Admitting “I don’t know” or defeat or simple reality is so so hard for some


Yesterday, Pat Robertson went on the air and was cock sure God would give republicans the votes necessary to overturn the Affordable Care Act.

Said Robertson, “They’re going to give it to the president. Mark my word: it will pass. They will get those extra votes. It will go through. They’re going to work together to give us tremendous health care.”

Whelp, Robertson was wrong. Does that mean God and he don’t have the relationship he thought he did? Does that decrease Robertson’s ability to listen through his tender ears and whether or not he listens to God (or Satan) … or his own hopes like the rest of us, believers included?

It won’t matter to Robertson. It won’t indicate anything new to him. He’ll continue going on air with hyperbolic remarks, many will include his so-called connection to the so-called creator of the universe. And for that reason alone, it gives him the right to say appalling things, because something invisible speaks to him and his supremacy to all sentient beings trumps all other logic about human sexuality, human welfare and human happiness.

Speaking of Trump.

Yesterday Trump and his zoo of bananas not only failed to overturn ACA, he had the gaul to blame it on the democrats. The democrats, the party that holds no majority anywhere in United States Politics.

“We were very close, it was a very tight margin. We had no Democrat support, no votes from the Democrats,” says Trump with more confidence than a coked-up drunk picking up women in a bar in Chicago’s Viagra Triangle neighborhood.

“We were very close…” Like Russia’s very close to the United States.

“We were very close…” said the long-lost family member about the recently deceased rich grandfather.

“We were very close…” said the basketball team that got trounced by 100 points.

I can’t get my head around arrogant confidence.

He also said, “I guess I’m here what, 64 days? I never said repeal and replace Obamacare — you’ve all heard my speeches — I never said repeal it and replace it within 64 days.”

That stands in stark contrast to EXACTLY what he said on the campaign trail: “When I’m elected on November 8, we will immediately repeal and replace Obamacare.”

He didn’t say “eventually” or not with in 64 days … he said, “immediately.”

E-fuckin-mee-dee-ut-lee.

Or go here where he said that repealing Obamacare will be SOOOOOOO easy.

What is the fucking problem with admitting defeat? And if you don’t want to admit defeat, just say, “Huh, it looks like we need to revisit this legislation to cover our bases and really provide to the American people what they deserve, what we promised …” and move on? What’s the problem with that?

What conceit is necessary to bald faced lie about why the legislation failed to pass. “The Democrats” got in the way. I mean, “The democrats, many Republicans, and 83% of the American public … they got in the way.”

Let’s fight for the majority and not the elite select few who already have amazing healthcare, great incomes, amazing access to a network of possibilities.

Trump also wants the ACA to explode/implode/die a fiery death. I hope to hell that the millions of Americans who voted for that monster Trump and are benefiting from the ACA are hearing this, taking note, and will revise their voting strategies in the future.

I can say, as a subscriber to the ACA, that I’ve seen the slow demise of its offering. It’s awful. And from what I can tell, it’s the Republican’s fault for pushing ill-will on the legislation so that it worsens. Because AARP, the American Medical Association and the American Hospital Association are all standing behind ACA.

My hope is that those who stand behind it, which seems to be a lot of influential people with hopefully some deep pockets to, gosh, invest into this marketplace, will help turn up the nosedive and help the ACA succeed. Because too many people stand to lose when their healthcare is ripped out from under them, and we should be putting American’s health first. If not first, in the top five of American ideals.

As for everything else Trump wants to do to destroy America and this planet by defunding the EPA, the NEA, PP, NPR, PBS, et al … let ’em. It’s that he’s acting like he’s got a boner for superfluous war that’s got my panties wadded up.

But then again, this old man speaks to America as if we’re all toddlers, because he himself is a big baby riding in a big chair, pretending to be a leader, shamelessly having blow out temper tantrums every time he can’t get his way.

When I was a child … I spoke like one, too. I was cocky. I was confident. And almost all the time, I was and am now … wrong.

Grow up, Mr. President. It’s damn time.

