A Different Set of Rules

Do you know what I’ve discovered?   If I spent every day visiting all the places that I couldn’t enter before the passing of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 (I was born in 1948), except through the back door as a maid or a slave, I’d probably never die—at least not anytime soon.  That is why I engage in a project surrounding Martin Luther King Holiday weekend that brings me great joy.

Not only do I sashay my black ass (dripping with bling) through the front door of a former slave-owning or white’s only establishment at least once a year, but I stay in the best room they have to offer, order room service for breakfast, and get an 80-minute massage if they offer it.  Since MLK weekend coincides with my husband’s (WW—“White and Wonderful”) birthday, I walk through the front door of those former plantations with my arm wrapped around my white husband’s arm, a big smile on my face, and give a silent middle finger to the racists ghosts who surely must roam the halls of said establishments.  Because there is no way any god worth his salt would ever allow those unrepentant slave owners entrance into Heaven (are you hearing me Thomas Jefferson?), I am convinced their Hell must be tailor-made to watch an African-American making herself at home with sheer abandonment in their “whites only” environment.

I call this bitch slap to the haunted the FYRS-LWITBR Project, which stands for “FUCK YOU RACIST SPECTERS—LIVING WELL IS THE BEST REVENGE!”  My “in your face” rebel cry has nothing to do with the current owners (I do not visit the sins of their ancestors upon them so long as they treat me with dignity and respect), but I do take on the racist ghosts of their lineage.

Oak Alley Plantation on the Mississippi River in Louisiana |Trip Advisor Image

In the interest of full disclosure, my children think I’m crazy.  That’s because I’ve raised them to be color blind, and to my knowledge they have never suffered at the hands of racists, which makes me very happy.   Their friends are color blind (black, white, Muslim, Christian, Jewish, Straight, Gay), as well, and have formed little urban families around each other to unite against the hardships and vagaries of life.   I am very proud of them, and I consider them all “my children.”

But my children and their friends have not seen what I’ve seen or experienced the hatred I’ve embodied.  They have never heard of The Negro Motorist Green Book which was in full swing the year I was born and lasted until after the Civil Rights Act of 1964, and they have never had to plan their travel around such a book just to keep from having their asses kicked (or killed) by men in white robes and pointy hats carrying burning crosses.

The Green Book was started by Victor Hugo Green (a Harlem mail carrier) in the 1930s and it would eventually cover lodging, eateries, and stores in every state in the USA as well as Bermuda, Mexico, and Canada that would do business with Negroes.    If there were no hotels that would cater to African-Americans (often the case), the book would list “tourist homes” that would rent the traveler a room or two for their journey.  The Green Book spoke volumes by “omission,” as the writer Justin Hyde has noted.   In 1949, no restaurant was listed in Alabama that would serve black people.  Justin Hyde in his article on The Green Book in Jalopnik underscored the fact that “Black motorists in those eras frequently kept extra fuel, food and portable toilets on hand to avoid stopping in unfriendly locations. Even outside the South, roadside motels and diners often wouldn’t serve black customers.”  In 1963 (one year before The Green Book was taken out of circulation), I was kicked out of a New Jersey hotel in the middle of the night along with a family (a lawyer and school teacher and their two young children) that I was the babysitter for, and we were forced to drive through the night to our approved “Negro cabin” in Maine.

Image from Wikipedia

INTRODUCTION PAGE OF THE NEGRO TOURIST GUIDE:   “There will be a day sometime in the near future when this guide will not have to be published. That is when we as a race will have equal opportunities and privileges in the United States. It will be a great day for us to suspend this publication for then we can go wherever we please, and without embarrassment. But until that time comes we shall continue to publish this information for your convenience each year.”

The fact that President Obama’s 2^nd inauguration (talk about “living well is the best revenge!”) fell on the same day as the MLK holiday weekend and coincided with my husband’s b-day gave me the perfect excuse to engage in my “project” (not at the plantation above used only as an example, but at another glorious location in the South and situated on the Gulf of Mexico).

President Obama and Martin Luther King |image from thedvrfiles.com

As I stretched out on the beautiful “sugar sand” of a site where there once stood a private mansion that I could have only entered the back door of to make the beds and empty the slop pans, I meditated for hours on how far we had come as a Nation since the publication of The Green Book.   I watched the inauguration of our  magnificent 44^th president from my waterfront suite as I lifted a glass of champagne to the triumph of a man that we are lucky to have as a leader.  As I contemplated my own American journey, I joined President Obama in spirit to pray for the further emancipation of our Hispanic brothers and sisters, our Gay and Lesbian brothers and sisters, and the disenfranchised jobless families in our midst who need a helping hand.

Archival image from pattyhume.com

I am discovering, however, that even though we are in more “tolerant times,” one must be ever vigilant against the spirit of bigotry—especially amongst the religious—or we will be doomed to repeat our history.  Martin Luther King often preached about the complacency of white Christians toward the suffering of those who did not fit their cultural narrow-minded viewpoint (specifically the Southern Baptists).    I have read many of the multitudinous sermons preached by well-intentioned pastors in favor of slavery in the 1800s and then again against desegregation in the 60s and their arrogance and cold-heartedness grip my heart with horror.  Where would we be as a country if righteousness had not won the day?

Today it boggles my mind that Christians who say they love Jesus are part of the Tea Party, but they don’t speak out against the racism that is so visible on their websites and from the mouths of their leaders.  I know that not all Tea Party members are racist but their silence is killing me.  The language of the Tea Partier is slightly different from the overt racist (normally doesn’t include the “n” word), but it is deceiving to the perpetrator because they see themselves as righteous:  “I respect the office of the presidency but I don’t respect this president because he is a Socialist, a Muslim, a spawn of Satan or Hitler (I’m searching for his hidden horns and drawing on his Hitler mustache even as we speak)” or “I don’t have a racist bone in my body, I just worship Sarah Palin, Fox News, and the Drudge Report who do”—said with such vehemence and so many times that it prompts the person of color to scream to the heavens:  “me thinks thou doth protest too much, Tea-bagger!”

Racist Tea Party Cartoon|image from politiskink.com

DEAR TEA PARTY:
“Nothing in the world is more dangerous than
sincere ignorance and conscientious stupidity.” – Martin Luther King, Jr.

Even though we’ve come a long way, whenever I do a Google search with our President’s name, I almost vomit from the visceral racial hatred and disrespect that lashes out at me from the Internet because it seems that some of us are playing by a different set of rules, requiring others of us to reinstate “The Green Book” in order to survive.  This causes me great despair until I read the blogs of people like Frank Angle who wrote “On MLK 2013” (http://afrankangle.wordpress.com/2013/01/20/on-mlk-2013/ ) about the repentance of Elwin Wilson in 2009, a former Klansman, who attacked and beat a black college student in 1961 when he was one of the Freedom Riders trying to win the ability for African-Americans to travel across country via Greyhound and Trailway buses.  The black freedom rider grew up to be Congressman Joe Lewis.   Frank Angle included a YouTube video in his blog post of Wilson and Lewis’ exchange of repentance and forgiveness after 50 years, and it makes the viewer understand that there is a God, and one day we will all overcome our bigotry, our stupidity, our short-sightedness, our lack of grace, and our arrogance!

Photo:  George Burns| Harpo Studios

For years, Elwin, an admitted former member of the Ku Klux Klan, says he prayed that he would meet the man he attacked at the bus station. –Oprah.com

***

QUOTES BY MARTIN LUTHER KING, JR.

“In the End, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.” – Martin Luther King, Jr.

“The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.” – Martin Luther King, Jr.

 “Love is the only force capable of transforming an enemy into friend.” – Martin Luther King, Jr.

      “It may be true that the law cannot make a man love me, but it can keep him from lynching me, and I think that’s pretty important.” – Martin Luther King, Jr

 

Angry Birds, Randy Men, and Dog Whistles

Do you know what I’ve discovered?   I’m still exhausted from the election and have to get an eyeball operation (don’t ask—it’s too gross for words), and I’m looking forward to some much needed rest this Thanksgiving holiday.  Because my brain is so fried, I couldn’t think of a thread for a full humorous story to save my life.   But as I read the major headlines this week, I suddenly found myself wishing I were God so that I could chime in with some type of supernatural act of retribution regarding some of the news events that made me chuckle, caused me to be horrified, or made me really, really sad.

If I were a goddess, I’d tell turkeys to form a labor union, go on strike, and hide out in caves somewhere—never to return—until their consumers repent. I have become convinced this week that we Americans aren’t holding up our end of the bargain that would make it worth the turkey putting his head on the chopping block for us.  If I were a goddess, “The Petraeus Affair” would prompt me to initiate a recall of all the men who lived in America from ages two to ninety-two (that includes you too WW, just to be safe) to redo my initial design and implant in each and every one of them an automatic shut-off valve for their thingies when they start lookin’ to make a booty call on any other woman besides their wives.  If I were a goddess, the multitudinous racists acts that have flooded the news cycle since our President was reelected (i.e., “Kids Hate-tweet Obama, Echoing What They Hear at Home”), would make me want to open up such a can of whup-ass that the world would have to come to an end so that I could start all over with a new batch of people.  (Aren’t you glad I’ll never be endowed with any supernatural powers—I’d be an absolute terror?)

Image from boysrockbr.blogspot.com

EXTRA, EXTRA, READ ALL ABOUT IT:  Turkeys Revolt in Reaction to Black Friday Creep!

This would be my first agenda item as a goddess:  solidarity with the turkeys!   Target, Wal-Mart, Toys-R-Us, Best Buy, and Sears are starting the “Black Friday Creep” at 8:00/9:00 p.m. on Thanksgiving Day!  People already started lining up at Best Buy a week ahead of schedule (camping out in tents), and Kmart plans to open at 6 a.m. on Thanksgiving Day!    At this rate, why do the turkeys need to lose their heads for a dinner that will probably take place while standing in line in front of a retail store?  It is one thing for turkeys to sacrifice their lives for family bonding and communication (even if most of the time it is an illusion, at least people are trying), but if Black Friday gets to creep all over T-Day, then if I were a goddess, I’d snatch up all the turkeys and redistribute them to places like Africa, Haiti, and all the starving places beyond the realm of all the discount stores.  (I’d keep the turkeys in New York and New Jersey because somehow I think the victims of Hurricane Sandy could care less who is selling what this T-Day, and they’d give anything to sit around a bountiful table with their families and houses intact, while thanking God for their blessings and tripping all over each other to tell the world what they are thankful for:  survival.)

Summers Cartoon|Image from Orlando Sentinel

BREAKING NEWS:  Sound Judgment No Longer a Function of the Male Brain—Has Moved South

Let’s see now:  With the “Petraeus Affair” we’ve got two disgraced four-star horny generals, two possible femme fatales, one shirtless FBI idiot who doesn’t know when to cease and desist (start with keeping your clothes on, bucko), and a scorned and publicly humiliated wife who should attach an umbilical cord to the likes of Gloria Allred, because if I were counseling her as a goddess, there would be no forgiveness for little horny General-man, and he’d be gifting me bling until the day Jesus returned!

(Now do you see why I don’t deserve to have supernatural powers, and why I should remain a mere mortal all my life, even in storyland?  How can a world exist without forgiveness?)

If I were a goddess, I would be ripping right now because everybody is mostly blaming the femme fatale and not the man who was thinking with his one-eyed monster instead of his head (you know, General, you can always “just say no”).  In the meantime, America has lost strategic talent at a time when we most need it because brilliant men let their brains travel south to permanently take up residence below the belt, and sound judgment on multiple counts got flushed down the toilet.

