Limited Means

Philly's Finest Free at Last

noreply@blogger.com (Curious) — Thu, 28 Feb 2013 02:19:00 +0000

So former Philadelphia Police lieutenant Jonathan Josey is found not guilty of simple assault in striking an unarmed woman to the ground during the Puerto Rican Day Parade last year. Apparently, the incident being captured on video and shown to the world was enough to convince the judge that Josey was innocent and has now left the the ex-cop the right to petition for his job back.

Other than steal money from City Hall or shoot his or her superiors, what does a Philly cop have to do to get convicted in Philadelphia?

On a lighter note that was a snazzy suit Josey was wearing out of the courtroom, definitely not something he got off the rack at Macy's. I need to find out who his tailor is and see if I can afford him without taking out a second mortgage.

It's Still Black History Month

noreply@blogger.com (Curious) — Sun, 24 Feb 2013 04:14:00 +0000

Is it blasphemous for me to say that I'm not really a fan of the bangs? Oh and somehow I don't ever see Nancy even in her wild days doing this.

Granny

noreply@blogger.com (Curious) — Wed, 26 Dec 2012 05:52:00 +0000

Before I returned from Florida, I took this picture of my grandmother the week after Thanksgiving. I guess I wasn’t checking what I was doing since the shot was really over exposed. After using this program or that, I was able to get this with its horrible color and unnatural hues. I’m not sure why I took the picture, since she didn’t want to do it, other than she’s 92 and everyday you hear people younger than her dropping off. Plus 2 or 3 days before, I was watching TV and looked over at her, only to see her spooning out of a Vaseline jar.

“What are you eating?" I asked not really looking for an answer.

“Jean told me to use this,” I think she replied.

I’m not quite sure because all I was doing was looking at the white tasteless gooey stuff stick to her tongue and the edge of her dentures and thinking of how I’d have to find something to scrape that off with and if I should call 911 or poison control.

It’s funny, was this the same woman that I would terrorize each time she came back to my parents home after living with uncle So and So, and uncle This and That? It wasn’t until I was 17 or 18 that I realized that perhaps those men weren’t uncles of mine since my mother was an only child.

I remembered then that she had been complaining about having dry skin and I decided to wait and see what would happen.

Nothing really did happen. She had the runs of course a few hours later but by that time my mother was back from wherever she had gone and was able to take care of that. And I was left to think, was this what I have to look forward to if I follow my mother’s gene pool instead of my father’s?

...Drink, and be merry.

noreply@blogger.com (Curious) — Thu, 20 Dec 2012 05:58:00 +0000

So I got this bottle of la Grande Dame Veuve Clicquot Ponsardin at the duty-free shop in Heathrow Airport around 1994 or 1995. It cost me, at the going exchange rate, about $60 and I thought to myself these bitches really know how to rape a guy when he’s at the most vulnerable.

You see it’s always been my theory that at any duty-free store you always pay more than what it would cost at the store on the local High St including the taxes. But I was at the point where I figured I could spend my pounds sterling there or wait until I got back to the States and go to the James Cook, Sam Cook, Harry Cook or whatever the name of the exchange bureau was called then and convert the money into dollars at a rate that would even make a loan shark or a fence blush with shame.

Not being a real champagne drinker, although if I had a choice the cheaper yellow label version of Cliquot has always been my favorite, I always thought that I would save my French import via London for a special occasion. I didn’t know what that occasion would be, but it would have to be a small one because there are only so many people you can share one bottle with.

But somehow that occasion has never really happened or at least never thought of until it was well after and done with. I mean sure, there has been the birth of this relative or that. There have been the times that I got together with this person or thanked God that I didn’t, but I never thought to reach under the bed, my storage cellar, to celebrate the event. And now that I find on the internet that the going price for an ’89 Grand Dame is around $360 I realize, sad thing, I’m not sure if I ever will crack the bottle open.

I’ve been having the weirdest dreams recently, all of which have been apocalyptic in nature with me ending up running from something. I may have to change my movie watching to romantic comedies or something instead of the teenage Armageddon types that I like to go for. So with that kind of foreboding and the long dead Mayans telling us that the end of the world will be on Friday, I’m sort of thinking about my bottle now.

I know I won’t open the Grande Dame on Thursday because that would be just silly, nothing’s happening. But if on Friday there are earthquakes or erupting volcanoes or an invasion from Mars I somehow don’t see myself saying, “Time for the bubbly,” either. But since like TS Elliot I see my world ending, "not with a bang but a whimper," that's probably not worth thinking about.

