GMS Perhaps Not Entirely Unlike PMS February 29, 2012

 

I’m not feeling nice today. In fact, I haven’t written anything in a while simply because if you haven’t  nice things to say…

 

And I damn sure don’t.

 

If you’re in a good mood, go away. Have lunch at Panera; savor an extra strong joe from Starbucks; frolic and play, but whatever you do, make sure you leave here quick.

 

The President? Congress? Iran? Gas prices? Primaries? Phony “Christian” deadbeats? Increasingly ungoverned government? Crippled education system?

Yeah , yeah, those too. But today it’s something more than all that. Today, my concern is for my way of life.

 

You see, I have a great life. Indeed a life understandably well worth proudly passing on to my children. Please know that this lifestyle didn’t come free, but it did come freely. It didn’t come from hand-outs, but it did come about because I was free to choose it. Of course, when I chose it, it didn’t happen the next day. In fact, it didn’t happen the following year, or even the year after that. When I chose this life, I began to pursue it… only I looked in all the wrong places. I made mistakes; made decisions that I thought would bring about different ends. Disaster was the immediate result.

 

I failed more than once.

 

Trying to do the right thing left me living in my car; hooked up with the wrong crowd; at times, jobless; financially destroyed; hungry; needing help, yet too young and too proud to ask for it. Now, understand that I wasn’t damned; instead, I was a work in progress – And an ugly one at that.

I’m a strong person. I’m strong willed too. I know best… always have. It takes a horse’s kick to turn this horse’s ass around. But it does turn. Yes, I do learn… later than sooner.

I was never really homeless. You see, I had a home, only my job didn’t afford me the gas money to drive back to it on a regular basis. Thus, there were many nights that I spent in my car, parked out in a field only a few short miles from work. If I had to do it over again (I say this with great care), I wouldn’t change a damn thing. I never blamed anyone for my troubles, and I never considered it the duty of anybody else to take me in and feed me. I never became angry at anybody else because I felt that I merited their help. In fact, I never once became disheartened. Soon I would make that necessary turn, I just knew it.

When I look back, I marvel at the beauty of it… despite all of its’ ugliness. Yes, the fascinating beauty of a person’s freedom to mess up. And on that same token, the freedom to recover. Practical homelessness and hunger are ugly things, and they’re no fun to live through. But they are indeed a very natural byproduct of a truly free type of freedom. You know, the freedom to invest poorly, spend foolishly, drink shamelessly, and even the freedom to choose where one is going to work, never knowing that massive layoffs were in store. As long as we’ve the freedom to choose, we’ve the freedom to make mistakes. As long as long as we’ve the freedom to make mistakes, we’ve the freedom to recover from them.

I have no respect for a man or woman who falls and never gets back up. Maybe it takes them a week; maybe it takes them five years. But as long as we live in a free country, there remains no excuse to throw one’s hands up in despair and defeat.

“It’s too difficult”, you say? Fine lay there.

“I need a little help”, you say? Now that may well be valid, but what if it doesn’t come? And, what if it does? What then?

Now, on to the issue at hand; the issue that causes me such grief; the issue that quite literally could change my way of life.

 

Nerds.

 

You heard me. Nerds.

 

When I was a kid, nerds were a particular group of people of whom we made constant fun. Nerds have now become the standard of “manliness”. But really, it’s worse than just Nerdliness, it’s choir boyishness. Real men are either not permitted to be such, or they are ceasing to exist.

You know what I mean. We see it in the commercials with the guys at the football game. Only they’re not watching the game; instead, they’re bickering over who has the fasted friggin’ cell phone!

“Oh… That’s so twenty seconds ago”

 

And, of course, there’s the apoplectic guy who I saw recently at a theme park railing some employee about how bent out of shape he was that there was a smoking area next to a craft booth where he had just been shopping. Apparently there was one little old man smoking and, god forbid it, but this guy had happened to smell a little smoke. “If I wanted to f’ing die, I’d go stand in front of a f’ing train!!!” the guy screamed. My wife and I were laughing, but this attitude is indicative of a serious problem.

 

Girly Man Syndrome. Yep. And it’s spreading quickly.

 

A few months ago, Anderson Cooper played a video of two guys racing their corvettes on the street. They wrecked. Yeah, not cool, but Cooper went a step further than proclaiming it “uncool”. “We need to find these guys and make sure that they are punished. They need to serve jail time over this!” Cooper complained.