A Mori Cartoon|Image from The Miami Herald

NEWS FLASH:  Black President Reelected—Racial Dog Whistles Still Selling Like Hot Cakes

If I were a goddess I wouldn’t be able to contain myself against the “haters” and I would fricassee each and every one of their asses.  Can I go on record here and state how absolutely fucking pissed I am as an African-American Christian that so-called “good Christian people—in the name of Jesus” (yeah, I’m talking about you Mike Huckabee, Newt Gingrich, and Franklin Graham) are blaring racist dog whistles with words that the Stop Dog Whistle Racism blog helped me list as “welfare queen,” “uppity,” “lazy,” “illegal alien,” “doesn’t think like an American—secretly prays to Allah,” “Kenyan,” “Communist,” “Socialist,” “takers” (the list is endless), as if the words were rabid dogs and those dogs informed their political choices.

***

“Who can forget the Sarah Palin rally in 2008 when a woman clearly shouted, ‘Kill the n——!’ (speaking about Barack Obama) while the vice-presidential candidate blithely went on; not only did Ms. Palin go on with her speech, but she also wink-wink courted this kind of ‘passion’ in subsequent rallies.”—By Marie Myung-Ok Lee “Kids Hate-tweet Obama, Echoing What They Hear at Home”|salon.com

***

Who can forget when I pointed out the debacle at the Sarah Palin rally to a white Christian friend and what her response was?  At first, adamant denial that something like this had ever happened (as if I were lying or exaggerating the event), and then a glib dismissal:  “Oh, well so what—she blew it!  There’s nothing she can do about it now.”  Actually, Sarah did do something about it almost immediately—she let the race-baiting dog whistle blow and blow and blow, and then she passed it on to other members in the Republican party, because she knew exactly what type of dogs she wanted to respond to its pitch.

Google Image

“All too often, images, symbols and language are used intentionally and unintentionally in our political elections and policy debates. These trigger unconscious racial stereotypes. The viewer or reader isn’t even aware that he or she is responding to unfounded judgments based on stereotypes rather than facts.”—stopdogwhistleracism.wordpress.com

DeRosier Cartoon|image from Time Union

I am discovering that no one is immune to the racist’s dog whistles of our culture.  We must be ever
vigilant or our ears will tune into their whistle’s pitch while we adamantly insist that we, ourselves, are not racist.  Sometime ago, an African-American woman who was a friend of a friend, whose home I was visiting began to blow a dog whistle which played the tune:  “the Holocaust is a myth which was made up by the Jews to manipulate others in their quest to take over the world.”  I was horrified, I knew better, I pushed back (gently and with a sense of humor so as not to offend the hostess), but at the end of the day, I laughed it off and let it slide because I didn’t want to create a scene.  Shortly after that scenario, I went to live in Israel and for three years, stood with the entire country to annually memorialize the Holocaust with a moment of silence, I toured Yad Vashem in Jerusalem (the Holocaust museum)—uncontrollably sobbing from beginning to end—and I encountered several survivors from afar who still had the concentration camp number tattooed on their forearms from the Holocaust that “never existed.”  No one will ever get away with blowing a racist dog whistle against the Jews in my presence again, because I was given the privilege of touching their horror—if ever so distantly and momentarily—and it sensitized me to the racist whistles they hear that call out the dogs of destruction against them as a people.   I want that same sensitivity for every people group who is unlike me but suffers from similar contempt and disdain (we all suffer).  And the next time someone—a person who boasts of being a believer in Jesus, no less—refers to a group of Muslims as “diaper heads (true story),” he better be prepared for the tongue-lashing of a lifetime, because I’m not putting up with that racist shit anymore from Christians.  We of all people should know better, because it is not “what Jesus would do.”

******

“I still smart a little at the slight.  When you’ve suffered a great deal in life each
additional pain is both unbearable and trifling.”—Life of Pi by Yan Martel   

“I have strong doubts that the first Thanksgiving even remotely resembled the ‘history’ I was told in second grade. But considering that (when it comes to holidays) mainstream America’s traditions tend to be over-eating, shopping, or getting drunk, I suppose it’s a miracle that the concept of giving thanks even surfaces at all.”—Ellen Orleans

“When Romney thinks he’s behind closed doors and he’s just telling other people like him how politics really work, the picture he paints is so ugly as to be bordering on dystopic.  It’s not just about class, but about worth, and legitimacy . . . Romney doesn’t voice these opinions in public.  He knows better.  But so did the voters.  That’s what you see in the overwhelming rejection Romney suffered among African-Americans, Hispanics, Asians, and young voters.  They sensed that Romney fundamentally didn’t respect them and their role in the economy, and they were right.”—Ezra Klein, rom the 47% to “gifts”: Mitt Romney’s ugly vision of politics|The Washington Post

Don’t take any plug nickels and don’t respond to any dog whistles—except to render them ineffective!

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Eleanor Tomczyk and “How the Hell Did I End Up Here?” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 

The Bright Side of Life

Do you know what the Dalai Mama has discovered?  There are two kinds of people:  optimists and pessimists.  And when the shit hits the fan, IMHO, it is better to be an optimist.  I’ve also discovered that E.J. Dionne, The Washington Post columnist, was right when he quoted a pollster friend recently:

“When you give conservatives bad news in your polls, they want to kill you,” he said. “When you give liberals bad news in your polls, they want to kill themselves.”

Last week, even though I am an eternal optimist, I wanted to kill myself when the Prez acted like his strength had been zapped by anniversary sex (Didn’t anyone tell POTUS and the FLOTUS that just because it was their 20^th anniversary not to do the “wild thing” before sending the Prez into the boxing ring against Romney?).  Every athlete knows you can’t be distracted or have your potency drained before the big fight even if your honey of twenty years is one fine lookin’ woman.   Mohammad Ali could have told the Prez that salient piece of advice from his championship days.  I mean, what else could it have been?  I’m just sayin’.    Next time:  Focus, Barack, focus goddamn it!

Anyway, an election that was beginning to look like a slam-dunk for anybody who is part of the 47% or cares about human beings in general, or adheres to the “true” teachings of Christ, suddenly came up for grabs as the polls tightened and The Mittens trounced our President in the first debate and declared a fatwā against Big Bird and his homies on Sesame Street.  (I don’t know about you, but threatening the big yellow six-year-old bird whose raison d’etre is to teach little kids the alphabet was the last straw:  “Your ass is mine, Mittens, and you are going down,” I screamed at the TV as I slid into the worst depression I’ve suffered in years.)

Sesame Street to Mittens: “let’s rumble”||image of weknowmemes.com

Then the sharks began to circle the perceived “blood in the water,” as hateful vitriol intensified against our president and his legitimacy, women and reproductive rights (“legitimate” and/or “easy” rape), 47% as “takers” not makers, and black people in general who “need to be taught good discipline and character as per Paul Ryan, the arrogant Catholic.  Finally, the week was topped off by a truck load of manure dumped in front of an Obama campaign headquarters in my home state of Ohio. As a born-again Christian who is fed up to my eyeballs with the numb-nut stupidity of my ex-religious leaders (I have summarily left the Church but kept my Jesus), I waited for at least one prominent Christian evangelical leader who claims to love Jesus to come forth and speak up for Big Bird, speak up for the poor and down-trodden, speak up against the “Christian” Congressman who claims our daughters can be “legitimately raped,” and speak up against the latest racist claim by a “Christian” legislator that “slavery should be considered a ‘blessing’” cause it brought Africans to America where we are so incredibly blessed.  (Well, we black people truly thank you, Massa!)

Fired by “Mittens”|image by mashable.com

All I heard was the sound of crickets—no righteous Christian leaders speaking up to defend the poor and down-trodden like Jesus did.   And the Dalai Mama wept as I decided to pack my suitcase in disgust and move to Canada (where else am I going to get healthcare in my old age if Romney/Ryan wins the election?).  My husband, WW, who is white and also a born-again Christian suggested I not be too hasty, and that I take a road trip to the beach with him to clear my head before I did something so drastic that I’d have to learn French before migrating to Quebec (if one must live in Canada, one must do so in Quebec City because it’s like moving to France).  I really trust his judgment so I acquiesced to his plan, but told him if the beach didn’t manage to cheer me up, he’d better brush off his passport and dust off his French.

Abolitionist, Frederick Douglas calling Christianity to task for its deceptive stance on
slavery and women’s rights in the 1800’s ||image from leftcheek.bloogspot.com and joanhascheeseburger.com

On our way to the beach, we were forced to stop at a Chick-fil-A, which was the only eating establishment within miles because as WW said, “I am too hungry to stand on principle because I have to piss like a race horse and I am falling asleep at the wheel from lack of food.”  With baseball cap pulled down over my face and large bumble-bee sunglasses secured to disguise my face, I furiously lectured my husband about my signed online petition against Chick-fil-A and how they perfectly illustrated one of the reasons I was going to have to migrate to Canada, because of their contributions to organizations that specialized in hate.  As we scurried past long lines of very fat-bottomed white people (I was the only black person for miles around, and my ass is quite normal, thank you very much!) who were still engaged in their month’s long “chicken-in” demonstration of support for Chick-fil-A against the gays, my husband made me promise not to go all Norma Rae all over the place and get myself arrested while he was in the little boy’s room “pissing like a race horse.”

Cartoonist: Mike Lukovich/Atlanta Journal

I refused to even order a soda, and I know that I stuck out like a raisin in a bowl of milk, so it didn’t take long before one of the employees came over to ask if she could help me as she looked me over with a frozen
smile on her face trying to determine if I was a lesbian reporter about to cause all kinds of trouble up in that place.  I don’t know what motivated her to engage me in conversation.  Maybe it was the fact that I was furiously taking notes in my blog notebook while trying to hide my face, or maybe she saw me contemplating what it would take to climb up on one of the tables without falling off and breaking my ass to start my Norma Rae
impersonation as I mounted my very vocal protest:  “Why do you hate gay people; what have they ever done to your chicken except eat it like the rest of us? Why can’t we all get along in this great country of ours, and What Would Jesus Do to you if he knew the hate you were spewing against his children with our chicken dollars?”  Just as I thought I saw Sarah and Todd Palin queuing up for a couple bags of chicken which gave me all the motivation I needed to start my revolution, WW returned, grabbed me by the arm and marshaled me back to the mini-van before the two policemen staring at me in the corner had a chance to put down their chicken sandwiches, arrest my sorry-ass, and ruin our beach vacation by throwing me in jail for disturbing the peace.

The Palins “protesting” on behalf of Chick-fil-A|thedailywhat.cheeseburger.com

After WW convinced me that I was hallucinating from lack of food and backed up urine, and that I didn’t really see The Palins in that Chick-fil-A, I spent my vacation at the beach thoroughly bummed out about the first presidential debate until one of my blog friends gave me a verbal swift kick in the ass (Frank Angle) and told me to “snap out of it.”   WW added his two cents and told me to cheer up because “it’s not over for the presidential election, or anything in life for that matter, until the fat lady sings—so don’t worry, be happy” (and WW is a pessimist—go figure)!  Once I realized WW wasn’t talking about me as the “fat lady” (I’m slightly chunky and an ex-opera singer), the clouds lifted, my optimistic personality came back into gear, and I returned home, ready to greet a new day.  I am going to add a couple of disciplinary actions for my mind, however:  I don’t plan to watch anymore debates (I’m an Independent but I’ve already made up my mind so why be tortured), and I don’t plan to read any more stories about what the haters are doing in our midst to rob me of my God-given joy.  Haters will always be hatin’—but I don’t have to be listenin’!  (I’ll just keep prayin’ that God zaps their sorry asses into the lowest point of Hell, though, so that the rest of us can live in peace!)

Haters be hatin’ but I’m gonna ignore ‘em all and just be chillaxing

image from joanhascheezburger.com

I am discovering that there are two ways to live one’s life:  either as Henny-Penny (“The sky is falling”) or as Little Orphan Annie (“The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow”).  Henny-Penny may be proved right in the long run, but Orphan Annie will have a hell of a lot more fun and peace of mind before the sky flattens her, especially since she has little to no control over the powers that are making the sky fall.  So to all of my “depressed Democratic friends,” get up off your sorry-asses and do the only thing in your “Orphan Annie” power that can defeat the Koch Brothers, the racists, the shit dumpers, the liars, the Ayn Randians, the 47% haters, and the 1% makers:  GO VOTE, take a friend, and say a little prayer while you do it!  We may just win the day ‘cause God is alive and well and “God don’t like ‘ugly’ (a.k.a. ‘haters’).”   (Besides, WW thinks Obama will win a second term, and he’s a pessimist!)

