Trumpery

This started as a rant about a few of the things on Trump’s 100 days itinerary, including lifting restrictions on production of domestic energy and allowing for energy infrastructure projects, cancel or renegotiate connections to NAFTA and the UN, remove criminal illegal immigrants, redirect education money to allow for choice of institution, cancel the Common Core, build a wall along the Mexican border, restore the NSA, and expand investment on military, local, and federal law enforcement.

Essentially a police state with deregulated production on old school energy, scattershot education funding, and a dissolution of the nationwide unification of standards and timelines started by the state to state adoption of the reviled Common Core.

Instead, it’s a synopsis of (mostly) everything we’ve seen over the last long election process.

When Trump first stepped into the public arena, he railed against the Mexicans filing into America, and how they wouldn’t bring their best. In fact, they’d bring drugs, crime, and rapists. “And some, I assume, are good people.”

Thus began the endless, tedious, money-draining race for the American presidency. This statement was the first clue that Trump doesn’t speak textbook, fluid English. He speaks colloquial English, which is partly why he won. He speaks normal human. This isn’t necessarily a good thing, but it’s not bad either. The good thing is the now infamous quote woke up an entire generation of future voters. Whether they stay politically active remains to be seen. It’s very likely that after the heated petitions and statements against the electoral college dies down, we’ll all go back to apathetic citizens wandering around in comfortable complacency, doing what normal humans do every day: eat, sleep, work, play, repeat.

I teach in a community that is over 80 percent Latino, and I can only assume by the national conversation that ensued that the ‘rapist’ comment woke up a lot of sleepy Americans who normally could care less about politics or the bloated marshmallow heads that get up behind those podiums and blather on with little to no substance for days on end until the fateful November 8 voting day.

Here’s the thing. America voted. The popular vote was basically 50/50, or 47.66% to 47.5% in favor of Clinton. Ignore the pithy 200,000 votes in favor of Clinton. Two hundred thousand votes in a country of 318.9 million people is nothing.

You might call bullshit and say what’s the point of voting then. That’s not what I’m saying. My point is that it’s so incredibly close that neither candidate is better than the other. Clinton may have been more environmentally friendly, while Trump is definitely not, but the fact that the country was so evenly split means they’re opposite ends of the same stick.

It's Yuge! And bigly. 

During the third debate there was a randomly selected public audience on stage of still undecided voters. Put aside for the moment that after 15 months there were still people who were undecided, which roughly translated means both candidates were interchangeable talking heads who appealed to no one. One of these strangely dressed, awkward people asked how the candidates would connect to the people.

Clinton gave an example of knowing someone named Luis (or Juan, or Pepe, or some ethnic Latino name) who needed a job, so she got him one. Basically, her connection was that she had some Mexican people working for her and she kept them employed. Trump went on some blathering story about driving through the projects in his limo, and how it looked bad, so he kept driving. Sure, Latinos are predominantly associated with low-level labor, while blacks live in scary, run-down projects that look like sets from dystopian movies, but is that what it means to connect to the people? That you’re aware of the bottom feeders? Not all “minorities” are lowly beings in need of a socialist government. Some are scholars, business owners, politicians … and presidents.

The best arguments being presented now that the public has spoken is the skewering of political correctness (PC), and the counterpoint to the claim that Trump’s supporters were mostly ‘uneducated’ white, blue-collar workers.

Many are arguing that PC sentimentality weakened the public discourse because people were afraid to say what they believed in or who they were voting for. To put a label on it, the liberal left has fought long and hard to streamline language and action so everyone is included. This means we speak with this cultural inclusivity or be called a homophobe, racist, or misogynist, or as some might call it, talk toward positive social change. The extreme of this is that if people hold orthodox religious views they become gay bashers or gender traitors for adhering to more traditional roles for women and men.

Does this mean one side is more right than the other? No, but let’s take the Vice President elect, creationist Mike Pence, and his views on the “theory” of evolution and Natural Design. It certainly isn’t PC to teach Natural Design in schools, because of the separation of church and state (which is a completely nonexistent thing, considering we pledge allegiance to the flag “one nation, under god,” and swear on the bible in court to prove we’ll state the whole truth and nothing but the truth). Additionally, the Common Core, which Trump wants to eliminate, allows for discussion and analysis of fiction and how it may draw on religious works such as the bible. Prior to standards like this, it was generally frowned upon and actually kind of dangerous to open up religious discussion and connections in a classroom.

