I've never been overtly active in a political campaign before this year.
Granted, I voted for Jimmy Carter in 1976, and my Mercer classmate Phil Brock and I were there in Atlanta for the Victory Celebration, right in the front, holding a sign with a grinning peanut on it. It was the opening video for Channel 11 in Atlanta for the next year.
But, this year, I'm ridiculously active.
If I hadn't been before, last week would have made the decision for me.
The Chicagoan-In-Chief made some Off-The-Teleprompter remarks about small business owners that just really set me off:
"You didn't get there on your own," Obama said. "I'm always struck by
people who think, well, it must be because I was just so smart. There
are a lot of smart people out there. It must be because I worked harder
than everybody else. Let me tell you something — there are a whole bunch
of hardworking people out there.
"If you were successful,
somebody along the line gave you some help. There was a great teacher
somewhere in your life. Somebody helped to create this unbelievable
American system that we have that allowed you to thrive. Somebody
invested in roads and bridges. If you've got a business, you didn't
build that. Somebody else made that happen. The Internet didn't get
invented on its own. Government research created the Internet so that
all the companies could make money off the Internet."
Somebody else made that happen.
You know, he's right. Somebody else DID make that happen for Mama and Daddy.
As I wrote earlier this year, Daddy opened his Amoco Service Station in May 1972. But a lot of "somebody elses" helped make that happen.
To answer the President...
It wasn't because Daddy thought he "was just so smart". He did have a wealth of wisdom, however.
It was because he worked hard. It was because he had a "great teacher" somewhere in his life--his mother, who taught in a one-room schoolhouse in rural Lumpkin County, Georgia, until Daddy had to quit in the fifth grade to work on the farm.
It wasn't because "somebody invested in roads and bridges". They lived on a dirt road, off another dirt road which led to a dirt road which went to town. A road the farmers built because they had to.
When Daddy was trying to open his station, the government did its part. The Small Business Administration (SBA) allowed him to get a loan. He applied four months before he opened and got it after he'd been in business nine months. So much for start-up money. He lovingly referred to them as the "Sonsa Bitches Administration".
He opened at 7am, closed at 7pm, six days a week, running everything by himself. Then he'd come home and Mama would do the books after supper. For seven years.
He helped the government back--paid Sales and Use Tax, Income Tax, Federal and State Excise Tax, license fees, etc.
Yep, he had lots of help. Just none from the government. Just like today.
I can't stand four more months of this nonsense, much less four more years.
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
RIP, Andy Griffth.
As I've said before--many times--I grew up in Mayberry.
While I may not have lived between Mt. Pilot and Raleigh, Barnesville, Georgia, was close enough.
It was a place where you could leave your doors unlocked and the keys in your car. Your one car.
The Andy Griffith Show was a part of our lives, and still is thanks to the proliferation of reruns on any number of networks.
And now the good Sheriff has died at 86 years old.
I remember Opie killing the mama bird, Aunt Bee's award-winning pickles, Barney Fife's one bullet, Gomer's working at Wally's Gas Station (followed by Cousin Goober), and Floyd's Barber Shop.
I remember Juanita down at the Diner, Thelma Lou and Helen, and the Fun Girls from Mt. Pilot.
I remember the theme song (titled "The Fishin' Hole"). We had the guy who whistled the song for the show visit Gordon Grammar School when I was a boy.
I remember Andy never wearing a gun, always in church on Sunday, being smarter than anyone from the city, and his Wellington boots (I had to have a pair).
I remember...
It always seemed like there was a lesson involved in almost every episode, subtle or not. I couldn't name many of these, but I know they helped me.
And doesn't it seem that if you grew up on Andy Griffith that frequently something will happen which reminds you of something you saw on the show? And you wonder WWAD (What Would Andy Do)?
He was the Television's Conscience, and always chose to do the right thing for all involved.
Wisdom seems to be in short supply today. Now, don't get me wrong, there sure are lots of "smart" folks out there who are more than willing to let you know exactly how brilliant they are.
