My Liberal Diary

Day 237, My Liberal Diary
As I sit here this evening contemplating the final words I shall record from the year 2017 on paper tomorrow, the Eve of the New Year. I was wishing for something more profound, given my new intellectually superior liberal inclinations, than the matter of a simple mystery. Some years ago, a silly baseball cap with a deer that has cloth antlers atop the skull-cap, showed up in my gun room and I assumed it was a gag from my wife, the right-wanger. I have taken to wearing it each holiday season because I sort of liked it and it makes me laugh. Tonight, Jimi asked me where I got it? I told her that I thought she had given it to me years ago but she said that she didn't . I asked if it maybe belonged to one of our children but after some careful character analysis, decided that was highly unlikely. It is a very old deer or moose or whatever it is supposed to be; probably imported from Pakistan in the 1970s. It has ocaissionally been a toy for the dogs, a poster for an M79 Grenade launcher, a trophy wall-hanging in a shanty-boat above a lever-action rifle, a target for teaching my grandson how to shoot a BB gun, and something that gives me comfort like mashed potatoes when I need to sit and write late at night. We now believe the silly deer-hat provenance to have been a gift from James Junior Smith to Constance Smith; a cold blooded animal killer to a person that thought hunting and killing animals to be a crude, primitive practice, not worthy of the Smith name, and given as a blatant taunt. We could also look upon this provenance as a typical example of a Liberal being deliberately baited by a right-wing Bambi killer: Except that Constance is not a Liberal by any stretch of the imagination, but she could pass unless you ever got a telephone call from her from a jail cell filled with colored people at two o'clock in the morning, She's married to the Admiral now so we don't want to talk about it.
I suppose that in defense of my dignity, I should mention my missing house shoe before the right-wanger does. First, let me say that I was depressed by the unexplained loss and I did mount a diligent search of the residence, including the back yard and refrigerator and I may have mentioned the possibility of a demented burglar and posting a picture and the offer of a small reward down at Greer's store ( it did work to find the missing wienerdog once). OK; I was looking forward all day to coming home, getting a steamy hot shower, putting on some soft flannel pajamas and my furry Sasquatch house shoes, maybe having a sip of good whiskey and playing my guitar a bit. One of my shoes was missing and there was bits of stuffing from something that one of puppies might have chewed up lying on the floor. I might have falsely accused my puppy Maggie, of having taken my shoe outside and sent her out to look for it. I just couldn't imagine anyone except the most desperate Liberal, ever breaking into my house to steal a single Sasquatch shoe but there are some demented souls out there. The resolution finally came when I changed the light-bulb in our laundry room and my wife, the right-wanger, discovered that she had picked my shoe up with my dirty clothes and deposited in the laundry. I never suspected this was a deliberate action on her part, meant to upset my delicate sensibilities and therefore offer no apologies for anything that I might have said or implied during this crucial search and rescue mission.

Last edited: A moment ago
si vis pacem, para bellum,

 

Day 238, My Liberal Diary
Today is the last official day of 2017 and it is very cold and wet in lower Alabama. I was expecting sunshine and 71 degree weather today but apparently the Yankees decided we need some of their misery. I have fireworks to celebrate the new year. Fireworks always make me feel pretty good except for that time the road-side fireworks stand in Lenoir City caught fire and made a mess up near I-40. It is probably apparent that I grew up in the rural South, if not by my mannerisms and grace, then by my blaise' acceptance of catastrophe. There are advantages to being raised by people used to the expression, "Hold my beer and watch this..."
People always die, doesn't matter how many laws they pass to prevent it, if one of the 7% of our population that accounts for 52% of ALL the firearms murders doesn't kill you, you'll get hit by a truck or die of old age. Death and taxes are just two things that you can't avoid so I don't get too excited about either unless it is something that I got to pay or bury in the backyard.
I am cooking spare-ribs on the BBQ and had planned to build a fire and have some music and food with friends but this weather has sort of spoiled that plan so now I'm having ribs, chili, sausage balls, and slaw in a pot-luck at my crazy mother-in-law's house with the right-wanger's sister and her geriatric husband, the Admiral and I'll probably be the only one sober enough to shoot fireworks out in the sleet and rain and not have anyone to hold my beer, if I had one. I do not recall drinking a beer during the year of 2017, I must have with dinner at some time but it just doesn't appeal to me as a beverage that I would drink for refreshment. I much prefer iced tea with honey and a bit of lemon or cider vinegar. I had planned to win the Florida Lottery this week but although I did get the Powerball number, didn't even get a single one of the other numbers drawn so I suppose I will continue to work every day in the coming year.I did hit three numbers on Mega-Millions so I got free tickets anyway; Man Plans, God Laughs. Yes that is a Yiddish expression: I was married to a Jewish woman, once upon a time. She was a very interesting person but it proved too difficult to find a communal ground between tradition and heritage and we each left with a greater understanding and scars. I literally walked away from there with everything I owned in the world stuffed in a knapsack over my shoulder as I hitch-hiked from Knoxville towards Nashville and started a whole new life over again with nothing but my hands and labors. I truly have worked for everything that I own except for my Sasquatch house shoes and an old single-barreled shotgun that belonged to my grandfather. Maybe that is why I am having such a difficult time understanding people that think we should be entitled to something that others have to work for? I am trying to be open-minded about the LGBTQs but Jesus, can't you guys just be a little more discreet? Maybe show a little propriety? I really don't care if you boink each other, that's none of my damned business but why don't you get back in the closet with it or at least don't parade it down main street and pretend everybody is a bigot because we get offended with you waving your rainbow-colored dildo at my mother-in-law? Why is it a problem if some are offended by your deviant behavior? You are apparently offended by their beliefs, it's sort of like a cross-cut saw; it cuts both ways.
I spent much of 2017 contemplating the heated gun violence issue and since we liberals have determined that mass-murder via truck, knife, bomb, riot, and box cutters are acceptable, have stumbled upon a possible solution that won't piss the red-necks off or the NRA. I listened to a video on Youtube yesterday and a black man told me that although negroes only account for 13% of the population of this country, Black males account for 52% of all the gun related homicides! Since only half the black population are male, that means that only 7.5% of the general population are killing 52% of the people. I do not claim to be a math genius and I know a large number of black males that I am pretty damned certain own guns and are not murderers or killers and would believe that to be representative of the general population of working, family oriented, socially active productive members of our community so that pretty much leave just the same bunch of urban trash I see burning buildings and looting stores every time a policeman shoots one of them. I believe these misguided gentlemen to be the same ones we liberals are so quick to defend against anyone that would question the mathematical probability of getting murdered by one of them as being racist. My solution? The next riot, let's get some trucks and run the bastards over. That will eliminate over half of the gun violence, lower fire insurance costs in urban areas, free up more police resources to sell tickets to their New Years Ball, crate jobs, and all done in a manner that has the approval of Nancy Pelosi, Maxcine Waters, numerous Hollywood Stars, and every other political icon of the Democratic party.
Now I will enjoy some caviar and a sip of some very fine aged whisky. The ribs were exceptional, succulent and tender My puppies are enjoying my guitar and in a bit, I will go outside and launch lots of exploding mortars into the cloudy sky. People are beginning to work together rather than just demanding their entitlements. 2017 was an interesting year and I think we have begun to learn something about one another that somehow, we had forgotten. Friends, we are ALL in this together. Like it or not. Happy New Year.