Pence focuses his argument on the word “theory,” and how evolution is just that. The way he argues he seems convinced that a “theory” is synonymous with “belief,” much like Natural Design. However, theory, “a system of ideas intended to explain something based on general principles,” when applied to the theory of evolution, has been established as somewhat irrefutable as scientific fact. Evolution is one of the best substantiated theories in the history of science. Does this mean we shouldn’t teach creationism in the classroom?

No. Students should be presented with ideas on any level, as long as they’re appropriate. Depending on which poll you want to follow (and we all know how legitimate polls can be, considering the 2106 election turnout), 70 to over 80 percent of Americans identify as Christian, while about 15 percent have no religion, with about a 4 percent group subscribing to something other than Christianity. Don’t worry about the math, the numbers will probably change based on the time of day, who won Nascar, or what someone had for dinner. Basically, 15 percent or less of America aren’t actively religious in some way. What this means is teachers are being incredibly biased if they don’t present, on some level, religious ideas in a classroom as additional content for analysis.

This point leads toward the so-called ‘uneducated’ white people who voted for Trump. They weren’t uneducated, they just didn’t go to college. There are several fairly famously successful people who were ‘uneducated.’ Steve Jobs, Richard Branson, Dave Thomas, David Green, Larry Ellison, Kevin Rose, Michael Dell, and … Rachel Ray? These names are associated with companies like Apple, Virgin, Wendy’s, Hobby Lobby, Oracle, Digg, Dell, and cooking on TV.

However, being entrepreneurial is one thing; deciphering propaganda and misinformation is another. Does this mean the American public was duped into voting for Trump? No, the 50 percent of the population that voted for Trump believed in him. Does this mean Clinton’s supporters voted based on facts? Not necessarily. While she was disturbingly qualified for office, she was the White Queen of politics who got rooked by Trump in his gilded castle. Sadly, politicians mostly get voted in based on their personalities, not their ideas. Claiming all Trump supporters are white racist troglodytes is the same as saying all Clinton supporters are over-educated females.

What does this mean for the next four years? Mainly that some citizens are rapists, while others are good people, and we won’t know who anyone is unless we feel free to talk about what we believe in.

Discuss.

Easter

Where does the Easter Bunny go once he stops putting forth his eggs?

The North Pole, into Santa's concrete basement? Left to nothing but a layer of cedar chips and heat lamps and a mere 27 inch widescreen TV?
No, nothing quite so gauche.
The bunny originated from ancient fertility goddesses, and the idea that rabbits, well, breed like rabbits: thus, be fruitful and multiply. The fact that Jesus rose from the dead on the same day contributes to the whole rebirth thing, although he must have been somewhat grungy—sort of like a rawhide bone that your dog buries in the back yard, then retrieves a day or so later, so that the bone has that tasty sample of cat poop, bug juice, and dirt.
I work for a restaurant, and three people came in dressed as zombies. Awesome. Not once did they break character, but they did manage to upset some grandmother-age ladies. I'm not sure why, mayhaps because Jesus would have been a zombie? A few people didn't get it, or were otherwise nonplussed by the theatrics of it.
I say hoorah, and that combined with an Easter Bunny siting made  the whole day rather circus like. I just hope the bunny is comfortable, wherever he doth go. She?

The iPad

You know you want one.
It's like a book with a brain. A computer without a keyboard. The reason the decaying print industry will be revived. Naysayers say they don't need one.
They're just jealous.
While there are many pads out there, the iPad is going to stomp the competition and change the world as we manipulate it.
Text 2.0 will enable us to warp our reading habits as we read. Magazines and newspapers will never be so cool. Games, above all else, will take on a 'whole ... nuvva, level.'
The iPad is like the first cell phone brick all over again, and the first adopters are going to lug the thing around like they've got gold bullion. If I had an extra several hundred dollars I wouldn't hesitate to get the thing I definitely do not need but could find so many uses for once I had one.