But spouting opinions and espousing wisdom are two entirely different things. Andy knew the difference.
He was Every Boy's Dad, and the kind of man you'd want your daughter to marry. Helen Crump got to him first.
Barney moved to Raleigh, Gomer joined the Marines, the Darlings went back to the hills, but Andy--and Mayberry--remained constant.
I'll miss Andy. And I miss Mayberry more every day.
While I may not have lived between Mt. Pilot and Raleigh, Barnesville, Georgia, was close enough.
It was a place where you could leave your doors unlocked and the keys in your car. Your one car.
The Andy Griffith Show was a part of our lives, and still is thanks to the proliferation of reruns on any number of networks.
And now the good Sheriff has died at 86 years old.
I remember Opie killing the mama bird, Aunt Bee's award-winning pickles, Barney Fife's one bullet, Gomer's working at Wally's Gas Station (followed by Cousin Goober), and Floyd's Barber Shop.
I remember Juanita down at the Diner, Thelma Lou and Helen, and the Fun Girls from Mt. Pilot.
I remember the theme song (titled "The Fishin' Hole"). We had the guy who whistled the song for the show visit Gordon Grammar School when I was a boy.
I remember Andy never wearing a gun, always in church on Sunday, being smarter than anyone from the city, and his Wellington boots (I had to have a pair).
I remember...
It always seemed like there was a lesson involved in almost every episode, subtle or not. I couldn't name many of these, but I know they helped me.
And doesn't it seem that if you grew up on Andy Griffith that frequently something will happen which reminds you of something you saw on the show? And you wonder WWAD (What Would Andy Do)?
He was the Television's Conscience, and always chose to do the right thing for all involved.
Wisdom seems to be in short supply today. Now, don't get me wrong, there sure are lots of "smart" folks out there who are more than willing to let you know exactly how brilliant they are.
But spouting opinions and espousing wisdom are two entirely different things. Andy knew the difference.
He was Every Boy's Dad, and the kind of man you'd want your daughter to marry. Helen Crump got to him first.
Barney moved to Raleigh, Gomer joined the Marines, the Darlings went back to the hills, but Andy--and Mayberry--remained constant.
I'll miss Andy. And I miss Mayberry more every day.
Saturday, June 9, 2012
They Paved Paradise And Put Up A Mickey D's.
I missed writing about it by a month, but May 15, 1972, was a red-letter day in my life.
On that Monday morning at 7am Daddy opened Berry's Amoco Service Center.
It was on the corner of Forsyth Street and College Drive. The other three corners were occupied by the US Post Office, Milam's Gulf Station, and Swint's Standard Oil Station.
I'm not sure our little town needed three "full-service" gas stations, but we had 'em. And as far as I was concerned we sure needed one--the one Daddy owned.
I'd been buying "White Gas" (Amoco Premium) for as long as I could remember. It powered everything from lawn mowers to Coleman stoves, which is what you used outside to cook fish on. Fish caught from all over the place--Mr. Smith's private pond down off Highway 41 towards Forsyth (where he would make a special place for my Granny, who was in a wheelchair, to fish; she always caught more that the rest of us combined) to Johnnie Caldwell's pond outside Thomaston, where my buddy Frankie Rogers lost his Senior ring when a channel cat yanked it off his finger. I am not making this up.
But...back to what we all just called "The Station".
Mr. Nelson Newton owned the place before Daddy bought it, and it was a...mess to clean up. Apparently he had sold moonshine out of the back room and who knows what else. We cleaned up for a month, every day after Daddy left the Ford Place, until it was ready to open for business.
It was at The Station that I did my first oil change. Daddy asked if I was sure I knew how to do one, and me being me, I assured him I did. I'd seen him do it enough. I could handle it.
I stood under the car and loosened the oil pan drain plug, looking straight up at it, until it popped out and five quarts of black, used oil covered me from head to toe, as well as the floor of the service bay, which Daddy was proud to say was "clean enough to eat off of". Just not that day.