Really Andy? Jail time? Come on. If you’re a guy and you’ve never raced your car when/where you probably shouldn’t have… well then it’s likely that you, too, suffer from Girly Man Syndrome. Simple as that.

 

Harsh? Nah.

 

My wife was recently at the Wal-Mart home office, in Bentonville, Arkansas. I was there also, but I waited in the car while she went in to run her errand. When she came back out, she was shaking her head and laughing.

“Where have all the manly men gone?” she asked.

“Huh?”

She went on to explain that, while she was waiting inside, she observed women having important meetings, with notepads, black coffee and discipline. Obversely, she discovered several men sitting/standing about, and all of them were either playing with their toys (iphones, ipads, laptops, etc.) or they were huddled in a corner raving about the lettuce wraps that they had for lunch and complimenting each other on their choice of shoes. Geez.

Examples are endless. Don’t help the girl in distress, she has a phone; don’t spank your kids, they might cry; don’t grade F’s with red ink, someone might get hurt feelings, etc.

 

Girly Man Syndrome. You’re damn right.

 

Christian Bale gets mad at some idiot lighting guy, and we have to hear about it for months.

“Christian doesn’t deserve his name!” They said.

“I thought we had evolved better than this” They said.

“Any man who gets angry is clearly still a monkey” They said.

 

After hearing Bale’s rant, I’ve gotta tell ya, I’ve gone off worse than that at my car keys for getting lost.

I wanna say somethin’. And I want it to be clear. Presently, the United States is a country that many other countries want to put an end to. They want to take us down.

 

“Well it’s because they don’t like us, we need to make’em like us better”

 

If you just said that, then you’re just a stupid fuck misinformed. Throughout history, countries have taken over other countries, not because they didn’t like them, not because they had a problem with their way of life. Countries take over other countries because they want their resources, and because they want the power that comes with greater territory.

And so I ask you, who would you rather have defending our wall while you sleep comfortably. You should think about that because the wall will sure as hell be attacked. When the enemy strikes, I shudder to think that they may well be met by a bunch of lettuce wrap eating Panera snobs.

I have to tell you, it’ll likely either be these choir boys or else a group of guys who may have raced their cars from a stop light or two. Who will fight our future wars, the guy who watches “The Bachelor” while his wife pays the bills, or the guy who may have messed up and yelled a few cuss words to some poor schmuck at work that day? You choose. Or maybe the freedom to choose has past us by. Perhaps because we are breeding a generation of men who are having their balls cut off. Yea, a generation of men who are preoccupied with getting in touch with their feminine side.

 

I say we are raising a generation of choir boys. Yes, choir boys with Girly Man Syndrome.

 

Look, there are just things that boys do. I’m listing them because I’m afraid we’ve all but forgotten them.

 

Boys fight

boys roughhouse

boys rip holes in their jeans

Boys build things

Boys fix things

Boys dream of war

Boys go to war

Boys are forever changed by war

Boys hold the door open for girls

Boys get dirty

Boys race

Boys play to win

Boys protect girls

 

 

 

And most importantly, boys look up to their dads to show them how to be boys, and eventually how to be men. Boys need their dads to tell them that boys don’t do some of the things that girls do. Boys need to see something in their dad that makes them want to be like him. And boys need to see their dads being real men. Otherwise, I can safely assure you that your way of life is all too temporary. It may not end with your life, but it may. And it will surely end within another generation or two.

 

 

 

Thanks for reading.

 

Nathan

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Color Blind Can Mean Seeing Things in Black and White February 4, 2012

 

Before I begin, let me warn you, this is a troublesome subject that I bring you today; a subject that I’m reluctant to bring here at all. The topic is race. Yes, and speaking of such things is not a quick way to make friends. Perhaps you’ll give me the benefit of at least considering my thoughts. Please understand that above all, I seek to be respectful and reasonable, as well as open minded.

 

Also, I should tell you that I will be referring to black people as “black people”. I present two reasons for choosing the term. First, I’ve had many friends in the past who were black. Every one of these friends have told me that they would rather be called “black” than “African American”. Their reasoning was simple, and made good sense, “We’re not ‘Africans’”, they’d say. And in fact they weren’t. They were black people born in America.

