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Where To Invade Next

BudLiteGood morning, y’all. Well, we had a couple of thunderstorms flash through today. Just as suddenly as they came, they were gone. The sun came out shining like it was going to totally clear up, but the wind has kept blowing. I don’t know if that means there are more storms on the way, or, if we’re just waiting for the winds to shift to the Southwest and start blowing hot air back into our area. It is very pleasant outside right now, and you could not ask for more beautiful weather for late May.

I tried to keep the topics light on our trek to Walmart this week. Mulva has been under a tremendous amount of stress from her responsibilities with The Full Gospel Original Church of God. Both the Crystal Palace and the “Little Church in the Valley” are presenting challenges right now, and I wanted to give Mulva something else to talk about other than church business. It’s not often I can drag Mulva in to a political discussion, but I continue to try. I baited her with the idea of who would be the best vice-presidential running mates for Hillary and The Donald.

In a brief moment of wit and sarcasm, Mulva suggested Lucifer for The Donald, “so everybody could see where The Donald would be taking the country”. I had a good laugh, and asked, “what about for Hillary?” Mulva suggested Bill Clinton for Hillary’s running mate. Well, I nearly put us in the ditch snapping my head to see if there was a serious look on her face, or if she was just funning me. Mulva was serious. After I righted the car, I asked, “what are your reasons?” Mulva responded that he was already trained in the job, could be counted on to step in Hilary’s place at the drop of the hat, and, most importantly, Hillary would always know where her vice-president was. Well, I had a good laugh at that one, and the mood had definitely lightened by the time we pulled into the Walmart parking lot.

Mulva went off to look for bargains and I went to dumpster dive the bargain movie bins to see if I could come up with a good choice for Date night. Proving the old adage, “one man’s trash is another man’s treasure”, I found a copy of Michael Moore’s latest movie in the $5.99 bin. Michael Moore movies do not play at the theaters in our neck of the woods. In fact, when we saw “Capitalism: A Love Story”, we had to drive to Atlanta to see it. Folks in my area consider it to be very unpatriotic to suggest that things can be done better in America. Michael Moore is a bit of a pariah in our area since he’s constantly pointing out things that could be done way better.

It’s very odd to me that my neighbors lose sight of the fact that our country was founded by a bunch of people who were unhappy with how things were going, and decided to make a change. Unfortunately, my neighbors look to Fox News for insight into today’s pressing problems. It is my belief that Fox News’ version of what the founding fathers were thinking is shaped by how the advertisers want the founding fathers presented. The general public’s lack of knowledge of our history, and of our civics, plays directly into the hands of the false prophets like Fox News.

Ironically, education, or the lack thereof, is one of the topics brought up in Moore’s new movie, “Where To Invade Next”. Sadly, the people who need to see it the most will not see it. Fox News will tell them that they will turn to salt like Lot’s wife if they view anything from Michael Moore. The ignorant will continue to accept being mid-range of every societal measuring stick, because the manipulators of the airwaves want them to remain ignorant of better choices, better ways of doing things. Here are some interesting benchmarks for where the U.S. stands in the world:

  • The U.S. ranks 14th in education
  • The U.S. ranks 2nd in child poverty
  • The U.S. ranks 33rd in acceptance of evolution
  • The U.S. ranks 2nd in ignorance
  • The U.S. ranks 50th in life expectancy
  • The U.S. ranks 22nd in freedom of the press

Obviously, a low number is not good in some things, like child poverty and ignorance. Nor is a high number good in things like freedom of the press, or acceptance of scientific certainties. The point being, that for all of the huff and puff about “we’re number one”, we’re not number one in any area except military might. We don’t even break the top ten in any of the areas that make our society a better society, like health care, education, quality of life. Is that just happenstance, or are the goals just too hard to achieve?

Well, Moore’s movie points out that many countries far less blessed than the United States are finding a way to provide free college educations to their citizens. They provide cradle to the grave health care and even family leave for the birth of a child. Apparently, better societies are a result of the priorities for the society being set by the 99%, not the 1%.

The movie does not doom the U.S. to the scrap heap of history like the Roman empire. Moore offers the hope that things can change overnight, like the taking down of the Berlin wall. The people just need to demand the change. Man the ramparts.

 

 

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Thousands Standing Around

BudLiteGood morning, y’all. We’re still getting those low hanging clouds that bring the occasional rain storm here in the mountains. Since I don’t have anyplace particular to go, it’s not a worry to me. If I was trying to get to Dallas or Chicago by airplane, I’d probably be busting a gasket now. We’re watching all of those folks milling around in the Atlanta Airport on TV. I know bad weather can clog up an airport like a pot of burned beans poured down a sink drain. Sadly, this holdup isn’t weather related.