***

Some things in life are bad,

They can really make you mad.

Other things just make you swear and curse.

When you’re chewing on life’s gristle,

Don’t grumble, give a whistle,

And this’ll help things turn out for the best, and…

ALWAYS LOOK ON THE BRIGHT SIDE OF LIFE. . .

Life’s a piece of shit,

When you look at it.

Life’s a laugh and death’s a joke, it’s true.

You’ll see it’s all a show,

Keep ‘em laughing as you go.

Just remember that the last laugh is on you.

SO. . .ALWAYS LOOK AT THE BRIGHT SIDE OF LIFE. . .

“Always Look on the Bright Side of Life” from The Life of Brian by Eric Idle

“Between the optimist and the pessimist, the difference is droll. The optimist sees the doughnut; the pessimist the hole!”—Oscar Wilde

“Optimism is the faith that leads to achievement. Nothing can be done without hope and confidence.”—Helen Keller

“For myself I am an optimist – it does not seem to be much use being anything else”—Winston Churchill

      “In the long run the pessimist may be proved right, but the optimist has a better time on the trip.”—Daniel L. Reardon

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Eleanor Tomczyk and “How the Hell Did I End Up Here?” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 

The Kids Are Watching Us

Do you know what I’ve discovered?   Parents are constantly under surveillance.  We’re not being watched by the CIA or the FBI (well, maybe some of you are, depending on how crazy your behavior got in the 60s), but we’re being monitored by our children when they think we’re not looking.   Before you decide I’ve lost my mind, think about the last time you spent any extended amount of time with your grown children.  Didn’t you notice them staring at you—watching your every move as if they expected you to self-destruct before their very eyes, and for the most part, looking absolutely scandalized at you as they thought:  “Oh, my God, did you see that; have they lost their freakin’ minds?”

Image from forparentsbyparents.com

. . . Or:  “Oh, Lord Jesus, the Poor Rents—I knew all that pot-smoking from their college days would catch up with them sooner than later.”

Image from baby-cute.com

My husband and I were recently made aware of the scrutiny of our adult children in our lives when we went to visit our younger daughter and got lost at every single meeting point the entire weekend, even though we’ve visited the city multiple times.  Baby-girl was so mortified at our mishaps that she told every friend who would listen about our crazy missed exits and off-ramps.   I just know she is secretly checking out nursing homes in her area in case we show other signs of incompetence and brain fogginess, and she’ll be forced to commit us.

I blame last weekend’s mishaps on the fact that WW and I have lost our inner traveling compass.   For the past five years or so, we haven’t left home without an electronic GPS system, but we didn’t have one in the rental car and that’s where all the mayhem began.  We no longer know how to function on our own.  Without a GPS our instincts fail us.  We have lost our personal compass.

animalcapshunz.icanhascheezburger.com

Because I was “Oprah” long before Oprah was Oprah, I did what I frequently do and turned last weekend’s “lost in Minneapolis” debacle into an “A-ha” moment when a mother in a minivan full of kids flipped me the bird because she thought I didn’t turn fast enough.  (Who gives you “the finger” in front of their kids?)  My A-HA moment:  Losing one’s traveling compass is akin to losing one’s moral compass, so that when we’re stressed, fearful, or angry we lose our way as humans and crap all over each other.  But Houston, when this happens, we have a problem because the children are watching.  (Look out Oprah!) 

So this week, I reviewed the most uncivil acts committed by high-profile people (and some not so high-profile), and I sent them a short note with a picture of a particular type of child they may have influenced with their gnarly behavior.

Gov. Jan Brewer Disrespecting the POTUS||File photo/Google Image

Dear Gov. Jan Brewer:  Rumor has it that at the Republican Party’s annual Flag Day fundraising dinner in Irvine, AZ,you gleefully posed with an admirer while recreating your infamous, classless and tasteless action against the President on the tarmac in Phoenix a while ago.  The back-drop pictures on stage were two oversized photos of your now slovenly act against the President with the words:  “You go, girl!”   Some say it was racist the first time you did it (I said it was a low-class way to up the sales for your book).  But I say, now that you’re taking your wagging-finger show on the road, it’s not only racist, but it is damn contemptuous of the Office of the President.   Get over it, woman, the intelligent, sophisticated, Harvard educated, “not-scared-of-you” black man won the election and does not ask “how high?” when you say jump.  That’s all she wrote, Gov.   I also read that you consider yourself to be a born-again Christian, so I thought, as a “sista in Christ,” I’d school you on the lesson you taught to the likes of Arizona’s “Bad-ass Baby, Clive Jr.” (picture included).   Baby Clive was watching your finger action and emulated your spirit which elevated him and you right up there to the top of the list of what Jesus would not do (WJWND).   Sista Jan, remember that scripture that says:  “Woe to you who cause these little ones to stumble”?  Yikes, wouldn’t want to be you when Arizona’s kids grow up!

Outhouse labeled as Obama’s Presidential Library that was painted to look like it was riddled with bullet holes and proudly displayed to a laughing, cheering crowd in Montana.||AP Photo

“Inside (outhouse), a fake birth certificate for “Barack Hussein Obama” was stamped with an expletive referring to bovine droppings. A message in the structure gave fake phone numbers for Michelle Obama, Hillary Clinton and Nancy Pelosi “For a Good Time.” By Dana Milbank/The Washington Post

Dear Head of Montana’s GOP convention:  Wow, remind me never to visit Montana.  As a “Negro” and a woman, my ass would be grass!  Come on Repubs—have you no mothers, sisters, or female cousins?  Do you not have one black (light-brown) person in Montana?  And here we go again dissing our (your) President and his Lady in the most disrespectful way.  It’s like you’re itching to have a bunch of black people come to Montana and beat the shit out of you just to make you give the Prez some respect.  But then we’d be no better than you, so we’ll keep following the President’s gracious example and “turn the other cheek.”

I read that Congressman Dennis Rehberg and Newt Gingrich were on-site and neither one of them said a word in protest of the Outhouse.  (I wonder how they would have reacted if it had been them and their wives?)  You’re bullies—no more, no less.   Truth is that I have no idea what will happen to the lives of the people you stuck in your toilet (maybe you will get your wish, although I doubt it), but I do know that you’ve been responsible for setting back the education and citizenship in the family of man of Montana’s children by about 100 years because your babies are watching and learning from you.

Karen Klein, Elderly School Bus Monitor||AP Photo

“A widow of 17 years and a grandmother of eight, Karen worked as a bus driver in Greece, New York for 20 years, and has been a bus monitor for the last three years. Her duty is to ride in the bus with students, making sure that they behave themselves on the route to and from school for which she gets paid around $15,000 annually.” Posted by Charles Wuckland

Dear Pack of Thirteen-Year-Old Boys from Greece, NY who took it upon themselves to torment a sweet, hard-of-hearing Grandmother:  Now let me get this straight, children.  According to all the news reports, you said the following hateful things to a sweet old lady who had never done anything to you, except try to keep you safe:

Oh, my God, you’re such a fucking bitch!”

“You are such a fucking troll!”

(After poking Mrs. Klein): “Your reflexes are so slow, you freakin’ fat bitch.”

“You’re so ugly, you should commit suicide.”

“You don’t have a family because they all killed themselves because they didn’t want to be near you.” (The worst part of these taunt boys is that Mrs. Klein’s son did kill himself ten years ago.)

And to all this Mrs. Klein replied as she was crying:  “I am a person, too. I shouldn’t be treated this way.”

***

Dear Parents of the 13-year-old future terrorists, Gov. Jan Brewer, the Tea Party, the Birthers, Karl Rove, Rush Limbaugh, Glenn Beck, Sarah Palin, Ann Coulter, Donald Trump, Fox News, Andrew Breitbart’s friends, the preachers praying “imprecatory prayers of death” against those who disagree with them (California preacher Drake says he’s praying for death of President Obama while another preacher has burned his body in effigy), and all the nameless haters and bullies like the ones who built the “Obama Outhouse Presidential Library:” 

Haters:  I give you your children.

  Children: I give you your teachers!

I am discovering that regardless of what the politicians and the news pundits tell us, it is not the economy, stupid.  It is our ability to remain a civil society in the midst of hard times and be our “brother’s keeper” that matters.  Yes, times are hard, but we’ll get through them if we stick together and don’t adopt the Ayn Rand, Atlas Shrugged attitude of the Tea Party, “I’ve got mine, too bad it sucks for you,” as the Rev. Paul Brandeis Raushenbush once wrote.  Where are our leaders (especially on the Republican side) who will stand up and say enough is enough?  I may not agree with your politics, but I regard you as a fellow citizen, a child of God, born with the right to exist, and I will listen to your “civil” discourse and treat you in the way I want to be treated.  Besides, some of my best friends are Republicans.

Dear Repubs (yes, I’m singling you out because I don’t recognize you anymore, and I used to be a Republican):  Don’t give me that childish excuse that the Dems said awful things about President Bush (since when did two wrongs make a right, children?).  And don’t even try to give me that teenager’s excuse that everybody else is doing it, and you can’t control certain elements of your party.  Tell that to your god, because People, our kids are watching and they are going to “lose their way” just like us!  If we don’t hurry up and change our compass to due North, we’ll save the economy and leave the country to a bunch of fat and sassy racists, terrorists, homophobes, misogynists, and heartless cretins.  Are you listening, Mitt?

 

(“Suffering from disgust of grownups?”)||Piclac.com

***

      “When once the forms of civility are violated, there remains little hope of return to kindness or decency.” Samuel Johnson

“The uncomfortable truth is that if we are to solve the difficult problems we face as a national community, we must act affirmatively and with courage and clarity to reclaim civility in the public square. Civility is quite simply the glue that holds us together and allows us as citizens of a representative democracy to dialogue with each other.” Cassnadra Dahnke, Tomas Spath, Donna Bowling (Institute For Civility In Government)

“In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.”—Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr.

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Eleanor Tomczyk and “How the Hell Did I End Up Here?” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 

Easter Bunny Throw Down

Do you know what I’ve discovered?   Easter bunnies take their lives really seriously and the competition among them to be the Queen Pooh-Bah of Bunnies on Easter is something else.  You’d never know that Easter was supposed to be the celebration about the death and resurrection of the son of the Christian God who came to redeem us from horrendous choices (both ours and others) and teach us how to live on Earth together in love, peace, and joy both here and beyond.  To hear the bunnies talk, Easter is ALL about them, the colorful eggs, and the baskets filled with chocolate Cadbury candy.   I caught wind of this fierce competition recently when the Miss Easter Bunny Pageant of 2012 was held in a copycat Beatrix Potter world up in a small town in New Hampshire like the Hill Top Farm in the village of Sawrey, Cumbria, Lake District that Ms. Potter loved so much.

“Friends” Pinterest image

I went “undercover” as Big Mama for my “Big Mama Speaks” column this week to participate as the Master of Ceremonies of the anthropomorphic bunnies and “bunny wannabe’s” who were competing for the title of Miss Easter Bunny 2012.  Below is a segment of the question and answer session for some of the lucky finalists.

BIG MAMA:  “Our first contestant is Black Bunny Rollin’ from the Southside of Chicago.   I ain’t gonna’ lie—glad to see one of my ‘peeps’ trying for the gold ring.  Ms. Rollin’, since the Trayvon Martin murder, our country has been on edge racially.   56% of Whites think we should move on to other subjects and drop this distasteful matter, while 90% of Black people think we should hold the Sanford police department’s feet to the fire until justice is done.  How would you use your Easter Bunny title to heal race relations amongst the citizens of Sanford and foster brotherhood and love throughout the nation?”

