Woes Of The Solitary Man

As the SIX of you noticed, I haven’t posted anything for quite some time.  Now, I know what you‘re thinking: “Why ruin a good thing just before the holidays, right?  Well, get over it.  I’m doing this for ME!  I find myself needing to take an attitudinal “dump,” and this post is no more than a word-filled suppository.

Let’s get to the point.  Some old guys like me would rather live their lives as if wearing Harry Potter invisibility cloaks.  We try to fly SO far below the radar that our bellies have abrasions where hair used to be.  But unfortunately, the world is crowding in on us like we were sale items at the Swap Meet.  And the more it happens, the faster our “Bullshit Bags” fill up and need to be purged.  Today is one of those occasions.

It all hit the fan when I began getting this persistent message on my computer monitor:  “There are unused icons on your desktop. The desktop wizard can help you clean up your desktop.  Click this balloon to start the wizard.”

First of all, who in the hell is this “wizard” living in my computer without permission or a rental agreement?  And how the heck does he get the right to snoop on me and keep track of the frequency with which I use specific icons, anyway?  What’s more, why does he feel the need to assume that certain icons on my desktop are causing me stress and need to be banished for the sake of my mental health?  And who asked for his help, in the first place?  I certainly know how to use the “delete” key when I feel the need.

“My,” you might say, “what trivial things set you off these days, Mr. Paisano.  Get a grip !  It’s only the computer company trying to make you more efficient and well-organized.”  Well guess what?  My 9.5 decade-old  mother was a career secretary, and I got all the practice I needed in life efficiency and organization while I was growing up.  So as an older man, I now claim the absolute right to live my life in logistical chaos if I wish.  And that could mean  storing my woodworking tools in the refrigerator, or stashing my pepperoni in the underwear drawer if it makes me happy.

Frankly, I’m damn sick and tired of strangers who couldn‘t care less about me, yet strive to dictate the way I live my life.  A meddling government, for example, that mandates I have health insurance that covers me should I become the first male in history to experience an immaculate conception.  And nannycrats with big enough balls to legislate how much trans fat I can eat, or the size of my “Big Gulp,” or if I can buy “E Cigarettes” as an alternative to tobacco.

Not to mention those agencies that keep records of my calls or e-mails simply because I know someone named “Samir,” or because there’s a possibility I’m spending time with “Mrs. Habeeb” at the Senior Center because we’re plotting to bomb the DMV for taking lousy pictures at our last driver‘s license appointment. What a perverse twist of governmental “oversight.” 

And what gives anyone I don’t know, the right to collect and store every scrap of my personal information? And what need is there for the feds to have the GPS coordinates of my front door on file?  Even if I fall and can’t get up, they’re the last ones I’d want to show up to administer help.  And why should some spy system assume I’m dyslexic and was Googling for “porn,” when all I was attempting to do was learn more about shellfish, and mistakenly typed “pron” in the search box thinking it was the correct spelling for “prawn.” 
 
Beyond that, there should be no need for me to endure ten solicitation calls a day when I’m supposedly on the “No Call” list, or have to wait for commercials before I can view something on You Tube.  And I should still be able to pay with an old-fashioned check, instead of being forced to put my personal information on the internet in order to make purchases from certain companies.

Financially, I shouldn’t have a $49.95 “money-saving” bundled package with Verizon, and end up paying almost $75.00 after “someone” tacks on a bunch of mysterious fees in miniscule print.  And my rates for certain utilities shouldn’t skyrocket the minute my neighbors and I do a great job of conserving resources and cause the revenues of those companies to drop.  Who granted them the right to a guaranteed  income, anyway, especially using MY money?
 
Finally, as a solitary man I strive to live a “nag-free” life, and not feel like a polygamist husband at the wrong time of the month.  That’s an impossibility, however.  My computer bugs me regularly with messages to get off my ass and start using Facebook because there are SCORES of folks just dying to “talk” to me.  (Who are these people, and what is their mental condition if they need ME in order for their lives to be complete?)  And my mailman has gotten a hernia delivering “reminders” that I’ve failed to renew a magazine to which I subscribed in 1996, or that I’m going to miss out on someone’s special offer that ends in twelve hours, forty-two minutes, and three seconds.  I mean, what the hell?    

  The truth is obvious, Folks.  There has never been a time in history when there has been more meddling in our personal lives.  Our daily pursuits are riddled with unsolicited “wizards” of all sorts, human and otherwise… all forcing us to either change the way we live, or perish like the dinosaurs.  And guys like me who continue to resist, well… we’re considered fossils.  So take note, the SIX of you who actually read this stuff.  Start calling me Prehistoric Paisano if you like, understanding I’m more than comfortable being classified as “petrified remains,” and make absolutely no bones about it ! 

Another Attack On Fortune Cookie Messages

Brace yourself!  I’m in one of those moods where if the Rapture occurred and I was the only one left on the planet, I’d feel it was almost one person too many.  Even a mild-mannered gent like myself, when forced to function in a world full of absolute blockheads, builds a level of frustration that after awhile, needs release.  So, what better way to do that non-violently ? Take  twenty more of those numbskullish, narcissistic fortune cookie messages, and tack on some grouchy sarcasm (in blue) !!

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True wisdom is found in happiness.... thus you will remain stupid the rest of your life.

Make a wise choice everyday.... and you will be unique among the jackasses with whom you associate.

Not all closed eye is sleeping, nor open eye is seeing..... nor black eye is because you didn't deserve it.

Seize every second of your life and savor it.... as the cholesterol- filled grizzle it is.

Vision is the art of seeing what is invisible to others.... blindness is art of writing stupid statements like that.

It's kind of fun to do the impossible.... because when you ultimately fail you have a built-in alibi.

When in doubt, let your instincts guide you.... understanding they cannot be used in court as a legal defense.

You will have an extremely bright future… but only if you wrap yourself in aluminum foil from head to foot.

Love is on its way.... or at least that's what you always say when you’re not getting any.

You are one of the people who "goes places in life."..... but NOWHERE is highly overrated.

We cannot change the direction of the wind, but we can adjust our sails.... or just sell the damn boat and cut our losses altogether.

Begin your life anew with strength, grace, and wonder.... why you're gullible enough to believe this crap.

You are often asked if it’s in yet..... which doesn't engender much self-confidence, right, Lover Boy?