Lessons from our Kindergarten Commander


The above is what Hair Furor said about uranium in his own words. Below is a comparison guide to our so-called commander in chief next to Angela Merkel’s cover page to a doctoral dissertation she wrote on uranium.

Translated:

“Study of the mechanism of decomposition with single bond breaking and calculation of their rate constant on the basis of quantum mechanical and statistical methods.” (“Dissertation to obtain the academic degree doctor in a branch of science – diploma physicist Angela Merkel…”)

Trump is worse than ol’ G.W. Bush when it comes to talking to Americans like they’re toddlers at Sunday School.

Via TYWIKIWDBI

 

Breaking Fake News: China Grants Preliminary Approval to 38 New Trump Trademarks


Shanghai (AP) — China has granted preliminary approval for 38 new Trump trademarks, paving the way for President Donald Trump and his family to potentially develop a host of branded businesses from hotels and golf clubs to bodyguard and concierge services, public documents show.

Trump’s lawyers in China applied for the marks in April 2016, as Trump railed against China at campaign rallies, accusing it of currency manipulation and stealing U.S. jobs. Critics maintain that Trump’s swelling portfolio of China trademarks raises serious conflict of interest questions.

China’s Trademark Office published the provisional approvals on Feb. 27 and Monday .

If no one objects, they will be formally registered after 90 days. All but three are in the president’s own name. China already registered one trademark to the president, for Trump-branded construction services on Feb. 14, the result of a 10-year legal battle that turned in Trump’s favor after he declared his candidacy.

Ethics lawyers across the political spectrum say that if Trump receives any special treatment in securing trademark rights, it would violate the U.S. Constitution, which bans public servants from accepting anything of value from foreign governments unless approved by Congress. Concerns about potential conflicts of interest are particularly sharp in China, where the courts and bureaucracy are designed to reflect the will of the ruling Communist Party.

SNIP

The marks include branded spa and massage services, golf clubs, hotels, insurance, finance and real estate companies, restaurants, bars, and a trademark class that covers bodyguards, social escort, and concierge services — though it’s unclear whether any such businesses will actually materialize in China.

Read more at Bloomberg. 

Come in. Sit on the couch. Tell me what you think. You’ve got an hour.


Yesterday my brother called.

We shared a text conversation earlier in the day. He sent me a quote from Sufjan Stevens.

It started like this:

America,

There really is no such thing as an illegal immigrant, for we are all immigrants and refugees in a wildly changing world that is dominated by superfluous boundaries built by blood and war. We all come from somewhere else. The truest of “Americans” have either been destroyed by the white immigrant, incarcerated, isolated, held captive, or stolen and enslaved. 

Read the rest here.

I thanked him for sharing. It was a cool quote. And it even referred to Jesus (turning the other cheek, loving enemies, etc.) and also to prayer. The quote itself embodies my own politics. Even though I don’t believe in a deified Jesus. I value my root understanding of him and who he was as a radical mind.

Continue reading

See Johnny Depp run. Run, Johnny. Run!


 

I saw a meme on Facebook with Pirates of the Caribbean in which Johnny Depp’s character was being chased by an angry mob of 100 or 200 crazies, and the words on the screen read, “When you express your opinion on the internet.”

The guy who posted it is an evangelical and his Facebook posts rarely get more than a handful of likes. So it’s a head scratcher as to why he thinks his expressed opinions are so hated. I’m guessing he has a delusional victim mentality or a misplaced superiority complex. No one on social media that I can tell is oppositional to him. So maybe the lack of response causes feelings of attack.

No one ever comments on his stupid posts.

This guy was actually the principal of my Evangelical high school. He’s a guy who fed my brain so full of bullshit that I will always carry a certain level of anger that this guy was allowed at a chalkboard in front of young minds. It wasn’t that I didn’t learn anything under his tyrannical style of teaching. It’s just that the information was so far false and one-sided that once I learned about other views, and all the gray area between, I was able to determine he had little penis syndrome and wanted all young minds to never pursue a well-rounded education.

The Pirates of the Caribbean meme certainly got me thinking, though. Especially about how unwelcome his views seem to be. It’s astonishing that people bitch and moan that their views aren’t welcome in a world that has left folks like him behind. But it also is a reminder that views like his still exist. It’s astonishing.