Bunny Wallpaper/Google Image

BLACK BUNNY ROLLIN’:  “Hey, Big Mama.  How YOU doin’?  I am so glad you asked me that very sensitive and important question because I’ve been thinkin’ about this very thing for a long, long time.  I would flood the land with Easter baskets filled with hollow chocolate bunnies and “marsmellowey Peeps” to show that we are all one and the same under the skin or coating, as it may be, so why don’t we just ‘chill’ and follow the great Rodney King and ‘just all get along!’”

(AUDIBLE GROWN IS HEARD FROM THE BUNNY AUDIENCE)

BIG MAMA:  “Thank you Black Bunny.  Sounds like your answer to our racial problems is ‘get high on sugar and die.’  Obviously, we haven’t read the latest report on sugar, now have we?  Um-humph! Anyhooooo. . . our second contestant is Bunny “Going Rogue” Palin.   Ms. Palin, your name sounds vaguely familiar and really scary; in fact, I’m getting eye tics just saying it out loud.  Have you ever run for office?  No?  Okay, I could have sworn, I’d met you before.  Ms. Palin, the NRA lobbyists have gotten completely out-of-hand.  What are your views on gun control?  What would you do to reign in this growing scourge in our country?   Guns are flooding our schools, homes, and streets, and we are gunning each other down like clay pigeons and without so much as a “by your leave!’”

Courtesy of www.angrybunnycomic.com

BUNNY “GOING ROGUE” PALIN:  “What the hell is that, a gotcha question?  I support our constitutional right to bear arms, and if you’ve got ‘em—flaunt ‘em, if you don’t—‘tote a Colt,’ or maybe you are a sucker and have been brainwashed by the lame-stream media.  At the very least, I’d flood everybody’s Easter basket with chocolate toy guns and bullets from the cradle to the grave that sport the inscription:  Viva la Second Amendment!  And then I’d pass out NRA stickers with the lock and load insignia for their Easter Baskets.  Yeah, Baby—‘cause that’s how we roll in Alaska!”

(ONLY CRICKETS CAN BE HEARD FROM THE OUTSIDE.  NO SOUND COMES FROM THE HORRIFIED BUNNY AUDIENCE BECAUSE THEY CAN HARDLY BREATHE WONDERING WHICH BURROW IN HELL  THIS BUNNY CAME FROM.)

BIG MAMA:  “Ooooh-kay. . .!  Thank you Ms. Palin.   Let’s move on to the next contestant.  Ms. Norma “Nutria” Bunny.   Ah, Norma, I don’t mean to be rude, but you look awfully big for a bunny.  Where did you say you were from?”

NORMA BUNNY:  (BUNNY VOICE EXTREMELY HIGH-PITCHED EVEN FOR A FEMALE BUNNY) “I’m from around these parts.  What’s it to you?  Toss me one of them contestant questions so we can get this over with, Big Mama—I ain’t got all day.”

BIG MAMA:  (clears throat, trying not to show how close she is to opening up a can of “whup ass” on the obnoxious bunny)  “The human recipients of your Easter joy are stressed to the max.  They will need to know that you have a sense of humor.  The March jobs report just came out and it is below expectations.  What is an example of some of the things you’d do to help cheer up the jobless and lighten their spirits?”

NORMA BUNNY:  (BUNNY VOICE EVEN HIGHER THAN BEFORE) “Why, I’d use my girlish bunny charms and my beguiling ways and “make ‘em laugh.  I’ve got tons of jokes like this one:

Two chocolate bunnies walk into a barn.  One has a hole in his ass and the other has no ears.

  What do they say to each other?”

Pinterest

(AN ANGRY COMMOTION IS HEARD IN THE AUDITORIUM AS AN AUDIENCE MEMBER SCREAMS OUT:  “That’s no female bunny, that is ‘NORMAN Nutria’ from Louisiana—the river rat that attacked the woman in Wal-Mart a couple of years ago.  He/she’s an imposter and she’s wanted by the PO-lease!”)

My concept of Norman Nutria (a.k.a “Norma Bunny,” a.k.a. Myocastor coypus)||Google Image

WANTED BY THE FBI

Louisiana woman sues Wal-Mart over incident with “Norman the nutria”||May 7, 2009||LA Times

(AS THE COMMOTION REACHES FEVER PITCH, BUNNY SECURITY CAPTURES “NORMAN” NUTRIA AND BIG MAMA RESTORES CALM TO THE AUDIENCE WITH NO ONE THE WORST FOR WEAR.)

BIG MAMA:  “My goodness gracious.  Lord, have mercy—you just never know what’s gonna’ happen in a day.  Calm down everybody.  No one got hurt, thank God, so let’s do our best to carry on.  We only have one more contestant and then we’ll choose a winner.  Now where were we?  Our next contestant is Dr. Henrietta Beatrix Bunny.  Welcome Dr. Bunny.  I understand that you are a history professor at Beatrix Potter University.  A lot of humans are interested in the history of how the bunny, the basket, the boiled eggs, the Cadburys, and the jelly beans supplanted the death and resurrection of the Lord?”

***

Pinned by milkbeforebed.tumblr.com

DR. HENRIETTA BEATRIX POTTER:  “I’m-so-happy-you-asked-me-that-question-because-it-is-really-quite-the-story-since-history-is-always-quite-the-story-is-it-not? (GULP) Well-you-see-the-Christians-stole-all-the-pagan-rituals-and-tied-them-into-their-new-celebrations-and-Easter-is-no-exception. (GULP) Greg-Jenner-has-written-a-marvelous-article-(I-tell-you-just-marvelous)-entitled-‘Easter:-what’s-with-all-the-bunnies-and-stuff?’-and-he-says- that- the-word-Easter-came-from-the-word-‘Eostre-who- was-a-pagan-goddess-in-the-Saxon-religion. (GULP) In-fact-almost-everything-we-do-or-have-done-emerged-from-the-pagans-and-we-either-modified-it-to-fit-the-biblical-characters-or-we-outgrew-it. (GULP) Why-Mr.-Jenner-tells-the-most-delightful-story-about-how-Christian-farmers-used-to-bless-their-lands-to-make-them-fertile. (GULP) They-would-go-out-and-follow-these-pagan-instructions-to-the-letter-of-the-law:

‘1) At night, dig up four clumps of soil from the four corners of the field

 2) Then take a sample of every grass, herb, tree in the field, and add it to milk from every cow, and honey from every bee hive.

 3) Now add holy water to this concoction, and drip it in the holes…

 4) Now sing an incantation, asking them to grow.

 5) Now sing the Lord’s Prayer, several times

 6) Now take the four clumps of earth into the church, and get your local priest to sing four masses… one for each clump

7) Now get four crucifixes and write Matthew, Mark, Luke and John on them. Place the crucifixes in the holes you have dug, and shout ‘Grow!’ nine times

 8) Now sing the Lord’s Prayer nine times

 9) Now turn east, bow and say a prayer

 10) Now turn around clockwise three times, and then lie prostrate on the ground while chanting about your lovely green fields

11) Now bless the plough and bless the seed

 12) Now plough a furrow, and place a cake of honey and milk in it.

 13) Well done, you now have a fertile field!’

WHEW-isn’t-that-so-silly! (GULP) Now-back-to-bunnies-eggs-and-Easter-which-came-to-us-via-the-Germans in the 17^th Century. . . .”*

***

I am discovering that one must never give a professorial bunny an open mic!  Anyway, a very beautiful bunny won (Miss Honey-pot Bunny) that was a mixture of all the bunny races and became the proud Easter Bunny of 2012.   But since none of the answers of the bunnies were satisfactory to nourish the spirit and soul of humans, Miss Honey-pot’s Easter duties only encompassed satisfying the taste buds and the body.  IMP. NOTE:  “Norma” Nutria escaped from the Bunny security and is still on the lam.

Prize Rabbit/Google Image

I am discovering that bunnies, boiled eggs, and Easter candy (I do so love me some jelly beans) can only feed the body, but the rejection, the loneliness, the fear, the cruelty, the injustice, and the pain and horror of living on this Earth can only be overcome by the touch of a god who has the ability to feed my soul and inhabit my spirit so that I will not retaliate and become the evil that assails me.  I don’t understand everything about my Lord’s death and resurrection, but nobody has come back to tell me what is really on the other side (I don’t believe that little boy who claims he saw Heaven for a “hot chocolate minute”—he’s a mimic of his religious parents—no more no less), so I could be wrong about so many things which is why I respect other religions and would never, ever lead a crusade.  But until the newly departed atheist author, Christopher Hitchens (“Hitch”), comes back and says, “nanny-nanny-boo-boo, I was right—there is nothing beyond the veil,” and Carl Sagan tags along to confirm it, I’ll stake my claim on the resurrection and keep aiming for an abundant life on this rock and beyond.  To that end, the Easter Bunny will stay in its place of “cuteness” along with Santa, and I’ll go and join in on Handel’s Messiah with the rest of the imperfect Christians on Easter as I humbly sing, “As for me, I know that my Redeemer lives, and at the last He will take His stand on the Earth.”

Happy Easter and a glorious Passover (“Chag Pesach Sameach”)!

Ruben’s Resurrection of Christ

* http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/greg-jenner/easter-whats-with-all-the-bunnies_b_1406355.html

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Eleanor Tomczyk and “How the Hell Did I End Up Here?” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 

Bracket and Blog It!

Do you know what I’ve discovered?  March Madness—and Sarah Palin drove me to it!  What you need to understand is that I don’t know a damn thing about basketball (I mean, I’m black, so I KNOW about basketball, but I could care less about hoops in my old age).  I haven’t been to a basketball game in 45 years, not to mention that I pretty much hate all sports.  I’d much rather be attending a Broadway show or reading a book, so if I’ve currently lost myself in basketball madness, then you know I am close to losing my freakin’ mind.

Here’s what happened.  Recently I was going along my merry way—minding my own damn business—when I got a chance to check out the HBO production of Game Change.   I thought I knew what to expect; I thought I was prepared for the horror, but I was wrong.   The picking of Sarah Palin to run for vice president, who would be a heartbeat away from the presidency of a running mate who was 72 years old at the time, turned out to be one of the most reckless, cynical, and arbitrary things that has happened in recent American history.   I was once a fan of McCain’s (war hero and all; you know how much I love “true grit”), and had actually considered voting for him (a black woman voting for a white Republican male, right?—go figure), but I got to see enough behind the curtain of Ms. Palin to send me fleeing to the left before it was too late.  I had no idea that I had only glimpsed a token amount of what the writer, Richard Cohen, calls Palin’s “great talents to deny the truth,” her sheer ignorance about simple foreign affairs, and her petulant, childlike ability to sulk away, shut down, and go into a catatonic state, not to mention her arrogant hard-headedness when she didn’t want to study and absorb what was being taught to make her a viable candidate.   And since Game Change has been endorsed by most of Palin’s top campaign staff as accurate, according to Mr. Cohen, Miss Sarah can’t deny its veracity; she can only accuse them of being disloyal.   That is a very small price for her to pay to have awakened us all to the fact that we escaped a self-absorbed, celebrity seeking, clueless ex-beauty queen, ersatz Born-Again Christian who had heard “God say” she was called to save our country for the “real Americans” through her vice presidency because she “so didn’t want to go back to Alaska.”

Game Change/Movie Trailer (Julianne Moore as Sarah Palin)

“At some point while watching HBO’s absolutely smashing (and terrifying) movie “Game Change.”  It occurred to me that Sarah Palin has ruined America . . . With her selection as John McCain’s running mate, American politics lost its way—and maybe its mind as well . . . Après Palin has come a deluge of dysfunctional presidential candidates (Herman Cain, Michele Bachmann, Rick Perry, Rick Santorum—parenthesis mine).  They do not lie with quite the conviction of Palin, but they are sometimes her match in ignorance.”—Richard Cohen (“Sarah Palin’s Foolishness Ruined U.S. Politics”—The Washington Post)

*****

I couldn’t breathe.  I was depressed for days!  And when I thought about sorry-ass John Edwards on the left who had cheated on his cancer-ridden wife all during his campaign, sired a child with his mistress, lied about it, and even campaigned to be President Obama’s vice president until he was exposed (just in time):  I threw up!