A beautiful, smart, and loving person will be coming into your life.... and quickly regretting having done so.

You create your own stage ... the audience is waiting.... to watch you make an idiot of yourself.

Do not follow where the path may lead. Go where there is no path, and leave a trail.... so that the rescue squad has some idea of where to look for your dumb ass.

You believe in the goodness of mankind..... as well as unicorns, the Tooth Fairy, and that someday you're going to lose weight.

You are broad minded and socially active..... so don't abandon those monthly blood tests.

You will have many happy days soon..... as long as your medical marijuana card gets authorized.

Unleash your life force..... and let the dog that it is, run away.

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Read more fortune cookie messages from Paisano’s point of view, at these links:

http://theprattlingpaisano.blogspot.com/2013/02/fortune-cookie-messages-for-pessimists.html

http://theprattlingpaisano.blogspot.com/2011/06/fortune-cookie-messages-lets-get-real.html

Romance At The Local Park

When you’re an old guy like me, bad feet and questionable knees make your choice of exercise regimens rather limited.  And since puttering around in the shop, or sitting at the computer trying to write interesting commentary is not considered legitimate exercise, my choice of physical activity has defaulted to bike riding within a couple miles of my house.

While I could easily go off on a rant about bike riding, I‘ll save that for another time.  I mean, any activity that makes you feel like a buck during hunting season, calls for some sort of exposure as the second deadliest urban exercise after being chased by muggers and/or bill collectors.  But in circling my local park’s vehicle area, I’ve slowly become quite a chronicler of what actually goes on there during daylight hours. And believe it or not, there’s a shocking amount of romance in the air.

For example, it’s a handy haven for horny Middle School students who walk past it on their way home.  Clumped around those more “out of the way” picnic benches, they ardently practice a variety of chasing, catching, and “rubbing up against each other” skills so appealing at that age.  Maybe it’s just normal adolescent behavior, or perhaps a “hands-on” homework assignment for their Human Sexuality class.

Then there are the couples who meet for lunch, arriving in  separate vehicles.  They park at different spots in the lot, then meet at a table somewhere in between.  Once there, some snuggle and smooch while they share sustenance, and others sit separately and pass things across the table.  Whether picnicking or not, my guess is that the snugglers and smoochers are most likely not married, and the ones with the space between them, are.

Another coed “grouping” also arrives in separate cars, but ends up in either one vehicle or the other.  They usually begin by chatting for a few moments, but inevitably move on to more tactile forms of communication which, if happening in colder weather, would certainly fog up every window in short order. 

Of course, there are couples who arrive at the park together, then walk hand-in-hand to areas unknown, glancing back over their shoulders as they go. They always seem to reappear ten to twenty minutes later with new looks of appreciation on their faces, most likely for the bounties provided by nature to those with a strong attraction for each other.

And almost always, there’s at least one couple under a blanket in 80 degree heat, moving in ways that make it clear they must have mistakenly stretched it out over a colony of red ants.  Of course,  they might be practicing wrestling strategies for the 2016 Olympics, even though I’m not aware that “lip locks” are one of the moves that are either legal, or need much practice even if they are. 

Finally, every once and awhile a Senior couple hobbles from their vehicle, pulled by a dust mop of a dog on a long leash.  They usually end up on the closest bench, and while no less romantic than those around them, their expression of love is usually more geriatric than athletic.  A gentle hand on the shoulder, or simple sharing of a small snack among all three, seems to say it all.  And once and awhile they glance at their youthful counterparts, then turn and smile sweetly at each other.  And while I’m still circling on my bike observing from afar, I can almost hear them quietly saying, “Been there, done that!”

For Better Or Worse, Boys Will Be Boys

In a recent attempt to ban legal abortions after twenty weeks of pregnancy, Representative Michael Burgess (R-TX) stated that because he’s seen sonograms of male fetuses masturbating in the womb at around 15 weeks, it’s proof that since they feel pleasure, they must conversely, feel pain.

To his credit, Mr. Burgess did not made these observations by  frequenting porn sites that specialize in vaginal voyeurism.  Apparently he’s a doctor/legislator who has delivered hundreds of babies, thus studied at least that many sonograms.

Anyway, while it is certainly NOT my purpose to extend the abortion debate on this occasion, I DO think it’s noteworthy to make a few observations regarding these claims.  First of all, critics might say his definition of “masturbating” is far too vague.  After all, the only thing to which he can attest is that he’s seen male fetuses with “their hand between their legs.”  Realistically, he could have seen that at the mall watching male adults.  With fetuses, however, maybe they were just scratching an annoying itch, or determining whether their testicles had descended.  Or perhaps they were simply checking ahead of time to see how they might “measure up” as compared to other boys, if they survive long enough to make it to a Middle School shower room.

Not only that, since sonograms are captured as “still” pictures, a mere hand between the legs does not reveal whether the classic “movement” generally associated with this type of self- gratification, is indeed occurring.  Besides, if it actually IS going on, wouldn’t one assume that the offending fetus would blow his cover by having a wide grin on his face as the picture is taken?  Burgess never mentioned anything about happy facial expressions.

Furthermore, according to my research, a 15 week old fetus is approximately the size of a lemon.  By my guess that would make his “member” about an eighth inch long at best, even when erect.  Now if that toddler on the commercial can’t even grab a few Cheerios well enough to put them it his or her mouth at two or three years old, how in the heck can a fetus with relatively NO hand-eye coordination grab on to anything that miniscule, let alone manipulate it?

Perhaps this discovery of possible masturbation in male fetuses, says more about the nature of “maleness” rather than anything relating to abortion.  Because if the Burgess observations ARE correct, it reinforces what we adult males have known all along.  Basically, we’re very horny creatures.  And even without the benefit of visual stimuli, we are wired to remain in that mode until we croak.  In short, sexual impulses are as automatic as breathing.  And if you don’t believe me, consider this.  Nowhere in any of the sonograms to which Burgess referred, was the male fetus holding a girly magazine in the other hand.

Male masturbation most likely began in the Garden of Eden when Eve was in a bad mood.  And it has continued throughout history.  Yeah, you heard me!  I’m still not completely convinced that it was his “violin” with which Nero was fiddling while Rome burned.

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In time, boys turn into old men.  For Paisano's take on that, you might like to read this:

http://theprattlingpaisano.blogspot.com/2013/01/in-defense-of-dirty-old-men.html 

The Famous Feline Got It Right !!