What seems to be plaguing the summer time travelers is the inability of the security at the airports to process the travelers quickly. I use “quickly” in the most generous sense. People are being told to arrive at the airport three hours ahead of their scheduled flight. Three hours ahead of their departure time. Let us cogitate on that for a moment. Three hours of picking up and kicking our bags forward while we try to not upset the people in front of, or behind us in line.

If those three hours were actually spent traveling, where could we go? Well, by car heading north, we’d make it to Asheville, Knoxville, Nashville and almost to Charlotte. Going in other directions we’d get to Birmingham, Tuscaloosa, Columbus and nearly to Tallahassee and Savannah. I am told that people fly to those destinations from the Atlanta airport. So, now travelers can drive to them in the time they would have spent in line waiting to take their shoes and belt off. As impressive as that is, where could we go by train, if the United States had a train system like Eurail?

Well, in addition to the car list, we add Lexington, Kentucky, Greensboro, Charleston, Jacksonville, Panama City, Pensacola and Mobile. It looks like going to the beach would be a piece of cake by train. I’m talking about a slow train, one that averages one hundred miles an hour. If you move up in speed to Eurail standards, then most of the eastern U.S. is within reach. Chicago in the time you spent kicking your bag along in line. The two and half hour flight time is just time you get added back to your life to live as you see fit. Logical minds are asking, what can be done? At least I hope they are.

It seems that this latest slowdown at the airport has been brought about by the carriers charging more luggage fees for checked baggage. Passengers retaliate by carrying on all of their stuff. TSA agents retaliate by processing your sixteen carry on pieces of luggage as slowly as they can. The lines of angry passengers going out the door of the terminal notify the news agencies that there might be a story here. Channel 11 swoops in to “hold the powerful accountable”. Except they don’t. Channel 11 is not going to aggravate any of their advertisers.

The news agencies will present the story as one more government agency unable to function properly, not one more money grubbing industry trying to squeeze every nickel out of their customers. The spin that the fault lies with TSA, will of course beg for the opportunity to turn the security of the airports over to private security companies. Think Blackwater, except they’ll probably re-brand as something cute like “Blue Skies”. They still get to wear their jackboots, though. By the way, TSA stands for Transportation Security Administration not Thousands Standing Around.

So, it’s been reported that thousands of flyers have missed their flights because of the slow lines at security. What can be done to fix this problem without compromising security? Well, my first choice is to build a first rate train system in the U.S.A., like President Obama proposed when he first came into office. If only a fourth of the folks flying today took the train, the lines would disappear. I suspect if the airlines felt any competition from any other source, they’d figure out how to get the lines manageable without compromising security. Without competition, they’re not motivated. For my money, the carriers have created the problem, and will try to shape the solution to something they would prefer. Something like their own security.

I can foresee a “Delta Check Point Charley” as the line all Delta passengers get in. Flyers would have the option to purchase a “pre-screened” card on the internet for immediate access to the gates. Zip, zip you’d be through security headed to the gate like in the old days, before 9/11. Of course annual dues would apply, and maybe frequent flyers might have to get dinged a little more for their frequent use of the security swipe. Those card readers don’t come cheap you know. Security, and therefore liability, would then be placed right where it belongs, on the airlines. If something happens, there’s no opportunity for finger pointing, no sharing of liability. It’s all on the carriers.

That’s a reality that might spur a lot more interest in developing Amtrak. Of course, there’s always Hyperloop.

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Doc Watson

BudLiteGood morning, y’all. The rain is upon us. It’s fine, it’s appreciated. In fact, I’d be real disappointed if everything I planted this year died for lack of water. It’s just that I’m on a strict budget. When the water bill gets up in the triple digits I get a haughty memo from the executors of the TackyToo estate. “No, they don’t want the plants to die, no they don’t want me to have to re-buy and plant everything, no they don’t want the park to erode into craters of red clay like Copperhill, Tennessee.” “They just want me to honor the spirit of my Daddy’s conservative values”.

Well, as previously pointed out, Daddy’s conservative values are best encapsulated in the phrase, “he wouldn’t pay a nickel to watch Jesus on a trampoline”. Daddy’s “conservative values” were a direct result of his willingness to throw it all away on the roll of a die, or the arm of a pitcher or quarterback. The more he “saved”, the more he had to bet. The closer we lived to poverty, the less he had to worry about maintaining a standard of living. Daddy’s gambling prevented him from recognizing his full potential, and who knows, perhaps being happy. Gambling is every bit as destructive as drinking or drugging, don’t let anyone tell you different.

Sorry about that little trip down memory lane. What got me pointed in that direction was listening to the radio in the office of the Rec room while I waited out a rain storm. I was listening to WNCW out of Spindale, and they were doing a Doc Watson special. You really can’t think of Doc Watson too much without thinking of his son Merle and their relationship. I guess that got the whole “father and son” thing going, and me longing for something better than I had. Where would we all be now if my Daddy and I had been able to work together on something positive like Doc and Merle did? Certainly not where we are today.

