Just Be American …

The staff at Creative Endeavors held a meeting this morning to see what we would find to talk about. Several interesting subjects were brought up, but we finally just handed a dart to the monkey and turned his chair towards the dart board and let him rip!

This is what you will get.

Found a virus on my machine this morning, all you have to do is tippy-toe around the net and you are going to pick up something. I just don’t understand why people who are so infinitely smart, have to be so dog-gone malicious.  Spam is up too.

“Spam is most definitely much more than a nuisance; it’s a very real and fast-growing threat.”  Spam is showing no signs of slowing down, although the opposite can be said of those receiving messages. America leads the pack and the country with the least, seems to be Germany.

Usually a pretty good indicator that you have a bug is the fact that your machine will start to slow down.  (If you happen to notice an erection on your CPU, well, shame on you)  When your machine slows down, you have a problem.  This occurs while you are surfing, unknown to you, websites were installing malware.  Some 8% of the total spam are phishing e-mails – messages that pose as a trustworthy source as a way of getting sensitive information such as user-names, passwords and bank account details.

Fourth of July coming up, pulled out Old Glory and hung it off the front porch this morning.

It is important that you take pride in your country (what is left of it anyway). Think about your options: You could be living in a third world country, a locked-down communist gulag or closed off world such as Korea.

Worse yet, you could be residing in a Red state and find yourself a Liberal, I get that one right?

You may oppose offshore oil drilling, the inheritance tax, or the demise of the spotted oil, but take time today, to appreciate what it is that you have.  You are living in the one of the best countries in the world.

I like what Erma Bombeck had to say about it.

“You have to love a nation that celebrates its independence every July 4, not with a parade of guns, tanks, and soldiers who file by the White House in a show of strength and muscle, but with family picnics where kids throw Frisbees, the potato salad gets iffy, and the flies die from happiness. You may think you have overeaten, but it is patriotism.”

~ Erma Bombeck

A few notes from Mr. English Only Person ….. Houma, Louisana, Terrehonne Parish school officials are considering a policy to require commencement speeches be spoken in English. The proposal comes after cousins Hue and Cindy Vo delivered part of their commencement address in Vietnamese last month.

Cindy Vo, the daughter of Vietnamese immigrants, spoke about high-school memories, friends and the future. Then Ms. Vo, 18, recited a sentence in Vietnamese dedicated to her parents, as they watched. She told classmates that the line, roughly translated, was a command to always be your own person.

She speaks “One Line” in her native tongue and now they want a total ban on language other than English?  We just go overboard on this too often any more, give me a break.

My Union paper has a piece in it this month on language, because some members got ticked off because the paper used the word “Afro-American” in a headline.  Black Enterprise magazine supports an Afro-American History, and Genealogical Society, a well respected newspaper in Baltimore is called the “Afro-American” and the University of Virginia has Afro-American studies.

First it was colored and that changed to Negro’s, and then it was blacks, then it changed to Afro-American and then it went to African American and on and on add nausea um. What is it going to be next year? If you are born in America … It seems to me you are NOT African anything, sorry.

You are an American.

Then you have Mexicans, Latino’s, Chicano, Mexican-American, illegals, immigrants … Getting where you need a program just to keep up with this garbage.

I am native born, you can call me “Angry Taxpaying White Guy.”

There is so much to be said these days about the progression in society of modern journalism.  Surely they are by giving us all these whacked out definitions (from the uneducated) doing us a mis-service.   They like to think it keeps us in touch with the pulse of our society.  It could be entirely possible that a man who sat around and read nothing at all, would be better educated than the man who reads nothing but newspapers.

All of this language trash-talking is nothing more than propitiating the masses.  It divides us, complicates matters, and really serves no valid point.  Like my Daddy used to say … I don’t give a rat’s a** what you call me … Just don’t call me late for supper.

What is the big deal?

Seems the only thing people want to do these days is go around and make a mountain out of a molehill. Wouldn’t it be nice if we could all just gather around the table, sit under the flag this fourth, and just be … “Americans” … United As One.


Hangin With Hubba

Have to be honest about all this, here lately, a great many things “escape me” at the moment. Another year older and Father Time has called my name. Like a thief in the night, he marched right in here and stole but another year. This one, much like a freight train with no brakes at all, is rollin’ right on down the hill, out of control.