 

you forgot to mention your 'feelings' every good liberal knows that feelings are more important than facts.

Bad Liberal not cookie! hehe

 

Day 239, My Liberal Diary
On my morning drive to Pensacola, my truck decided to die. The engine light came on and a message that the engine power had decreased. There was an immediate loss of speed, barley able to maintain 50 mph to the next exit , where I pulled into a truck stop and phoned my employer to rescue me. He arrived in a short while and exchange trucks with me and drove mine back to Mobile to the repair shop and I went on to Pensacola to supervise my portion of building a bridge across the Bay. I am quite sure his ride to Mobile was not without problems but he did make it and called later to tell me my truck has issues and would be in the shop at least a few days, just keep his truck for the time being. There are advantages to being essential to the economic welfare of others. If I am not in Pensacola doing my job, then no real work gets done and the company doesn't make any money, and consequently, nobody gets a pay check at the end of the week, It's a really old system, somewhat archaic by liberal standards, but I still haven't heard a realistic alternative from my fellow sheeple that might work as well, so I'll go do my job, drive the boss's truck and make him lots of money so he can pay me and the others that I work with. At least I will continue to do so until tomorrow night when the Powerball Lottery is drawn. I may win nearly a billion dollars! If the numbers in my fortune cookie prove correct, then I shall purchase a tract of woodland, far from anyone, where I can build a cabin and spend my weekends relaxing, if I don't have to work.

 

Day 240, My Liberal Diary
Last night, I dreamed that I could levitate. That was very handy, nothing was out of reach. People starred at me and said that I was flying but I explained that I couldn't really go anywhere, I could just reach up to the top without having to stand on anything. When I was a child, I convinced myself that if my arms were strong enough, I could punch into the sky fast enough to take me air borne, even made a set of wings to assist in actual flight and tried them from atop the neighbors tool shed but it didn't work out as well as I had planned. That is often the case when children want something badly, or at least think they do.
I was sixteen and working as a volunteer at a 24 hour Telethon to raise money to help with Cerebral Palsy, being held at a local High School Auditorium. Celebrities and entertainers would perform and plead for donations to be called into a bank of telephone lines being answered by other sort of celebrities, like maybe the husband or wife of someone on a favorite soap opera. Every hour, a parade of drooling, spastic, pitiful people would be wheeled out in a macabre display of "but for the grace of God" and the host celebrity, with tears in his eyes, would point to the dollar tabulation board displayed in front of the telephone bank and demand that we reach deeper into our hearts and pockets, pick up that telephone and call in and pledge another donation to help find a cure for this terribly malady. I had volunteered to help with the Telethon because I felt it was my civic duty and also it was a great opportunity to meet attractive young women and I was correct, at least in the more important of the two objectives. I met the lovely Wanda T, and she became my first true love. We spent most of the night serving coffee and sandwiches to the people manning the telephone banks and graduating towards more intimate excursions into the darker areas of the auditorium not being utilized for the Telethon, where we explored our teen-aged raging hormones and shared our deepest secrets. It is amazing how much true love can be developed in just 24 short hours spent on the edge of exhaustion, working for a noble charitable cause and loosing one's virginity in a vacant class room. I was smitten and hardly slept for the next week, spending late nights on the telephone with Wanda sharing our deepest secrets or parked in a secluded spot, passionately entwined and promising faith and devotion forever but not exactly hearing literal reciprocity in her replies. I knew I was in love and love would conquer all but the truth be told, there are some things that a sixteen year old mind cannot begin to put into perspective. It was during the sharing of these secrets, where the impass was reached in our relationship.
We had much in common, each living with a divorced parent that held animosity towards the missing partner. She was living with her mom and two older brothers. Her mother was a minor celebrity, having bit parts in television commercials and selling real estate. Wanda and I had met while volunteering to do charitable work , a means of giving something back to our community that wasn't coerced by church or school. We had each volunteered without mentioning it to friends or class-mates, it was just something where we thought we could help a little bit. It was because of this, that I knew with certainty, that she had a good heart. There was also a secret that she wanted to share but kept avoiding it until finally she told me her most private secret and I was stunned and completely heart broken and totally unable to put it into any perspective other than how it related to me and that is the shame because it didn't have a damned thing to do with me. I was a boy on the cusp of learning the lessons of manhood, but the actual lesson to be learned would not sink in for many decades.
Wanda had been seduced by her mother's lover, when she was 12. He was a prominent member of the community and quite wealthy. The seduction was gradual but complete. It was almost innocent at first, then not so much but gifts and veiled threats of how much this could hurt her mother and brothers and all the devious twists of a demented adult mind kept the relationship alive and hidden for years. Once, she had tried to end it and threatened to expose them but he had broken her wrist in a rage and she feared for her life. The lie continued to grow and soon had a life of it's own and all I could do was listen to the tale in silent horror. She looked at me with pleading eyes, wanting so badly for me to say something, to do something that would help but all I could do was hear the echoes of her words as they spoke nothing of the horrors of a child being trapped, manipulated and abused by a pedophile for years with no hope of rescue, but rather all I could hear was that my first love was unfaithful to me and I walked away and never spoke of this to anyone until now. It is nearly 50 years later and I had a dream about levitating. I gently rose above everything that I once found obscurring and was able finally see the lesson I was meant to learn so many years ago. So many times, the lesson is there for us to learn, the truth so plain to see but all we see is what we want.