I wish I had spent that $60 on something else; I would have more than used, lost or broken it by now. All I actually do know is that by next week, I'll still be staring at the bottle and still wondering when.

Can You Hear Me Now?

noreply@blogger.com (Curious) — Sat, 06 Oct 2012 18:03:00 +0000

I don't know why I don't read The New Yorker, I'm sure it must be a wonderful magazine. I remember someone trying to get to read me to read it telling me that anyone who wanted to be anyone would read The New Yorker, but I never really got into it. It's not that I've never tried, but I guess I'm part of that generation that no longer reads for more than 10 minutes unless there is something really exciting going on...so in case you are in my age group, let's get to the point before I lose you too.

I love this cover for the magazine. It's almost as good if not better than the Barack and Michele Obama cover from 4 years back when they showed the fears of people mistaking Mrs. Obama for the myth of Angela Davis, a radicalized black woman. This cover simply and succinctly sums up my entire thoughts of the recent presidential debate between the President and Governor Romney, at least the parts that I saw and not the 40 minutes in the middle where I fell asleep.

From the moment Romney came on stage and congratulated Barack Obama for his wedding anniversary, I thought he looked like he might be a force to be reckoned with. He was vibrant and precise and hit back whenever he thought he was being pushed into a corner, whereas the President seemed tired and reticent and unsure of himself. I kind of got the impression that if Obama could have been anywhere, his choice would not have been there. It was almost as if Romney was speaking to an empty chair.

I bet somewhere in California, there's an old actor/director asking, "Can you hear me now?"

A Tax on Stupidity

noreply@blogger.com (Curious) — Wed, 19 Sep 2012 00:06:00 +0000

I remember years ago some old Italian guy telling me that he thought that the prize in the New Jersey Lottery was immoral. He said that the lottery was created to benefit the services provided for senior citizens and that for some young fellow to get 4 or 6 million dollars for buying a ticket just wasn’t right...yes that’s just how long ago it was. I don’t remember if I said anything back to him, but I do remember that I thought that the Lottery was just a tax on stupidity. I still think that now.

I’ll admit that I do do the group thing at work where everyone puts in a dollar and for the best. I mean I would hate to be the one that shows up for work while everyone else is down at the State House collecting their winnings, there would be nothing left for me but to go completely crazy if that happened. But the odds of us as a group or even individually actually hitting it is like some astronomical number to one. You would have to be an idiot to think we would have any real prospect of winning. We’d have a better chance of one of us becoming President of the United States …or would we?

You know I’ve heard for a long time the truism that everyone born in America could become President, I even heard Condie Rice say that her parents told her the same thing just the other week. Heck I’ve even heard some people born in Kenya could do it, but I’ll leave that to the "issues that other crazy people have" post.

However when I look back over the last 230 or 50 years since “We the People” was written, out of the millions of people who have ever lived, only 44 or 45 individuals have ever made it to POTUS and some of them from the same 2 or 3 families. Now that’s a number that I have to believe is much smaller than number of multi-million dollar lottery winners from the past 2 or 3 decades. If that’s the case, then to run for President of the United States must be a fool’s errand since so few people will ever make it; which brings me to Mitt.

I think that I’m watching Mitt Romney’s campaign in a free fall without the benefit of flames to make even that interesting. True it wasn’t like Mr. Romney was the anointed one from the Republicans but more of the last man left standing. Never the less, I think Mitt might be better off putting his money elsewhere other than his campaign because this presidential thing doesn’t look like it’s going to pay off.

Maybe he can buy some lottery tickets because if nothing else the man knows how to make money. And if he can’t make money there then maybe he’ll just consider it as a tax, a tax on stupidity for which, like most of his taxes, I’m not sure he hasn't paid his fair share of.

Philly Naked Bike Ride 2012 or Less gas more Ass

noreply@blogger.com (Curious) — Sun, 09 Sep 2012 03:13:00 +0000

In all honesty, this post was going to be some sort of commentary on civility and anonymity on the internet or the lack thereof but I'm still not sure how I'm going to write it. I'm having one of my Hemingway moments where I'd much prefer to drink and distract myself from doing anything really positive.

PNBR 2012 rounding round Rittenhouse Sq.

