Weak Minded of the Weak Week

Just when you think stupidity has apexed, you find yourself mistaken.  Well, maybe not you, but certainly I find myself mistaken.  Allow me to explain.

Practically a week doesn’t go by when the morning news gleefully announces today’s special week.  Yesterday, for instance, began National Cleanse Your Skin Week, and World Breastfeeding Week.  International Clown Week was the first week in August, as was Simplify Your Life Week, and National Exercise with Your Child Week.

No kidding.

Climaxing both the summer and the month of August was Ride Sober or Get Pulled Over – that is two-weeks in length.  Yeah!

A fine example of the weak minded among us

A few days ago, I was chatting with some acquaintances about something monumental.  We weren’t trying to solve colossal problems such as correcting time lapses with the atomic clock, creating an anti-gravity device, or try to cover up President Trump’s Russian non-collusion.  Rather, we were intently discussing ways to crisp leftover French fries in the microwave.

But contained therein was a smidgen of conversation about our personal health, or lack thereof.

We’re all getting a bit long-in-the-tooth, and are actually surprised none of us are sitting in an assisted living facility watching Golden Girls re-runs.  In fact, if we now drop something, we carefully decide if we really need it and should bend over to pick it up.

Rather, we’re still out and about doing stuff we did when we were younger, only more slowly and with more caution.  Our bones are more brittle and our judgment has waned and our eating habits now resemble that of a farm animal.

We have cell phones that are pre-programmed to dial 9-1-1, in case we forget the number.

Which finally brings me to the point of this week’s literary journey, how times change.

Sure, the title doesn’t reflect the subject matter very well, but I thought it was clever.

In days of yore, we ate food.  Food was the stuff our mothers put on out plates and then threatened us within an inch of our lives to eat it or face our father’s wrath.

There was no debate involved with this quality family time at the table – yelling, screaming, crying, pouting, and giggling (only if your sister was the culprit.)

It was these times we were introduced to such worldly culinary delicacies such as liver, pigs feet, tripe, beets, and beef tongue.  Yum.

Fortunately I avoided most of these gastronomic pleasantries by getting a part-time job that required me to work at dinner time.

And in the event next week was named Wash Your Car Week, I wouldn’t, if just out of principle.

I dislike anyone – ANYONE – telling me what to do, when.

If you’re that indecisive as to wait for a certain period of the year to eat pizza or cleanse your skin, you are too stupid to come in out of the rain.

The Confusing Truth

There’s an old joke that goes thusly:

A little boy was in a cemetery with his mother. “Mommy” the boy asked, “Do they ever bury two people in the same grave?”

“Of course not, dear,” replied the mother. “Why would you think that?”

“The tombstone back there said, ‘Here lies a lawyer and an honest man.’”

I’ll wait until you’re finished chuckling before I continue.

Just this morning the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) decided to file a lawsuit against none other than President Donald Trump.

Today’s suit was based on a premise that President Trump was still both the President of the United States, and that he has yet succumbed to all those pins in the ACLU’s voodoo doll.

It seems as though very few lawyers in America are happy, and they decided to file one lawsuit after another against the current administration to get over their funk.  Apparently it’s not working.

Many congressional representatives and senators have law degrees, and feel the need to “do something” to stop The President from making America great again.

President Trump has been doing something few of those elected officials have been doing for the past two-and-a-half years: their job.

If you don’t believe me, ask yourself why, after 29 years sucking on the federal guvment teet, Presidential candidate Bernie Sanders is now ready to tackle the job of looting the rest of your hard-earned money by using his other hand.  But I digress.

Every time President Trump issues a notice for national safety, he is immediately blocked with a lawsuit.  When he tries to enhance national security, another lawsuit is filed.  He wants to help illegal alien children with furniture, and yet one more lawsuit is imposed against his idea.  And so it goes.

In fact, since he has taken office, the Trump Administration has been deluged with literally thousands of lawsuits – many frivolous – to stop or slow down the progress of helping American citizens, a form of legislative speed bumps.

One would think that a trespasser should be arrested and tried for his crime.  In today’s litigious America, one would be wrong.