It was at the station that I detailed my first car (Mr. Smith's '65 Mustang coupe, and I loved Mustangs, so I offered to do it for free). Once I finished I showed Daddy what a good job I did. He pointed out the glass wasn't clean, so I cleaned it again. And showed him again. Whereupon he showed me that the tires weren't clean either. After going through this for the glass, tires, chrome, wheel covers, the list goes on, I finally said in exasperation, "But, Daddy, I'm doing it for nothing!" He replied, "Even if it's free it needs to be right." He was right.
It was at The Station where in December every little old lady in town would drive through and get her box of Chocolate-Covered Cherries, Daddy's "present" to his elderly female customers. I didn't realize until later how much that little box of candy meant to those women.
Christmas also brought Mama's potent Egg-Nog, emphasis on the Nog. Nobody left unsatisfied or thirsty.
It was at The Station where I learned that the secret to having a good business was to be honest, treat people fairly, and believe in what you sell.
We had the most expensive gas in town and were the first station where gas hit $1.00 a gallon. One of our "credit" customers pulled in one morning and Daddy went out, removed the gas cap, and started to put gas in his truck. "Humph," he said. "I ain't ever gonna pay a dollar for a gallon of gas." Daddy stopped pumping, removed the nozzle, and said "You'll be walking in a few days, then." The man stuttered and stammered until Daddy told him to come in and pay his bill for the month to that point, because he'd never buy another gallon of gas from Roscoe Berry again.
It was at The Station that I learned that sometimes in business you have to "push back", not be intimidated, and be unafraid to say "You can't have that".
It was at The Station that I had the best time of my life restoring a 1955 Crown Victoria that I thought we'd never finish but once we did it outran everything in town. It starred in a movie, Return to Macon County, and allowed me to get into a fight with Don Johnson. He was a Hollywood Wuss.
It was at The Station I learned about character and integrity firsthand. Daddy used to say he slept well at night because he didn't lie in the daytime. I use that phrase almost daily.
Once he passed away The Station meandered on for a while, I guess until it outlived its usefulness. While I was in Florida they tore it down and built a McDonald's on that corner.
Somehow "Would you like to SuperSize that?" doesn't have the same ring to it as "Welcome to Berry's Amoco. How can I help you?"
Paradise paved. It's everywhere. And once the paving's done, the paradise can't be found again.
On that Monday morning at 7am Daddy opened Berry's Amoco Service Center.
It was on the corner of Forsyth Street and College Drive. The other three corners were occupied by the US Post Office, Milam's Gulf Station, and Swint's Standard Oil Station.
I'm not sure our little town needed three "full-service" gas stations, but we had 'em. And as far as I was concerned we sure needed one--the one Daddy owned.
I'd been buying "White Gas" (Amoco Premium) for as long as I could remember. It powered everything from lawn mowers to Coleman stoves, which is what you used outside to cook fish on. Fish caught from all over the place--Mr. Smith's private pond down off Highway 41 towards Forsyth (where he would make a special place for my Granny, who was in a wheelchair, to fish; she always caught more that the rest of us combined) to Johnnie Caldwell's pond outside Thomaston, where my buddy Frankie Rogers lost his Senior ring when a channel cat yanked it off his finger. I am not making this up.
But...back to what we all just called "The Station".
Mr. Nelson Newton owned the place before Daddy bought it, and it was a...mess to clean up. Apparently he had sold moonshine out of the back room and who knows what else. We cleaned up for a month, every day after Daddy left the Ford Place, until it was ready to open for business.
It was at The Station that I did my first oil change. Daddy asked if I was sure I knew how to do one, and me being me, I assured him I did. I'd seen him do it enough. I could handle it.
I stood under the car and loosened the oil pan drain plug, looking straight up at it, until it popped out and five quarts of black, used oil covered me from head to toe, as well as the floor of the service bay, which Daddy was proud to say was "clean enough to eat off of". Just not that day.