Too bad I don't really drink, or at least not as much as the rest of the family, I might have something really interesting to say. So fuck it before I really do Hemingway thing, the gunshot barrel to the head and not the talent part, I will go to the old stand-by which I thought I'd never do again and present to you the 4th annual Philly Naked Bike Ride which happened about 2 weeks ago...and yes I chickened out again this year so don't ask.

Having fun at the Philly Naked Bike Ride

One of the spectators strips and seems to want get into the action

Risky Business?

Some preferred an even more traditional mode of transportation

The Outlaw Josey Wales

noreply@blogger.com (Curious) — Tue, 04 Sep 2012 03:39:00 +0000

Before it becomes history or too late to say anything I just want to mention one thing and say, I love Clint Eastwood and I don't care who knows it.

I don’t know if we are diametrically opposed to each other politically. The fact that he is an avowed conservative who believes in equal rights, pro-choice, the environment and ant-war is not very far from my own slightly left of Karl Marx when the feeling’s right beliefs and who doesn’t believe in big government but believes the George Orwell quote that some of us are moreequal than others. I think we have a common ground where we can worship on.

I’m not talking about the area where he’s been making movies for the last 50 years and I’ve been watching them for the last 30, although that might help explain my feelings for him. I’m talking about the fact that we both see and acknowledge the same issue or problem and neither one of us are satisfied with what the solution has been. Clint’s idea to solve things, at least on film, has always been to go in growling, teeth bared and with a big dick swinging in the wind. Don’t believe me, look at the clip below and tell me the Magnum isn’t a substitute for a body part. My solution has always been to wait for the Revolution and give or take names like Madame Defarge did in the Dickens novel although I doubt that would be any more effective Clint’s answer.

Even so, to have been able to see The Outlaw Josey Wales at the Republican Convention take down the President of the United States just by doing some simple local diner ad hoc scene was a sight to be remembered as only a top-notch director could have done. It was just unfortunate that it was so good and out shone everything else that when Mitt came along to state his own case, no one really cared and more than that no one really listened.

But like I said earlier I love Clint Eastwood, and if he were running for something I might look at the GOP and see if there was some way that I could find myself supporting them. But instead of The Outlaw Josey Wales running they have my governor The Outlaw Jersey Whale standing in front of that moving blue screen making me feel sea-sick, and that bitch I’ll never support.

The Games

noreply@blogger.com (Curious) — Wed, 15 Aug 2012 05:21:00 +0000

So that’s it. If you are living in the United States, NBC has shown how the world has come together as one, once more in the spirit beauty and peace of the Olympic Games. They have shown us how we’ve been able to compete with one another and against one another and we have come out with a few scars and some heartache, but also with the ability to celebrate the memories and the heroes and the ideals of what makes life worth living. We’ve seen threats to security largely dismissed or at least controlled, but then what did you expect, 007 was there.

You know, I bet Betty Windsor, who has now become the ultimate Bond Girl, must have waited almost 50 years to say, “Good evening Mr. Bond,” on film. That’s probably a decade or 2 longer than I’ve been waiting to say, "I expect you to die Mr. Bond," in my best Goldfinger accent while looking like Yaphet Kotto wished he had looked like when he did Live And Let Die….sorry but you can’t be humble when you’re doing or talking about being a Bond villain. But I’m starting to digress.

Apart from the usual corporate prostitution that our friend Mitt perfected in Salt Lake City, there was very little scandal this time out at the events. In fact the only thing I can think of was the guy from St Kitts or somewhere who got sent home for sleeping with his wife or the 4 badminton teams that were dismissed from the Games for deliberately not playing at their best. Actually the badminton thing was almost unforgivable. I would have been highly pissed as a spectator to have gotten tickets to one Olympic event that I could probably get into for the rest of my life and see a team play with less athletic skill and ability than my 60 year old Aunt Sally with her rheumatoid arthritis. Instead I’m just highly pissed because I remember the absolute joy of playing badminton as a child. I remember hitting the shuttlecock into the air as fast and as hard as I could and just watching how it would hover as it cleared the net giving me time to figure out who on the over side would lob it back and where I would have to be for that rapid gut wrenching volley to begin in earnest. It was like chess with a racket and a net; you always had to think at least 3 or 4 moves ahead.

