Thank You For Your Service...unless..

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.

My Audition Piece

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 Flim Flam Man

An email that I received recently said:



“You have won (£3,500.00 Million) on the Irish Lottery Promo held on the

22nd of April,2010 in Dublin, Ireland.

Send us Your Full Name:...,Address:...,Tel:...,Country for claims

Mr. Jimmy Peterson: +447035914740.

E-mail: clmsveri_dept@upimail.be

Note that you will be liable for the Cost of remitting your winnings to

you.

Sincerely,

Mrs. Anna Brown.

Co-coordinator Irish Lottery”

Wow! Who would have believed that it could happen to me? I don’t even remember entering or registering for a lottery and now I’m a multi-millionaire. What incredible luck I must have….. Although, I thought the Irish Lottery was in Ireland where they used the Euro(€) and not the Pound(£); and why is the email address a Belgian one and not Irish? You know now that I think about it, if someone is going to scam me they should at least try and give a good story without holes in it so that I wouldn't feel so bad about throwing away my money. What kind of clown do they take me for?

When I was younger, sometimes I would be approached by men who would say that they were just off the plane from whatever country was in the news at the time, South Africa, Guyana or someplace. They would tell me that they had given their cab driver from airport hundreds of dollars to take them to a hotel, but he had instead left them in middle of Times Square in New York, or in later years, Center City in Philadelphia with bad directions. Suddenly another man would walk up and ask if he could assist. The second man would say that he knew of a place where the visitor could stay for very little money. The first man would say that money was no object and then pull out a roll  as thick as his fist that seemed to be full of one hundred dollar bills. The second man would him and tell him that it was unsafe to show that amount of cash in public and that it should be kept in a bank. One of them would tell me how honest I looked and asked if I had an ATM card so that they could deposit the cash in my bank and maybe withdraw it at a later date with, of course, a cut taken out for myself.

Now my name isn’t Peter Parker but my Spidey senses would tingle into overdrive whenever I heard this, well at least the first 2 times that I heard it. I didn’t understand what was going on but I remembered that Mother always said you never get something for nothing, there is always a price. It was time to bolt, and I always did.

It wasn’t until I was old enough to understand what the movie The Sting was about and had seen it about 3 or 4 times on TV that I realized that I had been the mark in some sort of “Pigeon Drop” scam. Someone had tried to make me think that I could make a little more money with no risk to myself. They had tried to work on my sense of greed to see how far they could get because I looked like an easy mark.

It probably doesn’t explain why I have very little sympathy for those people who fall for swindles like the email from a lawyer somewhere in Africa or Malaysia with a dead client, or even the rich friends who were ripped off by financier Bernie Madoff who supposedly gave a 20% return on their investments without bothering to explain how it was done. I mean it’s just a con man working on the gullibility and greed of people to believe that there is something  for free where nothing exists.

So if you should ever get in touch for any reason with Mr. Jimmy Peterson or Mrs. Anna Brown or even that lawyer, tell them that I send my best but the check will not be in the mail.

No more ordinary than Me

He looked kind of ordinary although no more ordinary than me. He was introduced to me and he shook my hand and squeezed it hard.

I hate that. I hate the need for someone to show that they are manlier than you are because they have a little strength in their right hand. I mean what does that really mean that the only way that you can impress someone is by flexing your muscles. We might as well had both whipped our dicks to see who the real man was. I have some size that I’m not ashamed of, but I’ve also been with a few pageant queens who had penises the size of a policeman’s nightstick and knew just as well how to use it. What does it all prove? Nothing!

I looked him straight in the eye and squeezed his hand back giving as good as got if not better and hoped that he didn’t notice the split second delay in pressure. He probably didn’t because he had that air of disinterest about him. Or was it dislike feigned by disinterest? I would have told him not to worry; the Ex was standing next to him and not me. I was a threat to no one.

How similar we must be. But then again I like to think that there is a certain flavor about me and that if I’m going to be replaced by someone, it’s going to be someone with similar attributes to mine. He however was a weak imitation.

Introductions were over and the Ex said something about moving on, probably because he was thinking that I was developing my own story of which nothing good would be said. He and his new friend turned and walked. I turned and realized that even though there were no butterflies in my stomach there was no animosity either. In fact there was no feeling at all. Nothing.