As an old-timer, I don’t like to bitch and moan about this disaster society calls, “getting older.”  Doing so not only makes me appear grouchy, but lends credence to the myth that Seniors are always out of sorts and eager to rain on everyone’s parade. 

But let’s face it.  Aging is not for the faint of heart.  And all you young “whippersnappers” who ignore the fact that it’s YOUR fate, too, will hear me chuckling from the Great Beyond when years from now you have trouble getting out of a chair without groaning, or can’t figure out what to cut from your budget so you can afford that new medication that’s helping keep you alive.

Recently I received an e-mail that describes “old age” with not only blunt language and deadly accuracy, but with the borrowed authority of one who is trusted around the world for saying it like it is.  Yes, the “Cat In The Hat,” (who I figure will soon be reaching sixty himself), has cut to the descriptive heart of the issue.  And while he’s not yet MY age, he’s certainly reached those years where the sad preview of what’s ahead begins to unfold, and one's physical destiny becomes more than abundantly clear. 

The Cat In The Hat On Aging

I cannot see
I cannot pee,
I cannot chew
I cannot screw.
Oh, My Gawd, what can I do?

My memory shrinks
My hearing stinks,
No sense of smell
I look like hell.
My mood is bad… can you tell?

My body’s drooping
Have trouble pooping,
My knees are shot
Need sleep a lot.
The Golden Years have come at last
The Golden Years can kiss my ass !

DISCLAIMER:  No authentic Dr. Seuss manuscript was used in the creation of this e-mail, nor can credit be given to its originator since there are 80 million of us who could have written it from first-hand experience.

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For a less irreverent view of getting older, you might like to read this:

http://theprattlingpaisano.blogspot.com/2012/02/feeling-at-home-in-ninety-nine-cent.html 

The Death Rattles of Paisano’s Prattles

This post is my one hundredth since I began blogging.  And in July, I will have toiled at this keyboard for 1,095 long days… though not in a row.  Frankly, these statistics astound me.  Who would have ever thought I’d endure that long?  Certainly not me.

My first post said it all.  (Link:  http://theprattlingpaisano.blogspot.com/2010/07/what-heck-am-i-doing-here.html )  I am basically a flake when it comes to projects like this, and less faithful to such commitments than Bill was to Hillary in a matrimonial sense.  But I plodded forward, anyway, hoping these character flaws were recessive.  With each new post I tried to improve my writing style, while proving I could stick to something difficult, long enough for someone to notice it was gone once I finally pulled the plug.

Well, guess what?  First of all, my writing style hasn’t noticeably improved.  I’m still long-winded, and verbose to a fault.  Quoting a college writing professor, I never fail to, “… use big words where simpler ones will do.”  As far as being missed when I’m gone, were I to exit the blogosphere today, my apologies need extend to only a faithful few, that when counted on two hands number less than the ever stiffening digits used to make the tally.

Beyond that, I take issue with Edward Bulwer-Lytton’s line,  “The pen is mightier than the sword.”  Not one thing I’ve written on substantive matters, has generated noticeable discussion.  This can only mean two things:  Either I’m preaching to the choir, or as a “sword,” this blog has no cutting edge.  And if I decided to commit suicide in a fit of despair, I’d have better luck impaling myself on the pen.

What I’m saying is simple.  The time is drawing very near where I feel it appropriate to draw the curtains on this endeavor, and gracefully exit stage left.  When I do, I will have no regrets that my time has been wasted.  After all, think of all the hours I consumed writing, that might have been less productive carousing with those hussies at the Senior Citizen Home.  And think of all the angst I shed and the high blood pressure medicine I saved, ranting about the idiotic things around me that pissed me off.

Is it because I’ve run out of things about which to prattle?  Absolutely not.  What I’ve run out of is enthusiasm.  It’s the old, “been there, done that” attitude that inevitably seems to creep in and move me on to something new.  It’s the sad hallmark of someone whose resume of life accomplishments, is far wider than it is deep.  But, as Popeye always said, “I yam who I yam.”  And after seven-plus decades, it’s kind of hard to change now.

To new readers of this blog, I suggest you go back through my posts and see what’s been on my mind over time, that is, if you’re remotely interested.  And were you to move your computer into the bathroom, please understand there’s enough prattling to keep you busy through an extended bout of acute constipation.  

To my small band of “regulars,” don’t bury me yet.  I’m sure I’ll have more to say, but just not on a regular basis.  My suggestion to you is this.  Consider signing up for an e-mail subscription (“Follow by E-Mail” box just under the last post on page one).  It will save you time checking in to see if I’ve written anything new.  Whenever I do, you’ll be notified electronically.  Isn’t some technology wonderful…?

Peace, Friends !!

The Instinct To Get Around Stuff

I seem to do a lot of “pondering” these days.  Sometimes I get SO deep in thought that this house might easily be renamed, the “Ponderosa.”  Anyway, a number of recent events made me begin to wonder what might be causing this world to be such a screwed up place.  So, I began a cursory review of what makes people tick, and why that ticking is more often than not, the sound of a time bomb ready to go off.

Psychologically speaking, there seem to be certain innate forces which make people behave in particular ways.  Sometimes these are called, “instincts.”  Freud said there were both life and death instincts.  But whether you concur with his categories or not, most psychologists seem to loosely agree with those in the following list:

-  The instinct to reproduce, to survive, to strive and compete, to be liked and accepted, to form groups, and to provide for the group‘s needs and protection.

Now, it’s obvious that each activity on the list can lead to positive and uplifting human behavior which makes society better.  But it’s also easy to imagine how some of them, (sex and competition, in particular), can morph into situations that end up destroying individuals and those around them.  After all, you only have to watch Jerry and Maury on daytime television to see that’s true.  No matter, I personally think the traditional “instincts” get far too much credit for creating the terrible condition in which the world finds itself.  And in my ponderings, I may have uncovered one that’s much less recognizable, but far more dangerous that the rest.

I call this instinct, “circumvoidance.”  I coined the word blending both “circumvention” and “avoidance” together.  In its simplest form, it means, “getting around stuff,” or “getting over on someone or something.” I think I first recognized it as a kid, when I used to spend time trying to block the paths of busy ants with a twig.  Each and every time I obstructed their way, they made an immediate direction change in order to continue to their desired destination.  It didn’t matter what I did.  They didn’t hesitate to change direction, go over or around, or employ evasive action for longer than I had the  patience to stand in their way.