Parting Is Such Sweet Sorrow

Ladies and Gentlemen,

I will be leaving this site. But have no fear, I have established another, newer, shinier, much more impressive site.

Follow me, oh grand followers, to randompress.net, and continue the ride.

For the Dogs

What follows is a rough draft of an incident that happened in the late summer of 2005.


Some time last summer I was watching some dogs for a family. Simultaneously, a married couple flew in, so we decided to take a walk along Butterfly Beach in Montecito.

The day was overcast, and almost raining, with nary a soul along the entire stretch of beach except for us and another lady with dogs. We walked from Miramar up the coast toward Graveyards, at the north end of Butterfly. On our way back, we noticed a dog catcher on the steps at Butterfly, and as we walked closer, he slowly made his way down to the lowtide waterline, strategically angling his timing and approach to meet with us head on.

Well. We turned back briefly, giving me enough time to put the two boisterous chocolate labs on leashes, and started toward the dogcatcher again. He'd returned to the steps, but noticed us returning, and again did his strategic approach. Having no choice, I walked right up to him, complete with my brother, the married couple, and the dogs. The only other person on the beach had stayed up at Graveyards, and I did her the favor of taking the heat off of her dogs.

"Your dogs were off leash." The guy was big, easily 6 foot 5, probably 250 pounds, and somehow his giant black cop boots were made all the bigger because of his tight-fitting green polyester issue pants. I could tell from the very beginning he had every intention of writing me a ticket.

Instead of keeping my mouth shut, I decided I'd quibble with him instead.

"Yes, but they're on now, as you can see."

"But they were off leash—I saw you put the leash on."

"Yes, but they're on leash now, and there's absolutely nobody on the beach."

"That doesn't matter. The leash law is 24-7."

"Dude. It's almost raining. It's cold. It's windy. There's nobody on the beach besides us. Come on." I reached out and gave him a broad handed pat on the side of his shoulder. "Come on."

He reached for his radio, crooked over his other shoulder, and blatantly said, "Requesting backup."

"Backup?" I asked, incredulous. "You must be joking."

"We'll wait for the sheriff."

I decided then and there that I was going to exercise my civil right to resist arrest, even if the arrest was only a dog ticket. I'd known from the second he walked down the beach that I wasn't going to get out of a ticket. And now he was calling the sheriff. What the hell did he think I was going to do, attack him with my doofous dogs?

I proceeded to walk south toward Miramar, not waiting for the sheriff, even though I saw the car drive toward the steps as I was walking south. I slinked along just against the Biltmore wall, and my married couple friends later told me he'd gotten out of the sheriff's car to look over the wall at my progress.

As I reached Hammonds, about half a mile from Miramar, (still having passed nobody on the beach), I debated taking the public access trail or sticking to the beach. The whole way my brother was berating me for having walked off, telling me how I should have kissed ass. How things would have gone much better had I not sassed to the dog patrol. He didn't want to understand that the guy was going to give me a ticket no matter what, which is why I figured lipping off to the guy wouldn't have made an iota of difference.

As I stood at the trailhead, I saw the dog patrol guy walking up from Miramar, along with two sheriffs. Two.

We met, and the sheriffs, straight out of Deputy Kamp, immediately assumed the Spaghetti Western stance: feet shoulder width apart, with a slight bend at the knee on the leg with the gun. There hands twitched mere inches above their gun holsters, ready to unclip the snaps at a moment's provocation.

"Do you want to go to jail?" One of them asked, authoritatively, in a deep voice, expressing each syllable and accenting 'jail' as he'd spoken it in italics. Like I'd never heard the word and needed elucidation.

I looked at them both. Their oversized cop glasses. Their freshly pressed uniforms. Their minty-fresh bootcamp "got-your-back" posturing. I glanced down at the two clueless dogs (on leashes), who were probably wondering why these three gentlemen had all gotten out of their cars, and gotten their boots sandy to harass one harmless dude on a windy, damp, unpopulated beach. They just wanted a scooby snack.

"Not particularly."

They explained in no uncertain terms that the dog catcher has as much authority as a cop (they do, I looked it up), and that by my walking off I was officially resisting arrest. They asked why I hadn't awaited their arrival. I said something lame like the dog catcher had been unclear as to whether he was issuing a ticket, and I didn't know why he was calling for backup, and the dogs needed their medicine, so I'd walked on. I apologized to the dog catcher, and told him I'd meant no disrespect.