 

Day 241, My Liberal Diary

The small mom and pop construction company that employs me has been operating a shore-base for Exxon-Mobile for the past 15 years, loading vessels with supplies for off-shore platforms, ferrying crew from here to Dauphin Island and various other locations to support Exon’s Oil and natural gas production. We have also been engaged in commercial and marine construction and commercial diving contracting and the use of the shore-base has supported our operations as well as Exxon’s. After 15 years of satisfactory symbiosis between our company and Exxon, just before Christmas and with no prior warning, Exxon sends a battery of Lawyers and breaks our lease on the shore-base and has our company evicted from the property immediately, not even allowing time to gather personal belongings and company assets. There had been a rumor circulating that an offer had been tendered on the property in question but the reason given by Exxon was that the property was not being maintained to their standards. Numerous written requests had been submitted by our company to address maintenance and repair issues but had been denied by Exxon as not being in their operational budget so the repairs were made when necessary for safety to personnel and equipment but not generally done to a standard that would have been preferred by both parties.

Now Exxon’s lawyers have shown up again with a clause in our lease that says that they can remove our equipment and back-charge us for the removal rather than allowing us onto their property to recover our assets. This is a purely punitive gesture that reeks of someone with an ax to grind and we do not have a clue who or why. What I do know is that a well-established small business that has operated and employed people in the Mobile, Alabama area for the past thirty years is being stepped on and destroyed by a huge company with no explanation or reason being offered and we have no recourse. It is not financially possible for a small business to legally challenge the hundreds of lawyers employed by a major Oil Company. This is the reason so much is wrong in our country today. Our Nation was built by the small businessman and farmers. We devoted all our energies towards building something and then big business bought it all up and destroyed free enterprise. Big business sets the rules, they control the wealth, and they write the history. Our company will not even be a foot-note, just a forgotten enterprise that fed numerous anonymous families for three decades and disappeared. I have but one recourse and it will be to deny my money to Exxon or any Company related to them. I will not ask anyone else to boycott them, this is purely a matter of honor with me and it will be a cold day in hell before I will spend a single dime with them ever again.

 

Day 242, My Liberal Diary
I haven't had a cold or flu in many years, so many in fact, that I had forgotten how miserable they make you feel. My head hurts and my left lung is painfully congested, my left sinus is inflamed and my throat hurts. The glands in my neck are swollen and I am feverish and wrought with chills. I slept 14 hours last night and only awakened because my left leg was cramping. It appears that most of my symptoms are on the left, as the right just wants to get on with life and take care of business. I don't have much choice about dragging the weakened left along with me, we are conjoined. I have never experienced such a polarized illness before. Although the symptoms all seem to be on the left, the right is affected by an understandable fatigue and of course, the fever and chills spread throughout the entire body because of the ripple effect. I began feeling sick yesterday while at work. The left side wanted to just sit down and rest but the right side had a job to complete. I was less than cordial to my subordinates and I am sure that I sounded a lot more like the over-seer of a plantation than my usual enthusiastic rallying persona. I can feel my right side wearing down, weakening and gradually giving in to the symptoms that are attacking my body and spirit. I have decided to take the day off from work and sit around the house dressed in pajamas, my Sasquatch house shoes, my moose hat, a robe, and drink hot toddy with Jack, honey and lemon. I realize the left will prevail because we cannot survive with out it, even if it is dragging us down.