People are no different.  We live in a structured society of rules and boundaries, a world with established “does” and “don’ts.”  And those limitations, no matter how benign or well intentioned, are just like a twig blocking our life path, and thwarting us from doing exactly what we WANT, right or wrong.  Circumvoidance, then, is as normal and spontaneous an instinct as breathing is in a physiological sense.  But its danger is that it colors our decisions each and every moment we’re awake.

So what does it mean?  In a simple sense, it’s when someone decides what he wants to do, then finds a way to do it regardless of all impediments.  In a negative sense it makes us all “bend” the rules, especially if we think we won’t get caught.  And it’s why we lie, cheat, and breach moral and ethical standards to reach our goals, however worthy or unworthy they might be.

Circumvoidance functions to make a mockery of laws, treating them as mere roadblocks around which we will steer if doing so satisfies our needs.  In the simplest sense, it’s the reason a Second Grader looks at his neighbor’s paper during a test, hoping to bring up his score by a few points.  It’s why citizens “adjust” the numbers when filling out forms, trying to reduce their tax liability or enhance social benefits.  It’s why folks cut into line at the checkout counter and tick everybody off.  And it’s the reason we all eat that extra dessert, then rationalize we’ll walk around the block an extra time to make up for it.  

In the most vile sense it’s why clerics molest kids within the walls of God‘s house, then rationalize they’ll be forgiven because their God is merciful.  And it’s why politicians find devious ways to begin undeclared wars, killing their citizens in the name of patriotism.  And it’s the reason that things like gun control bans will NEVER stop senseless killings.  Such legislation simply becomes like that pesky twig I mentioned.  And, when someone really wants you dead, they’ll smash your head in with a loaf of stale Italian bread when they can’t find a gun.

Circumvoidance, then, means there are no absolutes other than death itself.  And no matter how airtight a law or rule may seem, or how restrictive a given circumstance may appear, the impulse to get around it and reach a desired goal will never subside.  That’s what’s screwing up the world, in my opinion, and we all might as well get used to it.  It’s never going to change, because that’s how the human species is wired.

That’s what I think, and I’m sticking to it!  And I’ll bet if you disagree with my conclusion, you’ve already got an answer to get around it…… don’t you?

Children and Self-Esteem

Back-in-the-day before educating the whole child was supplanted by manipulating high test scores out of them, the building of self-esteem was a focus and priority of all good teachers.  Of course, as happens with anything, while everyone tried, some of us were better at it than others.  Nonetheless, it was an honorable goal that if achieved, had lasting and valuable benefit for every young student.

There was an era when the whole thing got out of hand, however.  So much emphasis was focused on making kids feel good, that it began to resemble hype more than substance.  Comments like, “You’re doing very well, Johnny,” began to ring hollow when it was obvious that Johnny was failing miserably.  “You are all wonderful children,” almost brought snickers from those who had regular brushes with the adult staff.  So, what seemed to make this goal of getting kids to feel better about themselves, ineffective?  One was that much of it was basically bologna posing as steak, and the kids recognized the difference.  Also, the majority of this “encouragement” was done verbally, leaving out more subtle techniques which ended up proving far more effective.

From some college psychology class, I remember one line which seemed to lodge in my brain during one of my conscious moments in the lecture hall.  It was this:  “You learn about yourself through the eyes of others.”  Simply put, as you watch the reactions of others to what you do, you slowly build an image of who you are as a person.  It’s subtle, non-verbal, but deadly efficient in establishing one’s self-worth.  Fortunately, I guess that’s how I chose to deal with my students when I began teaching.  And though I said many positive things to them each day, my verbal comments were always honest and descriptive of something they had done.  “I like the patience you showed,” or “Your handwriting today is some of the neatest.”  “That drawing makes me feel happy,” or “You should be proud of how you improved on today’s quiz.”  Whatever I said, then, was a reflection of what they actually knew they had done, and not simply a patronizing comment that could be disputed by fact.

Intertwined with that objective commentary, however, was the less obvious use of non-verbal messages that many teachers never realized were so potent in developing positive self-esteem.  Making direct eye contact with every child, and smiling at them was one of the easiest.  It still works today, as some of my biggest fans at school are kids to whom I’ve never said a word. Because I smile at them each time our paths cross, however, they think they’re special and likeable.  After all, they see it on my face.

In the classroom other non-verbal gestures worked wonders, as well.  A simple “thumbs up” and wink when someone was working hard, conveyed I appreciated their industrious attitude.  A smile and pat on the shoulder as I passed their desk, let them know I valued their presence as a member of our classroom family.  The silent pointing of my finger to a sentence they’d written or math problem they’d solved, while nodding my head and smiling, told them I liked the quality of their thinking.  And a smattering of single words descriptive of how I feel about whatever they were doing, academic or not, went a long way towards making them feel good about themselves.  “Great… Funny… Love It… Nice… Yessss,” (accompanied by a smile, of course), always made them feel capable and special.  And a simple, “Thank you,” when I caught them doing something nice, always served to make them want to do it again, and more often.

Everything said, then, perhaps the whole subject of helping kids feel good about themselves, is less a psychological pursuit than a human one.  Summing it up for ME, it would be as simple as this:  “More smiling, and less patronizing talk.”  And taking it one step farther, I’d add this admonition:  “Never forget that kids can read you like a book!  Their eyes are like a truth filter, that seldom interprets what’s in your heart, incorrectly.  And always remember, they DEFINITELY know the difference between steak and bologna.” 

The Slippery Slope Gets Slipperier

There are many in this country that are concerned that slowly, almost imperceptibly, our basic freedoms are being eroded.  It’s my opinion that one does not have to be a conspiracy crackpot to arrive at such a conclusion.  All it takes is a moment of clarity to observe what has now become the accepted rationale for our government making such incursions into personal freedom seem perfectly reasonable

The whole process is based on FEAR.  Whenever something tragic happens in this country, reactionaries come out of the woodwork with a new law that promises to protect the public.  Usually, however, they never stop to concede that this “perceived” safety comes at the expense of some small personal freedom.  And few citizens seem to understand or even care, that in a cumulative sense, the following equation becomes true:  “Small + small + small + small, = LARGE.”