I hate that too.

Rambling Relays

I think I’m trying to avoid writing about something. There are a couple of things that are on my mind, but I don’t know how to go about writing them. I tell myself I just need to season the idea little, turn a phrase here or there and relate it to this or that so that I can be comfortable with it, but I never do. I have a few unfinished pieces on Word with one or two paragraphs and that’s it. Truth be told, even if I were to go back to them, they’d be so old that I probably couldn’t figure out what it was that I was trying to say originally. So I will just ramble on a bit.

It’s Penn Relay weekend and I have nothing that I want to do. There are of course the games. But I think that I have gotten to an age where I am just interested in the athletic performances and not the ancillary performances of the spectators looking for dates or whatever both in and out of the stadium that often accompanies the Relays.

If I were to go with friends, I would be the one seen as putting a downer on the whole thing because I would be the one looking to see who was winning a race, whereas they would be the ones looking to see who had the most to jiggle up front, or behind, or see who was built like a brick shit house and what they’d like to do with them. Not that there’s anything wrong that, but what the hell does it mean to be built like brick shit house anyway? I can see the brick house part, but where and how does shit make it even more of a compliment?

Anyway, since it is Relay Weekend that means that it’s the official or unofficial Black Gay Pride weekend in Philadelphia. It also means that there will be plenty of parties that I will not be invited to and I few where I wouldn’t show up even if I were invited because I never have been a real party person unless of course the liquor was flowing the way that it should be and or I was comfortable with the people that were there. It also means that there will be the clubs or bars dedicated to getting that black gay dollar this weekend from people of questionable ages that I will also avoid like the plague, just because I know how the kids get when they are trying to act all grownup and Miss Thing. God, was I ever like that? Also could I make these sentences any longer? Changing gears.

Today I was out in the sun for a few hours doing a few things and decided that I would go to my gym for quick shit and a shower because I was feeling sweaty and stinky. Actually I’m joking about a quick shit because I have something about public toilets that one or two therapy sessions still wouldn’t be able to help me with and why I thought showering and putting back on the same stinking clothes would make a difference is beyond me. But there I was drying off and I noticed I had a tan line on my upper arms from wearing a tee-shirt.

And?

Well for me, that’s a big thing. I am dark and I can get even darker. One time I went to Guadeloupe and I turned so dark there were highlights that I saw on my chest that were actually purple when the sun hit it just right. That was interesting. It was also fun. Nice work if you can get it and it’s time to start working on that again and getting back to my Maasai roots. "But the Maasai are from East Africa” you say, “and slaves were taken from West Africa.” To which I would reply that my family has always travelled and who is to say that they weren’t vacationing in sunny Ghana or Nigeria at the time?

I was going to downshift even further and talk about another “Golden Girl” leaving us but I think that I’ve gone on too long as it is and may leave it for another day. Nevertheless I truly believe that Betty White is going to survive everybody and keep working although at this point that’s not going to be much of a bet, but I’m still taking wagers right now if you’re interested.

A Rant on Responsibilty

Last week I had tried to write a post about the 3 NFL players and gym trainer that were involved in that fishing boat accident off the coast of Tampa. I had gotten about a quarter of the way through the piece when I thought that to actually post it would be an act of irresponsibility. To put on the net that if or when they should find one of the bodies from the missing football players, there would be a size 13 heel print left on the forehead by Mr. Schuyler from when he decided there would only room enough for one on the bottom of capsized boat. But like I said, for me to say that would be irresponsible and speculative.

Speaking of speculation and responsibility, they say Bernie Madoff will be in court tomorrow where he is expected to plead guilty to fraud and whatever else he has been charged with in his $50 billion ponzi scheme. Yes I call him Bernie like I know him because I think in a sense I do know him. He is like so many people just trying to make it big while doing as little as possible to get there. I mean look at all those people who were investing with him didn’t understand or didn’t care how he was supposedly making money for them. Did any of them stop and take the time to say that needed to figure out what was going on? No, just as long as they were getting their 12% on paper, they were as happy as faggots in Boystown. I myself am guilty of doing the same thing.