Countless idiots use stupid arguments with bumper sticker slogans such as, “We are better than that,” and “No one is illegal,” are but two meaningless verbal injections used to keep the miscreants here, illegally.

To combat these breaches in the law, attorneys – seemingly crawling out of their sewer homes – are not only able to help defendants with these cases, but they are also eagerly willing.

Of course, there’s a time and place for taking sides in controversial cases, and lawyers must do their jobs, which often include defending the likely guilty,

In any case, societal people are guaranteed a fair trial to ensure a sense of decorum; too often that line is smudged by rabid wannabe prosecutors.

Even non-prosecutors like members of Congress and the Senate like to take on the roll of

judge, jury, and executioner, even if they are grossly mistaken because of their bravado and vivid imaginations.

Through these tactics, legal waters are muddied even more, fueled by half-baked opinions and lynch-mob methods.

So it is with interest how poor politicians and crony lawyer buddies are able to twist an American institution into a years-long dog-and-pony show for political theater, clearly to avoid having a duly elected President remain in office.

An echo of banana republic procedures used throughout the world by rebels in the midst of overthrowing dictators has reached our shores.  But instead of using guns and Molotov cocktails, Democrats are currently employing arduous legalities to alter the system to suit their desires.

It’s apparent to me we need fewer lawyers and less litigation in favor of the rule of law.  That law constantly harped about is how the President is subject “to the rule of law.”  Amen.

That important, oft-cited rule of law also applies to illegal aliens trespassing and avoiding America’s legal system spouted by so many.  It’s about time to enforce those laws with similar verve.

Professionals

My Father used to snap-up the morning newspaper to check on the previous day’s scores, usually with less than desirable results.  His sports were baseball and football.  Period.

And there are too many different sports in the world to try to address them here.

I still read a newspaper each day; my Dad has since passed and likely reads one in Heaven.  But this morning I noticed something I hadn’t noticed before. 

Various leagues of basketball, baseball trades and injuries, bowling, boxing, figure skating, college and pro football, golf, gymnastics, hockey, horse racing, lacrosse, martial arts, motor sports, soccer, tennis, and wrestling, were the headings to both scoreboards and news items, alike.

Still, there are two “sports” I neglected to mention because I don’t consider them sports.

One is poker, the other is fishing.

Before you throw your computer mouse or smartphone through the wall, give me a chance to explain.

In my humble opinion, poker is no more a sport than Olympic-class beer drinking.  While it may seem like a sport to the “athlete,” it is no more painful to watch than a drying dishrag.

A half-dozen greasers wearing too much jewelry, hoodies, and sunglasses, stoically sit around a green felt-top table.  A dealer passes out cards to these narcissistic professional gamblers who try to out think their fellow gamblers.  (You’d have more fun trying to outthink my cat.)

Money is wagered and hands are folded with barely audible negative mumblings from the participants.  This hot and heavy action is continued until there are two suicides from shear boredom at the poker table.

At that point, the off-screen announcers flash the cumulative winnings on the television to keep the viewers who are still awake, apprised of the rankings.

This action continues until the show is cancelled, or the newspaper writer dies of old age.

And then there is the sport of fishing.

“Sport,” is a very generous word to describe something anyone can do.  Keep in mind that you can fish while you’re drunk; I know, I’ve done it.

My Dad used to take me fishing when I was seven-years old.  One of his workmates gave him a fishing pole for me.  We bought our own hooks and bait.  He would take me to the local reservoir to fish for sunfish and bluegills.

I usually caught a few on each outing – all of which we tossed back into the water.  In fact, I likely caught the same ones repeatedly who eventually realized they could get a free meal for pretending to be snookered into biting a yummy drowning worm.

In any case, it was more fun for me than the worm, and probably pretty relaxing for Dad, who could escape from home duties for a few hours, as a chaperone.

Had I known one could make a good living riding around in a boat with a rod and reel with a shirt and cap resembling a billboard, my life would have taken a different path altogether.  I would have certainly studied less in school, and sat beside a local pond more.

The amazing part of all this is that most of these fishing professionals are sponsored – given their gear and boat and cool clothes – for simply fishing!