And despite how marginalized his views are, he’ll keep posting like it’s helping his lost cause instead of learning from his failures and assimilating new ways of approach. His views are so archaic it’s like walking down the street and seeing a dinosaur, a real one. Walking, growling and munching on leaves from a tall tree.

But there’s another aspect of that Pirates of the Caribbean meme that bothers me. It’s that in the event you do express that unwelcome, archaic opinion, people like my old principal are still shocked that their “opinions” aren’t welcome.

My most popular post of all time wasn’t about religion or politics. It was about that sacred institution of quality craft called Ikea (“It’s official: Ikea is hell on earth”).

In fact, the post still gets comments despite the fact that it’s eons old and that this blog is a metaphorical ghost town. Most new comments I designate spam. I tried turning off comments years ago, but somehow they still seem to show up. I’ve even deleted comments to encourage people not to respond to other people’s hateful, mob mentality rage toward me for calling Ikea the shittiest furniture store in the universe.

There was a Pirates of the Caribbean mob mentality running after not only me, but my wife, for criticizing something so many people seem to love. I read one comment degrading Tina to her, and I found her getting really emotional and maybe even shedding a tear. It was cruel.

However I do see the hypocrisy in censoring comments on that old Ikea post. So I stare at my reflection and say, “Shame on me, too, for not understanding that expressed opinions generate responses, often nasty attacks.”

Thing was, I expressed my opinion about something a lot of people seem to like and want to defend, and the tension spilled into comments that made me want to run for cover at times.

If you fuck with other people’s “sacred” prepare yourself for pejorative responses. Here I thought we lived in a world where EVERYONE agrees that Ikea = shit. But in my bubble, I wonder how any decent human being could buy a Nickleback album let alone support a guy like Donald Trump.

On the flip, there are supporters of Trump, and Nickleback, who wonder why a person would NOT support them. There are people who think it’s funny to attack the person and not the thing.

While my point at the time of writing about Ikea was to be funny and to rail against a monster of a store that essentially steals your money in exchange for “furniture” that will be in your alley dumpster and landfills in less than 2 or 3 years.

The alternative is digging deeper into your pockets and buying something that will last 10 to 20 years … or longer … by simply investing in better quality.

But that’s not my point. My point is the whole biblical notion of you reap what you sow. If I write about Ikea being chalk full of crappy products, I should anticipate backlash.

If I post stuff that criticizes one kind of people in general, I should expect backlash.

I wonder sometimes how more people don’t understand that. If I criticize a non-person like Ikea, that’s not attacking a person. But people often misconstrue an allegiance as a personal attack.

But there are people who criticize, say, Liberals or Conservatives with false information or sweeping generalizations. Then they wonder why people respond to their views and chase them down with Internet Mob mentality negativity.

I’m done with that kind of toxic bullshit in my world, and instead of allowing it or saying, “Oh that’s okay that you’re offending me or attacking me personally,” I’m protecting myself by staying far, far away from those kinds of people.

Stick my ass with a fork. I’m fucking done.

The power of equality, sex magik, twenty five year olds and you


Twenty five years ago, the Red Hot Chili Peppers (RHCP) released Blood Sugar Sex Magik, which included the popular, radio-played tracks “Under the Bridge” and “Give It Away.”

I recently added a couple of songs from the album to my workout playlist, and glory day memories are flooding back into my mind each time one of those songs comes on.

At the time the album came out, I was a sophomore in high school. The same year my brother Jon asked me learn the bass guitar and start playing in his band Creamy Velour.

As I learned, I naturally drifted toward inspiration from those who are doing it better. And bassist Flea quickly became one of heroes when I was learning bass.

I listened to Blood Sugar Sex Magik on repeat for days if not months. I loved every song on the album, and would finger the bass rhythms on my knees, or steering wheel, or wherever. I wanted to learn to slap and pop. I practiced for hours on ideas that I thought were very similar to Flea’s abilities.

Back then, however, I was also astoundingly in love with Jesus and my faith, and many of the lyrics challenged my faith, especially those sexual in nature.