It is easy for me to romanticize the Watson’s lives as being charmed, even though Doc was blind and Merle died at the age of thirty six. Arthel, or “Doc” as he would later become, lost his sight before his first birthday. He attended North Carolina’s school for the visually impaired and grew up on a farm outside of Deep Gap, North Carolina. He used his first earnings to buy a cheap guitar from Sears, which he learned to be proficient enough on to busk on street corners with his brother. Doc had “skills” as they say, and proceeded to become one of the best flatpickers of all time. Displaying a great diversity, Doc taught himself songs that were traditionally fiddle tunes to play on his electric guitar. He played piano and the banjo, and often accompanied himself on a harmonica while he sang. Doc could do it all musically, and passed it down to his son Eddy Merle.

Merle, was named after Doc’s two favorite singers, Eddy Arnold and Merle Haggard. Doc’s son Merle played on Doc’s first solo album, recorded in 1964 when Merle was just fifteen. Doc and Merle added a bass guitarist and began playing as a trio in 1974. The “Watson” trio toured around the world during the late seventies and early eighties. During this time they recorded fifteen albums and brought their unique style of country bluegrass folk acoustic music to millions of fans. In 1985, Merle died in a tractor accident on his family farm. The details of Merle’s death are like one of those insurance commercials were they portray a chain of events that seem implausible when held up separately. The gruesome details can be found here.

Two years after Merle’s death, “Merle Fest” was inaugurated by Doc in remembrance of his son. It is a country bluegrass folk alternative music extravaganza held each year at the Wilkes County Community College in Wilkesboro, North Carolina. Last year’s attendance was over 70,000 fans even though both of the headliners are now gone. It is an amazing legacy to a father son team of fabulous musicians. Through the miracle of YouTube, we can experience Doc and Merle together again doing Doc’s most famous hit, “Tennessee Stud”. That’s Merle on the other acoustic guitar.

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Breathe On Me III

BudLiteGood morning, y’all. We’re expecting some more storms to head our way today. Looks like we’ve got a chance for rain right on through the weekend. That’s fine, it keeps the heat down and helps the garden grow. I’m hoping to have a bumper crop of tomatoes and basil this year. I add some mozzarella cheese and balsamic vinegar to make the best Caprese salad in these parts. You might have to go all the way to Rome, Italy not Georgia, to find a better Caprese salad.

I’m also real handy in turning my basil into a fantastic pesto sauce. Last year I made six quarts. I had enough to give some away and then freeze the rest. I froze it in those little half-cup containers. A box of pasta, a container of Pesto, and your favorite Parmesan cheese, and you’ve got a great meal for two. Slip in the Caprese salad and a nice loaf of bread and you can put the romance in to a meal that is quick and easy to fix. Who says I’m not continental? 

I guess I’ve kind of got Italian on my mind while I’m thinking about the origins of the Pentecost and what it means to the members of The Full Gospel Original Church of God. For those of you who are uninitiated, the Pentecost refers to the occasion of the visitation of the Holy Spirit upon the Apostles, and the other early Christians, after Jesus had ascended into Heaven. It’s a big deal in our church; but visitation by the Holy Spirit is not limited to just one day. The Spirit can visit at any time or hour, and most members think the Spirit’s just waiting for us inside the church from one time to the next. The Pentecost is just like celebrating Christmas each year. The first Christmas was special, and thereafter we’re just celebrating the event.

Anyhow, I queued up the DVR to see what special magic the Reverend Helena Handbasket was going to bring to the faithful in the Crystal Palace. Not having any tomatoes yet, I had to opt for two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and a Mountain Dew to keep my stomach from grumbling over the telecast. I’d hate to miss something important because stomach was making noise, so I brought along a bag of Oreos, just in case. “Better to have it and not need it, than to need it and not have it”, I always say.

Well, the touchy-feely opening to the telecast from Channel 99 in Blairsville put me in a peaceful mood. Good thing too, since my heart was still racing from the antics of Little Devin. The cameras cut inside to the ceremony, and the choir opened up with “Faith of Our Fathers”. The Reverend Helena Handbasket materialized on the stage and then wandered over to the corner of the stage. I’m going to assume they had given her a personal microphone to use, because I could hear her just fine, even though she wasn’t standing behind the pulpit. Maybe they had a boom mike overhead, it just wasn’t visible in the shot. The Reverend was dressed in a blood red robe with her customary white sash with gold trim. Her fiery red hair looked more “poofed” out than usual.

The Reverend started her sermon talking about the Pentecost, describing the early days of Christianity. She spoke in a rather matter of fact voice, like she was giving a Sunday School lesson to a group of grammar school kids. She described how the Apostles were kind of at a loss for what to do next after Jesus had ascended. They were reflecting on their next moves when the Spirit came upon then. The Reverend quoted Acts 2:1-6, “When the day of Pentecost came, they were all together in one place. Suddenly a sound like the blowing of a violent wind came from heaven and filled the whole house where they were sitting. They saw what seemed to be tongues of fire that separated and came to rest on each of them. All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other tongues as the Spirit enabled them. Now there were staying in Jerusalem God-fearing Jews from every nation under heaven. When they heard this sound, a crowd came together in bewilderment, because each one heard their own language being spoken.” Well, obviously this is right up the Evangelical’s alley. The Reverend was “preaching to the choir”, as the saying goes.