In any case, prize money in these tournaments easily reaches hundred of thousands of dollars, for a few days on a lake or river.  But I digress.

Of course the newspaper outdoor writers also include local fishing tips for amateurs to include the where, when, and what of area fishing.  Suddenly, everyone knows the “secret” fishing spot, time to drown worms, and the type of fish you can expect to catch.

But the bottom line is I am now off to proudly announce to my sainted wife that I’ve always been a world-class athlete.  I’ve played poker and fished with great enthusiasm.

I’m certain she’ll agree and hold me in higher esteem – once she stops laughing.

Where’s Guy Lombardo?

The other day was the final one of the year 2019, meaning the next few weeks will find me writing checks misdated “2019.”

And 2019 was an odd year in that, according to Democrats, President Donald Trump is responsible for keeping the United States involved in Afghanistan, ruining the economy, creating job shortages, and, of course, climate change.

But if you were sane and lucid, you would realize President Trump is withdrawing us from Afghanistan, energized the economy, given tax breaks to middle-class Americans and companies to create wealth and jobs, and had nothing to do with climate change.

If you hadn’t noticed over the decades, pretty much every year is like this past one – wild.

To catch a break from the pundits and asylum candidates, I normally end the year with inane activities which are usually pretty easy to find on television.

It used to be that The Three Stooges were run in a marathon on New Year’s Eve.  Suddenly they were replaced by the equally funny Marx Brothers.  But then they vanished without as much as a photo on a milk carton.

This void was as noticeable to me because the rest of the TV offerings consisted of classic shows from the 1950’s as well as re-runs of normally lame shows that should have been canceled years ago.

I wanted to relax and laugh without much in the way of heavy thought and making novenas over dire situations.  Give me comedy.  Alas, there were none.

My sainted wife asked about Dick Clark.  “Is he on TV?” she queried.

For you youngsters, Mr. Clark was a television personality who began his media rise as a radio DJ, then progressed into a TV dance show host.  His popularity propelled him into a lifelong spot as host of Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve Party, starring him, of course.

I didn’t have the heart to tell her he died just after the Civil War.

However, to avoid a losing argument, I correctly switched the channel to ABC appease her, only to find a guy named Ryan Seacrest there.

Neither of us spent the last few decades in an Indonesian cave; we’ve heard of Ryan Seacrest, only not in a context with which we were familiar.

Evidently, Mr. Seacrest was on some show called American Idol – whatever that is.  He won something which entitled him to be annoying to the rest of America thereby appearing everywhere that air exists.

Neither Ryan Seacrest nor Dick Clark

We were strapped with the same burden when Celine Dion was less well known as a Canadian “singer” who doesn’t own a map.  But I digress.

In any case, we watched Mr. Seacrest’s show until our teeth began to shatter from the caterwauling and jumping about the stages where live performances were irritating people, live.

Beating a cat with a violin to make it scream is not necessarily music to my ears; it is, however, pleasant to the crowds of jumping and arm-waving deaf people in the audiences.

Not only did we not recognize the “artists,” we didn’t recognize the songs.  In fact, I was under impression the Geneva Conventions were still applicable; it seems as though they are still germane, but only apply in times of armed conflict.  FYI.

This is when I muted the TV and asked my sainted wife if she recognized anyone or any song.  She was as baffled as Smokey.

Using logic, I explained how this tripe was on TV to attract an audience.  It didn’t attract us for very long, and likely didn’t keep other Baby Boomers tuned-in, either.

These “artists” were performing for a crowd in their 20’s and 30’s, not in their 60’s and 70’s.  But those in their 20’s and 30’s are out partying at clubs or a friend’s crib – not staying home to watch this on television on New Year’s Eve.

So here’s a free money-making tip for the American Broadcasting Channel:  Air programs that have audience-specific appeal.  Last night was not one of those stellar days for ABC.  You’re welcome.

The end product was we went to bed early and arose without hangovers.  Tomorrow I’m off to buy some Three Stooges and Marx Brothers DVDs for New Year’s Eve 2020.

Where’s Guy Lombardo when you need him?