It was at the station that I detailed my first car (Mr. Smith's '65 Mustang coupe, and I loved Mustangs, so I offered to do it for free). Once I finished I showed Daddy what a good job I did. He pointed out the glass wasn't clean, so I cleaned it again. And showed him again. Whereupon he showed me that the tires weren't clean either. After going through this for the glass, tires, chrome, wheel covers, the list goes on, I finally said in exasperation, "But, Daddy, I'm doing it for nothing!" He replied, "Even if it's free it needs to be right." He was right.
It was at The Station where in December every little old lady in town would drive through and get her box of Chocolate-Covered Cherries, Daddy's "present" to his elderly female customers. I didn't realize until later how much that little box of candy meant to those women.
Christmas also brought Mama's potent Egg-Nog, emphasis on the Nog. Nobody left unsatisfied or thirsty.
It was at The Station where I learned that the secret to having a good business was to be honest, treat people fairly, and believe in what you sell.
We had the most expensive gas in town and were the first station where gas hit $1.00 a gallon. One of our "credit" customers pulled in one morning and Daddy went out, removed the gas cap, and started to put gas in his truck. "Humph," he said. "I ain't ever gonna pay a dollar for a gallon of gas." Daddy stopped pumping, removed the nozzle, and said "You'll be walking in a few days, then." The man stuttered and stammered until Daddy told him to come in and pay his bill for the month to that point, because he'd never buy another gallon of gas from Roscoe Berry again.
It was at The Station that I learned that sometimes in business you have to "push back", not be intimidated, and be unafraid to say "You can't have that".
It was at The Station that I had the best time of my life restoring a 1955 Crown Victoria that I thought we'd never finish but once we did it outran everything in town. It starred in a movie, Return to Macon County, and allowed me to get into a fight with Don Johnson. He was a Hollywood Wuss.
It was at The Station I learned about character and integrity firsthand. Daddy used to say he slept well at night because he didn't lie in the daytime. I use that phrase almost daily.
Once he passed away The Station meandered on for a while, I guess until it outlived its usefulness. While I was in Florida they tore it down and built a McDonald's on that corner.
Somehow "Would you like to SuperSize that?" doesn't have the same ring to it as "Welcome to Berry's Amoco. How can I help you?"
Paradise paved. It's everywhere. And once the paving's done, the paradise can't be found again.
Saturday, May 5, 2012
The Wizard of Waukesha, Part One.
The Queen, Princess, and I were in Waukesha, Wisconsin, for the social event of the season--the wedding of my niece. And no, I couldn't talk her out of it.
The trip itself was an event unparelleled in the annals of Berry household travels. We left the Center of the Universe, Dahlonega, around 11pm Tuesday evening and ended up on our first night/morning in Chattanooga, Tennessee, near Lookout Mountain around 1am at the luxurious Holiday Inn Express.
We did not have reservations when we left Heaven but the Queen knew--knew--she could handle this issue while we were driving. She spent approximately two of the two and a half hour drive time trying to find a room. Apparently every family east of the Mississippi on Spring Break spends the night on the way to or from Florida in Chattanooga.
I love Cracker Barrel and made an executive decision on the aforementioned Holiday Inn Distress based solely on the fact that you could throw a rock and hit a Cracker Barrel conveniently located next door.
After breakfast the next morning we embarked on the remaining 700 or so mile trip to Waukesha, Wisconsin. Here's how it went:
9:05am--headed west on I-24 towards Music City, Nashville, Tennessee. I had to explain to the Queen that while the compass on the car said we were heading north that all Interstate highways were odd-numbered forNorth/South Hell/Heaven routes and even-numbered for East/West ones.
9:16am--we cross into the ill-named Central Time Zone.
9:18am--we cross back into the similarly ill-named Eastern Time Zone.
As an aside, when you leave Georgia and cross into Alabama (affectionately known as The Moron State) there's a big sign that informs you that you are Entering The Central Time Zone. Once you're in Alabama you don't leave this time zone. Perhaps Tide fans returning from a shellacking in Athens need reassurance that they're home, or maybe they're just that forgetful. I don't know. All I know is that we drove in and out of time zones so frequently that I lost track, my Smart Phone got confused, and it's not worth noting in this travelogue.