Second, after Barrack Obama won the presidential election, Jay-z was quoted as saying these words… On second thought, I’ll not post that quote. It was a little out there. But Jay-z did write a “song” titled, “My President is Black”. Thus due to concrete evidence, I’ve concluded that black people in, general, are okay with the title “black”.

I didn't recognize until after I posted this that it was Nick and Jessica in the Photo. Lol!

 

I can assure you that what I will write on the subject comes from a completely racially unbiased mind. I am speaking as a white man, thus I’m aware that I may be the only race existing within the US that lacks the freedom to speak of anything race related, and still remain within the proper confines of political correctness. You see, if a white man acknowledges the race of a black man, or hints at having any pride in his own race, he is called a racist. Thus I clearly understand that, being what I am, this is a tough subject to breech.

If I were black, not only could I speak freely on the subject of race, but I could boldly proclaim tremendous pride in my own race, and our accomplishments throughout history.

Imagine if I, again being a white man, were to sit in a news studio in front of a national audience, and say that I glean some sense of pride from being a part of the white community, and that I’m grateful for everything that white men and women have done throughout history. How do you think that would fly? Yeah, probably not too well. What if I were to recommend that we begin a “White History Month”, during which we could focus on all of the great achievements, not of men, but of white men? Lol.

 

Alright, stay with me. I’m about to make my point

 

I was raised in Southern Arkansas, in a small community called Spring Hill. My parents taught me to be unconcerned with race when it came to choosing friends and displaying general kindness. I use that term “unconcerned” because they did not teach me to be colorblind. There is quite a difference in one being racially aware and one being racially biased. Black people were black people and white people were white. Simple as that, and there was never and skirting or dancing around the subject. After all, things are what they are. Consider this: Presently I live in a community where there are no black people. The ridiculous KKK’s headquarters is right down the road, thus most black people have left the area, or simply stayed away to begin with. Because my children rarely see black people, it stands to reason that their first sighting was a bit of an issue. The first time my inquisitive son saw a black person, he asked if the man had fallen into some chocolate milk. Is my son a racist? No, he simply calls things as he sees them. My response was something like this, “No son, he hasn’t fallen in any milk”

“Then what’s wrong with him?” Alek asked.

Now, in response to this question, I suppose I could either have been completely pragmatic or completely reactionary.

 

Reactionary would have sounded something like this, “Alek, you shouldn’t speak of things about which you are clearly confused. There’s nothing wrong with that man, and asking silly questions of that sort only serves to put me in an awkward position.”

 

Pragmatic would have sounded something like this, “No Alek, there certainly isn’t anything wrong with him. He’s simply another race. There are many races found around the world, the nation, and even this community. The existence of many diverse cultures is one of the many things that makes the world such an interesting place in which to live. Would you like to meet him? No? Okay.”

 

But, oh no! No, we can’t do that. For the good of our children, we must be color blind. But if we are to be color blind, you see, then that is something that will have to go both ways. And, in order for that to happen, I’m afraid that many of the things that have become an important part of black culture will have to go by the wayside.

Now, I recognize, acknowledge, and clearly distinguish (respectfully) the race difference between white people and black people. Also, I am a firm proponent of racial equality. Not race ignorance, but an acceptance and even a celebration of our differences.

What I’m not okay with is our one-sidedness on the taboo subject of race and “color blindness”. My issue is with the fact that we continue, as a society, to observe and make allowances for an overwhelming bias toward clearly racially biased events, programs and material.

I’m speaking of such things as Black History Month, The Black Atlas (my god, imagine if we made a The White Atlas!), Black TV, etc.

 

 

Now hold on, hold on. Don’t bail just yet. Remember, I said “a bias towards”. In other words, I have no problem with these black observances. What I do have a problem with is the attitude that the black race is somehow on a plane of entitlement above my own race. There is a bias here, and the bias is that only the black race is allowed to openly take pride in being black. You see? That is my point. Not that I want to end these observances; instead, I think that if they are available for one, they should be available for all. And if they are not available to all then take them away from the one.

Balance is what I seek, no more singling out and hammering the issue of political correctness.

What do you think? I have an open mind here. If I need to be corrected, feel free to give it a shot.

 

Or perhaps you agree?