Just in case the viewers were not convinced by her words, the Reverend had arranged a visual aid to help the faithful. There appeared to be a reflecting substance embedded in the Reverend’s hair that gave off the appearance of a flame when struck by whatever light the stage crew was using. I can only imagine how it looked in person. It looked fantastic on TV.  I watch a lot of Sci-Fi and I don’t think I’ve seen the technique used before. I’ll have to Google magic tricks when I get a chance, although magicians are not supposed to give up their secrets.

Well, since Pentecost is one of the times communion is served at The Full Gospel Original Church of God, the line went out the doors of both aisles with acolytes lining up to receive the “body of Christ”. You would have thought the church was giving away free double quarter pounders with cheese, not an oyster cracker. The communion took the place of the usual altar call and testament of faith, so I can’t comment on the Reverend Helena Handbasket‘s serpent wrangling skills this week. She seemed to be spot on with everything else, so I’m guessing there would have been no flubs. From the looks of things, the faithful didn’t look like they felt like they had been cheated.

I know I felt like I was about to burst. I’m sure I wasn’t filled with the Spirit, but I sure was filled with something.

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Breathe On Me II

BudLiteGood morning, y’all. Let it rain, let it rain, let it rain. Our plants need it, and our lakes need it. It won’t be long before people will be scraping the barnacles off of their boats and heading to the lakes for some recreation. Water-skiing is not as much fun when you’re dodging tree limbs because the Army Corps of Engineers gave all of our water to the folks in Alabama and Florida.

I guess somebody could rethink our policy of just flooding an area when they build a lake. It’s always been unnerving to me to see the remnants of what was once there, revealed when the water recedes too much. I can remember seeing the picture of a church steeple exposed when the water got too low. I guess clear cutting the area, and removing all of the structures was deemed too expensive. It’s sad.

Speaking of church steeples, I’m thinking the steeple on top of the “Little Church In the Valley” must have been spinning on Sunday. The Evangelical congregation has been witness to some mighty strange and unusual events over the years, but I don’t know that we’ve ever had a circumstance like this Sunday. When little Devin Bread picked up the sermon from his dad, the Right Reverend Dale E. Bread, the entire congregation’s jaws fell slack, as if one. I’m sure there were others, besides myself, in the congregation that wondered if it was a staged event. I’m equally sure that there were those in attendance who believed they were watching the Second Coming. To their credit, the Breads, father and son, played the event as coolly and calmly as two seasoned Broadway performers.

At the end of the sermon, little Devin made the altar call and headed down to the floor of the auditorium in front of the pulpit. Bubba Hoakum seemed to have regained his senses, or maybe it was just an involuntary response like breathing. Either way, his deep bass voice boomed out, “Love Lifted Me”, and the rafters of the church shook with the reverberations of his voice. Maybe Bubba hadn’t ciphered yet that there now appeared to be another Bread between him and his rightful inheritance, his legacy. Bubba’s call to preach where his father, grandfather and great grandfather had preached was now being blocked by an eight-year-old. Not to mention Devin’s daddy, if the Right Reverend ever regained his senses.

Well, little Devin did his “Tap Dance for Jesus” with as much grace and style as you could ever imagine an eight-year-old to possess. The spirit filled dance included moves from early Michael Jackson and the character ReRun from the TV show “That’s My Momma”. I guess I’ll have to bear some responsibility for that. I added the Nickelodeon package to TackyToo‘s cable package. I figured if the kids could watch wholesome shows in their trailer, they’d leave the big screen in the Rec room to the adults. Now the congregation was watching the law of unintended consequences bust a move in front of the largely septugenarian audience.

While many in the audience felt compelled to move forward, I held back. Being one of “little faith”, I wanted to be close to the door in case the next act didn’t go according to plan. I won’t say I’m afraid of snakes, but, I respect them tremendously. I shouldn’t have worried. Little Devin reached into the box and went for the big boy first thing. Out he comes with the six foot timber rattler, which is taller than Devin. No mind, Devin wrapped the snake around his neck, he tied it in a knot around his waist like a belt, he grabbed the snake by the tail and whipped it around on the floor like he was stirring sugar into his ice tea.

Of course I’m thinking “ringer”. I figure they’ve substituted the real rattler with a very real looking rubber substitute, or the snake has been loaded up on sleeping pills. About the time I get ready to slip out and report to Mulva that there is chicanery afoot at the “Little Church In the Valley”, one of the Elders in attendance reaches for the snake. Elder Diggum, lifelong church member and part-owner of the funeral home, “Diggum and Fergettum”, should credit his lifetime of clean living with giving him the quick reactions that avoided a tragedy. The timber rattler took a lightning like snap at Elder Diggum’s face as Elder Diggum tried to relieve Little Devin from the serpent. The snake opened his mouth so wide I could see his tonsils from my spot in the third row.