The thing with the Olympic Games is that I end up watching things that I would never ever do or watch in real life. Not the running or the swimming or anything with a stopwatch, but gymnastics. I’m not talking about the regular gymnastics where I know I could rip out my shoulder from its socket in say the rings or snap my neck from doing the vault, but like the floor exercises where you see the little girls run jump and leap…and then you see them run jump and leap… and then they run jump and…you get the picture. At least I hope you do because I don’t. But worse still is the competition with the little girls with the ribbon and the hoops. What the Hell is that and what does it mean? But I watched it. I watched it all. All being provided by our good friends at NBC for my, our, viewing entertainment even though it was 5 hours after the fact.

I won't mention the inane droning on by the NBC correspondents about things people already know about or their apparent lack of interest in non-US athletes other than those with the initials UB or even their failure to even grasp the significance of Isambard Kingdom Brunel or Tim Berners-Lee to the worlds of design engineering and information exchange; but I will say that they have an uncanny ability to turn any world event into just another version of Dick Clark’s Rockin’ Eve and that must be an achievement in and of itself.

But you know, if I’m still around 4 years from now….well.

One Hundred Years

noreply@blogger.com (Curious) — Mon, 02 Apr 2012 05:37:00 +0000

A few weeks ago when I saw the trailer saying that they were releasing the 3D version of James Cameron’s movie Titanic, I couldn’t really understand why. I mean I know that it was one of the biggest box office draws in the history of all film and cinema, but I never liked it.

At least I’ve never liked the first part of movie where the hero from steerage was able to wine and dine and romance with a passenger from First Class. I mean in real life in those days he’d have as much chance of that happening as I would have as a black man eating at the captain’s table every night, it wouldn’t happen. But then I realized it is the 100th anniversary of the tragedy and so of course Cameron and the movies studios are going to cash in….again. Can you say Ca-ching? But I can’t blame the director for trying and probably succeeding when there are people like me around.

I remember the year before Titanic came out originally; even I got caught up in the hype and went to Atlantic City where the man who had recently discovered the wreck was appearing at the convention center and exhibiting artifacts from the ship. He was raising money for the preservation of wreckage site and the materials that he had brought up. I bought a piece of coal from him that was brought up from one of the bunkers of the ship for $10. When I think about it, it probably cost the White Star Line, the owners of the Titanic, about $10 a ton for coal back then, but what are you going to do, that what as all I could afford. I saw it on QVC a few years later being sold for $25 a piece, I wonder what I could get for it now? 1912 must have been a hell of a year, the sinking of the Titanic and the death of Robert Falcon Scott or Scott of the Antarctic as I grew up knowing him as.

You must be wondering by now what any of this has to do with the video above; absolutely damn nothing other than...

In the movie South Pacific, this song is usually the furthest part of the film that I can get to without tearing up and changing the channel. You see the woman singing reminds me of my paternal grandmother, except my grandmother was a little lighter skinned with even more Chinese shaped eyes. It seems her mother was a working girl in the classic sense of the title and Mr. Chin was a client of hers, if Chin was even his real name. But Granny had the same height and shape and moved like this woman. She even wore the same hair style all the years that I knew her. I doubt that she ever sang like this woman but it’s been over 30 years since I’ve seen her. I’ve lost or worn out of everything that she ever gave to me and all I have now beyond the memories is the realization that the year that my little piece of coal went down with the Titanic was same year that she was born.

So all this just to say Happy Birthday Granny Muriel! One hundred years.

Coal from the Titanic

Henrietta Lacks

noreply@blogger.com (Curious) — Thu, 01 Mar 2012 03:57:00 +0000

My father’s father died in his 60’s from cancer. My father died in his 60’s from cancer. Neither one of them smoked, I do. I wonder, what the chances are of me reaching to my 70’s? Probably not that great; but then I long ago figured that I wasn’t going to live forever. I mean who does? No one I know of for certain unless of course you think about Henrietta Lacks.

Henrietta Lacks

Henrietta Lacks, an African American, was born in 1920 as Loretta Pleasant in Roanoke Virginia. As a child she would grow up under her grandfather’s roof and marry her first cousin and then move to Maryland in her 20's

At the end of 1950 after the birth of her fifth child, she discovered unusual lumps in her groin accompanied by profuse and abnormal bleeding. She was referred to Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore where they found that she had cervical cancer. During treatment, part of Mrs. Lacks’ cervix that contained both good and cancerous cells was removed without her knowledge and sent to Dr. George Otto Gey. However, by the end of 1951 no medical treatments had worked for Henrietta and she died only to be buried in an unmarked grave in the family cemetery in Lackstown.