 

 

 

Grimm’s Fairy Tales or Things More Grim? January 19, 2012

 

I was homeschooled. Yes, and please understand that this is nothing of which I boast. In fact, I seldom admit to it at all. Until I was nine years old, I lived in a home far removed from any metropolitan influence. I had no cable, of course no internet access, very few friends, no modern reading material… perhaps you get the idea.

What I did have were my books and a television plugged into a VCR. With that VCR, I was allowed to watch movies that were dated pre-1970. While other children my age were going to the movies to see Back to the Future 2, Die Hard, and Indiana Jones, I was home watching Arsenic and Old Lace, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, and To Kill a Mockingbird, with the likes of Cary Grant, Jimmy Stewart, and Gregory Peck along with their beautiful and always submissive love interests.

My book collection consisted of age-old children’s literature which some may have called archaic; although, I’ll admit to having enjoyed them. Now when I say age-old literature, I’m including everything from Kenneth Graham’s,  The Wind in the Willows, Arnold Lobel’s, Frog and Toad and  Grimm’s Fairy Tales (illustrated by Arthur Rackham, who is my favorite illustrator to this day. I have, in fact, used two of his illustrations in this very post) to Christian family books from the nineteen-thirties through the fifties. In these books, men were chivalrous. They wore suits and combed their hair impeccably. Their wives respected them, and their children revered them. They didn’t neglect their family for the game, piss on the toilette seat, or retire early in the evenings to indulge in online porn. They were never effeminate, nor were they ever “stay at home dads”.

My dad had a good job, and one that required him to wear a suit and tie. He always opened and closed doors for my mom, and ultimately had the final say in most of the big decisions for the household. He was kind and we felt his love, but when he said jump, we jumped till he said stop (figurative).

I remember riding horses with ease by the age of six; being completely familiar with how to operate my Grandfather’s tractors and other equipment at the age of nine; and being proficient enough with any hunting rifle or shotgun at the age of eight to rival many adults.

The first time I ever touched a girl, I was seventeen. She had taken her shirt off. My god, I remember it so well. I suppose it was nothing really. I bumped into her recently; she was my age, but she looked old. I suspected she had “touched” a few other boys.

 

In short, I was raised in another world. I supposed that the odd choice of style by everyone around me, who never wore suits and seldom bathed, were simply a byproduct of where we lived. Perhaps they were inbred. Surely when my Dad left for work every day, he needed to wear his business suits because… well, out there, everybody wore them. Didn’t they? The world had changed dramatically from the only age to which I was ever exposed, and I was certain that the conflicting view that I saw around me was only a local element.  It must just be here; it must just be the people around Spring Hill, Arkansas.

 

When I made it to college, I befriended Sean. He was worldly and experienced in everything from drugs and women, to serious felonies and jail. He decided that I needed a dose of life; a good dunking in the real world. He was good at that. I learned quickly, and although there were certain lines of misbehavior I simply would not cross, those lines were far over the horizon.

I stood recently at the conference center of that school thinking to myself, if only we had known then. If only Joel would have known then that his future wife would leave him, and he would call me periodically with a gun to his head. If only Sean had known that he would be arrested for operating a drug enterprise and prison would be in his near future. I wish I could tell Amanda that she would drop out after her first semester, and ten years later she would be a single mother waiting tables back in her home town of Berryville. I looked at those old seats where we had all once sat, and I thought those things.

 

I now have a son whose name is Alek. Alek is four. How shall I raise him? Might I expose him to the world as it is, or place a facade over all that is bad? A world of make-believe that hasn’t existed for half a century, or the world as it truly is today?

Alek, wanted to stay up on New Years with me to watch the ball drop in New York from our living room in Berryville. I couldn’t see why not.

“Daddy, why is that boy dressed like a girl?” he’d ask. “Daddy, I think that guy’s a monster?” he’d say.

And when Lady Gaga appeared on the screen, “sang” her “song”, and she had finished, “You know Daddy, I think that lady is sad.”

“How do you think son?”

“I saw it on her face”

 

 

I want to close the curtains, and make everything beyond them disappear – All of the scary things – The monsters and such. I want for my little boy to dream, like his daddy once did, that the world is at peace; that monsters aren’t real; and that men are still chivalrous.

 

 

Do I dare?