Normally, when I am scandalized by things like this—white people acting the fool—I write about something absurd that will make me laugh at the sheer craziness of it all.  So I searched all my news sources and the only thing that was absurd, but not sad, this week (because absurd plus sad usually equals mental illness and isn’t funny to me) was:  mantyhose (a.k.a “brosiery”).

“This is the flagship men’s pantyhose style by Ohio-based Comfilon’s Activeskin Legwear for Men. The company, which has seen a steady increase in sales, uses the tagline, ‘This is NOT your mother’s pantyhose.’” By Vidya Rao (Today)

Oooooookay!?!   What?  WTF!  AAAUUUGGH!

Picture pinned by Eric Xiao Ming/Pinterest

As I went screaming into the night, it was at that exact moment (as it almost always is when one is being seduced) that two junkies saddled up to me and whispered in my ear the “fix” they could provide to break me out of my misery:  “Psst!  We got just what you need, girlfriend—March Madness.”   I put up a struggle—I really did.  But they told me “everybody was doing it,” and the more I fought, the more terms like “seed the field,” “bracketology,” “ratings percentage index,” NCAA, ESPN—to name a few—started sounding a little less foreign to me.  And the more things started making sense, the more I came under the March Madness spell.  Then the coup-de-grace, the hook, the manipulation: One of the junkies told me I could have “diva shoes” for the entire March Madness season if I just played along, and Lord have mercy, I lost my soul.

OH, SNAP!

…AND DOUBLE SNAP!

I found out about this new “March Madness” drug at 11:00 a.m. on March 15th (the final day to finalize one’s bracket), and I only had an hour to submit my choices once the junkies clued me in on the wonderment of getting high off bracketology.   I had no idea what to do, but like true junkies, my suppliers said they’d give me this year’s instructions for “free” and walked me through the process.  They said it didn’t matter that I didn’t know my ass from my elbow as far as the basketball teams were concerned, because that really wasn’t necessary to “get high”—I just needed to go with the flow to get hooked.  So I picked teams according to whether I liked the colors of their school (Syracuse), or if I didn’t like their state politics, or if they were an underdog due to extreme economic hardship (Michigan State), or if WW and I ever lived in the state.  With everything chosen and in place, I submitted my NCAA Bracket under the pseudonym, “Big Mama’s Picks,” and then I slid into a catatonic state of basketball euphoria.

 

BIG EAST ACC TOURNAMENT/clotureclub

******

BIG MAMA’S PICKS (as of 10:00 p.m. 3/15)

Big Mama’s Champion Pick:  Syracuse University

Why?  Because their school colors match a pair of my favorite shoes!

I am discovering that “sometimes a baby’s got to do what a baby’s got to do” and join in on the fun—especially where new shoes are involved and shattered nerves from movies about monsters almost taking over the White House can be soothed.   Whatever it takes, I say (within reason), and the ability to purchase kick-ass shoes is always a plus.

…AND TRIPLE SNAP, BABY!

“When I went to Catholic high school in Philadelphia, we just had one coach for football and basketball. He took all of us who turned out and had us run through a forest. The ones who ran into the trees were on the football team.” ~ George Raveling

“When it’s played the way is spozed to be played, basketball happens in the air; flying, floating, elevated above the floor, levitating the way oppressed peoples of this earth imagine themselves in their dreams.” ~ John Edgar Wideman

A special “shout out” to my “March Madness Junkies”:  Jean W. and Kathy P. (thanks for the title, KP)

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Eleanor Tomczyk and “How the Hell Did I End Up Here?” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 

News You Can’t Possibly Use

Do you know what I’ve discovered?  I’m a crawl-news-line crack addict.  For those of you unfamiliar with this addiction, it is the inability to watch the news without simultaneously reading the news ticker line that scrolls along the bottom third of most TV news that features minor pieces of irrelevant shit (i.e., “Sex tape of John Edwards and his mistress to be destroyed following trial”).   And I know the exact date I got hooked.  When Sarah Palin was questioned by Katie Couric about what newspapers she read to form her political opinions and Sarah couldn’t answer that simple, non-threatening question, I panicked!  How could a person running for the second highest office in the land not know her news sources?  I was a woman, and a Christian.  Would the media think that we all were that out-to-lunch and misinformed?  I had nightmares of being stopped on the street by Katie, or Anderson, or Bryan, or Wolf and being asked the same question as “Miss-I-can-see-Alaska-from-my-house-Palin.”  Well, hells-bells Charlie Brown, I made a pledge to not only beef up my extensive news reading list, but I made a declaration to never go without news input—in any form ever again—as God is my witness. So every morning I get on the treadmill and for 60-75 minutes I listen to the news, religiously read the news crawls at the bottom of the screen, and give running commentary as if being interviewed by Mika Brzezinski while I pace myself to Bruno Mars and the Black Eyed Peas.   I am queen of the news crawl world, hear me roar!

Google Image/themavesite.com

It was a few years ago when I started the trend of keeping up with the crawls, and all was going well until recently.  You could ask me anything about anything and I could fill you in at a moment’s notice.  Katie Couric wasn’t going to catch me unawares—no siree, babe.  But last week something dreadful happened:  I discovered I could no longer see the news crawl scrolling by from my position on the treadmill!  At first I thought my glasses were dirty but after maniacally cleaning them with every solvent in the house, I fled to my ophthalmologist’s office shaking from head to toe and unable to keep the tremor from my voice and my hands as I screamed:  “I NEED A FIX, DOC!”

 “You’ve got to help me.  I can’t take this.  I can’t see the news crawl on Morning Joe and the Today Show, anymore.  How the hell am I supposed to stay informed?  What if Rachel Maddow invites me on her show for an in-depth interview and I end up being compared to Sarah Palin?  You’ve got to help me, dude!”

******

All’s well that ends well, because the doc was able to give me a temporary “fix” of a new prescription for my glasses.  And just in the nick of time, too.  I had missed so much information!   One day of by-passing the news crawl and you’re out for the count.  Just today as I was charging up my 8.0 incline, the news crawls gave me the Inner City Blues and, like Marvin Gaye said, “made me want to holler and throw up both my hands!”  As my readers, I wanted you to know what I’m up against every day.  Below is a sample of the news crawls I followed this week to keep myself entertained.

Buttfire/The Car Lounge/Google Image

NEWS CRAWL:  Extended exposure to car seat heaters can cause Toasted Skin Syndrome. . . .

Me:   “WTF!  I love my butt-seat warmer in my Chrysler minivan.  The government better not make a ruling banning these, no matter how many asses are set aflame.  This is where I draw the line with government involvement:  feed the poor, house the homeless, job the jobless, educate our children well,  but keep your hands of my ass-warmers.  I will have to become a Republican and fight them on this if my seat-warmer is disconnected.  My ass is my ass and if it goes up in flames on a cold winter’s morn on my way to work, then so be it!”

Skyline Drive—Blue Ridge Mountains/Photo by J Tomczyk

NEWS CRAWL:  East Coast asking:  What the heck happened to winter . . . ?

Me:  I know what happened to winter; I bought my husband, WW,  a snow blower!  And not just any ol’ snow blower—one that is the size of a small house and is self-propelled with its own headlights.  I did this because, unlike Rick Santorum, I believe in global warming and the past two snow storms have been proof of it.  Snow was up the wazoo on our property, and all I could see in my mind’s eye was my man keeling over from a heart attack from shoveling endless snow because of the extreme weather we were having due to the shift in the global climate patterns.  Of course, everyone from my Cambodian electrician to my corporate exec boss told me that by purchasing a snow blower of such magnitude, I was guaranteeing the East Coast a winter without snow.  Works out well because it’s allowing more time for WW and me to do what we love:  travel!  (Thank you notes can be sent to my blog email expressing gratitude for me being the reason for this season.)

Google Image/newsoverseas.com

NEWS CRAWL:  Anti-gravity yoga lets you hang head-first like bats to ramp up workout. . . .

Me:  REALLY!?  Seriously, insane people; have you seen my first attempt at being suspended in air?  Do you honestly suggest I do your yoga suspension exercise after viewing this? Really?

Photo by J Tomczyk

(Note Blogger doing long-forgotten pregnancy breathing to keep from fainting.)

******

NEWS CRAWL:  Palin’s emails reveal marital problems. . . .

Sarah Palin/Google/Getty Image

Me:  Really?  R-E-A-L-L-Y?  Wait a minute, here.  Didn’t McCain say she had been fully vetted before being picked as his sidekick?  Also, I thought Sarah vociferously denied that she and ol’ Todd were ever in a divorcing state of mind when confronted by her low-life “soon to be son-in—law’s” news crawl, “Levi says:  ‘I’m hiding “HUGE” things about the Palins.”  She hunkered down and called him a liar (of course I would have done the same thing with that piece of work.)

Hum . . . but where there is smoke there is fire, so I hopped off the treadmill with 30 minutes left of my workout in order to look up this story online just to learn that that particular news item was slightly misleading (you have to watch out for these types of teaser crawls—they are not always accurate).  The news crawl was referencing a time before John McCain screwed the country over with his cynical pick of Sarah for VP.  Becky Boher from Huffingtonpost states that “The emails indicate her (Sarah Palin) job had taken a toll on her marriage long before she even became McCain’s running mate.  In a Sept. 26, 2007, email to Kris Perry and her husband Todd, titled ‘Marital Problems,’ Palin writes: ‘So speaking of… If we, er, when we get a divorce, does that quell “conflict of interest” accusations about BP?’ Her husband was a former BP employee on the North Slope.” 

Google Image/I am luscious download

NEWS CRAWL:  GOP Virginia Lawmaker says wife wouldn’t have sex because of his support for transvaginal ultrasound bill

Me:  I literally fell off the treadmill from laughter when I read this crawler.  NO SEX FOR YOU, MY REPUB BOY!  I found the story in Huffingpost and it made my day.  Apparently State Del. Albo was one of the supporters of the mandatory transvaginal ultrasound bill that a bunch of crusty ol’ white men put together that Virginia Governor (“I’ve lost my freakin’ mind”) O’Donnell had promised to sign once it reached his desk.  After significant push-back from the women of Virginia and signs that O’Donnell’s political career was sinking faster than a cinder block dropped into the Rappahannock River, the “rape by instruments” portion of the bill was modified, although the remainder of the bill still leaves much to be desired.  On the day of the modification of the bill, good ol’ Del. Albo was feeling a little randy (a man can get that way from thinking about how to invade vaginas) and went home to seduce his wife.  He dimmed the lights, poured some wine, popped in the Luther Vandross CD, and turned on the Redskins’ Channel (apparently The Wife gets turned on by watching the Washington team)—hey, whatever floats your boat!  Just as good ol’ boy Albo was ready to do the wild thang, a news story about the machinations of Governor Bob McDonnell’s career-terminating “modified” bill emphasized that it bullies women with medically unnecessary waiting periods and ultrasound requirements.  Del. Albo’s wife, had an “aha” moment upon realizing her husband’s part in the debacle, turned off the TV and announced, “I have to go to bed,” according to Del. Albo’s recounting of the scenario in the House of Delegates.  The news crawl tomorrow should read:  State delegate fails to “score” due to news of vaginal probe; one less Republican will be joining the ranks.  I think I’m going to put this story in Rick Santorum’s suggestion box for the Republicans to utilize in place of contraception:  Threaten to yank women back to the 1950’s, “no nookie for you!”