Well, we’ve certainly answered the question about whether the rattler is a ringer or not to my satisfaction. There are a ton of other unanswered questions, but I know I’m not going to get to the bottom of them today. Discretion being the better part of valor, I decide to slip away before the scene in front of the altar devolves into something out of the movie, “The Wicker Man”.  I glance back over my shoulder as I go out the door and see that the Right Reverend Dale E. Bread has not moved an inch from his spot behind the pulpit. If he is truly catatonic, somebody will call the EMT’s, I guess. Of course, at this point, I’d say all the Right Reverend needs is for Littler Devin to lay hands on him.

I can’t wait to get back home to the DVR to see what the Reverend Helena Handbasket has served up this week. This is like the best “Battle of the Bands”, ever.

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Breathe On Me

BudLiteGood morning, y’all. The temperatures are quite pleasant during the day, just a little windy. We’re getting down into the 40’s overnight, but I guess that’s fine if it guarantees the mild temperatures during the day. It seems silly to turn on the heat at night, and if it was just me, believe me, I wouldn’t. Of course, it’s not just me, so we’ve been running the heater at night to keep Mulva’s feet and hands from turning blue.

Mulva is so cold natured that she’s been wearing her winter coat when she goes out at night. In addition to her weekly attendance at Wednesday Prayer Meeting, she also has to attend the planning meetings on Thursday night. Monday night is Women’s Bible study, so Mulva has been getting to dress like an Eskimo a lot lately. I’m just the opposite, in more ways than one. I don’t need a coat until the temperature goes below freezing. I’ve also determined that I don’t need to attend more than one church service a week.

I will admit that I’ve been DVRing the telecast from Channel 99 in Blairsville of the service at the Crystal Palace. This is only when I feel the need to attend the Little Church in the Valley”, instead of driving into Blairsville. I DVR the broadcast so Mulva and I can discuss the Reverend Helena Handbasket’s message when Mulva gets back home. Sometimes we hear two completely different things in the message. I like to be clear on what the message actually means before I use it to modify my behavior. I hate to get a new course charted and then be told I’m headed off completely in the wrong direction.

To her credit, the Reverend Helena Handbasket is pretty straight forward with what she’s trying to say. There’s not a lot of mumbo-jumbo involving the Protestant Reformation, or scripture that no one can decipher. Let’s all be honest, there’s a lot of scripture that can be interpreted in a hundred different ways. Preachers do it all of the time. I just don’t want to give up pork rinds thinking it’s going to lead to my salvation, and find out out that I had misinterpreted the intent of Leviticus 11:7-8 “And the pig, because it parts the hoof and is cloven-footed but does not chew the cud, is unclean to you. You shall not eat any of their flesh, and you shall not touch their carcasses; they are unclean to you.” So Mulva and I tend to talk the message over before making any changes to our day to day.

While I’m pondering my addiction to all things pork, I’ve also got to give some consideration to the happenings at the Little Church in the Valley”. I headed back there this week to be Mulva’s eyes and ears on the goings on with young Devin Bread. The reports that came back to the Elders apparently sent a shock to the assemblage. I’m sure the reports were not as shocking as watching it in person. I’m headed back to see if what I witnessed was a one time fluke, or if we’ve got something going on straight out of the Old Testament. I’m thinking Isiah 11:6, “The wolf also shall dwell with the lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the young goat, the calf and the young lion and the fatling together, and a little child shall lead them.”

There was no doubt that a little child tamed one of God’s more anti-social beasts. Was it a fluke, a miracle, or the work of a desperate Dad using his son to keep his job? For my money, it is a combination of the Dad and the Devil. I think the Dad, the Right Reverend Dale E. Bread, has provided the opportunity for the child to perform a bit of devilment. While the devilment may have a lofty goal, keeping the Right Reverend’s job, it still runs counter to the high standards of the Evangelical movement.

Speaking in tongues and the laying of hands to heal might be easy to fake, and therefore used to take advantage of an unsuspecting congregation. The handling of snakes is not something one can fake, even if one is a fakir. I’m thinking that Devin’s affinity for serpents might be his connection to the dark side. Beelzebub has a long history of using snakes to do his bidding. Helping an eight year old to keep a few serpents under control would be “child’s play” for the Prince of Darkness. 