Dr. Gey soon found that unlike other human cells which usually subdivide and die after few days, Mrs. Lacks’ cells could not only survive indefinitely, but they would grow. Gey was able to isolate a specific cell from the tumor which he called HeLa, after Henrietta Lacks. This cell line was then mass produced and was sent to doctors around the world for successful research in areas such as cancer, polio, AIDS, radiation poisoning, gene mapping and many other medical projects too numerous to mention.

Of course many people have made a name for themselves using the HeLa cell and no doubt many people have been saved because of it. But many people have made millions for themselves producing or using the cell while members of Henrietta’s family remained poor and in the dark about their mother’s or relative’s contribution to medical science. An error perhaps, or just benign neglect on the part of those who thought little about the source of where their material came from and more about fame and or fortune that would head their way? I don’t know.

I didn’t really know what was right or wrong when I saw "Immortal" an episode of Law & Order based on this a few years ago when I thought something like this couldn’t possibly happen in real life. I know even less now what to think now that I know that it was true. All I do know that is if her surviving children can take some solace in knowing that their loss has provided so much relief and comfort in the lives of others, including perhaps my own when I reach my 60’s, then it may have been worth it all.

This has been my meager little attempt to recognize Henrietta Lacks in this year’s Black History Month.

My how times have changed

noreply@blogger.com (Curious) — Mon, 27 Feb 2012 04:59:00 +0000

Hattie McDaniel

You know I'm probably one of the few black men not born before 1939 who actually like's Hattie McDaniel's performance as Mammy in the movie Gone With The Wind. Ms. McDaniel showed a strength, integrity and loyalty in a role that was probably very unreal for people who had lived that role in real life. But her truth shines through and maybe that was the reason why she received the award for best supporting actress in a movie, I don't know. What I do know is that I'm always very happy to remember her and see her act even if it is once every 10 or 12 years.

Octavia Spencer

I suppose that I will have the same feeling when watching Octaivia Spencer in her Academy Award performance in The Help. I don't really know because I haven't seen it yet. I mean there's only so many times that I can accept excellence being recognized in black women when they play maids.

Sure someone will bring up Whoopi or Halle or God forbid Mo'Nique, but somehow that just gives me the feeling of everything being circular and that black women are back where they started and it makes me feel a little disturbed.

But it's Black History Month and you get what you can get when you can get it and this is what they they will be writing about in the years to come, so my hat's off to Octavia Spencer and all the others that will follow her. Congratulations!

As The Vultures Circle.

noreply@blogger.com (Curious) — Thu, 23 Feb 2012 00:56:00 +0000

I was going to just to do one blog concerning Black History Month. It was probably going to be about how Phyllis Hymen made love to me in the Blue Note in New York and she didn't even know that I existed. But it probably isn't a good time right now due to the recent circumstances. Instead I'll try and think of something else and figure out a way of seeing how it relates to me.

Until then, lets all try to figure out why people on TV are so crass. Or...have they always been that way and it's taken people like Jon Stewart and his gang to point it out?

The Daily Show
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Why Does It Hurt So Bad?

noreply@blogger.com (Curious) — Sun, 12 Feb 2012 13:36:00 +0000

I refuse to make this blog the damn obituary page...but when I was going to school in East Orange and she was singing with Teddy Pendergrass, I fell in love with her. I never met her or saw her in person, but she was Nippy the local girl who was going good and getting big and had the voice of an angel. She was beautiful.

But that was a long time ago so why....?

Misfits

noreply@blogger.com (Curious) — Fri, 10 Feb 2012 21:12:00 +0000

Nothing political that I want to get into, so a bit of fluff.

For some reason I can't seem to get enough of Misfits. It's a show that has no social morés worth talking about, played by kids that you know if you met in the street you would cross the road and with a script that doesn't make any sense about 70% of the time; but I've seen all the episodes and I love them. Maybe that says more about me than about anything else.

Hmm.....I shall have to think about it.