 

 

 Certain names have been changed to protect the identity of certain people mentioned

I Would Like to Thank my Mother And… January 16, 2012

 

In the iconic words of America’s most beloved western hero and friend, John Wayne, upon winning the Oscar award for best actor, “I feel very grateful, and very humbled”.

And Sir Anthony Hopkins, “My god, I can’t believe it. It’s an honor to be here and I’m greatly honored and tremendously moved. And I… Well, God bless you all”.

And Cuba Gooding Jr., “Hallelujah, Oh here we go. I love you man! Everybody involved, I love you oh my god I love you! I’m going to keep going Oh my goodness  *dance* here we are and I love you, I love you, I love you! Oh…everybody!!!”

 

 

Dear Readers, I’ve just recently been informed that I’ve been given – not only once, but twice – the ever elusive VERSATILE BLOGGER AWARD! This is an extraordinary achievement pursued by many, but won by only a small handful of maybe four or five WordPress bloggers. I think you will agree when I suggest that this is a major award.

 

 

In a word, I have arrived

 

 

Aside from God, my mother, and all of my readers, I want to thank Lolabees as well as blondgirl for this achievement, and for giving me the opportunity, for the first time, to approach all of you as a “real blogger”. I shall be monitoring my stats feverishly searching for any readers suspected of finding themselves too lazy to even click on Lolabees’ and blondgirl’s links to find out what they’re all about. These girls rock with style and a kind of “I’m here to stay” flare that renders you without excuse if you don’t at least go and have a look. So as Ben Stiller as Starsky would say, doit K? No, no Doit.

 

And now in keeping with the obligatory acceptance song and dance protocol, here are seven things about myself. Things that you may not know.

 

 

1. I inspect water towers for a living.
2. I often wonder why I can’t look away from bright headlights on the road. Am I just looking to see if their brights are on, or does my inner self have antlers?
3. It wouldn’t necessarily make me sad if Polar Bears became extinct. I’m just sayin’.
4. If I were a giant, I would step on Priuses for fun. Crunch crunch 
5. I identify closely with Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.
6. My wife agrees with #5.
7. I’m not talking to my wife right now.

 

 

 

And finally for those bloggers who have had the biggest impact. To you I respectfully tip my hat. And I’m only going with five. Well done sluggers.

 

 

Rangewriter. This is a tremendous writer who has impacted me more than anybody on WordPress. Her kindness, patience, and strength of character are clearly evidenced in her writing. This is my favorite post from her and it’s the post that drew me to her blog.

 

 

Lady bon bon.  This is a strange choice for me. But she is a model who writes about her life, giving her readers insight into a world that is far removed from all that is commonplace or familiar. She is also engaging, and happy to respond to questions. I’m glad I found her blog.

 

 

Of course, The Country Man’s Wife. You may have heard me talk about the blogs that I read when I’m in my hotel room and feeling a little alone. Those blogs which work well to take away the blues when I can think of nothing but getting home to my family. Well, her site is at the top of that list. Thanks Country Wife!

 

Anne Schilde. Read just one of her posts and you’ll see why she made the list. Here is my favorite!

 

Antigone’s Clamor. I hate to nominate her once again, but I like the way she thinks.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thanks again everyone! I hope you clicked on, and enjoyed the links that I posted. Please celebrate this momentous occasion along with me by joining in with the party below and rejoicing with lots of comments! Hip hip… You finish it readers. This is your day too!

 

 

Wangsters. Choir Boys? Or Can They Handle the Job? January 11, 2012

 

So, I was ordering lunch recently at Freddy’s – my new fav chain for awesome steak burgers and straw fries – when the manager walked by and we struck up a conversation.  It turns out that he (Mike) was a real nice guy and the conversation flowed along quite well. Keep in mind that Mike was a college grad with a four year stint in the Army under his belt. He looked kind of like this.

 

 

 

 

While Mike and I stood there talking about everything from what his future plans were to how ’bout them Hogs at the Cotton Bowl, in walked this guy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And his bother…

 

 

 

 

 

 

Strutting like two men who had forgotten one of their boots, Wangster Mcflatbill and his bra, Darryl, were making a grand entrance. Both boys were wearing a type of hat with a bill that could double as a boat paddle, and Darryl had even remembered to wear his Miami jersey to complete his sartorial portfolio. They were here for that day of days. Yeah, that’s right, Momma was gonna be happy cuz her two boys was goin’ to interview fo dey feurst job!

