy kissing Santa Claus last night.
You can trace the roots of our downfall to this song. The message is quite clear. It’s okay for mommy to have an affair. The kid in the song thinks it’s funny that old dad plays the sap role. Since the kid saw mommy kissing Santa, it wouldn’t be out of reach to see her kiss the milkman or some guy named uncle Mike, who’s never at any family functions.
There are several layers to this lyrical Freudian repression.
• What about Mrs. Claus?
• Is Santa the ultimate sugar daddy?
• If Santa is kissing every mom in town, is mommy nothing more than a concubine?
• Being Santa is an authority figure does sexual harassment come into play?
• What constitutes naughty and nice?
The trust issues will haunt this child well into his/her teenage years. This song was written in the late 50’s it’s no wonder college students of the 60’s were so angry, their mother was a tramp and daddy was a fool.
Before you think I’m a scrooge there are some great Christmas songs. Oh Holy Night sung by Michael Crawford will make your hair stand up. If you haven’t heard his version, do yourself a favor and click here.
I heard the Bells on Christmas Day is the most underrated song of all time. Several artist have covered it, my favorite is by the Jars of Clay. Click here and give it a listen.
The Little Drummer Boy never gets old. Check out this live performance by The Jars of Clay. It was recorded at the Ruth Eckerd Hall and it’s about the best I’ve seen. Click here.
Number 10- The Twelve Days of Christmas
This song goes back to the 16th century where it should have stayed. A laundry list of nonsense is what it is. If my true love sent me nine ladies dancing I would have to question our relationship and where it’s headed. And what is a lord a’ leaping anyway?
There have been several spinoffs to this song, Twelve Days of a Redneck Christmas, Bob and Doug’s Twelve Days, Twelve Pains of Christmas, and each one more annoying than the last. Enough, it’s not funny.
Number 9- Last Christmas
Do you know this is the most recorded Christmas song of all time? My next question is why? I can’t listen to it without thinking of George Michael and his solicitation charge in a men’s room. Please let this be the last Christmas we have to hear this song.
Number 8- Oh Christmas Tree
The problems with this song are multifold. To begin with it’s also sung as, “O Tannenbaum.” Google the lyrics and you’ll find about 15 different versions, all of them pay some sort of homage to a tree. Here’s a sample,
“O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree, your branches green delight us. O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree, your branches green delight us. They're green when summer days are bright;
They're green when winter snow is white. O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree,
Your branches green delight us!”
Obviously the words come from a deranged environmentalist nut-job who refuses to accept the baby Jesus. While the rest of the world sings praises to the King, this clown is out in the forest snorting pine needles.
Number 7- Feliz Navidad
How many times can you repeat the words, “Feliz Navidad”? Answer, quince (15).
Number 6- Blue Christmas
Nothing gets you in the holiday mood like the blues. This song makes you want to stand under the mistletoe, pull the trigger and eat the bullet. Elvis, you should’ve been ashamed of yourself.
Number 5- Rudolph, the Red Nosed Reindeer
Rudolph was the product of a promotional gimmick by Montgomery Ward. How is it that the department store no longer exists, but this idiot reindeer get street cred each and every Christmas? It was lame when I was 5 and nothing has changed.
Number 4- Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer
This song is what Rudolph begat. The writer was no doubt a latchkey child with mama issues. Only in America can something so stupid get mass air play. We’re a nation of knuckleheads.
Number 3- Jingle Bell Rock
The lyrics start off weak and tail off from there. The opening verse goes,
“Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock
Jingle bells swing and jingle bells ring
Snowing and blowing up bushels of fun
Now the jingle hop has begun”
And I thought I wrote drivel. I could do a 500 word essay on why I hate this song. This mindless ramble gets more air play than Bing Crosby. If I had to sum it up in one word, “worthless.”
Number 2- Rockin’ Around the Christmas tree
I don’t know what drives me crazier; the lyrics or the tune? Just the first few cords of this tripe irritate me, nails on a chalkboard sound better than this ditty. This song is over 50 years old and it gets air play for reasons still unknown. The last two lines of this moronic rhyme goes.