Don Cornelius

noreply@blogger.com (Curious) — Wed, 01 Feb 2012 21:10:00 +0000

You’ve got to be shitting me, Don Cornelius is dead? The legendary writer, producer and host of Soul Train has been found dead from a self inflicted gunshot wound? Well fuck me! Hmm…

Well I suppose this is where I should speak about all the good things that he brought to American television, black entertainment and world music. This is the part where I droop my shoulders and lift my head to the sky and relive and feel the warmth of childhood memories. I think of the joy of watching his show every Saturday morning, listening to the many artists who would perform. From black to white, from young to not that old, from R&B to pop, you were never disappointed by who was there. They gave their all as they lip-synched to their own hits wearing clothes so tight that sometimes you could tell the religion of the men and which of the women had had boob jobs or were in need of one. I remember watching week after week and finally recognizing many of the individual dancers who would be there and grading each one of women on how they danced or the men on how questionable their masculinity was. I remember being thrilled waiting and watching for the Soul Train Line where the dancers in pairs would wait to perform their 5 to 10 second bit and I would dream about what I would do if I was there. That’s what I should talk about, but I won’t because remember him as being a miserable cunt.

I’m sure I’ve written about this before, I just don’t remember when, but I remember seeing Don Cornelius at the MGM Hotel in Vegas at the Tyson Bruno fight. I was there with a bunch of community kids and a few adults as guests of the boxing promoter Don King. The boys were there happy to see people, celebrities that they had only seen on TV and were collecting autographs and snapping pictures of everyone. I saw a couple of the boys who were about 9 or 12, recognize Cornelius who was sitting down on one of those ottoman things the hotel had looking up sad and old speaking to someone. They ran over to him and excitedly asked to take a picture of him. He looked at them, brushed them aside like yesterday's lint and waved them off.

Bastard!

Evelyn, one of the adults in charge, walked over to them and apologized to the man and took the boys away with her. He didn’t even flinch and my disgust for him grew instantly. I walked away.

Well this hasn't actually been a tribute and someday I’ll have to see someone about those traits in me that make me have these visceral feelings, but until then all I have to say is, and I really do mean it, “…as always in parting, we wish you love, peace and soul!” RIP Don Cornelius.

Martin Luther King Jr. and my March on Washington or lack thereof

noreply@blogger.com (Curious) — Tue, 17 Jan 2012 08:35:00 +0000

Well yet another year and another reason to go to Washington DC and I still haven’t made it there. In fact I don’t think that I’ve been to that city in about 15 years, so I haven’t seen the Dr Martin Luther King Jr. National Memorial.

I had thought about going to see the memorial when it was going to be officially opened in August of last year, but if I remember correctly, there was a hurricane expected and it was called off. When it was finally opened by the President in October, I thought I would go on Martin Luther King Day this year instead but I’ve missed that too. And yet somehow I still don’t feel bad about not seeing it in person. It’s not that I have any disrespect for the man or the cause or the beliefs and reasons behind the monument, but I’ve seen pictures of the thing and I just can’t seem to get enthused enough to make the trek.

President Obama and the First Family visit memorial

Now don’t get me wrong I’m sure one day I’ll make the trip, but right now I’m feeling too damned old to stand in the cold staring up at a humongous mass of granite while I pretend to look all tranquil and at peace with the world. From what I understand the monument is near or just off of the Tidal Basin and with just one good breeze blowing off the water and wrapping itself around my legs I would probably start cursing. Even if it was only in my mind, it would be some sort resentful diatribe against me, my parents and the good reverend’s family for making it all possible because you know black people don’t like cold and I’m no exception.

Plus from the pictures that I’ve seen the statue itself gives off that Soviet era Stalinist kind of vibe that you get of the arrogance of a “great man” emerging from the stone to defeat the oppressors of the people. Of course he was a great man and he and many others did much to defeat the ways of many who were against Civil Rights for all, but from what I understand this might not have been the way that he would have wanted to himself portrayed.

I only say this because the poet Maya Angelou complained about an inscription on the memorial that is a misquoted paraphrase of what Dr. King said, “I was a drum major for justice, peace and righteousness.” She said, “The quote makes Dr. Martin Luther King look like an arrogant twit. He was anything but that. He was far too profound a man for that four-letter word to apply.” Would then such a man want to be symbolized by a larger than life representation that leans more to the industrial might of his nation’s gratitude or the quiet certitude of his own convictions?

I don’t know. Maybe I’ll find out during my next scheduled trip in the spring when the cherry blossoms are in bloom in DC and the chill has gone from the air. Who’s with me?

Thank You For Your Service...unless..

noreply@blogger.com (Curious) — Tue, 13 Dec 2011 22:24:00 +0000

As I get older I seem to accumulate a hell of a lot of pet peeves that seem to affect or bother no one else other than me. That’s why if there was ever a position that opened up to replace Andy Rooney on 60 Minutes, I’d be a good fit; but that’s a previous post. This post is about is thanking you for your service.