******

I am discovering that my regular news sources (8—count them Sarah—8) give me the serious fleshed-out news that I need to sound intelligent and stay informed, but my news crawlers, more often than not, give me a huge laugh because they are simply theater of the absurd.  Which begs the question, why the hell do we have them in the first place?  They move much too fast to catch the first go round and if you have an anal personality like mine, you become obsessed with waiting for the particular news crawl to circle back so that you can catch the second half of the sentence of something that you didn’t need to know in the first place.  Aren’t there better things to do in life?

Author/J Tomczyk Photo

“The one function that TV news performs very well is that when there is no news we give it to you with the same emphasis as if there were.” David Brinkley

******

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Eleanor Tomczyk and “How the Hell Did I End Up Here?” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 

Get Up Outta My Face

Do you know what I’ve discovered?  I’d love to have the power to “zap” the hell out of people when they get up in my face with all their trash talkin’.  I’ve always been a great fan of the Harry Potter books and all fantasies with wizards and wands, and after watching the latest and final installment of “Deathly Hallows-Part 2” (I had read the book ages ago, of course), I truly wished I had a magic wand.   But unlike Harry, I’m not so sure I could have given up possession of the “Elder Wand” (the most powerful wand that ever existed).

As I languidly daydreamed about what it would be like to have my own super-powerful wand which I would name “Bitch-zap,” I thought to myself that I could do some serious damage against all the people who got on my nerves.  Depending on who pissed me off and in what mood I was in that day, you’d hear a “BITCH-ZAP” here and a “BITCH-ZAP” there—here a “ZAP,” there a “ZAP,” everywhere a “BITCH-ZAP”!  Now don’t be alarmed!  With my super-charged ability to cast a variety of spells, I would be very benevolent and would only turn most people into a motley crew of odd looking animals—until they shut the fuck up.  It wouldn’t be about physically harming anyone, as much as it would be about making them “get up outta my face.”

ZAP!

Google Image/Eleanor’s Favorite “Tomato Frog Zap”

ZAP-ZAP!

Google Image/Eleanor’s Favorite “Thumb Nail Frog” Zap

I think I would limit my powers to a couple of categories (one never wants to be greedy in one’s grasp for wand power):  personal grievances and political annoyances.

For the men who did me wrong in the past, I used to think I would obliterate them from the face of the Earth.  But in retrospect, meeting them helped me realize what I didn’t want, and when I met my husband, WW (white and wonderful), my vision had been greatly sharpened, and I knew he was the real deal.  So now I’d just turn those “players” into Blob fish and bury them at the bottom of the deepest sea.

ZAP-ZAP!

Google Image/Eleanor’s “Blob fish Zap” used against players

For the employers who’ve represented “The Man” in my journey (they’ve all been white and male), I’d turn those silly white men into Axolotls and toss them to the bottom of the deepest sea, especially the one who told me that he thought I wasn’t very bright (I had disagreed with him on something).  That “Boss-man” told me I should make a note that when he walks into a room he is normally the smartest person there on any given day; therefore, nothing I had to say could possibly trump what he had already declared.

ZAP-ZAP-ZAP!

Google Image/Eleanor’s “Axolotl Boss Zap”

When my teenagers started hurling their “sassy-mouth,” right-of-passage smack toward me, I wouldn’t have wanted them to come to any harm, but I would have used my Bitch-zap wand in a heartbeat to “zap-a-zip” on those argumentative sassy mouths and would have kept them zipped until their late twenties when they began to see my brilliance as it should have been seen at sixteen, and who now think “I’m all that and a bag of chips” (Girls, that’s all I’m sayin’)!

ZAP!

Google Image/Eleanor’s “Bird of Paradise Zap” Used Specifically for Mouthy Teenagers

 When it came to politics, I would have a field day!  Ann Coulter and her slave mentality of “our blacks are so much better than their blacks” would be sent back to Madagascar with her suitable rodent-like teeth and extended middle finger that she could no longer use against all the good people everywhere who oppose her snarky, mean-spirited commentary.   This Negro would insure that her middle finger could only be used to forage for grubs out of the knots of trees.

BITCH-ZAP!

 Google Image/Eleanor’s “Aye-Aye Zap” (Reserved for Ann Coulter only)

Rush Limbaugh, Glenn Beck, the entire cast of Fox News, and Pat Buchannan with their barely disguised racism against Jews, Blacks, and Latinos (who would like to see us all “banished” from their “great country”) would be zapped into an animal that rarely sees the light of day and has no human contact of any color.

ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP!

Google Image/Eleanor’s “Star-nosed Mole Zap” for Fox News and Racist Radio Pundits

And of course, I’ve made it well known that I have no regard for people who claim to speak in God’s name, claiming that God told them to ascend, acquire, or acclaim a position of power when they’re just plain ol’ greedy, ambitious, and trying to promote a book.

EXHIBIT A:  “I prayed and prayed and prayed—I’m a man of faith; I had to do a lot of praying for this one, more praying than I’d ever done before in my life.  When I finally realized that it was God saying that this is what I needed to do, I was like Moses:  ‘You’ve got the wrong man, Lord.  Are you sure?’  Now, you’re not supposed to doubt God, but I’m going, ‘I think maybe you’re looking at somebody else’…but I did not look back.”  Herman Cain’s Mountaintop experience as reported in Huffington Post.

Herman, let’s just say God did tell you to run for president.  He didn’t tell you that you would win—now did he?  Think about it.  Anita Perry heard the same thing about her husband, Sarah Palin heard the same thing about herself, and Bachmann claims the same hotline to God.  You can’t all be right.  I zap-zap Hermie to the bottom of the sea—instantly!

ZAP! ZAP AND DOUBLE-ZAP TO BOTTOM OF SEA!

Google Image/Eleanor’s “Double Octopus Zap”

(Reserved for only the stupidest amongst us)

******

I had a lot of grins and giggles pondering this harmless daydream for several days until the Penn State nightmare began to seep into my psyche.  As I came out of the “clouds” to stare into the glare of reality, I realized I’d give anything to really have an Elder Wand with its “killing curse” because I would do a hell of a lot more than turn people into odd looking creatures.  I’d do God’s job.

As any of my friends will tell you, I don’t know diddly-squat about football programs (I barely can recognize the shape of a football), but I know an inordinate amount about the evils of pedophilia.  I know what it looks like, I know what it feels like, and I know what it sounds like.  I was made painfully aware of its presence at ages 6, 7, and 8 and then again at ages 9, 10, and 11.  Jerry Sandusky, I’ve read the Grand Jury Report from cover to cover, and I heard your shameless interview with Bob Costas.  “Jerry Sandusky,” I KNOW YOU!  I’m one of the millions of children who was left “alone, abandoned to evil, and weeping in the dark,”* because of perverts like you.  If I had a magic wand, I’d point it at your penis and blow it to smithereens because I know your “voice,” and I know you’re guilty!

Jerry Sandusky, if I had the power I would go on a “seek and destroy” mission with my wand on behalf of all your victims and I wouldn’t stop until justice had been done.  I don’t give a shit how many football games your “Joe-Pa” has won or how many great football programs he put into place.  I don’t give a fuck if Penn State ever plays another football game as long as the Earth exists.  I would make Coach Paterno, Asst. Coach McQueary, and all who colluded with them to keep your deviance under wraps, sit face to face with every victim of your touch, while they graphically relayed what you did to them and the subsequent trauma of trying to find their way onto the path of a “normal” life as they attempted to grow up.  When Joe-Pa and all his cronies finished listening to the victims of Penn State, then I’d have them listen to all the victims of the Catholic Church, and finally they’d listen to my childhood terror.

I was six years old, Coaches Paterno and McQueary—six-years-old!

Coach Paterno, Assistant Coach McQueary, Athletic Director Curley, Vice President Schultz, and the janitors who saw Sandusky in action but never told, so as to protect their jobs:  Do you have grandchildren, little nieces and nephews, or little godchildren?  If forcing you to listen to the retelling of all our stories didn’t drive you insane, as to the prospect of this type of abuse happening to your own flesh and blood, then I’d finish you all off with a “zap” into Hell for your egregious sin of omission which allowed Sandusky to get away with the murder of our innocence, our psyches, and our childhood.

******

But I don’t live in a daydream, and I refuse to become a monster in order to demolish one.  I live in reality and I am discovering that I’ve had a magic wand all my life, and I’ve used it frequently:  its name is forgiveness; its power is the reason I am sane.

I am discovering that forgiveness is not for the perpetrator as much as it is for the victim.  I learned that a long time ago. The perpetrator(s) may never repent (mine never did), but forgiveness is still the most powerful wand of the day that allows the victim(s) to become a triumphant survivor(s) and get on with his or her life.   I’m also discovering that to hang onto bitterness and revenge against the Jerry Sanduskys of the world allows the evil to continually rape us.

If I could give a magic wand to the precious ”children” of Penn State, I’d give them the wand of forgiveness to be used toward their rapist and all who colluded against them.  However, if I could “zap” the misguided students of Penn State who rioted on campus like petulant children upon hearing about their beloved coach’s firing, I would zap them with the wand of “compassion” and “accountability.”  They are not too young to learn something Joe-Pa failed to exemplify:  all children are our children.

The author on the left at six-years-old

******

Upon finishing this post, I learned of another sexual abuse cover-up that happened at The Citadel in their summer camp program by one of their camp counselors (Louis Neal “Skip” ReVille) four years ago.  The Citadel did not report it to the police.  Mr. Reville graduated and went on to become the principal of Coastal Christian Preparatory School “where he coached sports for several years,” according to the Huffington Post.  ReVille was arrested in October for allegedly molesting at least five children unrelated to the Citadel whose program is now defunct.

Have we had enough?

Speak up!  Keep a child safe.

www.stopitnow.org

No higher cause can trump that obligation (natural justice) — not a church, and certainly not a football program. And not even a lifetime of heroism† can make up for leaving a single child alone, abandoned to evil, weeping in the dark.* From an Op-Ed NY Times piece, “The Devil And Joe Paterno” by Ross Douthat (†Referencing Dario Castrillon Hoyos who “was elevated to the College of Cardinals and placed in charge of the Vatican’s Congregation for the Clergy, where he came to embody the culture of denial that characterized Rome’s initial response to the sex abuse crisis.”)

******

Forgiveness is the answer to the child’s dream of a miracle by which what is broken is made whole again, what is soiled is made clean again. —Dag Hammarskjold

******

It really doesn’t matter if the person who hurt you deserves to be forgiven. Forgiveness is a gift you give yourself. You have things to do and you want to move on.  Real Live Preacher, RealLivePreacher.com Weblog, July 7, 2003

Text by Eleanor Tomczyk © 2011

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Eleanor Tomczyk and “How the Hell Did I End Up Here?” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 

Don’t Quote Me—But I Think Jesus Is Pissed!

(This story is a continuation of C-‘48’s Odyssey from blog post: “It’s Sure Gonna Suck for You.”)

Do you know what I’ve discovered?  My sorry-ass was supposed to be “out of here” last week—Oct. 21^st (a.k.a. the Rapture).  I haven’t always believed in the Rapture, but I figured why not give it a try.  Earth was becoming a place that was really beginning to suck for a various number of reasons (wars upon wars and rumors of wars, floods, hurricanes, earthquakes, uptick in racism, child abuse, murders, mayhem, and rape—just to name a few nightmares).  I was looking forward to the great escape and going to a place where there would be no more tears, and I could eat great food without gaining weight.  I could stand to trade in all the stress from the chaos and mayhem, and just “hang ten” with Jesus (in heaven I’m going to have a killer surfer bod and be able to surf like a female Kelly Slater).  I’d gotten all my affairs in order, paid all my bills, called in sick to work, kissed WW and the kids good-bye, and prepared myself for a long trip “up.”  But nothing happened!

I’m typing this blog post several days AFTER I was supposed to take flight with my wig and clothes left behind on the seat in front of the steering wheel of my car while my chubby naked ass floated heavenward.  My vehicle would have barreled on down the highway without a driver, terrorizing the “left behind drivers” and the “po-po,” which made me sad at first, but it was just the way the cookie had to crumble if I was going to be part of the “big snatch.”  But. . . I’m still here!   What the fuck?