Well, the service was about as normal as could be until the Right Reverend Dale E. Bread had about ten minutes left on his sermon. The sermon was entitled, “The Importance of Pentecost”, and most of us had heard it many times before. In fact, I thought I heard Bubba Hoakum’s bass voice mimicking the sermon from his place in the choir. Anyway, mid-sentence, the Right Reverend was struck dumb. His mouth was open but nothing was coming out. The silence lasted for about twenty seconds when it was broken by the high piping voice of Devin Bread. Little Devin picked up the sermon at the exact spot that the Right Reverend left off. Devin continued the sermon as he made his way to the pulpit. Being too small to stand behind the pulpit, Devin stood next to his Dad and delivered the rest of the sermon, word for word, to the awestruck congregation.

More later. 

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Ignorance Is Not A Virtue

BudLiteGood morning, y’all. The temperatures have dropped significantly. Those of us who suffer from sinus related issues are feeling the pain. Of course, it could be all of the smoke coming down from Canada that’s making us all cough. Maybe the smoke is blocking the rays of the sun and creating that “nuclear winter effect” we hear so much about in sci-fi movies. Who knows? Ignorance allows me to postulate any hypothesis.

In that vein, President Obama just made the most “true” statement I think I’ve ever heard. The President was delivering his commencement speech at Rutgers University when he informed the audience that, “Ignorance is not a virtue”. It was delivered in the perfect context, in the perfect setting. As for the setting, the President was in the heart of Trump country. As to the context, the President went on to explain that not knowing what you were talking about was not an excuse for raising your voice and presenting your point again and again and again.

The President told the twelve thousand newly minted graduates, “In politics and in life, ignorance is not a virtue,”  “It’s not cool to not know what you’re talking about. That’s not keeping it real or telling it like it is. That’s not challenging political correctness. That’s just not knowing what you’re talking about. And yet we’ve become confused about this.”

I can certainly see where a lot of folks would consider having the phrase tattooed on their body in their favorite font. I might do it myself. It would be more relevant in our day to day lives than a quote from Khalil Gibran. Just have “Ignorance Is Not A Virtue” tattooed on the inside of your left arm, if the space is still available. That way you can look down at your arm when you feel like you’re about to comment on something that you have no knowledge of, like global warming, or what the Federal Reserve does.

Of course, if you have been imbued by your Creator with infinite knowledge, like The Donald, it probably won’t make much difference. The phrase assumes a certain self awareness that megalomaniacs like The Donald don’t possess. “Seldom right but never in doubt”, is how we refer to folks whose super egos were never developed. To that end, I’d like to offer up The Donald’s brain for scientific study to see if part of his issues are organic, or if they all stem from his upbringing. I realize the challenge will be getting to the brain through the impenetrable helmet of orange “hair” that surrounds the cranium, but science needs to be served. We need to develop a vaccine if the cause of The Donald’s wrongheadedness is organic. Billions of lives hang in the balance.

Ok, I’m having a little fun with the President’s speech. The fact that he was able to deliver a valuable life truism to graduating students, that was also a clever dig at the Republican party, is just another example of what a special mind the President possesses. Only the most ardent racist can look at where we were when President Obama took office, and where we are today, and not admit that he has been one of our greatest Presidents.

When President Obama took office the world’s economy was on the brink of complete collapse due to pilfering by the friends of Bush and Cheney. The stock market was in the 7,000’s when President Obama took office, it’s hovering around 18,000 now. I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that even stupid ignorant Republicans have made a lot of money during the Obama administration. That is, unless they were constantly “shorting” the economy. Which should be against the law in my opinion. Why should we be allowed to bet on the failure of businesses? It just doesn’t feel right to me, but I’m not a market guru.

Which kind of brings us back to the topic. Granny Waller used to say, “Ignorance is its own reward.” She used to say it about people who purposefully stayed ignorant of situations that it benefited them to be ignorant about. Situations like cheating spouses, or a work practice that was harming their employees. I prefer President Obama’s phrase. It encourages me to learn and to not accept ignorance as an excuse. Most importantly, it encourages me to not spread my ignorance to others. Obama 2020.

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Money Monster

BudLiteGood morning, y’all. Another scrumpdillyicious, beautiful day in the mountains. I noticed that the wildflowers are in full bloom on our trip to the Walmart in Blairsville. The dogwoods have peaked, as well as the Azaleas. Next we’ll be looking for the later blooming flowers, like the lilies and cone flowers. It’s very restful to the soul to be living with the beauty of nature all around. I don’t know how those folks trapped in concrete cities can get along.

Well, the trip to Walmart was relatively uneventful this week. I did my dumpster dive into the discount movie bins to see what I could see, but I really wasn’t trying. Today is Mulva’s birthday, so we’ll go out to dinner and see a proper movie in a theater. I don’t mean to infer that if I found a real bargain that I would ignore it. It’s just that my motivation for diving to the bottom of the barrel in search of a “gem” was not as acute as usual. If I saw an Oscar winner for $2.99, I’d still bring it home, I just wasn’t going to break my neck trying to find it. I did stock up on Milk Duds and Malted Milk Balls, though. They don’t have to be eaten just on Date night. We got checked out, at counter Number Two of course, and made our way back to TackyToo.