9:27am--the first of many "Where are we" questions from the Princess. Again, not worth notating over and over and over again.
11:13am EDT/10:13am CDT--ah, the Nashville skyline. At 83 miles per hour it's not so big. Also, you can no longer see Opryland from I-65. Partly because of the trees along the road but mainly because it's not there anymore. The Grand Ole Opry is, along with Gaylord (what a name) Opryland Resort. Only in Tennessee can you combine a name like "Gaylord" with a non-existent amusment park and call it a resort. Keith Urban will be "Weclomed Into The Opry Family" this weekend. I'm not sure what "weclomed" means...must be a Tennessee thing.
12:42pm--we leave Tennessee, enter Kentucky, and raise the IQ in both states. They said "thank you". I said, "you're weclome".
Kentucky, The Bluegrass State, does not have Blue Grass. However, from one end of the state to the other all I saw was grass. And they were working on the road, having professionals trained by Georgia's Department of Transportation in proper shovel-leaning etiquette.
2:03pm--we enter Indiana, The Crossroads of America State. This is NOT on their license plates, but a bar code across the bottom may translate into that saying. I couldn't get close enough to scan it.
We stopped at a Cracker Barrel (like Santa Claus, they're everywhere) and had lunch. Amazingly they had the same menu, decorations, and knick-knacks every other CB has. Amazing.
4:06pm--we hit Indianapolis. Every bridge is painted blue, apparently in honor of the Colts football team. I had to explain this to the Queen, along with the fact that the Colts are in Indiana and not Baltimore. Since 1984. You're weclome.
5:08pm--we enter the World of Darkness, which includes Gary, Indiana and Chicago, Illinois. I never knew two places could look so dingy, dirty, and gray. These two did. And we had to drive on a toll road which cost approximately $18.00 to travel twenty or so miles.
I did notice that nowhere in or around Chicago were there any signs saying "Chicago--Home of our President". Go to Plains, Georgia, and there's a sign. Go to Midland, Texas, and there's a sign. Go to Chicago, and there's a sign--NEXT TOLL $18.00. NO CHANGE GIVEN.
We arrived in Waukesha around 8pm that evening. It is, without a doubt, the coldest place I've ever been. But more on that next time.
The trip itself was an event unparelleled in the annals of Berry household travels. We left the Center of the Universe, Dahlonega, around 11pm Tuesday evening and ended up on our first night/morning in Chattanooga, Tennessee, near Lookout Mountain around 1am at the luxurious Holiday Inn Express.
We did not have reservations when we left Heaven but the Queen knew--knew--she could handle this issue while we were driving. She spent approximately two of the two and a half hour drive time trying to find a room. Apparently every family east of the Mississippi on Spring Break spends the night on the way to or from Florida in Chattanooga.
I love Cracker Barrel and made an executive decision on the aforementioned Holiday Inn Distress based solely on the fact that you could throw a rock and hit a Cracker Barrel conveniently located next door.
After breakfast the next morning we embarked on the remaining 700 or so mile trip to Waukesha, Wisconsin. Here's how it went:
9:05am--headed west on I-24 towards Music City, Nashville, Tennessee. I had to explain to the Queen that while the compass on the car said we were heading north that all Interstate highways were odd-numbered for
9:16am--we cross into the ill-named Central Time Zone.
9:18am--we cross back into the similarly ill-named Eastern Time Zone.
As an aside, when you leave Georgia and cross into Alabama (affectionately known as The Moron State) there's a big sign that informs you that you are Entering The Central Time Zone. Once you're in Alabama you don't leave this time zone. Perhaps Tide fans returning from a shellacking in Athens need reassurance that they're home, or maybe they're just that forgetful. I don't know. All I know is that we drove in and out of time zones so frequently that I lost track, my Smart Phone got confused, and it's not worth noting in this travelogue.
9:27am--the first of many "Where are we" questions from the Princess. Again, not worth notating over and over and over again.