 

“Hey mae, ya’ll all got a mainager up in heur? Or wud dat be you mae?”

Ahh, nothing like a little wangster talk let the boss know that you would never sneeze on a burger. Oh, and with that dialect, mouthy customers must certainly be your forte.

 

Now, there is a part of me that wants to cut the poor bastards some slack. That part of me is all too well aware that the deranged eyes of Mcflatbill and Darryl see this deceptive image in the mirror as they leave home every morning.

 

 

 

 

 

It is likely that they never had a proper mother to tell them, “No dear. You don’t look like Denzel’s badass cop character, Alonzo Harris. You look more like…. well, think Sacha Noam Baron Cohen (aka, Ali G.). Yeah son, you look kinda like this guy”.

 

 

 

 

 

I have a friend who shall remain unnamed who works as a manager for a very large company. One of his responsibilities at work is to interview new applicants. Before he held the position that he holds today, he was trained by the United States Marine Corps to pay attention to details. It was very interesting to listen, one day, as he explained to me how he really does take notice if someone has taken a little extra time to hammer out the details of their wardrobe before they come in for the interview. A pressed shirt; straight tie; shined shoes; he’s going to notice those things. They may not be the deciding factor, but that’s just it! They may be! The qualifications between you and the next guy might be so close that it really does come down to who was better prepared for the interview.

So in closing kids, I leave you this bit of wisdom. If you’re having trouble finding a good job, lose the wangster attitude, take the bolts out of your ears, and start to take yourself seriously. After all if you don’t take yourself seriously why should a prospective employer?

 

“…don’t be too serious about not taking yourself too seriously.“
- Howard Ogden

 

Justice Served? January 6, 2012

 

When I was in my early twenties, I was unjustly thrown in jail. I awoke one morning to find a team of local “SWAT” officials pointing shot guns at my head.

One year later, on the advice of my attorney, I signed a plea agreement which subsequently disappeared, and I was sentenced to spend the next thirty days locked in a jail cell.

I remember sitting next to my mom and dad in the court room that day. Court was just getting started, as the bailiff escorted several toothless, tactless, dirty women clothed in orange to the front of the courtroom. As those women sat in their seats, picking at their faces, scratching their elbows, sniffing and shifting nervously, I looked at my dad and shivered. My dad leaned over, “Isn’t that the most depressing scene you’ve ever witnessed?” I nodded slowly.

Moments later the hammer dropped and I was told to go sit next to the women in orange suits. The bailiff handcuffed me to the lady with stringy black and yellow hair. She continued to smack her toothless gums, taking no notice as the handcuffs clicked shut. I sat on display for over an hour while other cases were heard. I remember watching my mom and dad and the little girl who had been sitting on my other side, next to her parents. All of their faces shown with grief coupled with astonishment.

For thirty days I sat in a dark room with no windows; was surrounded by people whose minds had long since been destroyed by meth; would wake up to discover somebody taking a shit only inches from my head; was violently attacked and had to violently defend myself.

I was not, am not, and have never considered myself to be the “type” of person who goes to jail, so the whole experience was tilting to say the least.

While sitting on a stone floor that was stained with urine and mace spray, I scribbled these words onto a piece of paper. This was my first piece of writing outside of a classroom.

 

 

I am sitting here in silence, in this pit of bars and chains

There’s no pride left to boast of self, for here self-pity reigns

Perhaps I’ll place the blame on those who placed me in this hole

I know the blame is not for me, but for some other wicked soul

And if this song of pass the blame is what I choose to sing

Then I’ll walk the streets tomorrow, and I’ll not have learned a thing

But if perhaps I choose to think, while in my dark despair

Of all the wrongs I’ve done this week, the blame I’ll start to wear

Then when I am released out of this place of rampant sin

I’ll remember what I’ve learned here, and a knew life I’ll begin

 

Nathan Gray

 

 