“Everyone dancin' merrily,
in the new old-fashioned way.”
The new old-fashioned way? Spare the oxymoron, give me a barf-bag, I’m about to lose my pumpkin pie!
Number one- I saw mommy kissing Santa Claus
Let’s examine the lyrics
I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus
Underneath the mistletoe last night.
She didn't see me creep
Down the stairs to have a peep;
She thought that I was tucked up
in my bedroom fast asleep.
Then, I saw Mommy tickle Santa Claus
Underneath his beard so snowy white;
Oh, what a laugh it would have been
If Daddy had only seen
Mommy kissing Santa Claus last night.
You can trace the roots of our downfall to this song. The message is quite clear. It’s okay for mommy to have an affair. The kid in the song thinks it’s funny that old dad plays the sap role. Since the kid saw mommy kissing Santa, it wouldn’t be out of reach to see her kiss the milkman or some guy named uncle Mike, who’s never at any family functions.
There are several layers to this lyrical Freudian repression.
• What about Mrs. Claus?
• Is Santa the ultimate sugar daddy?
• If Santa is kissing every mom in town, is mommy nothing more than a concubine?
• Being Santa is an authority figure does sexual harassment come into play?
• What constitutes naughty and nice?
The trust issues will haunt this child well into his/her teenage years. This song was written in the late 50’s it’s no wonder college students of the 60’s were so angry, their mother was a tramp and daddy was a fool.
Before you think I’m a scrooge there are some great Christmas songs. Oh Holy Night sung by Michael Crawford will make your hair stand up. If you haven’t heard his version, do yourself a favor and click here.
I heard the Bells on Christmas Day is the most underrated song of all time. Several artist have covered it, my favorite is by the Jars of Clay. Click here and give it a listen.
The Little Drummer Boy never gets old. Check out this live performance by The Jars of Clay. It was recorded at the Ruth Eckerd Hall and it’s about the best I’ve seen. Click here.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Problems? What problems?
We find ourselves in an odd predicament thanks to Santa Claus. Lets be honest, Santa was hijacked years ago by aggressive marketers to guilt right thinking people into buying anything while disguising it as “the holiday spirit.” Department stores basically survive on sales made after Thanksgiving and before December 24th. In other words, Santa is on life support during a recession, and dare I say, “Last rites,” if we hit a depression.
Has Santa Claus turned into Sinister Claus? We’re slammed with commercials telling us to buy that perfect gift, which by the way is on sale. We’re told how special the holidays are, so, “show your wife you love her with a diamond bracelet.” I’ve seen, as you have, the ad with a new car wrapped in a bow waiting for the trophy wife to see on Christmas morning. What planet are these people from? Or better yet, what have we become?
Maybe St. Nick needs to take one for the team. Perhaps this economy is a way to right the ship and place priorities where they count. Gifts we buy are temporary at best, but gifts we have last throughout our existence. There is no price tag on health, family, and freedom. However, we cruise through life taking each one for granted, while getting bent out of shape if our computers run slow. Admittedly, I’m the worst at this, so I’m not preaching to you as much as I’m preaching to me.
There’s no doubt Christmas will be tough this year, and maybe it should be. What better way to ground our thinking than a good old fashion depression? It just might make us appreciate one gift, instead of, I don’t know, 4, 5, 8, or whatever numbers we’re accustom too. Maybe we’d learn to love a gift that’s a pair of underwear, or work jeans, being we can’t afford them ourselves.
We’ve had it too easy for too long. Most of us have been blessed with prosperity and haven’t a clue what, “hard times” mean, including me. My prediction is we’re all gonna find out. That’s the bad news, but don’t panic, we can survive.
If we play out the worst case scenario, how bad can it get? Cable T.V. and this wonderful Internet would definitely be a casualty. Families may have to move in together, like the old days, just to make ends meet. A car might be repossessed and credit ruined. Maybe a bread line or soup kitchen is in our future, who knows? Maybe if we had to live like that we could get back to our roots as human beings. Meaningful conversations with each other would occupy our time. We might get to know our next door neighbor. And by golly we might even learn to read and write again.