I remember a couple years ago and I heard that a friend of mine who works at Merrill Lynch was upset that his Christmas bonus was not going to be as big as he thought it should have been even though it was as large as my annual salary after taxes, and we do practically the same thing. I thought then and there that I had no idea how Merrill Lynch or any other investment firm made their money other than by commission sales of stock, but I was going get a piece of that action and turn much of what I had in my 401k into a mutual fund that bought and sold their stock. Needless to say, I’ve sort of lost about 20-30% of the value of the 401k when it was at its highest, but I still think there’s more there than what I actually put in so I’m not that upset. My mother on the other hand does get upset although she never shows it, and I’m not saying that only because I only see her about 3 times a year.

She was born and raised at time when even the worst of the things happening now couldn’t compare the norm of things when she was growing up. Even though she lost a few bucks when my father invested their retirement savings heavily just in time for Dotcom bubble to bust at the turn of the century and then having the inconvenience of a large tax bill coming in just as daddy decided to “shuffle off this mortal coil” and leave for the nether world; she has never shown much regret or distress over it. Perhaps it’s because of me. Perhaps it’s because I am the only man in her life and she knows I’ll be the one man who won’t screw her. And perhaps that true so she relys on me.

What I get upset about is that she will look to me for help so much without trying to think for herself, without getting the information that she needs for herself so she can decide what she needs to do for herself.

That would be no big deal if I was Warren Buffett and I was able to make good decisions without having to wait until my testicles tingled to feel good about them I would say "alright," I would take on that responsibility happily and without trepidation, but I’m not. I make mistakes for me that I’m fine with, but when those same mistakes or when bad advice is given and can harm the welfare of others I’m not.

Am I wrong for wanting people to be more responsible for their own lives and for their own actions? Or am I like others just frightened of being blamed for things that we really should have control over but don’t. Somehow this all just leaves me feeling naked and all alone and I’m not sure I like it.

Heh-Heh

It’s Valentine’s Day so in order for me to enjoy the rest of the day’s festivities, let me get something off of my chest. No, don’t get funny, that’s not my chest that you’re looking at but it is more interesting than mine at the moment. I seem to sag in all the wrong places right now and I’m not sure if it’s because of age or because I drink about 4 or 5 cans of coke a day and I inhale baked goods without end. I don’t seem to be able to stop. Addiction, it’s a terrible thing to have and makes you do terrible things like drift the way that I’m drifting away from my point now. What I really want to say is I don’t like Heh- Heh. In fact I can’t stand Heh-Heh. If there is one thing in this world that I won’t be able tolerate any more for the rest of the year, it’s Heh-Heh. What is Heh-Heh you ask?

Heh-Heh is thing you hear when you are standing in the express line at the supermarket with your 10 items or less and the person in front of you turns and faces you and you realize they have about 6 months worth of groceries in their basket. Then they will say “Heh-Heh” and turn back around trying not to look guilty.

Heh-Heh is when in a club or bar some big fat drunken bastard has stepped on your foot and crushed a couple of bones that you never took notice of before or has spilled cheap alcohol on your expensive shirt and all he can say is “‘scuse me! Heh-Heh.”

Heh-Heh is the excuse you hear when you’ve just come off the gym floor and all you want to do is rip off your sweaty stinky jock strap off in peace. Meanwhile there is some bozo that has decided to ignore the rows upon rows of free and open lockers against the wall and decided to change his clothes at the locker next to yours. “It’s funny how these things seem to turn out this way. It’s like Murphy’s Law, Heh-Heh,” he will say. I will just grunt and grimace as we both try to do some sort of awkward semi-naked tango over the same spot of smelly rug.

Speaking of being naked, I had just taken a shower at the gym about 3 months ago and I was putting on lotion in front of one of the mirrors. I had dropped the towel and doing legs and behind when the senior senator for Pennsylvania decided to introduce himself to me. Now I’ve been going to that gym for at least 12 maybe 14 years and he’s never introduced himself to me before. I’ve seen the governor naked a couple times and a few other notables including the senator undressed so I know being nude in and of itself doesn’t really cast aspersions. And I don’t mean to do that here. But as the senator is talking to me, he’s staring at the nipple ring, my dick is swinging in the open breeze and I’m starting to feel uncomfortable.

