Monday, September 28, 2015

We Are All African Americans!

Meet your fellow African Americans
The prevailing notion among anthropologists is that all human beings originated from Africa. This idea is known as the Out of Africa Theory. By implication, that means we Americans - all of us - are African Americans. You, with red hair and freckles: you are an African American. That reality has to drive the right-wing bigots bat-shit crazy, Ben Carson included. Of course, I'm using a literal, technical interpretation of being "African American." I will concede that the identity is more widely understood as being of a certain ethnic derivation, being of a darker dermis, and having certain recognizable cultural characteristics.

However, I do think the superficiality and the generally illegitimacy of race as a concept is brought into sharp relief when you put it in that perspective. Most Black folks embrace "African American" as their identity. However, some do not. A year or so ago, I listened to a Black woman make an impassioned argument that she was not "African" American. I have nothing to do with Africa, she said; my family does not come from Africa, I do not have any relatives in Africa, I do not know anybody in Africa, and there is nothing African about me. What makes me African American? I'm just an American and I happen to be Black.

Well, that puts her in a rather common place with us pale-butts who do not identify as African either, although that is our ultimate point of origin as anatomically modern human beings. Of course, I have light skin and an aquiline nose, so I don't get thrown in jail for having my shoes untied. Not even for showing plumber's crack.

No wonder Huckabee and his ilk must deny evolution. The only thing between him and his Kenyan forefather is about 200,000 years.


Sunday, September 27, 2015

An Open Letter To Speaker Boehner

An emotional John Boehner
resigns as Speaker- and from Congress
I feel for you Tan Man. I wouldn't want to keep eating the same shit sandwich over and over again either. You remember the Government Shutdown of 2013? A lot of people who lost their apartments and got their electricity cut-off do. But never mind them. Your party has nothing but scorn for the scum on the bottom rung anyway. It's your misery that counts now. And thanks to you, the Government Shutdown of 2015 may be averted, since a Continuing Resolution may now be passed with Democratic votes in the House. It's a fleeting victory, since we will in all likelihood face this same piss shower again at the end of the calendar year.

I was very moved by your resignation announcement. Although you've never done the right thing for the right reasons, hey, you talk the talk. I think a little Popery got under skin and rightly so. Frankie should have turned you over his knee and spanked you, but he's too much of a class act for that. To be fair, since you became Speaker after the 2010 wave, I always believed you were a serious man who really wanted to get the business of the country done. I believed that then, I've believed that all along, and I believe that today.

Do me a favor and use your "lame duck" status to get some things done in October will ya? When McCarthy takes over, the House will be the same ole circus tent and you know it. Hey, the past five years are really not your fault and that's the real problem. Your job is not doable. And we will see that after you leave. So put your shoulder to the grind stone for the next thirty days and help us out. Then, fly down to your Florida digs and work on that tan. You no longer need be the saddest orange in the orchard.

Sincerely,
Mike


Friday, September 25, 2015

The Wit and Wisdom of Yogi Berra

Yogi Berra
Yogi Berra died on September 22 at his home in Montclair, NJ at the age of 90. Aside from rock star baseball, he was otherwise well known for his "Yogisms", which have been oft quoted and re-quoted since his passing. These amusing aphorisms have often been accepted as being merely silly tautologies in many cases. I beg to differ. I think they are the sayings of a very insightful mind and spirit.

Let's start with this most famous one:

It ain't over till it's over.

Obvious, right? No. It's a statement about the psychology of life's challenges. It's the ninth inning. You're at bat. You're down 7 zip. You have two outs against you. The game's over, right? No, says Yogi. It ain't over until it's over. That's an important idea. Whatever the strikes against you, you can't make the rent, your girlfriend is about to walk out on you, your brother has hit rock bottom and is self-destructing: remember, it ain't over until it's over.

Hear this one:
It's deja vu all over again.
Deja vu happens more than once, and it's eerie. Why does this stuff keep happening?

Sometimes you just have to remember your way:
When you come to a fork in the road... take it.
If you came to that divide for the first time, you wouldn't know what to do quite frankly. But if you've been down that road before, doesn't it come natural?

Let's face it: things take longer than their assigned time.
I usually take a two-hour nap from 1 to 4.
By the time you make the trip to and fro, shower up and change clothes... well?