There are many examples of what I mean.  The fiasco of 9-11 spawned the Patriot Act with gave the government sweeping powers to snoop on citizens.  One idiot with a makeshift shoe bomb caused every airline traveler to have to take off his or her shoes before boarding a flight.  Another malcontent with an underwear bomb made it necessary for me to walk through a machine at the airport and let TSA agents get a glimpse of my family jewels.

And whenever shooting tragedies happen around the country, gun legislation becomes the effort of the day, with almost matter-of-fact claims that it will save our children and stop indiscriminate violence.  Of course, on slow days, pain-in-the-ass Nannycrats come out of the woodwork and begin pushing personal limitations, such as trying to mandate the size of soft drinks we can buy in order to save us from ourselves.

Concurrently, when specific “safety” statutes are codified into law, certain practices expand and become commonplace in the name of public safety.  The recent Boston Marathon terrorism and ultimate identification of its perpetrators, for example, highlighted the wide but unregulated use of cameras in public areas.  While such surveillance DID serve law enforcement after the fact, it did nothing to either stop the bombing, or make sidewalk spectators more safe.  That said, however, cameras will most likely become the unspoken “heroes” of this whole sick event, and when the next legislator suggests they be mandated every fifty feet in public areas, most people will quickly agree, then feel like they’re going to get a better night’s rest because of it.

There is a small minority of Americans who are usually branded as reactionaries, whenever they ask this question:  “If we allow THIS, (some reduction of our freedom), then what next?”  A recent news story makes me think that they’re asking exactly the right question.  In a new discussion of the legality and/or propriety of using drone aircraft over this country, the rationale of  government proponents, of course, is again, “safety-based.” Bureaucrats admit to nothing negative in the purposes such drones would serve.  Well, guess what?  Even before a lick of legislation is penned on the issue, along comes PETA stating that when drone use becomes legal, it’s going to purchase and use its own to snoop on hunters, insuring that they’re treating animals in a legal and ethical manner.  Then what?  The “slippery slope” analogy makes it a possibility, that the Outdoorsman Lobby will trump PETA’s move and employ drones, as well, to alert hunters about the location of PETA drones that are snooping on them high above the forest.

In short, the erosion of our freedoms is easiest understood by the old folktale about how to cook a frog.  You put it in a pot of cold water, over a very low flame.  As the water warms up the frog adjusts, and unconcerned by the slowly rising temperature, doesn’t jump out of the pot.  The flame continues to be raised in small increments, and inevitably the water begins to boil and the frog is doomed.  It’s a simple but effective way to accomplish just about anything… if you have the patience, that is.

I have one immediate fear, then, based on the recent terrorist bombing at the Boston Marathon.  To artificially allay our fears  about another such tragedy, and to generate a false sense of safety and security among us all, pressure cookers may well be the next object legislated out of the American lifestyle.  Now how in the heck am I going to cook artichokes when that happens?    

California: The “Not So Golden” State

This post is for all you out-of-staters that sit in front of the T.V. watching the Rose Bowl Parade once a year, and drool all over your lap wishing you lived in California.  Oh, if you could only move to where the palm trees sway, and where the sky is blue, and where you’d be accepted and valued no matter your race or political persuasion.  Where you’d have unbridled freedom to do what you want, when you want, and often with the financial blessing of a government so eager to enable your unique lifestyle.  Ah, YES, the aptly nicknamed, Golden State… where you can almost imagine the streets littered with shiny doubloons, and the freedom to stuff your pockets with them.

Hey, Pilgrim, WAKE UP !  Slap yourself in the face a dozen times, or jump into a cold lake clothes and all.  SNAP OUT OF IT, for goodness sake !  Other than the weather, the whole thing’s an illusion, just like the voluptuous breasts and perfect teeth of many of those beauties atop the floats.  If you don’t believe me, consider this.

In their most recent study, the Mercatus Center of George Mason University ranked California FORTY-NINTH out of the fifty states, for personal and economic freedom.  And every day it gets even worse, with a host of new “constraints” being instituted by Nannycrat legislators in Sacramento.  Yeah, that cool surfer dude you see skimming freely on the crest of a California wave, is really not as free as he looks.  Let me quote, verbatim, from the study’s conclusions:

- “Contrary to popular perception, California not only taxes and regulates its economy more than most other states, it also aggressively interferes in the personal lives of its citizens.”

- “California simply needs to cut government spending.  The budget categories most out of line with the rest of the country are administration, social services, environment and housing, and “other.”

- “Labor laws are extremely strict…  Health insurance coverage mandates add about 49% to the cost of premiums in the state.”

- “Eminent-domain reform has been cosmetic, and the state’s liability system almost reaches the abysmal quality of the Deep South’s.”

-  “… It also has the most restrictive gun laws in the country, a highly restrictive policy regime for motorists, and smoking bans.”

-  “The state’s civil asset-forfeiture regime is arguably the best in the country, apart from North Carolina’s which has only criminal forfeiture.” 

Wow, pretty harsh!  But just so everyone doesn’t have to unpack their suitcases and cancel the move west, the study was clear that California DID get good grades in at least two specific  categories of personal freedom:

-  “California does well on same-sex partnerships and marijuana…”

So there you have it.  Besides the weather, what might be considered as positive freedoms are only a  reality for a minority of those “categorized” populations living here.  Meanwhile, the rest of us shake our heads in dismay, looking ahead with horror to the next Rose Parade and it’s deceptive, one-dimensional portrayal of California life. And while we hope that outsiders recognize it as “smoke and mirrors,” we nonetheless stay indoors through March, seeking to avoid being run over by a stampede of out-of-state hopefuls, who’ve come here looking for the “gold” and personal freedoms they think exist.

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If you want to check out how YOUR state ranks in the categories of personal and economic freedom, you can do so by clicking the "List View" tab at the top-right of this map:  www.freedominthe50states.org
   

Oh, How Things Have Changed !

Recently I went to the memorial service of a friend who was a teacher and principal back-in-the-day when my career began.  The service was a wonderful tribute, not only to his life, but his days as an exceptional educational leader.  I’m sure he was smiling as he listened to, and watched the proceedings from his lofty new vantage point.