He nodded and asked for my ID. I told him I'd left it in the car (it was in my back pocket) and gave him my name.

Deputy One immediately called my name in. And we waited. And waited.

My brother, meanwhile, was dressed in his usual black, with his long hair and lanky posture. He had a cellphone and his gargle of keys creating a menacing looking shape in his pocket.

After he'd spent several minutes prior to our current encounter berating me for not kissing the cop's ass, he put on his sarcastic hat, doing to the sheriffs exactly what I'd done. Talking lip.

"It's a cell phone."

"Would you mind taking it out of your pocket?"

"Do you need to make a phone call?"

"What?"

"Do you need to make a call?" He took it slowly from his pocket, mocking the sheriff with his gun-like cell phone.

The call in came back, and both sheriffs immediately renewed their edgy stance as the operator informed them that they could find no Jessie Bellinger.

"Are you sure you don't have any aliases?" the sheriff asked, hoping I'd give him my Mexican pseudonym from my crack slinging days of crossing the border under protection of the night.

"I don't have an 'I' in my name."

They called in again, and after a fifteen minute wait (it was a Sunday waiting list) they confirmed I was clean. The dog catcher gave me my $120 ticket.

"Wonderful doing business with you gentlemen," I said, snidely. "If you'd like, maybe you can sit around all week until I come back next Thursday with the dogs again. Apparently you don't have anything better to do but track dangerous dogwalkers through the raging, gang-ravaged streets of Montecito."

They gave us a comfortable distance as we walked back, but just enough to let us know that they were still on to us.

The beauty of it was climbing into the dog's owner's vehicle: a clean, Lexus SUV. Hoodlums, us.

I've seen that same dogcatcher standing around on the Butterfly steps, on sunnier days, when hundreds of people are walking their dogs, all of them off leash. He does nothing. What irks me the most is that I can't do anything, except write this. I've got your leash hanging right here, Mr. Dogcatcher Man. I hope you step in poop.

Silent Readers

I've always wondered just how many people read these posts, or anybody's posts, because 99 percent of the time, there are no comments.

Since there are no comments, I just assumed nobody was reading my genius.

This apparently is not the case. Silent readers exist, lurking just outside the reading radar, checking in periodically on the blog yet afraid, or timid, or perhaps even mildly illiterate; thus, no comments.

My buddy ted has a site Stone Cold Pimpin' which is ridiculously more advanced than this simple little batch of excerpts.

Inconstancy

I can't even begin to create, due to a "job" I was working on over the holidays. The lady could do nothing but change her mind every twenty seconds or so.

She settled on payment for my hours done, so we're at zero. She then said we'll put the job on hold.

As my stepdad said, I may have been fired the same day I quit.

Kong Is Racist?

Admittedly, I never thought of Lord of the Rings or Narnia as allegories for the Bible until the recent spat of articles on the subject, and I haven't seen the original King Kong since I was a mere scrub of a boy, but Kong as a depiction of the black man raping a white woman?

I guess.

If Aragorn is Christ, and Azlan is Christ, I suppose Kong could be "the black man." The funny thing about Peter Jackson's latest version is that Andy Serkis plays Kong, and from what I've seen, Andy is a white man. Does that mean that all white men aspire to be angry, oversized black men?

The movie poster for the 1976 version of King Kong shows Jessica Lange in the palm of Kong, with his giant hand coming down from above as she cradles his finger. I have to admit, the profile lends a startling similarity to a black man's cock and balls.

Was Star Wars another depiction of a black man (Darth Vader, voiced by James Earl Jones, and with a helmut like a penis) trying to take over the whiny little white dude's world, namely, his own son Luke?

Not to mention Kong finally climbs to the symbol of the white man's status: the Empire State Building, perhaps signifying that the angry black man is still just a little bigger than the biggest the white man has to offer.

Then again, maybe it's just a story of a big ape who dies.

The other argument is the pool table, where the white ball controls all colors, and in the final standoff drops the most elusive and dangerous color of all: black.

These are interesting arguments, but are they valid? Research shall show.