I particularly like this one:
We made too many wrong mistakes.
There are two kinds of problems in life: problems that have a right to be a problem, and problems that do not have a right to be a problem. In the former case, we have problems and make mistakes because we are doing something hard to do, perhaps something we've never done before. In the latter the case, we have problems because we are being butt-heads and make "wrong mistakes."

By the way, we can be amphi- anything, if we demonstrate flexibility.
He hits from both sides of the plate. He's amphibious.
Sometimes we look at things without really seeing.
You can observe a lot by watching.
Often, you can't learn than much by watching, unless you come prepared. What are you watching for? What does Yogi mean by "observe?" This one may need further refinement by a future Yogi.

Here's a truism on the annual seasonal changes:
It gets late early out here.
Isn't that the way it feels in the northern latitudes come October? Here is a distinct contrast between the sky and the clock.

You can't put a finer point on American liberties than to put it a little upside down.
If the people don't want to come to the ballpark, nobody's going to stop them.
I have a pet peeve. If you speak of a transaction between two people it occurs "between" them. If among more than two it is "among" them. Violations of this simple grammar are frequent and severely grates on my nerves. That's why I appreciate the way Yogi calls it out in this next one:
Pair up in threes.
He had good investment advice too.
Why buy good luggage. You only use it when you travel.
If you've been around a while, like I have, you learn to take it down a notch, especially when you're under fire. Other people know stuff too, and they can help you if you can tame your ego and give them a chance. Yogi knew that.
It ain't the heat, it's the humility.
Farewell Yogi. The future ain't what it used to be.

Thursday, September 24, 2015

The Real Planned Parenthood Scandal

Oh no! Mr. Bill!
Since the scandalous Planned Parenthood video came out, showing PP selling aborted body parts for fetal research, I've been hankering to get to the bottom of it. Some claim these are heavily spliced and diced "hit" tapes; others say these show the real PP agenda to pressure women to have abortions for fun and profit. Well now, Refuters, I have the real scoop for you.

I marched myself down to my local PP clinic and demanded to see the "baby murderers." The receptionist scrolled her fingers down her handy directory and directed me to the basement level, Room B3-A. I found B3-A, which was also dubbed "Baby Food." I knocked on the door. There, I meet a bespectacled gentlemen who introduced himself as Jip Bilkumoore. "Enter," he said, a little stiffly.

To my surprise, a found myself within a small but well-equipped industrial kitchen. Over Dr. Bilkumoore's ("Call me Jip") shoulder, I saw a hibachi puffing away on a stainless steel table. A fan whirred above it to clear the smoke.

"What's that?" I asked.

"Let me shew you," said Jip, who had a slight Asian accent.

He led me over to the grill. "These are baby thighs, prepared with a nice paprika and sugar dry rub, which we will finish off with a Jack Daniels Original No. 7 BBQ sauce." I was speechless as he continued. "It's best to keep the coals low, you know, a dull grey, with just a little red showing. The meat is only an ounce and a half, so they only take about fifteen minutes to finish. I have some ready here. Want to try some? Wery, wery good."

"Hell no! I mean, no thank you."

"Let me shew you another of our delights," said Jip. He led me over to the referigator and took out a twelve ounce jar with strange little pink things packed into what looked like some kind of brine.

"Pickled Fetus Fingers!" he announced. That's disgusting, I thought.

"Unctuous! Best to harvest them at twenty-one weeks. Then they have a nice delicate crunch, like a Cheese Puff. Have one!"

I held my hand up in stern refusal. Eager to change the subject, I pointed to the activity across the room. "What are they doing?" I asked.

"Oh, they're making Baby Back Ribs," said Jip. "They come with our own special sauce. I can't give you the recipe, but we call it 'Cannibal Cauldron'. We're working with a bottler to sell it at Whole Foods. The hold up is agreeing on the ingredients list we're willing to put on the label."

Jip suddenly became extra earnest. "Oh!" he said, "let me show you something else." He led me over to a stack of oversize books.

He set one on a table for me to admire. "This a preprint of our recipe book, to be published this Fall."

It was a coffee table book titled Beyond Partial Birth: Cuisine From The Womb. Outrageous! Jip opened it up to show me one of his favorite recipes. It was called Baby Brain Pansit.

"Instead of pork or chicken, you feature baby brains, along with your veggies, such as snow peas, celery, carrots, and what not, with your rice sticks and nicely seasoned with Patis and Toyomansi. We've also suggested the elegant touch of serving the dish inside the top of the cranium with a sprinkle of chives."