11:13am EDT/10:13am CDT--ah, the Nashville skyline. At 83 miles per hour it's not so big. Also, you can no longer see Opryland from I-65. Partly because of the trees along the road but mainly because it's not there anymore. The Grand Ole Opry is, along with Gaylord (what a name) Opryland Resort. Only in Tennessee can you combine a name like "Gaylord" with a non-existent amusment park and call it a resort. Keith Urban will be "Weclomed Into The Opry Family" this weekend. I'm not sure what "weclomed" means...must be a Tennessee thing.
12:42pm--we leave Tennessee, enter Kentucky, and raise the IQ in both states. They said "thank you". I said, "you're weclome".
Kentucky, The Bluegrass State, does not have Blue Grass. However, from one end of the state to the other all I saw was grass. And they were working on the road, having professionals trained by Georgia's Department of Transportation in proper shovel-leaning etiquette.
2:03pm--we enter Indiana, The Crossroads of America State. This is NOT on their license plates, but a bar code across the bottom may translate into that saying. I couldn't get close enough to scan it.
We stopped at a Cracker Barrel (like Santa Claus, they're everywhere) and had lunch. Amazingly they had the same menu, decorations, and knick-knacks every other CB has. Amazing.
4:06pm--we hit Indianapolis. Every bridge is painted blue, apparently in honor of the Colts football team. I had to explain this to the Queen, along with the fact that the Colts are in Indiana and not Baltimore. Since 1984. You're weclome.
5:08pm--we enter the World of Darkness, which includes Gary, Indiana and Chicago, Illinois. I never knew two places could look so dingy, dirty, and gray. These two did. And we had to drive on a toll road which cost approximately $18.00 to travel twenty or so miles.
I did notice that nowhere in or around Chicago were there any signs saying "Chicago--Home of our President". Go to Plains, Georgia, and there's a sign. Go to Midland, Texas, and there's a sign. Go to Chicago, and there's a sign--NEXT TOLL $18.00. NO CHANGE GIVEN.
We arrived in Waukesha around 8pm that evening. It is, without a doubt, the coldest place I've ever been. But more on that next time.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
My Smart Phone Ain't.
The Queen and Princess both got iPhones over a year ago. I retained my Crackberry until I had a "discounted" upgrade.
Late in January I got the iPhone 4S, "the most amazing iPhone yet", according to Apple.
I can make calls, surf the InterWeb, and tell Siri what I want her to do.
And, just like any other woman, she does what she wants to.
For example, I asked Siri if I was good-looking. She replied, "I don't understand 'good-looking'".
Okay.
I downloaded some music to ITunes on my desktop. A Smart Phone, once connected, should be able to find said music, transfer it to itself, and allow me to listen to it without a problem.
But NOOOOoooooo. I had to tell it where it was, point, click, cuss, and finally get help to jump through the seven hoops to make that happen. Then, instead of being in ITunes, where logic says it should be, it's somewhere else. Did I mention that Siri is female?
When I asked the Princess why I couldn't find my Beach Boys on ITunes she looked at me like I had a third eye and said, "It won't be there." Really, Captain Obvious?
Instead, it's under the "Music" icon. Of course...why didn't I think of that? BECAUSE I HAVE A SMART PHONE AND IT SHOULD KNOW WHERE TO PUT STUFF.
Now, if I ask Siri where I am she can tell me. By providing latitude and longitude.
I am not a map. I know streets and towns.
The phone has a "Maps" feature. If I want to go from Point A to Point B it will tell me how to get there. By taking me through Points C, D, R, and V.
I asked her for a good place to eat. She didn't understand.
I asked her how to get home. She didn't know.
Of course, when Siri does address me she calls me "Elvis". But I had to set that one up myself.
Huh. My smart phone ain't so smart after all.
Late in January I got the iPhone 4S, "the most amazing iPhone yet", according to Apple.
I can make calls, surf the InterWeb, and tell Siri what I want her to do.
And, just like any other woman, she does what she wants to.
For example, I asked Siri if I was good-looking. She replied, "I don't understand 'good-looking'".
Okay.