The balance of my day was spent putzing around and not trying to work up a big sweat. Before you knew it, it was 5 o’clock and time to get ready to go on our date. I had made dinner reservations for The Embers in Gainesville. It’s supposed to be a high end steakhouse, and that’s one thing you can’t get enough of, steak. It’s also supposed to be on the pricey side of things. I thought it would be fun for Mulva to get to hang out with the 1% for her birthday. It’s rumored that the Governor has frequented the place. Who knows, we might get the opportunity to watch a sinister deal being consummated over shrimp cocktails.

Speaking of sinister deals, we saw a corker of a movie that was filled with intrigue and shady dealing. The movie was “Money Monster”, and it starred George Clooney and Julia Roberts. It was playing at the Hollywood 15 Cinemas. The theater has those stadium seats that make you feel like you’re looking eyeball to eyeball with the actors. I felt like it would be a special treat for Mulva to feel like she was looking directly into George Clooney‘s deep blue eyes. I am a thoughtful son of a gun, if I do say so myself.

Well, there were plenty of shots into Mr. Clooney’s deep blue eyes, but mostly those eyes were filled with terror. Clooney’s character played a TV stock prognosticator, ala Jim Cramer in real life, who was kidnapped during a broadcast by a disgruntled investor. Clooney’s character did a great job of lampooning the silliness that Cramer’s show trades on. I guess we can thank director, Jodie Foster, for exposing Cramer as the buffoon that he is. As much fun as the silliness of the parody provides, the fun stops when the young investor takes the studio hostage.

The investor is played by Jack O’Connell, who will be remembered by folks who watch way too much TV, as Cook from “Skins”. He brings the same intensity to his role as he did in “Skins”. It’s hard to say what kind of future O’Connell might have playing something other than a misfit, but he certainly is well cast in the misfit role. His character of “Kyle” was not only the catalyst for the movie, but the glue that held it together. I won’t give away any plot points to detail how “Kyle” became the “glue”, but the script was handled very credibly.

Mulva talked about the movie all the way back to TackyToo, so I’m guessing she enjoyed it. I think she appreciated the time away from our everyday, and I was happy she enjoyed her birthday. She even laughed when I gave her her customary garden gnome for her birthday. It’s a tradition, maybe we’ll talk about it more another time. Anyhow, I got her the “Garden Peeker”, which is a garden gnome that looks like he’s peeking at you from behind a tree. I thought in light of our problems last year with a “peeper” she might think it was funny. She did.

Bud hit this birthday out of the park!

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Outrage

BudLiteGood morning, y’all. A gorgeous morning here in the mountains with the ground still wet from last night’s thunder bumper. The storm sounded much worse than it was. The thunder echoed off of the mountains making it sound like we were going to get deluged. We didn’t. It looks like a quarter of inch of rain has accumulated in my rain gauge, which is a pittance compared to the noise of the thunder.

It’s funny how things can sound, or appear worse than they are. I guess the reverse is true, too. Some things seem benign on the surface, but are much worse as you peel back the layers. For instance, I walked by Yuri Stinkherr’s trailer this morning on my constitutional. Yuri was sitting on his porch cleaning some sort of long rifle. It could have been one of those 50 caliber sharpshooter rifles for all I know. I just try to look the other way when guns are present. I don’t want anyone to get the idea that I pose a threat to their “Second Amendment” rights.

Anyhow, I’m trying to scoot on past unnoticed when Yuri calls out to me to hold up. He lumbers out to the driveway, rifle still in hand, and asks me if I’d like to go in with him on a surefire investment. Now, I don’t say what immediately comes to mind, “why would anyone invest money with someone living in a trailer park, and that includes me?” Since he’s still holding the gun, I choose the coward’s way out and tell him Mulva controls all of our finances, I don’t even get an allowance. He ponders that thought for a second and then goes on, “It’s a hell of an investment, guaranteed to triple our money in one year”.

Well, I’m an idiot, I have to ask what it is. Turns out, Yuri has seen where that lowlife scum sucking piece of human waste, George Zimmerman is selling the gun that he used to murder Trayvon Martin. The gun is up for auction on a website Yuri frequents. The only problem is, the minimum bid is $5,000. Yuri is a little short, like the $5,000 and whatever the difference between that and the high bid is. He needs a “silent partner” to handle the finances. Well, I’m horrified. I can’t imagine being a part of any of the components of the transaction. Who would ever knowingly do anything to benefit George Zimmerman? Who would want to purchase a murder weapon, even if their interest was strictly financial? Who wants to be a part of the underground movement of weapons through our society? The list goes on and on.

I extract myself from the conversation as quickly as I can and begin my speed walk back towards Number Two. I know I’m not out of range of whatever it was that Yuri was holding, I just hope I left him feeling secure enough that he didn’t feel the need to “win over my heart and mind” the old fashioned way. I make it back safely and plop myself down in front of CNN to see if I can get my heart rate back to normal without medication. Turns out, this is not going to be my day.