Attended a gathering of old school chums over the weekend. We are all graying out, getting much older. This was our 43rd meeting, time has a way of slippin’ by doesn’t it. 43 years would be considered the span of a man’s lifetime in the bible or some third world countries today.

On the fifth reunion I snuck out into the parking lot and a buddy and I shared a doobie and laughed long and hard. On the Tenth it was again a doobie (actually this time it took two) and some Crown Royal to wash it down. On the tenth, as I remember it, Cancer had show up and taken a few away and the mood was something akin to somber. Now when we arrived at twenty it was a line or two of crank in the boys bathroom … and this year … Well, this year was a good comfortable lawn chair and a Diet Coke.

You have to grow up eventually; time takes a toll on a body.

Thankfully, we are not the rowdy bunch that we used to be. Age has taught us that if you have the choice between humble and cocky, go with cocky. There’s always time to be humble later on when you have been proved horrendously and irrevocably wrong.. Age has a way of teaching even those who are not paying attention, a valuable lesson from time to time.

Graciously time has taught us all a new trick or two on the path to our Golden Years. Even a Baby Boomer will reach a juncture where he has or is forced to grow up. Our generation being no different than those who came before us, everyone gets a turn it seems.

Like Sonny & Cher were fond of saying, “The Beat Goes On” … The beat goes on, the beat goes on, drums keep pounding rhythm to the brain, ladda dada dee, ladda dada dah. History has turned a page, a-hah.

I guess it is all relevant, I am just as young as ever, but lately it takes a lot more effort. Like Dolly Parton is fond of saying, “It takes a lot of money to look this bad sugar.” Which might be appropriate for me at this juncture in time. I am still just as gorgeous as I ever was, it just takes me a little bit more effort and money to get me there.  If I were born a woman, I would have need of a “Sugar Daddy” for sure.

Wow, forty-three years that just seems impossible, for lack of a better word. I have reached a point in time, where I am no longer warned to slow down by the Police, but rather, by my doctor instead. Some people grow up and spread cheer, I just sorta grew up, and then spread! Much like the biblical passage … “All things must pass” … I used to eat like a horse, now I look like one.

Life is so unfair at times.

With age, I find that things eventually change. I am now starting for the house after a night on the town about the time I started to go elsewhere when I was young. Sign of the times I guess. Now is the time we learn to watch our step. We are doing that. Except we are not stepping out that much anymore.

The best thing about getting older is the fact that all those things you couldn’t have when you were young, you no longer want. You reach a point where you don’t worry about where the wife goes, as long as you don’t have to go with her. The shapely female figure no longer turns your head, and the Easy Boy Recliner calls your name.

No longer having to worry about avoiding temptation, it avoids me, at least most of the time it does. Lately I have more on my mind, than I have on my head. As my wife and I are virtually the same age, she no longer fibs about hers, she lies about mine instead.  There were two judges in attendance, and I learned a thing or two from them.  For instance:  There are times not to flirt.  When you’re sick.  When you’re with children.  When you are on the witness stand. Remember that, could be important some day.

Funny how things work out.

I have to be honest. Most of the time, I do not understand my brain. Some days I do not understand my heart. I fool myself into believing that I am just starting out on but one more Grand Adventure — Middle Age. I will announce to all or those who actually care, that I am now “Middle Aged.” Knowing full well that I do not know one solitary single soul over the age of one hundred twenty-two years alive on this planet.

Everyone knows that in America, youth is good and old is bad, right?

Women never tell their true age, why should it be any different for a man. But with all this gray in my hair (as I neglected to start coloring it at age forty, like the modern magazines said most American men do) trying to fool everyone would be a waste of time. The tell-tale signs of longevity are there, plainly displayed, for all to see. I noticed at this reunion that the word “well preserved” seem to take on a totally new meaning for me.

B’sides, messing with my hair is simply just too much work, for a low maintenance guy like me. This is something at my age, I just naturally try to avoid.

So we all sat around, we more than likely ate too much, the pictures of the new grandbabies were broke out, and we all described in detail our aches, our pains, we compared our prescriptions. Whether or not some Okie in a pickup with a gun rack, running up and down the Interstate with his tail-gate down can actually save fuel, important issues.

Middle America has arrived.

Whiling away the day in the heat of an Oklahoma afternoon, we told the old familiar stories on each other and we seemed to agree on one important thing: “A happy childhood is the worst possible preparation for life. Life never throws you a straight ball to hit, it always throws you a curve.”

See all of you next year.