 

Day 243, My Liberal Diary
I have spent most of my adult life working in foreign lands that I often described as "Third-world Shit-holes". I have been robbed there and have had my crew murdered in cold blood over nothing, I have been extorted by police and government and I have lived with families that earned less in an entire year than my wrist-watch cost. I met some great folks in these places too but their general consensus was that they wanted out of that "Shit-hole" any way they could. There wasn't any offense taken about the description, they know it's a shit-hole and want out. Why do you think so many Cubans moved to Miami? Haiti got 29 billion dollars in reparations from France and that was enough money to buy a new house for every family on the island and pay for electricity to run it for their life time but not a damned dime was spent on anything except lining the pockets of the thugs that had the control. Poverty is a strange thing. We have created our very own American version of a shit-hole. We tried to end it with the welfare program here in the United States to help bring racial equality and all that really happened was Cadillac sales went way up and unwed mothers increased by 1600% in under ten years. These babies are destined to a life of poverty simply because they do not have a family and support system to teach them to become responsible productive working members of society but we continue to pay money to unwed mothers to have them and for a good many, that really is their only source of legitimate revenue. They make babies to feed the shit-hole. The rich and powerful need these shit-holes to be populated. It gets them elected and gains them access to the funding. That basically gives us three classes of citizens. There is those destined for the shit-hole, there are those elected to rule the shit hole with money collected from those that work for a living, and there is those that work for a living and pay taxes to support the politicians that rule the shit-hole. The thing that amazes me is that we don't need two of those classes of people. If everybody worked, there would be no shit-hole poverty or carpet-baggers to be elected to placate them.

 

Day 244
, My Liberal Diary
I have made a diligent effort at always viewing the glass as being half full rather than empty. It was a decision, a choice that I made at a time in my life when I almost gave way to darkness, anger, and depression. Everything I owned in the world was in a backpack that I carried, a few changes of clothes, a sleeping bag, a knife, a few sundries and my guitar, but nothing resembling a man on a weekend vacation. I had written several songs and I realized that each one of them had been my way of sorting out why I had to just stop and start over again. The lyrics were my thoughts as I worked my way through loss, pain, depression, and rage. Each song represented a turning point in the road to the life I had chosen and I came to realize that if I could do it all over again, don't think I'd do a whole lot any differently. I couldn't think of anyone that I would apologize to or anything I'd make excuses for, so I felt pretty much satisfied with the man that stood there owning nothing but a few songs. Life has certainly been a great adventure. I have gotten to travel over most of the world and live and work with people from many different cultures. I have been loved and I have loved. I have provided for my family to the best of my abilities. I still write songs to help me sort through things. There is something positive about putting music and emotion into such a fluid and melodic media and then being able to share it with other people, something that graces me with optimism and keeps that glass half full. I own many things now, much more than would fit into a bag and I have friends that are dying and a knowledge that time is so short and precious for the rest of us. It's a damned shame that so many of you seem determined to piss in the pool just because it's inconvenient to get out of the water.

 

Day 245, My Liberal Diary
I remember store opening where they had gallon jug of gum-balls. There was a sign on the gum-ball jug that for 25 cents, you could guess how many gum-balls were in the jug and if you were right, you would win the jackpot. At the end of the week, the gum-balls were counted and if you guessed closest to the correct number, you got everybody's quarters and sometimes that added up to thirty or forty dollars. The Dollar stores in three counties ran out of sacks of gum-balls when people started buying them to fill up a jug and count them to hedge their chances of winning. The was a local gum-ball shortage and several of my friends decided to pool their gum-balls to fill a jug and count them then share the winnings. Some of the brainer ones just filled a pint jar and multiplied it by eight, I suspect most sprang for a quart because the math was simpler. Anyway, somehow or another, I got talked into counting the gum-balls on the date of the big drawing to determine the winners and decided to help myself to a few of the gum-balls to chew on while I was counting. I remember a particular fondness for the sour grape ones, I ate a few of them and probably gave a few more to folks standing around. It was a lot of gum-balls and the drawing was a random number thing anyway so I didn't think it would cause the great bubble-gum war of 1966. Apparently I did not take into account, the members of our community that had invested earned income on gum-balls and gallon jars in preparation for this contest of wit. By the way, it costed nearly $13.00 in 1966 gum-ball prices to fill a gallon jar, give or take a few cents depending on if the table is level. Nor is it acceptable to make reparations with an estimated amount of replacement gum-balls. A gum-ball lottery is a sacred event with very strident rules and certain protocol. I was sure there was going to be a lynching that day and I was grateful it wasn't directed towards the official gum-ball counter, but rather towards the store owner. People were vehemently stating that they knew precisely how many gum-balls would fit in that jar and could prove it. Others were were just wanting to see what folks were mad about and I was still giving away handfuls of gum-balls to anyone that wanted them but they were from the side that had already been counted. I suppose that why I noticed a minor detail that helped negotiate peace among the hostile gummers. All the gum-balls were random sized. There were big old jaw-breakers, those little tiny chuckle like ones, some about the size of a marble and some the size of OO Buckshot, so I asked them what kind of gum-balls did they use, since the initiated the use of strident regulations in gum-ball lottery? Everybody asked why that made any difference and I told them that a one jawbreaker could hold forty or fifty of those buckshot sized ones so unless they knew the precise ratio of the assorted sizes contained in original gallon jar prior to my having eaten some of them, then the scientific approach was not valid because they over-looked a few simple realities. That's sort of what's happened with our political system in this country.