The mention or topic of Sex — especially from a secular source — could single handedly twist my psyche into a guilty sweaty mess. Where I come from Jesus was literally everywhere. Teachers, parents, leaders told me he was “omnipresent” (everywhere at the same time) which supposedly should cause calm and security. It meant you’re always protected.

Omnipresence also became a large reason I dumped the faith.

If God/Jesus/the Holy Spirit is everywhere, that means when a child is dying of leukemia on a hospital gurney, those three fuckers are standing there watching him or her suffer.

People trapped in a burning building. Those three are there. Laughing? Crying? Maybe. But they’re definitely impotent.
A man running down hundreds of people with a truck in Nice, France, those three were there. Watching. Arms crossed. Impotent.
A black man became our president … hey wait, those three were there. Fist bump. Wiggle fingers.

Omnipresence to an adolescent meant Jesus did everything I did.

Brushed Teeth.
Played Soccer.
Did homework.
Masturbated.
My Buddy Jesus.

He also listened to the same music I did.

One song, “Sir Psycho Sexy,” I could repeat the lyrics to … up to a point … and then I’d stop. I figuratively shoved my index fingers into each ear and hummed, “Lalalalalalala!!!”

Here are some lyrics from the second verse:

Deep inside the garden of Eden
Standing there with my hard on bleedin’
There’s a devil in my dick and some demons in my semen
Good God no that would be treason
Believe me Eve she gave good reason
Body looking too good not to be squeezin’
Creamy beaver hotter than a fever
I’m a givin’ ’cause she’s the receiver
I won’t and I don’t hang up until I please her
Makin’ her feel like an over achiever
I take it away for a minute just to tease her
Then I give it back a little bit deeper

Can you imagine me, singing “Standing there with my hard on bleedin'” arm in arm with Jesus as we swayed back and forth?

To a 16 year old Christian, that shit was a train wreck. In one moment, you’re singing along. In another, you’re hoping no one else knows how well you sing a long. Even with headphones on — and no one but Jesus could hear the lyrics — the power of guilt overwhelmed me. But Flea’s bass lines were too important not to listen to. And there was my struggle. The utilitarian thought that there was a greater good involved.

I’ve long since given up on Jesus. It’s a concept that doesn’t work for me. I’m not really sure how it works for anyone, but I get it at the same time. As an insider, I thought it was the best, and told many about it, and brought several to similar beliefs.

The transition away was largely thanks to conceding that my life was much more secular than religious. The concepts and ideas that drove most of my decisions weren’t Biblical logic or informed by Biblical ideas. Biblical ideas aren’t very clear and they certainly aren’t advisable for modern living. For example, marriage is a confusing mess in the bible. And if it weren’t for observing my grandparents grow old together, watching my gramps take care of my gram in sickness and declining health, I would have never understood the importance of marriage. I would have likely lived single my entire life.

Or race. Race in the bible is a tough one. At one end, you have one culture enslaving another. And when the Jews were enslaved, that sucked. But when the Jews enslaved others, okay! You have God’s approval of enemies made of Jews versus everyone. Or everyone versus the Jews. Slavery was okay. Bashing babies against rocks, thumbs up! And then you have Jesus, entering the world from heaven through a magikal birth canal. He commanded to embrace other races, other cultures, other ideas, the downtrodden, the assholes, the sick, the poor, everyone.

It’s those little commandments of enemy love, equality and forgiveness that also informed my decision to evaluate and evacuate the faith.

I knew the bible better than most people, I scoured it for answers to my often debilitating questions, and was surprised by others insistence that the God and the Bible were clear, not confusing, and never inconsistent.

The power of equality.

The opening track on Blood Sex is called “The Power of Equality.”

In my teenage years, I would have told you that’s what Jesus taught and thought. But if you observe the current zeitgeist among religious folks, equality isn’t for everyone. It’s only for like-minded folks with a penchant for saying, “We get on our knees for Jesus.”  You’re free — but only free to think exactly like us about the economy, race superiority, abortion, gay marriage, and whether or not to say “Merry Christmas” or not.