One of the things that people remembered about him most, was his closeness to the kids that went to his school.  There was not one child whose name he didn’t know, as well as that of siblings, parents, and long-lost relatives.  And that wasn’t all.  He took a personal interest in every last one, making the time to know and appreciate them as real, live people.  They were like his very own children, not simply educational “clients” that he and his staff were obligated to serve.

In my recent return to school, my dear friend’s philosophy about dealing with children is all but extinct.  While it was simply the way we did things back then, today it’s not a priority to put the human aspects of kids before the intellectual challenges which manipulate them into getting higher test scores.  In fairness, teachers no longer have much time for true personal interaction.  They’re on a rigid schedule of “skill drill,” and under relentless scrutiny from the numbskulls at the district office who sit at their computers and study benchmark scores.  What a tragic turn of events for everyone !!

If you don’t believe me, consider this.  Despite my decades of teaching experience, in order to sub I had to recently take a “Sexual Harassment” class in order to qualify.  And while the obvious subject of “physical contact” issues were discussed, another one came up that threw me for a loop.  In essence, beyond touching kids inappropriately, the message of staying out of their personal lives was clearly invoked.  “DON’T GET INVOLVED,” they said continually, either directly or indirectly.  “KEEP YOUR EMOTIONAL DISTANCE,” they warned.  You are a teacher, and to be an effective one does not call for anything more than strong instructional skills.

No wonder today’s kids seek other sources of personal interaction that often get them into trouble.  There was a time when their teachers ministered to their WHOLE being, which  meant far more than just their brain.  Through personal involvement we showed kids what was right and wrong, what was cultured and what wasn’t. We gave children insight into their budding talents and abilities, and gave them strategies to deal with personal limitations as they appeared.  We impressed upon them their citizenship in the human community, and the obligation to try one’s best to make everyone better by using personal strengths for the greater good.  We shared the things that we loved, hoping that they would learn to love them, too.  And we taught, through example, that treating others with kindness and respect was the most productive way to live one’s live, while making the world a better place.

Before I put my violin away, then, let me say a few last words to those of you who have turned education into a bad production of the “The Emperor’s New Clothes,” and exposed its ass with your delusion about high test scores (which mostly serve to make YOU look good).  Another thing about which I was reminded at my friend’s service, was that when we focused on the WHOLE child back then, and got involved with them as important living creatures, a ton of them went on to be outstanding members of the community… doctors, lawyers, heads of corporations, teachers, pastors, and high-powered players in society.  They also became skilled craftsmen, technicians, and service providers, concurrent with functioning as successful parents and exceptional role models to the young. Just luck, you say?  Not a chance.  And if my old friend H. B. was still here to comment, I know that after he smiled and stuck out his chest for his role in that truth, he’d agree with this final statement… but say it in a much classier and diplomatic way than I:  “You self-serving, “justify-your-job,” pseudo-expert district test freaks, are getting an absolutely, positively FAILING GRADE  when it comes to educating our kids for real life!”

Young Paisano, The Public Prattler

As I was stashing my December 1, 2012 “Letter To The Editor” in a folder of other letters, I came across a yellowed newspaper clipping of something I had written to a local editor the year after I graduated from High School.  It was mostly a self-serving appeal, considering I built and was driving a modified car, and was one of the more “literate” car guys who might have a shot swaying public opinion to the benefit of all the hot rodding brotherhood. Anyway, as most of these opinion letters go, it ended up as an impotent exercise that only vented our collective frustration.  It never changed one “establishment” mind about the subject, and didn’t move our cause ahead one inch.  It did, however, have an unexpected benefit.  My image soared among other backyard mechanics who liked what I said, and it became my first, “fifteen minutes of fame.”  Anyway, here it is… the opinion of a gadflying teenager with grease under his fingernails.

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Letter To The Editor:

In a front page article on August 2, a familiar and often reiterated statement was made by an irate city judge as he viewed a case at hand.  It read, “We have to do something about the speeding and racing going on around here.” His apparent solution: A $100 fine imposed on each of the two guilty individuals.

I must say that this $200, while no doubt increasing the city’s treasury, contributed little, if anything, to the curbing of this ever increasing problem.

First of all, there are things that the average person should be filled in about concerning the topic, “Niagara Falls vs. Speed.”

     1. While being comparably small in size, our city has a higher percentage of modified cars (either licensed or strictly competition) than do cities of double population.
     2.  There are hundreds of cars being built in backyard sheds, that while unfinished today, will be on the road in the future.
     3.  Also, Niagara Falls has the honor of claiming the fastest car in New York State and surrounding areas, as well as Canada, one which also holds a “World’s” speed record.
     4. Car enthusiasts spend thousands of dollars each year, for racing and speed equipment.
     5. Finally, Niagara Falls has scores of victory trophies from various sanctioned speed events as far away as 500 miles.

Now, let’s face it!  Speed is as much a part of our city as the Falls itself. Although officials have pondered this problem endlessly, the only hope instilling answer comes from the car enthusiast himself.  For at least two years the plea for a local supervised drag strip has been made.  Land and financial backers were sought.  Sheriff and State Police Departments were asked to supervise these events.  And even though a majority of people were for it, a varied few blocked the move with such “flimsy” arguments as “cars making too much noise while in competition.”

All in all, to those people I say, if standing a little noise one day a week is harder to bear than perhaps attending the funeral of a child who was hit by a speeding car, your concepts are warped beyond reason.  If the speed urge needs an outlet, give it a safe one in the form of supervised, clean competition.  Let’s get the horsepower out in the country where it belongs… with the rest of the horses!

Paisano  (August 6, 1960)

Let The Music Play On

It’s not often that I get a chance to make a serious point about something in which I deeply believe, and offer moving evidence of its worth at the same time.  In this post, however, I hope to do just that by using the real-life stories of two people.  I learned about them in e-mails I received from friends, and would like to share their stories with you here.

As you probably know, when schools receive funding cuts, among the first things to “go” are activities in the Arts.  District number crunchers are usually quick to say that when things need to be eliminated, subjects like art, music, and drama are tossed first because they do not directly contribute to higher test scores and academic achievement.  Of course I totally disagree, but that’s a subject for another post.  My focus today is specifically on music, and how it had a life-changing effect on a couple of wonderful young people.  And while it may not have brought up their test scores, it kept them going when the odds of doing so were stacked against them.