Growing up I don’t believe I had ever heard the phrase, “Thank you for your service,” until maybe a few years ago when some of us started to question why again were we fighting people in Iraq. It seemed to be the catch all phrase given by a grateful nation to the less than half of 1 percent of the country’s population that was actually doing the fighting in the Middle East. It seemed it was the right thing to say when you couldn’t really explain why so many people were coming back without a limb, or a functional mind or even their lives.

Many people say that we fight them over there so that we don’t have to fight them over here. But the point of fact is we don’t fight “them” anywhere. We sit at home or drive our SUV’s to the mall or big box store to get our giant flat screen TVs to watch the “game” or the newest disposable computer to watch our porn over the net and then complain about the price of gas or levels of taxation. We are left then only with the ability to offer disingenuous platitudes of, “Thank you for your service,” to the extreme minority that actually do fight.

Why do I call it disingenuous, because of people like Rick Perry?

Governor Perry says that, regardless of whether it affects military effectiveness or not, if you don’t fit into his version of what armed forces personnel should be like, then you are a detriment to the country and its core beliefs. He equates openly gay soldiers with the lack of prayer in schools. It’s sort of like saying that women’s suffrage movement and their right to vote was responsible for the Great Depression. One really has nothing to do with the other but he doesn’t see it that way nor, I believe, do many other people.

So when Perry says, “Thank you for your service,” does he only mean it when he’s referring to straight people, Christian people, white people? I don’t know. My guess is that he doesn’t mean it to any people and that it’s just something to say without having to get into finding out about the person he’s saying to, or figuring out how he can make things better for that person. He says it and uses it like so many of us say it and use it now as a euphemism for convenience.

And that’s my pet peeve.

The Champ

noreply@blogger.com (Curious) — Tue, 08 Nov 2011 21:29:00 +0000

I have nothing to say.

Except maybe, if you haven't seen the HBO documentary Thrilla in Manilla then maybe you should and then you'll know why.

"Down goes Frazier! Down goes Frazier!"

- Howard Cosell

Occupy Philly

noreply@blogger.com (Curious) — Tue, 01 Nov 2011 04:57:00 +0000

Damn, Angela Davis civil-rights activist and icon of the 70's was at the Occupy Philly protests over the weekend and I wasn't.

Now I know this is 2011 and not 1968, which was probably the watershed year or the benchmark for all protests, but still Angela Davis was there and I didn't know. I was busy being domesticated, comfortable and warm. When did I become so old and sedate?

There would have been a time when just mention that anyone was shouting something against someone and I would have been there. I might not have been on the right side, or any side, but I would have been there witnessing people standing up for what they believed were their needs, their wants, their rights. But those days I guess maybe slowly drifting away as I become more and more settled, middle-class and bougie.

Anyway, I was at the protests in Philadelphia about 4 weeks ago when they first started. I was trying to figure out what they were about and why it was that I could no longer find the nerve or the energy to fight "the man" with them. I remember standing behind one of the placards that the protestors would hold up now and again when someone pulled out his camera and motioned me to lift up my arm, maybe Black Panther style, and show my defiance for authority. I just laughed and walked away. I had my own pictures to take. Plus if I was going to get a beat down by the police like they do in other cities, I'd prefer to get it done in New York where the money from the law-suit would be a hell of a lot more.

Police Commissioner Ramsey looks on at the protestors

Occupy Philly marches around City Hall

We'll see....

noreply@blogger.com (Curious) — Sat, 22 Oct 2011 05:06:00 +0000

I actually think that this is one of those Arabian Night stories that Scheherazade told her husband but I can't find the actual tale so here is the Charlie Wilson version of it.

Muammar Gaddafi

Wait a minute! Young Muammar was just 27 when he became the head of state for the 3rd largest country in Africa with the largest oil reserves on the continent? Now I know my life has been a waste. But let's move onto what this piece is about…

I hate it when people jump to conclusions especially when all the evidence isn’t in yet. I hate it most when that jumping is done by me because it shows my own levels of fallibility and hidden bigotry, but this is one case where I’m not afraid to state my point of view and let the chips fall where they fall mainly because no one would even care what I say. Not even the FBI or Homeland Security, or whoever is responsible for reading this stuff and finding hidden clues and plots would take much notice of me. They’d just call me a stupid bastard, curse that people like me exist and move on to somebody much more interesting. So I’ll say it here, Gaddafi was murdered.