Suddenly I see a break in the conversation where I think I can take over and guide it to where I want it to go, which was to an end. I really wanted to tell him was that he was creeping me out and that I had no interest in becoming one of his lackey troll boys who hang around him looking for crumbs and a leg up in politics and or power like I’ve seen others do. But instead I said, “I live in New Jersey, so I can’t vote for you senator, Heh-Heh.”

Oh, and happy St. Valentine’s Day.

Manners and the Cell Phone

Years and years ago, when Trailways was still in business or at least ran out of Philadelphia, I had gotten back from London and after noticing that everyone there seemed to have one, I decided to get a cell phone for myself.

I remember the Trailways thing because one of my first calls was done on the bus trip back from Boston to Philadelphia. The trip was one of those promotional deals done in order to save the company, $25 round trip for the Memorial Day weekend. I didn’t really want to go to Boston, but it was a hell of lot cheaper than the $500 plus that the airlines wanted to take me to Miami with a one-day advance purchase. Yes as usual I had left everything to the last minute and decided that I had had enough of the DC Memorial Day trips. No one told me at the time the trip to Bean Town would take 6 hours each way and have 2 sever cases of leg cramps.

Anyway, it was the Monday and I remember calling Larry and telling him that I would be arriving in Philly at around whatever time it was and that we should hang out and go to a club when I got there. When I hung up, a little girl who had been watching me came over and said that her mother, sitting behind me to my left would like to know if she could use my phone. I looked at the mother and thought the nerve of some people, doesn’t know me from a sack of shit but wants me to pay for her roaming charges, long distance charges and maybe even international charges if she calls Haiti or wherever she was from, (I’m bigoted that way sometimes, I don’t mean to be, but that’s how it is.) I shook my head and said “no” openly and “bitch” silently.

I bring this up only because I read earlier this week on MSNBC.com an article about the etiquette of cell phone use and how it has degraded the social interaction between many and left the rest of us angered or at least frustrated by the seeming lack of concern by the cell phone user for the privacy and comfort of those not engaged in their conversations.

Curtis is like that. If we are leaving the gym together and in the elevator, he will get on his phone and almost shout into it. Regardless of how many people are in there with us, he will talk, kee-kee and guffaw so loudly that I swear one time I felt the glass walls of the thing start to vibrate.

There was another time when a man on the Speedline, my commuter train, started to call his friend and tell him about his “I”-talian meal that he just had and had washed it down with a nice Chianti. He must have also caught an old movie too. He spoke of how he enjoyed himself until his friend on the other end must have told him that he was going to bed, it was about 9pm and they hung up. Then he called another friend and got to same point in the story when this one said that his wife was calling him and they hung up. And this continued and continued until he got to his station.

I would have felt sorry for this man’s friends having to put up with him, but they got to end their conversations. I and the rest of the passengers in the car heard the same story over and over again for at least 6 times word for word, and each time as clear as a bell even though we were about 20 feet apart. Everyone was starting to get annoyed. I guess like me they just wanted to get 20 minutes or so of peace and quiet after a long day and this bozo was intruding in it.

Speaking of peace and quiet, have you ever travelled on Amtrak along the Northeastern Corridor? Some trains now have a quiet car at the end where conversations and cell phones are forbidden and all electronics must be in the mute mode in order to enhance the ride and joy of their fellow passengers. I love it and try to find it whenever I am on Amtrak.

As for the movies, I won’t even get into the amount of times that I used to hear cells phones ring and conversations start when I was at there. Although now, I have learned to avoid certain places and stay away from those elements that exasperate me. That’s code for me being “Bougie” even though I’m not sure bougie is what really describes me.

A few years ago I was on my cell phone and telling, well he never reads this, Lamont my plans for the weekend.
“I think that I will come up to Neeeew …..York,” a loud release of breath and a pause, “this weekend.”
“Are you alright?” asks Lamont.
“Yeah. I was just stretching,” I said trying to remember not to flush the toilet until after I hung up with him.

Truth be told, I think that wasn’t the only time that I’ve gone through that, nor was Lamont the only person that I’ve done it to. But if someone were to do that to me and show so much disrespect I would try to reach through that phone and I would, I would…

Well, who among us is perfect?