Because their stories are captured in video essays, I invite you to click on the titles, below, and see for yourself.  Both are visual tales in the Susan Boyle tradition.  When you’re done, I hope you can see why the Arts, especially music, should be an integral part of every young child’s education, and not an annual victim of the chopping block when times become financially tight.  And, if you believe strongly enough that what I’m saying is true, and that these video stories are merely more dramatic examples of what music does for kids in the classroom each and every day, I invite you to do THIS.  Let your district administrators know, that you want the music to play on for every child they have taken an oath to serve.

These are the links:

The story of a Korean boy.

The story of Jonathan.

Confessions Of An Energy Vampire

It’s time to come out of the closet and tell the truth.  I, the Paisano, am a vampire !!

Now, I’m sure those close to me have suspected it for years.  After all, they’ve never seen me near the garlic section at the local grocery store.  And I never wear the traditional crucifix around my neck as do most Italian males back in the neighborhood.  I also avoid direct sunlight when at all possible, and only drink water that comes from high in the mountains where there are no churches.  And when mirrors are more than normal height, I cast no reflection.  Beyond that, it’s rare that I enter someone‘s home without a formal invitation, or stick around long if they ask me to come in for a steak. 

Now, before you report me to Buffy The Vampire Slayer, it’s important to admit that I’m not a vampire in the Bram Stoker tradition.  So relax, there’s absolutely no chance I’ll be sneaking up on any of you to bite your neck and remove a pint of plasma.  I am, however, an “energy” vampire.  That means I siphon energy out of those among us who have plenty to spare, and who share it lovingly and with little resistance.  I’ve been feeding on this potent “essence” for years, and it’s kept me mentally young and intellectually healthy throughout.  Besides that, it has temporarily distracted me from the pathetic realities of the adult world, and helped me retain the little bit of innocence I still have. 

Now, who are these willing but unwitting “donors” to which I refer?  You guessed it.  They’re KIDS !!  I’ve said for years, that every child needs at least one old person in their life, and every old person needs at least one child in theirs.  It’s the purest symbiotic relationship of all.  From us, they receive the time, patience, and wisdom that usually comes with being at the exit ramp of our lives.  From them, we derive a special brand of unconditional love, pure energy, endless questioning, and positive appreciation of life in general.  At least that’s how it’s worked for this vampire for almost four decades in the classroom.  And that’s how it is for me now, when I go back to school and volunteer my services.

They say that every vampire is the product of another vampire’s bite.  Perhaps I was “bitten” by my Aunt (L.T.) who was a teacher when I was very young.  Maybe it was my favorite Sunday School teacher (J.D.) who always seemed at his best sharing Bible stories with our class of energetic boys.  Or maybe it was my wonderful Church Camp teacher (E.S.) who, without words, convinced me that working with children was a blessing from God.  No matter, I’m thankful that I was bitten. And I’m glad to report that over many years, the power of youthful energy that I’ve gotten from children, has never failed to make my life better.  And think of this…  It was all done without leaving a single puncture wound on anyone’s neck.  

Get The Heck Out Of My Way !

One of the realities of getting older, is that you only have a limited number of days left before it’s your turn to part the veil that separates human existence from whatever comes next.  With that increasingly on my mind, I’ve noticed that lately I’ve become easily irritated by the dipshits around me that are slowing me down as I go about my daily business.

These transgressors come in all ages, sizes, and shapes.  But the one unifying character flaw they share, is that each seems oblivious to the simple concepts of advanced planning and organization.  In other words, they’re out there in the world fumbling around in a comatose fashion over things that should be quick and routine.  And while they’re doing it, they’re slowing ME down !

Take, for example, the blockhead ahead of me at the drive-through mailbox at our local Post Office.  First of all, by the pile of mail he was depositing, he should have been driving a skip loader instead of a car.  Were that not bad enough, he had pulled up a little too far and positioned himself at an awkward angle to easily reach the mail slot.  Of course, instead of backing up he twisted his arms through the window like a contortionist, then began putting his letters in the box ONE BY ONE.  It appeared he was checking the front of each envelope for a stamp and correct address, then flipping it over to make sure it was correctly sealed.  (Perhaps he was worried that some sinister bacteria might creep into an inadvertent glue gap and spread plague and pestilence across the postal community.)  Anyway, just as I was getting ready to ram his car on behalf of the six ticked-off postal patrons behind me, he finished his delivery.  Of course, before pulling away he also took an additional moment to stick his head out of the window and try to look down the mail slot, while feeling inside it as far as his fingers could probe.  Perhaps he was trying to determine if gravity had done its job correctly in the deposit process.  Or maybe he was just a retired Proctologist.

Then there was that lady lunatic in front of me in the long Costco gas lines, who began to clean out her dumpster of a car after she was done pumping gas.  Not only did she remove an assorted array of crap from its interior, she also opened the trunk to remove some empty beer cans and other assorted debris.  The guy behind me tried honking at her, but she stared him down as if to say, “You ain’t seen nothing yet, Pal.  I still have to change my oil and do a light tune-up!”  Of course, before she got in her car to leave, she slowly and deliberately walked around the vehicle inspecting her tires, as if to insure they had enough air and tread to make it safely to the Costco Warehouse just fifty yards away.  What a freaking idiot !

There are scores of other lamebrains that slow things up for impatient types like me.  I’m sure you know them well.  The person who decides what they want to order AFTER reaching the counter at a fast food restaurant, even though they’ve been standing in line under a six by eight foot menu board for the last five minutes.  And the financial genius who “just knows” she has a coupon in her bulging pouch which will save her five cents on a purchase, but didn’t take the time to find it before she got to the checkout counter.  Or the guy in the crammed parking lot who gets into his car, but before pulling out to relinquish his sought after spot, triple checks his gauges, eats a light snack, sets his GPS, then tweets he’s finally putting it into reverse because a number of motorists have gotten out of their cars and are advancing towards him with tire irons.

Hey, there are only twenty-four hours in a day and I need every second of them.  So, as “senior” as it might sound, I absolutely resent being forced to wait just because the “fumble nuts” among us can’t get their acts together.  After all, I didn’t retire from teaching to become a waiter !!

To Immigration Reform Advocates: Fight Fairly !