Yes I know most people will say, “So what?” and, “He deserved it,” and maybe a few other things, but that isn’t really my argument. After all that man did say that he was going to go down like a martyr and not be paraded about like a rat in a cage like Mubarak or strung like up like a dog as Saddam was. He was going to save that last bullet for himself and let Allah and Libya be praised. No, what troubles me is that from the video after the man is captured; he’s taken out back unarmed and fairly stable where he takes one to the temple and all his captors can say is, “whoops…not our fault.” Then they prop him up in a meat locker for all to come and gawk at and take pictures with like good ole boy whites in the South did whenever there was a lynch party for a nigger. And these people are now our friends… my friends?

Okay sure you can say the same thing happened to Mussolini in the ‘40s and things turned out alright for Italy and its relationship with the rest of the world but my fear is that Libya is less like Italy and more like Afghanistan but with oil. The stuff that made Gaddafi a corrupt despot to begin with. So take it from me 10 or 15 years from now… well I don’t know. I guess... we’ll see.

Philly Outfest 2011

noreply@blogger.com (Curious) — Mon, 17 Oct 2011 01:48:00 +0000

I had always heard that once you got a bunch of gays or lesbians in large group there will always be some sort of trouble breaking out, but I had never seen it. I thought that was just one of those urban myths that hear about like the existence of Big Foot, or alligators living on the sewers of New York City, or Herman Cain having a chance in hell of becoming President.

You can imagine my surprise when at the Philly Outfest this year not only did I witness gang loads of police rushing into places that I was unable to follow them into, but I saw fights break out between girls on a day that was supposed to celebrating peace and love for all.

The whole purpose of National Coming Out Day is more than an excuse to shake your money maker in public and show those who are lesbian gay bi-sexual trans-gender people, but that the LGBT community is one that consists of people that you know, that you do business with, that are members of your own family. It's a recognition that they are us and that we are you.

October 11th was chosen for NCOD because that was the date of the second demonstration and march in Washington DC in 1986 for lesbian and gay rights which really is a misnomer because those rights are really no different form the rights that many non-gays and lesbians already have.

Anyway, in Philadelphia this day is celebrated as the Philly Outfest, a block party that is always held on the Sunday closest to the 11th in what is known as the Gayborhood. They say that it's the largest event of this kind in the world and that close to 40,000 people attended this year. But you know what people say and what things really are can be two different things.

Here now are some pictures from last Sunday's events.

Occupy Wall St?

noreply@blogger.com (Curious) — Sun, 16 Oct 2011 00:48:00 +0000

My Audition Piece

noreply@blogger.com (Curious) — Tue, 11 Oct 2011 04:16:00 +0000

Since Andy Rooney has retired from the TV show 60 Minutes I thought I'd give people a chance to see what or who could be a replacement for him and fill in the last 5 minutes of the show.

So the death certificate for Steve Jobs is in and according to many of the news outlets the cause of death was respiratory arrest.

Excuse me, but what the hell is respiratory arrest? Are they saying that the man just stopped breathing so I he died? Even I know when someone stops breathing he or she dies. In fact I would even bet that Dr. Conrad Murray, and I use the title loosely, would know that if someone stopped breathing they are probably dead and that it was time to hide the evidence...quickly.

And another thing, whats up with that woman Margie Phelps from the Westboro Baptist Church tweeting that she was going to demonstrate and picket Mr. Job's funeral because he taught, "his neighbors to sin." I mean fine if that is what she really believes but did she really have to tweet it from an iPhone?

I think sometimes I really don't understand what's going on.

The GOP Orlando Debates

noreply@blogger.com (Curious) — Sun, 25 Sep 2011 16:58:00 +0000

Is it too early to start thinking about politics and the next presidential elections? I don't think so, nor do I think do the Republicans since they are already debating each other to find who will be the nominee in a race that finds the President becoming more and more vulnerable to defeat next year.

So yesterday I watched the Orlando GOP debates on Youtube, or at least the Foxnews highlight clips of it. There was one clip where former senator from Pennsylvania Rick Santorum was responding to a question from a gay soldier serving somewhere in Iraq. I tried to find the original footage from Fox but for some reason it was taken down. I wonder why?

I actually don't care what the answer was or would be from Santorum because it's pretty much predictable, but really, someone in the audience is booing a member of the armed forces who risking is life and limb for his country and no one says anything?

I think I've said it before but I'll say it again, these TEA Party people scare me.