 

Day 246, My Liberal Diary
I was sitting at a concrete picnic table in a camp ground on Kentucky Lake with a former wife, watching a skunk hunting bugs in the leaves around our campsite. It was a very cute and inquisitive animal. You could flip acorns near it and it would pounce on them, thinking it was an insect to eat. Skunks are also pretty smart and they have a most unusual built-in defense against people amusing themselves at their expense. I accidentally flipped an acorn that hit the little darling on it's nose and much to my surprise, rather than running away, it took a very aggressive posture and charged our table of refuge. I retreated with haste and my former wife laughed loudly at the big man running from a cute little animal but her mirth was cut short by a malodious spew of vapor being hurled at her by the cute little critter and I did mention that she was a former spouse but I can assure you that my sympathetic post aggressive wildlife attack recollections will exonerate me from blame, at least in this instance. I did return to my crying, wrenching spouse and would have offered comfort if she had only believed me about using several bottles of Summer's Eve Douche to dilute the smell and yes, I should have placed myself between her and the skunk. I could have dragged her with me when I ran and even though I did not deliberately hit the skunk with an acorn, it was totally my fault, yes Dear. And I did drive all the way to Paris, TN to Walmart and bought every bottle of douche I could find while you waited outside in the back of the pickup truck but we never would have got the smell out of those leather seats. That was my Grateful Dead T-shirt you were wearing and it's not like those cut-off blue jeans were irreplaceable. I said the other nite, that I didn't really ever want to apologize to anybody for anything but I do want to tell you that smell is the sense most closely related to memory and every time I smell a skunk, I think about you and that concert in Nashville. I'll never get another Grateful Dead shirt from Jerry Garcia, he's dead now.

 

Day 247, My Liberal Diary
Last night at midnight, the Federal Government shut down due to lack of funding. I haven't missed them yet but probably won't be getting any mail today. If they stay shut down a while, I suppose that the folks that really want to dun or sell me will start using a paid private mail service, maybe UPS or Fedex but there are a lot of smaller delivery services at every level and this means more jobs from the private sector rather than from the government that is paid for by our tax Ponzi scheme. Walmart was without electricity this morning but I do not know if this was because of an infrastructure failure or related to the government shut-down; I don't suppose they just forgot to pay their light bill. I had a shopping cart filled with items from a list provided by my wife, the right-wanger, that I had collected in the darkened isles but was told upon reaching the front that I couldn't check-out and pay for my items because their computers and registers were not working. I suppose they run on electricity too. I just shook my head and left my filled cart standing in the isle and left. I grew up in a community where stores hired people that knew how to add, sub-tract, and multiply. They knew how to count change. It was with some shock, that I realized that we now live in a world where something as simple as a power outage can deny you access to your source of provisioning. We don't live in a world where we can just go out and shoot a raccoon for lunch if Burger King can't unfreeze their Whoopers! People were becoming uneasy, maybe a little afraid. Who is gonna take care of us if the Post Office won't deliver our WIC cards? How we going to get money for the kids to go to school? Then I remembered that I haven't been a liberal long enough for this to make any significant difference. I still work for everything and I am not so dependent on the system for my support. Come to think of it, I can't really think of anything that I benefit by the Federal Government from except that I do drive their inter-state highways a good bit going to work but they keep enough taxes from my earnings to fix quite a few pot-holes. I shop for convenient items at leisure but manage to keep a well-stocked larder so food is not going to be an issue any time soon for my house-hold. I have an emergency generator that will provide enough electricity to run my household and my crazy mother in law's if the power grid fails, and have been gradually migrating towards a more energy independent life-style with plans to eventually achieve 80% solar. I am not in debt beyond a small mortgage payment. Our Health Care is somewhat expensive but within my means and our happiness and sense of family has strengthened so much these past few years. I have learned the importance of staying in contact with your family and friends and have set up a variety of means of maintaining communications, including short-wave radio. We garden and have raised fish and rabbits to supplement our diet. I am a bee-keeper. We have a flour mill for grinding grain, a dehydrator for drying, we can surplus harvest and I have a stone churn filled with delicious brandied fruit. I realize my obligation towards my fellow liberal would be to open my doors and share the bounty of my labors but unfortunately, we live in a democracy and the right-wanger has an equal vote and she won the toss. I hope that if things get tight, you pay particular attention to the sign on my door that says "There is nothing in here worth you dying for."

 

Day 248, My Liberal Diary
Yesterday was a great day for reflection. I rode my motorcycle and ate raw oysters for breakfast. I awakened with music from the night before still playing in my head. I heard from old friends, some that I haven't seen in quite a while. I did not waste my time nor thoughts on work or problems, just spent the day reflecting how glorious it is to be alive. I happened upon a women's march somewhere near Mobile and laughed at the funny pink hats they were wearing. The hats are supposed to represent a vagina but they really don't look very realistic. Most of the women there appeared to be somewhat less than feminine in appearance but that may be because of the gender ambiguity trend in vogue or maybe they are just unfortunately Walmart shopper ugly, spandex and all. The more efeminant participants in the march would be required by law to use the facilities marked male even though their sexual proclivities might warrant different. Many of them seemed to get quite angry over my motorcycle jacket, a leather garment that features a large Confederate Battle Flag cross the back. Damned bunch of Yankee agitators, no doubt. As a liberal, I realize I should support this movement of pussy-hat wearing female lumber-jacks but if they really want to get everyone's attention, maybe they should assault another sense and carry an open can of anchovies under their knitted caps instead of getting so pissed when someone asks them about their hat.