My stomach turned over. I pulled out my iPhone. "Mind if I snap a few photos for the record?"

"You bet we do," answered The Chorus. I was suddenly surrounded by the kitchen staff, which pushed me toward the door like the incoming high tide. Jip stood behind them with his arms folded. "You ought to know better," he said petulantly.

Men in chef coats pushed me out the door and I landed on my butt in the hallway. When the door slammed, I rubbed my eyes and gazed at the local address: B3-A Baby Food. That is beyond ironic.

As I walked back to my car, you will know I was definitely on the side of defunding Planned Parenthood. If we can't defund the whole outfit, we should at least defund their devil's kitchen. For you skeptics, I swear to hell I saw this and I hadn't been drinking. Who are you going to believe: you or my lying eyes?





Saturday, September 5, 2015

How Do You Stone An Ox?


I happened to be doing a little reading in the Pentateuch recently in concert with some some study of the murky history of the second and third millennia BCE. For some reason my gaze happened to fall on Exodus 21. This Old Testament chapter, you will recall, continues the transmission of the ordinances of the Lord to Moses that he is to deliver to his weary band of vagabonds in the Sinai wilderness. It contains the infamous "eye for an eye" injunction in verses 24 through 27, although usually only verse 24 is gleefully sung from the pulpit these days.

But what unexpectedly captured my attention was this law found in Exodus 21:28 - and I am using the King James Version -

"If an ox gore a man or a woman, that they die: then the ox shall be surely stoned, and his flesh shall not be eaten..."

I had never dwelled on this before and I was frankly surprised by it. To proscribe the punishments of humankind for evil-doings is, of course, to be expected. But of a dumb brute? I do not know if the implication is supposed to be that a beast of burden is capable of "sin" and I have not bothered to research it. If a Refuter is reading this and wishes to instruct the community about this theological principle via a Comment, you are certainly welcome to do so. But I am even more perplexed by another matter. How would you accomplish the task of stoning an ox to death?

I have an ox. It's standing in the field and is not even a moving target, say. I pick up a stone I can easily grasp and throw it at the animal with all my might. What happens? Nothing much, I would guess. Maybe the ox slowly turns it head and looks at me as if to say, "What the f*ck?" If I repeat this action over and over again, I can easily predict the ox will turn its back to me and saunter off to get itself out of annoying stone-throwing range.

To an order of magnitude, oxen at that time would probably weigh in excess of 1000 lbs, and would be about 6 feet at the shoulder. What could an average rock-throw do to such a beast? It would be hard to cause the least of a scratch or bruise. Obviously, one would have to work a little harder at this sacrament.

What if one hundred people hurled one hundred rocks simultaneously? If this technique were to be applied without forethought, it would merely result in one hundred non-wounds, but probably a very angry ox. The attack would have to be coordinated to concentrate on the same area of the animal's anatomy, I would think; perhaps the skull. It could do some damage, I admit. Still, I am skeptical of lethality. Oxen, I am led to believe, are pretty hard-headed. Maybe if you made a day of it, it could work. Maybe. Do you have to feed all these people to keep them motivated? Is it BYOB? This event could be expensive.

So, that's one possibility. It takes a village. But what if you're pretty much on your own?

Then I might fashion a slingshot. Yea, that could be the ticket. Perhaps that will illicit at least a snort and a hoof stamping. But I think I need a really big slingshot - no - a catapult. If I could just get my hands on some Lebanese cedar. Out here in the wilderness. Maybe a cedar vendor will just happen to pass by on his rounds. Let's say he does. Now I need some nice tanned leather for the sling. If I could just kill that damned ox, I know where to get that.

Assume that falls into place. Now I need a great big boulder to hurl at the offending animal. About 200 pounds ought to do it. Where am I going to find a 200 pound boulder in this wasteland? Oh, I know, I'll pray for one. Doh!

Can somebody help me load this thing for Chrissakes? Okay, on three! I misse d. I can't believe I missed!

Alright, no more fooling around. I'm going tie that ox to a post, grab a fifteen pounder and just beat him senseless over the forehead. I don't know if that counts as stoning or not. Moses was not really clear on the rules. But as I sit exhausted on my dead ox, I just have one more question.

Why?
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