The old saying, “its only money” would actually mean something.
Walk through a children’s cancer center. Visit a burn unit. Go to an orphanage. Odds are you’ll feel pretty lucky (blessed) walking in your shoes.
Know this, as long as we’re Americans, we’ll always have Christmas. It just might come from a different angle. Or perhaps not, because we’ll have to give ourselves to each other and isn’t that what Christmas is all about?
Monday, December 1, 2008
Even a blind squirrel finds an acorn
“In the future everyone will be famous for 15 minutes,” Andy Warhol said in 1968.
There’s a little known website called “Common Conservative.com.” However it’s more known than this one. I came across this site via my father-in-law when he forwarded a commentary from one of their writers on this site. My father-in-law is part of this band of renegade e-mailers who load up inboxes throughout the country bombing common sense and things of interest. Every family needs a guy like this and my father-in-law fills this role nicely.
Anyway, back to me and the Common Conservative website. They actually have an editor and staff writers who, according to their website, have been published in the Philadelphia Inquirer, the Washington Times, and papers of that nature. Where I have been published, well uh, right here, and I edit myself, which is a problem that speaks for itself.
When I went to the site I noticed a place called “Guest Submissions.” Naturally being a frustrated writer (I’ve entered a few contest) I clicked and read the rules for submission. I’ve been working on a piece about George Bush (for this blog) and figured it might be something they’d be interested in.
Before I tell you the results, here was my impression of the Common Conservative headquarters. Picture 5 guys in Brooks Brothers suits all wearing power ties and spit-polished hard shoes. They’re sitting around a mahogany conference table while the Fox Business Channel plays in the background. Each man has a laptop and they’re discussing the thousands of guest submissions that pour in throughout the country. Up pops my little email with my George Bush attachment, first there’s a cringe from one of the guys. Another guy begins to giggle; soon the room fills with laughter. Between guffaws one guy says, “Is this a joke?” He hits delete and my submission lands on the trash heap of all aspiring writers.
Like I said, that was my impression of the Common Conservative headquarters.
Here’s what headquarters obviously looks like and what happened.
Some guy living in his mom’s basement rolled off his cot and went to check his email. His shirt stained from last night’s pizza and he wore boxer shorts that haven’t seen a washing machine in over a week. His two buddies, both unemployed, were waiting for him in a chat room when he sat down at his makeshift desk, (his mom’s card table.) They went back and forth about finding something to put in this months issue. They kicked around the idea of ghost writing the guest submission, like they’d always done in the past. But the truth was they were too hung-over to write anything. Up popped my little email with my George Bush attachment, “What’s this?” the basement guy said.
“Hey boys,” the basement guy typed. “We got a submission.”
“What’s it about and is it any good?” another guy typed.
“Who cares, publish it, I’m going back to bed,” the third guy typed.
“Done and done,” the basement guy typed.
Shortly after that, I received this in my email from the editor of the Common Conservative.
“Great job! You've managed to summarize the highs and lows of the Bush Administration in a respectful, yet factual way.
This will run in the December 1 issue. Nice job!”
So friends, you can view my first non-self-published work at http://commonconservative.com/
When you get to the main page, scroll down to “Guest Articles” there you’ll see an article titled, “George Bush in a nutshell, the Bush legacy, warts and all.” Click to read my brilliant take on the Bush Administration. Okay, maybe not brilliant, but I’m on a roll, and my 15 minutes start right now.
There’s a little known website called “Common Conservative.com.” However it’s more known than this one. I came across this site via my father-in-law when he forwarded a commentary from one of their writers on this site. My father-in-law is part of this band of renegade e-mailers who load up inboxes throughout the country bombing common sense and things of interest. Every family needs a guy like this and my father-in-law fills this role nicely.