Google Image/Rapture Billboard

Actually, according to that old dude (Harold Camping) who prophesied the big snatch for Oct. 21st, he promised that I was supposed to be originally raptured on May 21^st.

Well, Rev. Camping, you’ve sure got some explaining to do.  It’s like you cried “fire” in a dark theater twice in one year, causing tons of people to panic, but there was no fire.  I’m still here on this planet that I never wanted to come to in the first place (see “It’s Sure Gonna Suck for You”), and your second “snatch day” has come and gone.

So, I’ve had it, Campy baby, and I’m not taking this lying down.  I’d open up a can of whup-ass on you if I could find you (apparently, you’re in hiding), but since I can’t find you, I’m going to do what every little kid on the playground knows to do when they are pissed at one of the other kids:  I’m tellin’ on your ass.

I’m going straight to the person who you claim to be “your boss” and I’m going to tell him how you’re messin’ with people’s minds, causing all sorts of chaos, and making a mockery of your boss’ life and death.  You see, I have discovered the Jesus you talk about is a real stand-up guy, and I’m registering a letter of complaint to him against you.  And while I’m at it, I’m telling on all the other ne’er-do-wells that are saying “God told me this or God told me that” just for their own political or financial gain!  YOUR ASS IS GRASS, MOFO!

COPY OF LETTER TO JESUS

Dear Jesus:

Hope all is well with you and the universe(s) and the hundreds of billions of galaxies you traverse.  I am one of your peeps and I’ve tried to follow you with all my heart for over forty years.  Let me say, first and foremost:  I love you because you first loved me and I remain secure in that love.  However, in the interest of full disclosure, I no longer attend church, but I’m sure you knew that.   I left about a year before the writer Anne Rice left and for the same reasons:  so many of your peeps have lost their ever lovin’, freakin’ minds, and they have become part of the problem and not the solution down here on your third rock from the sun.  They’ve become Fox News worshipers, Glenn Beck idolizers, and Palin-Bachmann sympathizers, as if you, personally, had come down from heaven and knighted these people with a special dispensation from on high.

Which is why I’m writing:  I would like to register a complaint against your Church.  I’m not registering the complaint against all of your Church, just  the crazy parts.  I know that there has always been a remnant of Christians who have been sane and have done the  right thing by your Earth and the people in it, but right now, the crazies are  over-shadowing your “normal” peeps who are just trying to model your example of integrity, love, and grace.

So I’m writing to ask:  what is up with these people and would you please put a stop to them?  You’re such an intelligent God and so outrageously loving and great—with a fabulous sense of humor, I might add—but it’s hard to see that because of what people, who “claim” to be your peeps, are saying and doing in your name.  In case you haven’t been able to catch the news lately, here are a few examples of the freak show:

Google Image/Rev. Harold Camping (False Prophet)

Rev. Camping’s Predictions

“Thus, we must realize that October 21, 2011 will be the final day of this earth’s existence.”

“And now, we have no option. We can’t say ‘maybe’ ‘it’s possible’ ‘it
looks very probable…’ No way! We have to say this is what the Bible teaches!
This is fact! May 21, 2011 is the
day of the Rapture, it is the day that Judgment Day begins…”

“When September 6, 1994,
arrives, no one else can become saved. The end has come.”

Really, Jesus?  I’ve read that in the 90’s, Rev. Camping had approximately eight false Rapture predictions.  And yet I hear today he’s worth 7 million dollars, while the people who took him seriously sold all their worldly goods to help him “spread the word.”  Obviously, he didn’t think he was going very far if he held onto his own millions.  Last time I checked, our money was no good in Heaven.  But here’s the real kick in the balls:  Rev. Camping refused to reimburse the people who sold their homes, crisscrossed the country screaming “the end is near,” and used all their life savings to advertise Rev. Campings false predictions (some foolish guy invested $144,000 of his retirement—all he had).

Google Image/Anita Perry (Wife of Rick Perry)

“God was already speaking to me,” she [Anita Perry] said, “but he [Rick] didn’t want to hear it” (on hearing the distinct voice of God tell her that her husband should run for president and “take back our nation”). . . .  “We’ve been brutalized. Beaten up, chewed up in the press … We’ve been brutalized by our opponents and our own party. So much that is I think they look at him [Rick] because of his faith.”

Jesus, what Anita is saying, just isn’t true.  Ricky is being chewed up in the press because he’s saying idiotic and “anti-you” things but claiming to be called by you to be our next president.  On one hand, he’s presenting himself as a “good, upstanding Christian” (your knight in shining armor), and on the other hand, he’s pathetically defending the existence of a damn rock that bore the name “Niggerhead” at a hunting camp he and his family owned for years in a place that was once considered a “sundown town.”  (Translation:  “Don’t let the sun go down, Nigger, while you are still in our town.”)   Ricky says he painted over that rock in 1983, but at least seven other hunters claim to have seen the sign “unpainted” as late as 2008, and others have said that even with the sign currently painted, discernable letters are still visible.

Google Image/Throckmorton (Rick Perry’s Hunting Camp)

So, Jesus, here is the $64,000 question:  If this man loves you and is called by you to govern people of all races and colors, why didn’t that sign break his heart?  I know plenty of righteous white folks (some of them live in Texas, too) who wouldn’t have slept until that rock was ground into dust, scattered to the four corners of the Earth, and an exorcist brought into the camp to cleanse it of its racist past.

Now your “man of God,” is resurfacing the insulting Birther lie about our president.  When asked why, this “good Christian man” is doing such a mean-spirited thing, he said:  “It’s fun to poke at him (Obama) a little bit and say, ‘Hey, how about it.  Let’s see your grades and your birth certificate’” (keeping alive the lie the Tea Party spread that our President may have lied about his schooling).  Seriously, Jesus?  Does Rick Perry really want to “go there” having graduated as a cheerleader from Texas A&M with mediocre to failing grades in his core subjects?  Does he really want to bear the shame of the world comparing his grades against Barack Obama’s who was the president of the Harvard Law Review?   Rick Perry held a prayer meeting in your name to kick off his presidential campaign, so why is he “poking” fun at his president and mine?  Is Rick jealous or just flat out mean?  Somehow the “love your brother as yourself” just isn’t cutting it with him, and it’s making that prayer meeting of his seem like a total sham.

Google Image/AFP||Getty Image

Westboro Baptist Church “Screaming hatred in the name of Jesus”

Now about that sick Westboro Baptist Church:  This picture speaks a thousand words.  Are these people really going to Heaven?  I seriously might have to reconsider your offer about heaven if I have the slightest potential of living with these racist, homophobic, misanthropic people for an eternity.  Please, say it isn’t so!

You see what I’m sayin’, Jesus; it’s all so perverse!   To Hell with this creepy Rapture stuff!  I know it’s a lie made up by some dude named John Darby in the 1800’s, but you’d be stunned to know how many people actually believe in it and “sell it” like their lives depended on it while their actions are the antithesis of you and what you stand for.

•  “You’ll be riding along in an automobile. You’ll be the driver perhaps. You’re a Christian. There’ll be several people in the automobile with you, maybe someone who is not a Christian. When the trumpet sounds you and the other born-again believers in that automobile will be instantly caught away — you will disappear, leaving behind only your clothes and physical things that cannot inherit eternal life. That unsaved person or persons in the automobile will suddenly be startled to find the car suddenly somewhere crashes…. Other cars on the highway driven by believers will suddenly be out of control and stark pandemonium will occur on … every highway in the world where Christians are caught away from the driver’s wheel.” Jerry Falwell’s pamphlet:  Nuclear War and the Second Coming of Christ

Remember Jerry Falwell’s multitudinous hurtful and racist statements committed in your name when he was alive?  So, if Jerry was correct about the Rapture, that would make you the God of Chaos!  Sheesh!  (Important reminder, Lord Jesus:  Jerry Falwell also died very rich and politically powerful while preaching we all needed to prepare to be “snatched up” and leave everything behind.)

No disrespect, my Lord, but why do you let these jokers get away with this?  Why don’t you say something or, better yet, do something?

Unless…unless you have already raptured everyone a long time ago, and I’ve been left behind with the likes of Sarah Palin, Michelle Bachmann, Newt Gingrich, Glenn Beck, Herman Cain, Rush Limbaugh, Rick Perry, and the Westboro Baptist Church, just to name a few of the wingnuts!  Oh, my God, what if Fox News is the official news channel for Hell?  I never thought of that!  Oy vez mir. 

Please, please return soon.

Trying to be one of your servants, C-‘48

Google Image of Jesus (not really—just his human skin-casing)

COPY OF RESPONSE FROM JESUS

Dear Cleve-’48:

I am Jesus’ executive assistant and I wanted to get back to you as soon as possible with a letter that he specifically dictated to you.  He sends his apologies that he couldn’t personally speak to you himself (he does far less of that than people claim), but he is dealing with all the mayhem throughout the world that is being caused by the choices of humans who refuse to do right by each other and the Earth. 

Jesus asked me to let you know that he feels your pain.  He also wants to assure you that he never said anything crazy people have maintained he said throughout the centuries—from the murderous crusaders to Rick Perry’s wife saying God told her, “Rick should run for president and take our country back.”  Jesus’ exact response to all of this, to put it in a nutshell, is:  “They are ‘mashugana’”!

As to the Westboro Baptist Church, Jesus has nothing to say about them because he doesn’t know them—you might try Satan’s website for those who have signed up for early registration to Hell.

My boss said to remind you that what he did say to those people, who claim to be acting on his behalf, is a matter of public record:

•  “Be wary of false preachers who smile a lot, dripping with practiced sincerity. Chances are they are out to rip you off some way or other. Don’t be impressed with charisma; look for character. Who preachers are is the main thing, not what they say. A genuine leader will never exploit your emotions or your pocketbook. . . .Knowing the correct password — saying ‘Master, Master,’ for instance — isn’t going to get you anywhere with me. . . I can see it now—at the Final Judgment thousands strutting up to me and saying, ‘Master, we preached the Message, we bashed the demons, our God-sponsored projects had everyone talking.’ And do you know what I am going to say? ‘You missed the boat.  All you did was use me to make yourselves important. You don’t impress me one bit. You’re out of here.’” (Matt. 7:21-23 The Message Bible—bold and underline emphasis = mine)

Jesus also asked me to tell you that as to this blatant worship of capitalism that is running amok through so many Christians who think he’s an American and a Republican, and who are so against social justice, he’s just “not down” with that.  It is a “cancer” enhanced by the discipleship to people like Glenn Beck (not a spokesman of his, by the way) to Ayn Rand’s philosophy of objectivism which she laid out so poorly in Atlas Shrugged. My boss is still puzzled that Christians can read the ninety pages of John Galt’s speech in Atlas Shrugged which is a manifesto to greed, hubris, self-centeredness, disdain and contempt for the poor, and cold-heartedness to the disenfranchised, and his peeps don’t walk away feeling sick to their stomach when they measure it against his Sermon on the Mount.  Finally, what he actually said to all of them, and they are purposely ignoring, is still a matter of public record:

•  “Then he (Jesus) will turn to the ‘goats’ (heartless, self-centered, mean-spirited, self-righteous Christians) the ones on his left, and say, ‘Get out, worthless goats!  You’re good for nothing but the fires of hell. And why? Because—
  • I was hungry and you gave me no meal,
  • I was thirsty and you gave me no drink,
  • I was homeless and you gave me no bed,
  • I was shivering and you gave me no clothes,
  • Sick and in prison, and you never visited.’

“Then those ‘goats’ are going to say, ‘Master, what are you talking about? When did we ever see you hungry or thirsty or homeless or shivering or sick or in prison and didn’t help?’ He will answer them, ‘I’m telling the solemn truth: Whenever you failed to do one of these things to someone who was being overlooked or ignored, that was me—you failed to do it to me.’” Matt: 25:41-43 (The Message Bible – parentheses, bold, and underlining emphasis = mine)

One last point, C-‘48:  Jesus asked me to tell you not to believe everything you hear.  I believe he said:  “If it walks like a fool, and talks like a fool, then it is a fool and has nothing to do with me or what I am about.”