 

Day 249, My Liberal Diary
Dr. T.K. Ballard, in Jackson, Tennessee delivered both myself and my wife, the right-wanger, into this world when we were born. She was born six months after I was so we didn't get to meet in the delivery room or nursery. He pretty much was everybody in Jackson, Tennessee and surrounding areas family physician in addition to being the county coroner and medical examiner. Pretty busy fellow and last I heard, still was and I am 62 years old now. My wife and I lived just a few miles apart for most of our childhood but I do not believe we ever had occasion to meet until many years later in Memphis. I was playing music and helping a friend get the first edition of Memphis Original Music Magazine published. Slider and I both were living on bar snacks and coffee for months as we struggled to launch a new publication without any real capitol, near maxed credit cards, and one working automobile between us. Mid South Christian College had allowed us use of their printing facilities and under-graduate staff to assist and several sponsors were helping with ink costs, paper, distribution, by contributing money and purchasing advertising space. The magazine was conceived to help raise money in part, for Niel Young's Star of Bethlehem Foundation to provide housing for the homeless. Local song writers were selected and brought into the recording studio there at the college and tracks of one of their songs recorded. The magazine would discuss production and recording technique, the lyrics and structure of the song, and a critique by some of the area's top music professionals. Each issue of the magazine would include a copy of the selected recordings on cassette tape embossed to the cover ( this was before music CDs). We had been working a schedule of working all day on the magazine, playing from 8-12:00 at Barrister's downtown, grab some breakfast and head back to the print shop to work, maybe catch a couple hours nap, get a shower, then do it again. It was late, we had been working in the print shop and gotten hungry and decided to grab a pizza. The only place open was a bar on KnightArnold called The KnightCapp...go figure. We ordered a pie and was playing a game of eight-ball while it cooked and this pretty little girl in a very short black dress and a pair of those chase me, catch me, take me home shoes on her feet walked over to me just as I was about to sink the eight-ball and get out of paying for breakfast. She leaned over and said to me "Mister, them blue eyes are gonna get you in some trouble.."
I scratched and had to pay for the pizza but did manage to make a date with the brazen beauty. Made a date for the very next night, in fact. She would meet me right there at the Knightcapp at 9:00 and we'd investigate my eye problem. I was there on time! In fact, I waited for most of the evening until finally around mid-night, Slider insisted I come back to the studio and help him record two dozen mostly large black women wearing bright red dresses and hats. Boy, could they sing! We recorded them in the auditorium and it was spectacular. Slider is the only person I ever met that could get 24 preened black women from a Southern Baptist Church into an auditorium at midnight in the middle of the week to record a gospel song. I didn't feel too bad about getting stood up, we were pretty busy.
About a week or two went by and Slider asked me to join him at Willi Moffet's main club to meet with the general manager and discuss advertising in the magazine so I met him there about 2:00 in the afternoon. There wasn't a large crowd there, so we introduced ourselves to the bar-tender and said that we had an appointment with the general manager. He said that he'd fetch her right away. Moments later, the pretty little girl that had stood me up walked out of the office. She still looked pretty damned fine. She shook Slider's hand then turned to me and said "I guess this means that I'm going to buy an ad in your magazine.." We had a most pleasant meeting, and several good laughs. She was a very nice person and had the club's disc jockey put one of Slider and my recordings on the house sound system and everybody seemed to enjoy it. In fact, she booked us into her club to replace the band that had been playing there for a while. We played there a few nights later and I ended up going home with that darling girl and she hasn't been able to get rid of me since. That is how I met the right-wanger. And you know what they call a guitar player without a girlfriend? Homeless.

 

Day 250, My Liberal Diary
I do very little shopping at big box stores. Most of my purchases are at a community grocery where the people know me and greet me warmly. The butcher always tells me when he's running some good specials on standing rib roasts or angus porter-house steaks. I enjoy the smell of spices and and home cooking from the deli counter and there are usually girl scouts selling cookies or kids selling candy outside the door to raise money for their softball team or school band. There is a cork board by the store entrance where you can post a picture of your boat for sale or missing dog. There are tables outside and you can eat breakfast or lunch in the shade, enjoy a coke, or just sit and have a cigar and watch it rain. Everybody says hello. I've been shopping there for nearly 15 years and have yet to see a single Walmartian, nobody wearing pajamas, not a single transvestite, and not even one negro with his trousers worn below his ass. This little community market is the saner part of a dichotomy where most must purchase needs and have come to accept the big box "diversity" as normal. Nobody notices if I remove my jacket while shopping and expose the firearm that I carry for protection, half the folks in there are probably armed. I stood patiently behind an elderly lady checking out and she did not have enough money to pay for her purchases. I slid a twenty dollar bill to the clerk and the lady thanked me graciously and without embarrassment. As I was packing my purchases into my vehicle, a young man came running over, extending his hand. He thanked me for helping his grandmother and said that he had left the money I had given her in an envelope with the clerk. I do very little shopping at big box stores. They are often cheaper and have a greater selection of products and I am sure that is great. I'll keep shopping at my little community store because I enjoy being a part of this community. God Bless.

 

Day 251, My Liberal Diary
I went to bed the other evening and the right-wanger was watching a movie on the chick-flick channel. It was the end of the movie and a lone woman came home to an empty house, walked outside to the barn, opened the door only to find a man holding a ring in his hand and the entire town population standing behind him. Talk about peer pressure!. He dropped to his knee and proposed marriage. All I could do was drop my jaw and say "Don't do it! It's a trap!" What the hell is this conditioning that people have gone through that proposals of marriage should be automatically accepted? Those damned Dutch diamond mongers have created a monster and the more failed marriages, the more diamonds sold. Jimi and I lived together for three years before we decided to get married. She knew that I might fart in my sleep and that I snore. I knew that she drank too much and didn't know how to cook corn bread. I taught her to cook corn bread and she bought a wiener dog so I could blame the farts on him. This is called compromise and it's a part of any successful contract. We decided to stay together and build a life together and we have done so. When we decided to get married, we obtained a license and made an appointment with a Justice of the Peace but on the way to his office, stopped to ask directions at an office supply store. The manager of the office supply store, when we explained we were about to be wed, said that he was a notary and had never performed a marriage but was legally entitled to do so and would love to marry us, if we were not stuck on finding that Justice of the Peace. So we were married by a notary in an office supply store on Beach Blvd. in Jacksonville, Florida. The store manager even took wedding pictures and made us copies on his state of the art xerox machine and dug a bottle of Krug out of the trunk of his car that he had been saving for a special occasion and toasted us. We returned to the house to find an impromptu wedding party in progress, hosted by my new sister in law. She was quite angry that we had gotten married without inviting her and as the amount of beer increased, she informed me that she would see me dead and in hell for marrying her sister. Welcome to the family.
Thirty years later, Jimi and I still take walks and hold hands. We laugh and we truly like one another. My sister in law still hates me.