Anyway, back to me and the Common Conservative website. They actually have an editor and staff writers who, according to their website, have been published in the Philadelphia Inquirer, the Washington Times, and papers of that nature. Where I have been published, well uh, right here, and I edit myself, which is a problem that speaks for itself.
When I went to the site I noticed a place called “Guest Submissions.” Naturally being a frustrated writer (I’ve entered a few contest) I clicked and read the rules for submission. I’ve been working on a piece about George Bush (for this blog) and figured it might be something they’d be interested in.
Before I tell you the results, here was my impression of the Common Conservative headquarters. Picture 5 guys in Brooks Brothers suits all wearing power ties and spit-polished hard shoes. They’re sitting around a mahogany conference table while the Fox Business Channel plays in the background. Each man has a laptop and they’re discussing the thousands of guest submissions that pour in throughout the country. Up pops my little email with my George Bush attachment, first there’s a cringe from one of the guys. Another guy begins to giggle; soon the room fills with laughter. Between guffaws one guy says, “Is this a joke?” He hits delete and my submission lands on the trash heap of all aspiring writers.
Like I said, that was my impression of the Common Conservative headquarters.
Here’s what headquarters obviously looks like and what happened.
Some guy living in his mom’s basement rolled off his cot and went to check his email. His shirt stained from last night’s pizza and he wore boxer shorts that haven’t seen a washing machine in over a week. His two buddies, both unemployed, were waiting for him in a chat room when he sat down at his makeshift desk, (his mom’s card table.) They went back and forth about finding something to put in this months issue. They kicked around the idea of ghost writing the guest submission, like they’d always done in the past. But the truth was they were too hung-over to write anything. Up popped my little email with my George Bush attachment, “What’s this?” the basement guy said.
“Hey boys,” the basement guy typed. “We got a submission.”
“What’s it about and is it any good?” another guy typed.
“Who cares, publish it, I’m going back to bed,” the third guy typed.
“Done and done,” the basement guy typed.
Shortly after that, I received this in my email from the editor of the Common Conservative.
“Great job! You've managed to summarize the highs and lows of the Bush Administration in a respectful, yet factual way.
This will run in the December 1 issue. Nice job!”
So friends, you can view my first non-self-published work at http://commonconservative.com/
When you get to the main page, scroll down to “Guest Articles” there you’ll see an article titled, “George Bush in a nutshell, the Bush legacy, warts and all.” Click to read my brilliant take on the Bush Administration. Okay, maybe not brilliant, but I’m on a roll, and my 15 minutes start right now.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Thanksgiving?
Did you get yourself all full of turkey this week? While you absorb the last of the cranberry relish and reach for the last piece of pecan pie, here’s something else to digest.
These are the last days of Thanksgiving. Not because we’re headed for a depression, in fact, bad times always give us more to be thankful for. No, this has its roots in political correctness and we’re losing our minds.
We all know some history about Thanksgiving, pilgrims and Indians making popcorn and so forth. There are several accounts and basically they all agree the settlers and natives had a three day feast in the fall of 1621.
Over time stories have been added to the lore of Thanksgiving. Enter pumpkin pie, a day off of work, and black Friday the kick off to Christmas shopping season. We have nothing in common with pilgrims, their belt-buckle shoes for starters, but that’s beside the point. The early settlers had survival skills that would laugh at todays most hardened Marine, and a faith that would put us to shame. To live another year was truly something to be thankful for. Whatever your feelings for the pilgrims, you must stand in awe of their accomplishments
.
From what I’ve read the natives got along well with the pilgrims. They helped them hunt and showed them ways to grow crops in the new world. The Indians also had survival skills that were off the charts and played a pivotal role in the pilgrims lasting existence.
So here’s what we know. Indians and pilgrims sat down together and ate dinner sometime around 1621. The dress of the day for pilgrims was long dresses for the women with some type of bonnet over their head. The men wore goofy hats and white pantyhose which went into those famous belt-buckle shoes. Indians wore beads and a feather headdress and that’s about it.