Seasons Greetings and a Merry, Joyful Day December 20, 2011

Do have a happy season gathered round your happy trees

We’ve changed up all our wording to put Scrooge and Grinch at ease

Wish all your loved ones merry times while carving up the bird

But never mention Jesus’ name because that’s quite absurd

Joyous Season

Hol-i-day

Or happy time of hope

Just don’t say merry Christmas please, unless you are the Pope

Feel free to buy your children all the presents they desire

Help teach them ’tis the season for getting all they can acquire

Decorate with mistletoe, and turn on season songs

But leave the manger in the box, wrapped up where it belongs

You may bake fruit cakes but be mindful, don’t become fruit cakes yourselves

And never speak of Christ The Lord, but of Santa and his elves

You see, we’ve gone and changed our tune from God to Wal-Mart splurgin’s

To be mindful of the Muslims and their bombings and their virgins

No self respecting Christian who believes in God’s good Son

Should go wishing Christmas cheer on folks, thus spoiling all the fun

The story goes that Marry birthed a child as white as snow

But if we keep it to ourselves then nobody will know

That child grew up to pay a price, that’s how it all began

When kings knelt down and angels sang and God became a man

What Has Happened to Freshly Pressed? November 10, 2011

 

There really must exist an unspoken rule making a hellish doomsday of any moment when an unsuspecting blogger treads upon the uncharted territory hereby know as the act of critiquing/questioning/challenging the wisdom of the all glorious Freshly Pressed Search Committee (A.k.a. the lady who coordinates the site’s front page). I say this only because I simply have never seen it done. You are cautiously invited to come along with me while I embark on this business of excoriating the gods of WordPress. That’s right WordPress, I’m knocking on the editor’s door and I’ve got a bone!

 

 

the above statement was not intended as a threat of violence nor was it meant to be perceived as an actual event.

 

 

 

Getting on with it then, I believe that If I were to be offered a spot on tomorrow’s edition of “Freshly Pressed”, I would be inclined to disrespectfully decline. Beyond that, it is within proper reason that, following such an offer, I may even burn whatever article was being considered for the much coveted publicity. You see, I find that I fervently enjoy my position down here – however undeserved – among what I’ve found to be the best of WordPress. And by best, I am speaking of the true artists of the lens and the spoken word who labor, perhaps not tirelessly, but indeed endlessly to bring about so many rather obscure pockets of pure joy. Pockets which, once discovered, could bring about a remarkable sense of enlightenment and personal growth far beyond the apparent comprehension of the coxes whom direct the ebb and flow of the Freshly Pressed page. I find it most unfortunate that these true artists of whom I speak will never be found by the masses as they seem to hover on an esoteric plain above the childlike radar of the scoundrels of the Freshly Pressed search committee.

There have been people on this site who have so eloquently penned their thoughts that they have helped me to see that people who don’t necessarily think like me may, in fact, still manage to think… And think quite brilliantly at that.

There are people on this site whose words I read faithfully late at night, when the glamor and buzz of the day have ended and I find myself alone, tucked into a dim hotel room, and homesick for my family. And it is their words that sooth my mind and shove the enclosing walls back to their respective positions.

Some people on this site have taken pictures that are so original and indeed spiritual that one’s viewing of them can be likened to his first time seeing with his own eyes a new landscape, or a massive storm, and in that moment he feels as if his mind has explored an entire new region within itself as his senses must literally adjust and expand accordingly in order to accommodate the newly encompassed territory.

How shameful is it that the page allegedly containing “the best of WordPress” fails to deliver on its promises, and frequently fails to expose its readers to talent such as what I’ve referenced above; instead, on Freshly Pressed, we are bombarded with stories regarding such foolishness as the following:

• How to build a ceiling high cat toy using only items found in your pantry
• Girl with a hundred pictures of herself begging to be freshly pressed
• One blurry, random picture of an unremarkable thing with no caption

I could have continued, and had even begun to, but I might have become a little too specific with my indignation. Now, I do find it important and necessary to state here that I have occasionally witnessed a wonderful post flying across the Freshly Pressed headlines. Unfortunately, these sitings are all too seldom and more often than not the contents of Freshly Pressed remain insufferable. Another unfortunate, and rather alarming trend that I’m seeing is the tendency by more and more parasitic “regulars” to always offer their  beguiling comments. You know the ones. These people consistently display a flagrantly specious enthusiasm on the subject of everything from whether crustaceans do or do not possess the ability to see in color to how to rebuild an old Johnson boat motor. This obsessive commenting is clearly for the purpose of advertisement, and would not be tolerated on my blog.