I downloaded some music to ITunes on my desktop. A Smart Phone, once connected, should be able to find said music, transfer it to itself, and allow me to listen to it without a problem.
But NOOOOoooooo. I had to tell it where it was, point, click, cuss, and finally get help to jump through the seven hoops to make that happen. Then, instead of being in ITunes, where logic says it should be, it's somewhere else. Did I mention that Siri is female?
When I asked the Princess why I couldn't find my Beach Boys on ITunes she looked at me like I had a third eye and said, "It won't be there." Really, Captain Obvious?
Instead, it's under the "Music" icon. Of course...why didn't I think of that? BECAUSE I HAVE A SMART PHONE AND IT SHOULD KNOW WHERE TO PUT STUFF.
Now, if I ask Siri where I am she can tell me. By providing latitude and longitude.
I am not a map. I know streets and towns.
The phone has a "Maps" feature. If I want to go from Point A to Point B it will tell me how to get there. By taking me through Points C, D, R, and V.
I asked her for a good place to eat. She didn't understand.
I asked her how to get home. She didn't know.
Of course, when Siri does address me she calls me "Elvis". But I had to set that one up myself.
Huh. My smart phone ain't so smart after all.
Thursday, April 5, 2012
And They Say Car Salesmen Are Deceptive.
I've been keeping a close eye on the Trayvon Martin tragedy in Sanford, Florida.
Now, I'm not rocket surgeon, but it doesn't take a whole lot of smarts to figure out something just ain't right here.
I'm not talking about the basics of the case itself. Boy goes to store, boy buys stuff, boy walks home, boy gets shot. Happens in Southwest Atlanta and Clayton County all the time.
At the risk of sounding callous, I have a few questions:
--why are the pictures you see of Trayvon Martin those of a smiling young teenager and not an almost grown 17-year-old?
--why are the pictures you see of George Zimmerman from a 2005 Dade County booking photo and not a more recent one of him clean and dressed up?
--nobody's saying that the reason Martin was at his father's fiancee's house in the first place was because he'd been suspended from school for possession, etc. Not once, but three times.
--Baby Mama say that the media--yes, the same media that facilitated sympathy for the family--is now "trying to destroy" her son's reputation. As someone experienced in reputation destruction I can attest that you don't need any help in the process. You do just fine destroying your reputation all by your lonesome.
--also, what's the need in copyrighting the name "Trayvon" if you're not trying to cash in on an already bad situation?
--pardon my French, but what the hell business does the President of the USA have to do meddling with a case in central Florida? When did that become a national security issue? And who cares what his son would look like?
Way too many questions and way too few answers.
And, for the record, if I had a son he'd look like Elvis. Oh, wait, I do. And they do.
And they say car salesmen are deceptive.
Now, I'm not rocket surgeon, but it doesn't take a whole lot of smarts to figure out something just ain't right here.
I'm not talking about the basics of the case itself. Boy goes to store, boy buys stuff, boy walks home, boy gets shot. Happens in Southwest Atlanta and Clayton County all the time.
At the risk of sounding callous, I have a few questions:
--why are the pictures you see of Trayvon Martin those of a smiling young teenager and not an almost grown 17-year-old?
--why are the pictures you see of George Zimmerman from a 2005 Dade County booking photo and not a more recent one of him clean and dressed up?
--nobody's saying that the reason Martin was at his father's fiancee's house in the first place was because he'd been suspended from school for possession, etc. Not once, but three times.
--Baby Mama say that the media--yes, the same media that facilitated sympathy for the family--is now "trying to destroy" her son's reputation. As someone experienced in reputation destruction I can attest that you don't need any help in the process. You do just fine destroying your reputation all by your lonesome.
--also, what's the need in copyrighting the name "Trayvon" if you're not trying to cash in on an already bad situation?
--pardon my French, but what the hell business does the President of the USA have to do meddling with a case in central Florida? When did that become a national security issue? And who cares what his son would look like?
Way too many questions and way too few answers.
And, for the record, if I had a son he'd look like Elvis. Oh, wait, I do. And they do.