 

Day 252, My Liberal Diary
I didn't bother to watch the State of the Union address last night mostly because I really just don't care for politicians , their lies or their grievances and piques. Rather than listen to a bunch of bought pundits tell me what someone is saying and explaining what they really mean, I prefer to just look around and see what the hell is going on. All my bills are paid and the bank of Nellie is over-flowing with quarters and dimes and I haven't had to rob her in months. The Global Warming issue, while serious, is somewhat confusing because I haven't experienced such a cold winter in decades. Women wearing pussy hats tried marching in protest again until someone asked them what they were protesting and put their answers on YOUTUBE and they saw how stupid they looked and sounded. Since the LGBTQs got so many television prime-time shows, they decided to leave well enough alone. There hasn't really been a decent riot since Donald Trump was elected but I think that is because people think he might just send a drone strike and bring it to a sudden stop. Democrats are still whining about everything but doing nothing. Hillary still manages to avoid prison somehow. I haven't heard a Bobwhite quail or a whipoorwill in nearly 30 years but I believe that is Monsanto's fault and not Trump's. Everybody that isn't a liberal democrat LGBTQ is a racist, including black people. I haven't heard the expression "N-word" used in nearly a year so maybe political correctness is being shoved back where it belongs. The stock market has never performed so well and continues to set new records. Gas prices are staying affordable. There is no longer a shortage of .22 rimfire ammunition, something that was impossible to find during the entire Obama administration. Everyone that I know that wants a job, has one.
I took my wife to dinner last night and we listened to some friends play music and had a wonderful evening. I am going to pronounce the Union in a pretty damned good state, despite the politicians.

 

Day 253, My Liberal Diary
A number of people have asked why the Black Caucus sat so stolid during the President's State of the Union Address when he mentioned that Black unemployment was at an ALL TIME LOW. Yes, a greater percentage of blacks now have real jobs that ever before in our nations history and with this announcement, instead of applause from the black caucus, you'd have thought someone dropped a turd in their punch-bowl. I am so proud that these fine people are finding work and becoming productive members of our society rather than being dependents. I can tell you that they are proud too. A man or a woman that earns their way in this world rather than relying on the system to provide for them develops a certain pride and that is an entitlement they have earned. Unfortunately, the black caucus was conceived to represent a dependent segment of society. They are elected to represent those that do not work and are dependent on the programs created to keep them living in poverty and totally reliant on the system. They have made their fortunes on feeding on the pork from these programs. Their power base is dependent on promising a segment of the population that they can have everything a working family has without the bonds of family, jobs, and civic responsibility. What is even more refreshing is that these people that are now employed and supporting themselves, see through the bullshit that has been spread so thickly since the inception of this segmented special interest group of legislators. Shame on you, you low-life political ticks. You disease spreading power-mongers are about to find a greater portion of your "constituency" is about to tar and feather your race-baiting hateful sorry asses right out of a job.

 