I end with a challenge and a salutation. I challenge you to not get caught up in the foolish game of pretending to see merit in mere silliness only for the purpose of stimulating your own website. To do this only serves to make the Freshly Pressed Search Committee feel that they are succeeding in their job mission when they are clearly not.

And finally, to those truly talented and committed artists on WordPress, I salute you. I might have even mentioned you specifically had I taken the time to gather all of your permission; However, you know who you are. Again thank you and rest assured that you are the best in the eyes of those fortunate enough to stumble across your pages.

Nathan Gray

Thoughts on Taxes September 14, 2011

Here are some basic thoughts on the subject of income taxes. This is only a very basic outline, just as I wanted it to be.

“Rich people” pay a much higher percentage of their income in taxes than I do, and that percentage is always going up. Because of this (along with costly labor union mandates) many big business owners have been outsourcing overseas where they have incentives to grow as a company rather than consequences for growing. Consequences like getting slammed with higher and higher tax rates as they do in The States. Outsourcing is clearly not an evil plot against America on the part of the business owners; they are simply doing what they must in order to protect their bottom line and their investors. Lower the tax rate for big businesses and you give them an incentive to stay here and grow. And if businesses grow, then they will need to hire more people, thus creating more jobs. This, Rachel Maddow, is economics 101.

Now Republicans are not and have not proposed actual tax cuts for the rich in a very long time. When you read about “Republican tax cuts for the rich”, that is simply demonizing the party through a play on words. The so called tax cuts that Republicans are proposing are, in fact, only stopping the tax rate increases for job creators (a.k.a. “rich people”). This is an attempt to give the “rich”, “corporate”, “big business owners” an incentive to grow and create jobs. There are many companies that have grown to a certain point and then been forced either reduce or outsource, because they know if they remained stateside, and grew any more, and made any more money, they would find themselves in a new tax bracket and the subsequent tax increase would cause them to take in less than they would if they grossed less. And remember, if companies stop growing, they stop hiring.

Democrats want higher tax rates for the rich and lower rates for the poor. According to them, this would bring in more revenue and put dollars back in the pockets of poor people. Looks good on paper, but the problem is that most poor people work for rich people and, if those rich people are taxed to the point of needing to outsource or cut back, then the poor people lose their jobs. Secondly, most poor people (if they have any children) are already not paying anything in for taxes. Or at least they get it all back at the end of the year. For years my wife and I were included in this category. We would pay our taxes in and then get it all back when we filed. If our tax rates had been any lower, we would’ve been getting payed by the government (we actually did one year). On the other hand, if you try to tax the owner of the company that I work for too much, he may feel the need to build a production plant in Dubai, where he won’t pay income taxes and will receive all kinds of incentives to grow and make more money and hire more people – more people in Dubai. And consequently, I would lose my job.

Raging Texas Wildfires And Scooper Planes September 8, 2011

I spotted these planes today as I was driving through the historic town of Mineral Wells, Texas. The planes were flown in from Canada in effort to help control wildfires that are currently spreading across much of the southern portion of the state of Texas. You may have seen them on the news lately as they go about their mission of controlling the fires by scooping water from nearby lakes and dropping it onto the fires bellow.

 

 

 

 

After I pulled in for what rightly seemed like an ideal opportunity for a photo shoot, I couldn’t have been more pleased when a pilot popped out of one of the planes to find out what I was up to. After we chatted for a bit, he offered to give me a guided tour, which included a chance to sit in the cockpit, as well as a thorough description of all of the planes functions.

 

 

 

 

In the picture above, you see the landing gear in the foreground. Also, you see the gates which are used to contain water within the planes interior holding tanks. The flaps are closed during flight and serve to drop the water from the holding tanks when opened. Behind the gates you should be able to see the scooping devices used to scoop water from lakes as the plane skims along the surface. The pilot was nice enough to open one of the scoopers for my photograph.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The opportunity for these cockpit photographs was made possible by the pilots exceeding kindness. I was allowed to sit in the cockpit as the the pilot explained, and even demonstrated, many of the functions of the controls. The most notable feature, which isn’t even pictured here, was the infrared technology used to maneuver the plane when visibility is thwarted due to heavy smoke from the flames.

 

 

Thanks for viewing!