Hope this helps and brings you peace.  Keep on believin’, keep on representin’, and keep on lovin’ regardless of the haters!

All the Best.

Jesus’ EA, Heavenly Dimension, Inc.

I am a Christian, BUT not one of those Christians!

“I like your Christ; I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ.” Mahatma Gandhi

******

All text and photos by Eleanor and John Tomczyk copyrighted © 2011 except where otherwise noted

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit
is given to Eleanor Tomczyk and “How the Hell Did I End Up Here?” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 

I Think I Heard You Say. . . .

Do you know what I’ve discovered?  Given the thousands of languages spoken all over the world (and the
ones yet undiscovered) it’s a wonder we are not involved in perpetual world wars.  Communication between humans, even when we speak the same language, is only as good as my husband’s car’s antiquated GPS system.  If there are no tall buildings, if the atmosphere is just right, if there isn’t thick cloud coverage, and if the signal isn’t receiving interference from a gazillion other GPS systems in our over-crowded city, then and only then will WW and I make it out of the bowels of the worst part of the inner city where we’ve inadvertently
gotten lost.  But if all of those factors are interfering with the GPS’s communication to our car, then after a few instructions to proceed “200 feet and make a sharp ‘U’ turn,” our direction finder, whom we call Penelope, will give up the ghost, shut down completely, and go totally silent.  Although, when we listened carefully the last time, we could have sworn we heard her mumbling:  “You are on your own biotchs, ‘cause I’m not feelin’ this”!

According to Wikipedia, “Communication requires a sender, a message, and an intended recipient. . . .  The
communication process is complete once the receiver has understood the message of the sender.” 

. . .and therein lies the rub!

Gustave Doré’s interpretation of the biblical confusion of tongues/ Wikipedia

There are so many combinations of humanoids in which communication can be turned upside down or completely distorted because of what Wikipedia cites as “barriers to communication”:  attitudinal barriers, ambiguity of words/phrases, message overload, physical barriers, individual linguistic ability, physiological barriers, and presentation of information to name a few.  I’ve experienced quite of few of these barriers to communication, and all three examples listed below are true stories.

HUSBAND vs. WIFE: (Communication Barrier = “Presentation of Information” combined with “Message Overload”)

The Blogger Wife said:  “When you go to the grocery store, would you get me ten containers of hot red pepper flakes because our neighbor says that if we spread it throughout our property the dogs won’t shit on the lawn anymore.  Speaking of our neighbor, did you know her third child had another miscarriage and the fifth child is getting yet another divorce?  Isn’t that so sad?  And I didn’t even tell you how Sylvia came outside to get the mail in one of her scantily-clad outfits as if this were the ghetto, and don’t you know she didn’t even begin to try and speak to me and Sondra.  So I said to Sondra, ‘Oh, no she deh-ent. . . .’”

• THE BLOGGER’S HUSBAND HEARD:  “When you go to the grocery store, buy me 60 red peppers, blah, blah, blah, blah.” As the husband placed the 60 fresh red peppers into the grocery cart, he wondered what in hell kind of meal his wife was going to make with 60 fresh red peppers.  He went back and put two bottles of Maalox in the cart.

Google Image

MOTHER vs. TEENAGE GIRL:  (Communication barrier = “Attitudinal” and “Presentation of Information”)

My Fifteen-year-old said:  “How do you like this outfit?”

• THIS MOTHER HEARD:  “Do you think I look like your precious little girl in this – the kind that will fly under the radar of horny sixteen-year-old boys?”

This Mother answered:  “Oh, Honey, you look ADORABLE!”

• MY FIFTEEN-YEAR-OLD HEARD:  “Oh Sweetie, you look just like a ten-year-old CHILD.”

My Fifteen-year-old answered:  “That’s not what you were supposed to say!  You were supposed to say that I look ‘HOT’!” Upon iterating that jarring communication, said teenager burst into tears and ran back to her room, slamming the door with all her might.

This Mother started screaming:  “UM-HUM, AS IF THE WORD ‘HOT’ AND MY DAUGHTER’S NAME WILL EVER COME OUT OF MY MOUTH IN THE SAME SENTENCE.”

This Mother started talking to no one in particular:  “Shit, that child must have lost her ever-lovin’ mind.
What kind of fool does she take me for — Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I ask you that?”

After the passing of some time, the teenager returns dressed in a full-on “Daisy Duke’s” outfit, replete with half-moon buns peeking out of the shorts and the already prematurely established 34D’s popping out of a tube top that The Mother had no idea the child possessed.

My Fifteen-year-old said:  “I’m going over to Betsy’s house to study.  I’ll be back before curfew.”

• THIS MOTHER HEARD:  “I’m going out tonight to have sex with every guy that I meet.  Don’t wait up.”

Google Image/Jessica Simpson

The Father said:  “When the hell did all that happen?” pointing toward the Jessica Simpson/Jenny McCarthy imitation that had morphed into his daughter, as he put down his newspaper for the first time since the great wardrobe wars had begun 30 minutes ago between The Mother and The Teenager.

• THIS MOTHER HEARD:  “I need you to get ahold of this, because what I’m looking at right now
  scares the shit out of me!”

This Mother screamed:  “GET YOUR LITTLE VANILLA BEHIND BACK INTO THAT BEDROOM, AND YOU BETTER NOT COME BACK OUT UNTIL EVERY LUMP AND HUMP HAS BEEN COMPLETELY COVERED UP — DO YOU HEAR ME, YOUNG LADY?”

This Mother started talking to no one in particular:  “As if I’d let her out of this house wearing that skanky outfit.  That’s my baby and she’s gonna’ stay that way!”

At which point, the teenager went stomping down the hall to her room, The Father went back to reading his newspaper, and The Mother made a mental note to ask one of her Muslim friends if they had an extra burqa that her daughter could wear for the next ten years.

Google Image

FRIEND vs. FRIEND:  (Communication barrier = “Ambiguity of words/phrases”)

Two little girls, who were “play cousins” around the age of eight, were playing house while their parents were finishing up dessert and coffee one Thanksgiving Day many years ago.  Little-girl B’s grandfather had
just died within the last month and little-girl A (my daughter) was trying to console her.

Little-girl “A” said:  “So, I hear your granddad bought the farm.”

• LITTLE-GIRL “B” HEARD:  “I hear your granddad moved to a farm.”

Little-girl “B” answered:   “Huh, no he doesn’t live on a farm.”

Little-girl “A” said:  “No, I heard he bit the dust.”

• LITTLE-GIRL “B” HEARD:  “I hear your granddad is eating dust.”

Little-girl “B” answered:  “Noooo, my granddad never ate dirt.”

Little-girl “A” said:  “Well, I heard he kicked the bucket.”

• LITTLE-GIRL “B” HEARD:  “Your granddad kicks things.”

Little-girl “B” answered:  “No, my granddad didn’t kick anything.”

Little-girl “A” said:  “Sheesh Louise!  I HEARD YOUR GRANDDAD DIED LAST MONTH!”

Little-girl “B” answered:  “What? Mom!”

POLITICAL CANDIDATES vs. THE AMERICAN PEOPLE:  (Communication barrier = “Individual linguistic ability”):

Herman Cain said:  “African-Americans have been brainwashed into not being open minded, not even considering a conservative point of view. . . . So it’s just brainwashing (not voting for me) and people not being open minded, pure and simple.”

• THIS BLACK PERSON HEARD:  “I’m an arrogant son-of-a-bitch who is assuming I’m qualified to speak for all African-Americans, and I think I am the only smart, analytical African-American who is able to figure out the truth about what is going on in the political arena today.  African-Americans are all idiots, except for me.”

This Black Person answered:  “As one who voted Reagan-80, Bush-father, Bush-son, Obama-08, I think I considered the conservative POV for quite a while before I decided not to do it again.  I also know other African-Americans who did the same.  So, who are you referring to, Hermie?”

Herman Cain said:  “The only tactic liberals have is to try to intimidate people into thinking that the Tea Party is racist. The Tea Party is not a racist movement, period!  If it were, why would the straw polls keep showing that the black guy is winning? That’s a rhetorical question.  Let me state it: The black guy keeps winning.”

• THIS BLACK PERSON HEARD:  “I have chosen to ignore the fact that the Tea Party is using me because I am too clueless and arrogant to recognize that they have placed my frog’s ass in water that seemed to be tepid and inviting at first (on purpose), but there is a segment of the group (not all of them) that will heat the water to the point of boiling and poach my ass as soon as they no  longer need me to try and seduce the illusive black vote.”

This Black Person answered:  “You, my man are the flavor of the month, and you are as cynical a choice for the Tea Party as John McCain’s selection of Sarah Palin.  I shall never forgive the Tea Party or John McCain for the travesty they have unleashed upon us.  Hear this, Herman Cain:  you truly are a disgrace to the race.”

Herman Cain said:  “Don’t try to pass a 2,700-page bill.  You and I didn’t have time to read it. We’re too busy trying to live — send our kids to school. That’s why I am only going to allow small bills — three pages. You’ll have time to read that one over the dinner table.”

• THIS BLACK PERSON HEARD:  “I know the devil is in the details but don’t your worry your pretty little heads about it.  I’ll pass simple bills for simple people.”

This Black Person answered:  “Shit, ‘Uncle Hermie’, I guess that means you and I would still be imprisoned by Jim Crow laws (poor, uneducated, unable to vote, and unelectable to public office), would have no Social Security, and would live in constant fear of having our asses bombed to smithereens since the Civil Rights Act (8 pages), the Social Security Act (64 pages), and the Patriot Act (600+) were all more than three pages long.  Damn, couldn’t the Tea Party have found a better Black man to ‘represent’?”

Herman Cain said:  “Let me introduce you to my 9-9-9 Tax Plan.”

• THIS BLACK PERSON HEARD:  “I got this tax idea from copying the price of one of my pizzas (I figure if it works for my pizzas, it could work for America), and I’ve made it my main campaign theme because it’s catchy and could be passed into law on just one page!  Of course, I won’t tell anybody that I suspect when you do the math my plan will only raise half the revenue our country needs while putting most of the burden on the poor.  The taxes on the middle class would increase by thousands of dollars.  But, hey, my rich friends will sure think I’m swell!”

This Black Person answered:  “Oh God, me and my peeps are so screwed!”

******

Wikipedia describes “individual linguistic ability” as a communication barrier because:  “The use of . . . inappropriate words in communication can prevent people from understanding the message.  Poorly explained or misunderstood messages can also result in confusion.  We can all think of situations where we have listened to something explained which we just could not grasp.”

I am discovering that communication is a very, very hard thing between humans, but absolutely necessary to get it right in order to live in harmony with one another.   Lack of proper communication can crush feelings, destroy careers, break up marriages, undermine friendships, and start wars.  I have had several situations in my life when I just knew I was on the same page with another person or persons and come to find out, I had started a war and never knew it.  But so much of what infuses proper communication depends on the attitude of the heart.  Do I love or deeply care for the human whom I’m communicating with or do I just want to win?  I’m learning to use that corporate trick in my personal life that has one listen to another person’s business proposal and then ask the question:  “I think I heard you say. . .?”  If they answer the way you heard it, then you’re good to go.  If their answer is different from what you heard, then you better make a sharp U turn at the next available exit and reposition your heart’s GPS.

“The single biggest problem in communication is the illusion that it has taken place.” George Bernard Shaw

 “Men and women belong to different species and communications between them is still in its infancy.”  Bill
Cosby

All text and photos by Eleanor and John Tomczyk © 2011 except where otherwise noted

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit
is given to Eleanor Tomczyk and “How the Hell Did I End Up Here?” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.