And they say car salesmen are deceptive.
Saturday, March 24, 2012
I Asked Myself...
Since there is no shortage of opinions on current affairs, and since no one has seen fit to tap my vast Opinion Resource Vault, I took it upon myself to ask me what I thought about what's going on.
ME: Why are gas prices so high?
ME: Because they can be. Everybody thinks the oil companies are to blame, but noooooo. Check out the speculative markets (oil/gas futures) and you'll see what I mean.
Back in the early 70s there was an "Oil Shortage". Daddy owned an Amoco gas station and our gas was the first in town to hit $1.00 a gallon. He had a "monthly credit" customer who drove in one day. Daddy got the nozzle, put it in the tank, and started to pump the gas (I know, this is foreign to those of you under the age of 30). Mr. Henry popped off "I ain't ever gonna pay a dollar for a gallon of gas," at which point Daddy removed the nozzle, hung it up, and said "You'll be walking in a couple of days."
Miss the Good Old Days yet?
ME: Who will win the Republican nomination?
ME: Romney, hands down. The Democrats want him to win--that's obvious--and the GOP seems just dumb enough at this point to play into their hands.
ME: Okay...who will win the General Election?
ME: Whoever gets the most votes. Which is pretty much the case in anything where you keep score, except golf, which I hate. Only in golf can you score the lowest and win. And by the time you're finished playing you're sunburnt and hungover.
ME: What's the capital of Ohio?
ME: Columbus. Many people think it's Cincinnati or Cleveland, but just as many don't realize Ohio is actually a state. I also know my state slogans. For instance, Georgia is the Peach State, Florida's the Sunshine State, Alabama's the Moron State, etc.
ME: Will the world really end in 2012?
ME: Yes. Be ready. If not, I've built an underground bunker and stocked up on Non-Perishable Food Items for nothing.
ME: What's the secret to understanding women?
ME: I once wrote a bestseller, Everything You Need To Know In Order To Understand Women. It was amazing. And blank from cover to cover.
ME: Are you always this sarcastic?
ME: No, sometimes I'm worst. It's a blessing. And a curse.
ME: Thanks for my time.
ME: I'm welcome.
ME: Why are gas prices so high?
ME: Because they can be. Everybody thinks the oil companies are to blame, but noooooo. Check out the speculative markets (oil/gas futures) and you'll see what I mean.
Back in the early 70s there was an "Oil Shortage". Daddy owned an Amoco gas station and our gas was the first in town to hit $1.00 a gallon. He had a "monthly credit" customer who drove in one day. Daddy got the nozzle, put it in the tank, and started to pump the gas (I know, this is foreign to those of you under the age of 30). Mr. Henry popped off "I ain't ever gonna pay a dollar for a gallon of gas," at which point Daddy removed the nozzle, hung it up, and said "You'll be walking in a couple of days."
Miss the Good Old Days yet?
ME: Who will win the Republican nomination?
ME: Romney, hands down. The Democrats want him to win--that's obvious--and the GOP seems just dumb enough at this point to play into their hands.
ME: Okay...who will win the General Election?
ME: Whoever gets the most votes. Which is pretty much the case in anything where you keep score, except golf, which I hate. Only in golf can you score the lowest and win. And by the time you're finished playing you're sunburnt and hungover.
ME: What's the capital of Ohio?
ME: Columbus. Many people think it's Cincinnati or Cleveland, but just as many don't realize Ohio is actually a state. I also know my state slogans. For instance, Georgia is the Peach State, Florida's the Sunshine State, Alabama's the Moron State, etc.
ME: Will the world really end in 2012?
ME: Yes. Be ready. If not, I've built an underground bunker and stocked up on Non-Perishable Food Items for nothing.
ME: What's the secret to understanding women?
ME: I once wrote a bestseller, Everything You Need To Know In Order To Understand Women. It was amazing. And blank from cover to cover.
ME: Are you always this sarcastic?
ME: No, sometimes I'm worst. It's a blessing. And a curse.
ME: Thanks for my time.
ME: I'm welcome.
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