As you’ve probably noticed, the President has finally dusted off “Comprehensive Immigration Reform,” and deshelved it as one of his second term legislative priorities.  Politically controversial, how successful his efforts will be is presently unclear.  Hopefully he’ll take the advice offered by my “kids” in a post on the same subject, (Sept. 2010).  Regardless, if he has any chance of real success in this quest, one thing is certain.  He must break clean from those sympathizers of a porous border who love to fight dirty, heralding as fact the myth that those of us calling for strict border enforcement are doing so simply because we’re bigots, racists, and outright Mexican haters.

Truth be told, it would be more productive if those who peddle this hateful drivel on a regular basis, stopped pretending they were so morally superior and culturally sensitive, then drop their broad, left-handed tar brushes and get real.  For in the end, such allegations and scurrilous generalizations are a really chicken shit way to move  immigration discussion forward.  And such unfair mischaracterizations, at least of former educators like myself, are a mile off when one dares look at the facts. 

I taught in the California public schools for almost four decades. During that time I watching as my roster climbed from thirty to almost ninety percent Hispanic surnames.  And while an interpreter was seldom needed in the old days, by the time I retired one was necessary at almost a third of my parent conferences.  And test scores (today’s sacred measuring stick of “success”), began to drop, as well.  After all, academic testing was done in English, which for too many of my kids was not their primary language.

But like all good teachers I adapted to the times.  Not once did  my concern for, or care of my Hispanic kids and their families waver.  Disinterested as to whether they were documented or not, I spent extra  hours of curriculum planning to insure I was not only giving these children everything possible to make them academically successful, but socially accepted, as well.  These same English language learners also received extra one-on-one instructional time during the day, inadvertently reducing my interaction time with their classmates who had fewer academic needs. 

Parents of language learners also got more of my time than their counterparts who spoke English.  Hoping that learning would not end with the dismissal bell, I conferenced and in-serviced Hispanic parents after school  and in the early evening, trying to teach them how to support their student’s learning at home.  Beyond that, I often bought learning supplies with my own money, and gave them to ESL kids to help with homework and outside study.  Does any of this sound like Mexican “hating” to you?

I could go on and on, but it would be like beating a dead piñata.  The truth remains, that the “racist” stigma being branded on the foreheads of secure border advocates by many progressives (who usually talk more than actually solve problems), is nothing more than nitrogenous waste.  And while it might enhance the growth rate of marigolds if spread in someone’s flower garden, flinging it indiscriminately over a dissenting group of sincere Americans serves to create not only a foul partisan odor, but heat rather than political light.  And that, Amigo, almost insures that no effective border solution will ever sprout and grow. 

  

Minimum Payment, Maximum Pain !

If you have any friends or loved ones (especially those who are just beginning to tiptoe around that bog called “consumer credit”), duct tape them in front of the computer and force them to read this post until they can restate the concept back to you with their eyes closed.  You’ll be doing them a favor.

Imagine this!  As of January 2013, the average credit card debt held by only those American families that carry such debt, is $15,422.00 per household.  YIKES !!  Overall, Americans owe 858 BILLION dollars to credit card companies, not counting the additional fees that will surely accrue from blunders such as late payments.  And neither of these astounding figures includes other types of daunting debt, such as mortgages and/or student loans. 

The chart to which I added my red emphases (above), was included in my monthly American Express statement.  Why it was there would be conjecture, since I never thought of them as a good-hearted, consumer-compassionate corporation whose goal was to make less money.  No matter, what the chart displays is exactly what I remember nagging my girls about when they began getting their first credit card statements back-in-the-day.  And my abbreviated message now, as it was then, remains simple:  “Focusing on only the “minimum payment” figure of your credit card statement, will sooner or later get you in VERY BIG TROUBLE !”

So, if you have someone who needs some schooling on the evils of credit card mismanagement, provide them with the graphic proof.  Hopefully, a picture can be worth a thousand words.  But if the chart doesn’t happen to work, think of it this way.  Your only investment, other than emotionally, was the couple of yards of duct tape that bound them to the chair initially, plus the six inches more you’ll need later on to cover your mouth when you feel the urge to scream, “I TOLD YOU SO !!!”

Fortune Cookie Messages For Pessimists

Back in June of 2011, I wrote a piece about how most fortune cookie messages were little more than a mental massage after a good Oriental meal.  With times as difficult as they are, then, and with so many people negative about life in general, here are a few more I’ve altered by adding a short phrase (in blue), that seems to more honestly reflect the thoughts of those among us who are disgusted, a little grouchy, and definitely pessimistic about the times:

- Today is a lucky day for those who remain cheerful and optimistic, and those who aren't stuck having to be around them.

- You were born with the skill to communicate with people easily, especially those highly susceptible to believing bullshit.

- The first step to better times is to imagine them, then be honest enough to admit that mirages aren’t real.

- Your happiness is intertwined with your outlook on life, so let’s admit you’re pretty much screwed.

- The secret of getting ahead is getting started, then lying and cheating your way to the top.

- Don’t wait for your ship to come in, swim out to it… and drown like the dead weight you‘ve always been.

-  Accept something you can not change, and you will feel better… while it’s ruining your life.

- Make two grins grow where there was only a grouch before, and you’ll have a grouch that looks like a sideshow freak.

- You are talented in many ways… that have absolutely no impact on either reality, or the improvement of your life.

- Any rough times are behind you, as distinguished by the scars on your ass from all your bogus past efforts.

- You should be able to undertake and complete anything… that someone else started and made successful without you.

- There is yet time enough for you to take a different path, even though you’ll remain lost and ultimately die alone in the wilderness.

- An unexpected acquaintance will resurface, most likely because you didn’t bury him deep enough.

- The smart thing is to prepare for the unexpected… tragedy that always happens when things start going good.

- Decide what you want and go for it, with all the stealth, cunning, and dishonesty you can muster.

- If you continually give, you will continually have… little or nothing to show for it, plus the nickname, “Sucker.”

- Keep in close touch with what your competition is doing, then steal his best ideas and take the credit.

- The skills you have gathered will one day come in handy, assisting your family in writing you a halfway interesting obituary.

- It is much wiser to take advice than to give it... and find out you don't have a clue about how to solve life's problems.

- When you speak honestly and openly, others truly listen to you, then go out to the parking lot and laugh their asses off about your naïve sincerity.

- The hard times will begin to fade, joy will take their place… when the heart monitor flat lines and they pull the sheet over your head.