This is where the story takes a turn. Flash foreword this year to a California kindergarten class, yes California. For decades, kids have dressed up in Thanksgiving garb to celebrate the first feast. However this year, little tikes dawning feather headdress and goofy hats were greeted with protest. An angry assembly of sign toting fools marched in front of this elementary school with signs saying, “Don’t celebrate genocide.”
Apparently some parents felt the costumes were demeaning and stereotypical. So how did Indians and pilgrims dress in 1621? Of course the costumes were stereotypical, the kids dressed as Indians and pilgrims! That’s the point! It’s called reenactment. As far as demeaning, I can’t figure that one out. Thanksgiving is about, peace and friendship and of course giving thanks.
However the school board shutdown the 40-year old tradition. Due to the sensitivity of the situation there will be no more cardboard hats, no more dinners to celebrate friendship, and one less lesson of how to share.
I’m not naive enough to know that Indians were brutally killed by the white man. We, as a country, did horrible things to the natives, but sharing a dinner wasn’t one of them. The United States of America did apologize and today tribes receive a stipend for those atrocities. However monetary gains will not change history, that chapter is closed. And if a little boy wants to dress up as a pilgrim let him enjoy the same freedom as the protesters carrying signs. Move on there’s nothing to see here.
Now I’m going to grab another bird leg before some animal rights group claim Thanksgiving is demeaning to turkeys.
These are the last days of Thanksgiving. Not because we’re headed for a depression, in fact, bad times always give us more to be thankful for. No, this has its roots in political correctness and we’re losing our minds.
We all know some history about Thanksgiving, pilgrims and Indians making popcorn and so forth. There are several accounts and basically they all agree the settlers and natives had a three day feast in the fall of 1621.
Over time stories have been added to the lore of Thanksgiving. Enter pumpkin pie, a day off of work, and black Friday the kick off to Christmas shopping season. We have nothing in common with pilgrims, their belt-buckle shoes for starters, but that’s beside the point. The early settlers had survival skills that would laugh at todays most hardened Marine, and a faith that would put us to shame. To live another year was truly something to be thankful for. Whatever your feelings for the pilgrims, you must stand in awe of their accomplishments
.
From what I’ve read the natives got along well with the pilgrims. They helped them hunt and showed them ways to grow crops in the new world. The Indians also had survival skills that were off the charts and played a pivotal role in the pilgrims lasting existence.
So here’s what we know. Indians and pilgrims sat down together and ate dinner sometime around 1621. The dress of the day for pilgrims was long dresses for the women with some type of bonnet over their head. The men wore goofy hats and white pantyhose which went into those famous belt-buckle shoes. Indians wore beads and a feather headdress and that’s about it.
This is where the story takes a turn. Flash foreword this year to a California kindergarten class, yes California. For decades, kids have dressed up in Thanksgiving garb to celebrate the first feast. However this year, little tikes dawning feather headdress and goofy hats were greeted with protest. An angry assembly of sign toting fools marched in front of this elementary school with signs saying, “Don’t celebrate genocide.”
Apparently some parents felt the costumes were demeaning and stereotypical. So how did Indians and pilgrims dress in 1621? Of course the costumes were stereotypical, the kids dressed as Indians and pilgrims! That’s the point! It’s called reenactment. As far as demeaning, I can’t figure that one out. Thanksgiving is about, peace and friendship and of course giving thanks.
However the school board shutdown the 40-year old tradition. Due to the sensitivity of the situation there will be no more cardboard hats, no more dinners to celebrate friendship, and one less lesson of how to share.
I’m not naive enough to know that Indians were brutally killed by the white man. We, as a country, did horrible things to the natives, but sharing a dinner wasn’t one of them. The United States of America did apologize and today tribes receive a stipend for those atrocities. However monetary gains will not change history, that chapter is closed. And if a little boy wants to dress up as a pilgrim let him enjoy the same freedom as the protesters carrying signs. Move on there’s nothing to see here.
Now I’m going to grab another bird leg before some animal rights group claim Thanksgiving is demeaning to turkeys.
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