The lyrics from the song go:

American equality has always been sour
An attitude I would like to devour
My name is peace, this is my hour
Can I get just a little bit of power

The power of equality
Is not yet what it ought to be
It fills me up like a hollow tree
The power of equality

What was great about growing up in the Bible belt, in an above upper middle class neighborhood and attending an evangelical private school, it was a constant white out. White was everywhere. There were two black people in my my class during certain periods of my school career. But for the most part, our ability to stay away from any people of color was easy.

One time at the mall, there was a wall devoted to posters depicting history lessons created by local school children. My Dad and I were staring at the wall when he said, “Notice there are no black kid’s names on any of the work.”

I stopped and looked at him, and stared back at the posters. There were three — what I would consider obvious — black names. I pointed it out. There was silence.

I’ve never forgotten that moment. And it returns for many reasons. The names of the children weren’t even on my radar. I was probably critical of the art or materials used. Or looking for any inaccuracies. But that was the height of some of my experiences that read even remotely like racism.

I mean, I saw little bits of racism here and there. My first job was at a little sandwich and ice cream shop. My boss Hubert scheduled me four times a week; Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday and Sunday. Tuesdays and Thursdays, I was the only white guy working with another black busboy, two black waitresses, a black dishwasher and a black cook. With my Puerto Rican blood, the sun darkened me every summer to a deep brown and more than once I was asked of I was black. I have big hair and I’m cool, so I figured that played a role.

But I’d see racism at work between our boss and my coworkers. My Tuesday and Thursday coworkers weren’t treated as well as the Monday, Wednesday and Friday staff.

You also saw a bit of racism in the way customers were perceived. If a black family sat inside at a table, waitresses wouldn’t take good care of them, because they either don’t tip or don’t tip more than change. It was a stereotype, but even my black waitress friends knew it and loathed it.

Percentage wise, you saw more black customers come to the counter for takeout.

But the level of racism I experienced and observed wasn’t anything to shake a stick at. I was nonplused by it. A word here. A phrase there. I heard of racist acts and may have heard some racist locker room talk, but I was taught to raise the bar of public discourse, so I either spoke out against it or quietly moved on if it wasn’t worth my time.

I also blame my bubble, though, for not being able to perceive racism. When O.J. Simpson was on trial, my little pathetic excuse for a brain and for education was completely naive to the entirety of the race issues in the United States.

I largely thank my experience abroad in France for opening my eyes a little bit to being able to decipher racism and how it exists. I mentioned above that I tan well. In France, I looked a little bit Mediterranean and a lot Arabic. The woman who housed me called me, “un Arab” or “l’Arab.” To my face. It was the first time I witnesses nationalism on a French vs. Islam scale.

Though, it wasn’t until I moved out of the south that I saw racism and violence in this country. In my 20s, I was in a bar in Chicago one night and some construction guys started a fight with some of my black friends from work. The racist slurs these white guys were throwing broke my mind. City life was supposed to be anything but racist. 

But these white guys were punching for dear life at my friends because they thought race was a reasonable factor to start beating on strangers in public.

The long and longer of it

I could go into far greater detail about other forms of inequality. As a recovering evangelical, I had to move far to overcome thoughts against homosexuality and all kinds of diversity. I didn’t realize how much of a racist I probably was and still am thanks to an upbringing of white, male privilege. And when all you get to do is be all white and privileged, most people never realize what white privilege actually means. I can only thank summers of tans and the occasional odd look or unkind word for even a smidgen of understanding.

I’ll wrap this post up with a cut and paste of more lyrics from the “Power of Equality” song. Or listen to it above or here. This song was 25 years ago. Current public relations show that we are no further forward, if not years backwards. And it hurts my head.

Right or wrong, my song is strong
You don’t like it, get along
Say what I want, do what I can
Death to the message of the Ku Klux Klan
I don’t buy supremacy
Media chief, you menance me
The people you say cause all the crime
Wake up motherfucker and smell the slime
Blackest anger, whitest fear
Can you hear me, am I clear
My name is peace, this is my hour
Can I get just a little bit of power