CNN is broadcasting a story about a man who killed his brother over a cheeseburger. Seriously. Now, I know the punchline has to involve alcohol, I’m just curious as to how the cheeseburger plays into the story. Seems Mom and the older son had been out drinking for Mother’s Day. When they returned, a struggle ensued between the brothers and the younger son grabbed a gun to settle the argument. The Mom is heard saying to the operator on the 911 call, “I’m going to kill my son.” I assume she meant that one that remained unshot at that point.

Now, I might be taking the easy path here to say that it happened in Florida, what do we expect? Florida has enacted laws that keep the populace from ever feeling like that anyone else can intimidate them. I don’t even need to be getting a whipping like Zimmerman or the younger brother in the cheeseburger story. I just need to be afraid of you, to “stand my ground”, and take your life. If there was ever a law written word for word by the NRA and the gun manufacturers lobby, “Stand your ground” is it. The philosophy is to, “arm them all and let God sort them out”. Seems like the law is going to create a lot more need for emergency services than before, but maybe there are tradeoffs in other areas I don’t see.

Anyway, I’m a large unattractive man, so it’s easy for me to see how I might intimidate a Floridian just by my mere presence. I will be vacationing in other areas, there’s no sense in tempting fate. I hope others follow suit. If we wanted to live in the Old West, we’d been born a hundred and fifty years ago, in the West.

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Rumble

BudLiteGood morning, y’all. I’m having a real flashback to the movie, “Caddyshack”. Everyone remembers the damage being done to the golf course by the gopher. I’m getting damage to my bedding plants, and it’s not a gopher. It’s coming from the chipmunks. I may have to go “old school” on Chip and Dale here before long.

While I was Googling “best way to kill chipmunks”, I was listening to WNCW out of Spindale, N.C. It is the most eclectic radio station you’d ever hope to listen to. The airwaves have to be just right to pick it up between the cracks in the mountains between here and the campus of the Isothermal College. It’s always available over the internet, if you can command control over a computer. Their programming is well worth the effort to find them if you can. WNCW seems to take the “Public Radio” thing real seriously, and they try to provide something for everybody. They do lean heavy towards Bluegrass, as you would surmise, but they also go to areas you wouldn’t imagine. They do a segment every Friday called, “Frank on Friday”, which is devoted to the works of Frank Zappa. You know, Frank Zappa, “Mothers of Invention”, father of Moon Unit and Dweezil. It is one of their most popular segments, which is wild when you consider the listeners are mostly of the hillbilly persuasion. You just never know.

Anyway, I was listening to WNCW while trying to figure out the best method for mayhem for Chip and his Dales. A song came on that struck a chord (ha ha), deep within. It was an instrumental, heavy guitar and bass, and sounded very familiar. I just couldn’t name it. Admittedly, with my advanced state of dementia, that occurs more and more now. This song was so familiar, though, I felt I had to know it. I waited for it to be announced after the five song play, and deduced that it was a song called, “Rumble” by Link Wray. The announcer went on to give some footnotes about Link Wray, how he was from Dunn, North Carolina, etc.

Well, now Chip and Dale were safe for a while. I dug into Link Wray and found out that he was the basis for all of the music that I worshiped as an early teen. It was his arrangement for “Ghost Riders In The Sky” that was the first instrumental I learned to play. Back in the day, our little garage band, the “V.I.P.s”, played surf music to make a little money and build a lot of ego. We followed the Ventures, Dick Dale, and The Beach Boys like they were the Second Coming. As soon as a new album came out, we set about dissecting the songs until we felt confident enough to unleash our efforts on the public. We’d replay a track on the record over and over until we transposed our parts. I swear I thought the grooves on the record would disappear before we would get the licks right.

One of my favorites, “Apache”, took a particularly long time to learn. Turns out, “Apache” was one of three songs with Native American themes that Link Wray wrote. The other two were called, “Comanche”, and “Shawnee”. Link, himself, was a Shawnee. Maybe his Native American roots were the reason that radio stations banned his most famous work, “Rumble”, from the airwaves. The song was written in 1958, and it was felt that hearing the song would cause urban gangs to riot. I’ll have to research to see if any other instrumental has been banned before or since, but none come to mind. Maybe being banned was just another area where Link Wray was ahead of his time. Being the first Native American with a hit record was another. “Rumble”  sold over a million copies when it was released in 1958.

Link Wray is credited with being the father of the power chord and distortion. His influence through out rock is legendary. Pete Townsend claims he would have never picked up a guitar had he not heard Link Wray play. I’ll put myself in that company. I just didn’t realize that Link Wray was the root of the tree, and that The Ventures, Dick Dale, and others were just the branches. My ignorance knows no bounds, but at least I’m willing to admit it. Not proud of it, but I am aware of it.

Get ready to “Rumble”.