Day 254, My Liberal Diary
I was having an on-line conversation with members of a forum that I participate in about a record 2.5 mile shot with a rifle utilizing a newly developed wildcat cartridge as a direct challenge to the military preferences towards the .50 BMG and the .338 Lapua for long-range killing people and destroying materials, vehicles, equipment and such. It is a potentially lucrative and practical approach towards new business development; after all, our government is significantly invested in efficiently killing people to get our point across. The engineering and testing of such an undertaking, calculating the ballistics co-effecients, case pressures, propellants, bullet weight and shapes, all pretty much comes down to some Bubba sitting out in his reloading shed and at the range for thousands of hours, playing with his guns. All this is pretty much verifiable on Google, with some amazing Wikipedia. While we were kicking this subject around, I decided to eat a piece of black licorice candy. I haven't eaten a piece of licorice since I was a child but bought some today on a whim. Star Anise: that's the prevailing flavor. I wonder if it is a seed from a plant? Hmmmm the extract is taken from a star shaped seed from an evergreen that grows in Viet Nam and China. Apparently star anise is also the key component in making Tamaflu, or rather it was until Roche learned how to duplicate the needed acids using shit (e coli fermenting).
Sometimes I truly hate Google. There are some things that I really don't want to know that much detail about.
Eating that piece of licorice took me back to Trinidad, sipping a local beverage called Mauby. It is made from the bark of an indigenous tree and flavored with star anise and raw cane sugar syrup. The drink has a way of cooling you internally when working in the equatorial climate and after developing a taste for it, really is quite refreshing. I was missing the Caribbean and decided to prepare a dinner of Salt-fish Buljol and Bake, with avacado pears and plantains. This is a very favorite local fare in Port of Spain for pretty much any meal. It is basically salt preserved dried fish reconstituted by boiling to reduce the salinity, then fried in olive oil with peppers, onions, and tomatoes and served in a Bake. A Bake is sort of a fried biscuit made with coconut milk. I remembered sitting on the back deck of the Lana Rose anchored out in the harbor near Queen's Dock, Port of Spain. There were derelect ships all around us, many sunken and in varying states of decay. The shoreline was an area called "Sea-Lotts", the largest ghetto in Trinidad.
There was this crazy "Mad Max" sort of compound built on the shore. It was constructed from pieces of ships scavenged from the derelects off-shore. Even the two story shanty-house built inside the steel walls was constructed from beams and timbers and lumber salvaged from vessels. These was a shore watchman, an old fellow that resided inside an upside down bow-section for a ship. He sat around a burning smudge-pot, one of those old ones that used to mark highway construction. He would sit all night playing music on his single most prized possession, a steel drum. I would sit on the aft deck of the Lana, eating the dinner the locals had prepared for me and listening to this old man play his steel drum. It was haunting, in a manner, as this man was an armed guard at a medieval fortress in a ghetto in Port of Spain. He owned only his ragged clothes and his steel drum but he had a free place to weather, his meals were provided and he was given liberal amounts of the locally grown pot to keep him happy. Terry Hogan's compound was like a medieval castle, it housed a small tribe. The walls were to keep roving bands of bandits and looters out. It also discouraged the police. There were guards around the clock at all approaches. Some were armed with handguns or shotguns but most had cane knives, the local machete used as a general purpose implement for tasks ranging from sugar cane harvesting to paddling a wayward child. Sea-Lotts is not a safe place to live but the people there adapt and take whatever precautions necessary to protect their lives and property. It has always been that way, people always wanting what the other has worked to achieve. There have always been bandits and criminals everywhere that would take your life with little regard, just for your stuff. These people do it and they live in an economy where their annual income is less than the purchase price of my wrist-watch and our government does it with the entire wealth of a nation. I suppose that is the nature of mankind, to kill for profit. Most of our industry is geared towards manufacturing things to kill people with, ships, guns, bombs,airplanes, tanks, missiles, and don't feel so innocent if you manufacture shoes, clothes, tooth brushes, packaged food products or even toilet paper; you too are feeding the armies. I am not moralizing here, I'm all in favor of using lethal force to get your point across, if the point happens to be a matter of life and death.

 

Day 255, My Liberal Diary
I am trying to understand this thing about how people 'identify' themselves and why it should matter to anyone except the neurotic being that's having problems accepting the mediocrity of their lives. People used to identify themselves by their profession; "I'm a Lawyer." or "I'm a plumber." But now it's more common to hear boys identifying themselves as women, I guess they sort of disregard the anatomical thing. My sister always identified herself first as a policeman and wasn't PC enough to give a damn about gender in the title. I spent most of my life working as a salvage man. I lived an adventurous and sometime profitable life and lived and worked with people in so many different cultures and languages. In my years as a salvage man, I have been a commercial diver, I have worked with explosives, I have cut ships into with chains, I have been a ship's captain, a crane operator and heavy lift specialist, a welder and fitter both on the surface and under the sea, I have driven pilings and build bridges, I have raised sunken ships and I have been a quasi-legal Pirate. I have been introduced to many by one or more of those job titles more times than I can remember but it isn't really something that I identify myself with.
I tried to be a responsible step-parent to my wife, the right-wanger's two children but I never identified myself as a parent except on those rare occasions where some adult intervention was required. That was a part of life that was such a blessing in being able to help shape two fine young people into responsible adults.
I do not identify myself by sexual orientation. I am a male and predominately heterosexual but pretty open minded. I really don't think identifying with a biological function makes much sense. Surely wouldn't consider identifying myself as being a sneezer just because I'm allergic to cats and lord forbid being identified by extreme flatulance.
Some folks identify themselves by their religion. baptist, Moslem, Catholic, Jew, Jehovah's Witness, Later Day Saint, Pentacost, taoist, Wichan, I remember when Cecil, Tom , and Willi were forming the first frisbitarian church. They believed that when you died, your soul got stuck on the roof and wouldn't come down. Although I was raised in a church, I really don't recall much about it except the people were really nice and there was a lot of events with really good food.
Some identify themselves by race, tribe or ethnicity; Blacks, Latinos, Jews, Creole, Navajo, Asian and some by nationality: Colombian, French, African. My family tree is sort of mixed with hardwood, vines, and briars. We got some Scotch and Irish, a bit of German, some Cherokee and probably a few cousins in the branches so I really don't identify with a race or national origin.
A lot of people identify with political affiliations. I am not really a liberal or a conservative. I am not Republican or Democrat. I am not a socialist or communist or facist or racist. Just can't identify with any of these.
What do I identify with? Some might think it is a regional thing but it is more heritage than region. I am a Southerner. I was taught to be respectful of my fellow man until their behavior demanded a different approach. I was taught to say what I mean and to mean what I say. I was taught to listen, to assimilate, to evaluate, to plan and to implement. I take pride in my work and I take pride in the people that I work with. I believe that trust must be earned and that faith is for fools. I open door for ladies and I always walk my mother in law home when she visits. I am the one that fixes things. When there is an emergency, I get called first. I am the protector and guardian. I will stand my ground and I will fight until death if necessary. I am the provider in my home and family and I do not ask anyone for help. I am a story teller and a song writer and musician. My new project is a compilation of songs revolving around the War of Northern Aggression, excerpts from the lives of people then and now as we see history being rewritten in the name of political correctness. If you want to know what I identify with? Justin Wilson said it best when someone asked him what kind of wine to serve with that duck and he said "What kind wine you got?"