The Bastard is Dead

I watched then go down. I watched them die. I watched the cleanup, the grief and the war caused by the terrorist bin Laden. And now I have watched the unfolding of the end of the bastard.

Good.

Image: www. montrealradioguy.wordpress.com

Sorry, friend.

Something about a conversation I had with a friend bothered me. But what was it?
Friday I heard Terry Gross in a 1985 interview with James Farmer, Jr. Farmer was a civil rights activist and one of the Freedom Riders who along with many others finally broke the back of Jim Crow in the south. In the interview he described the intentional non-violent actions he and others did to get arrested in order to bring the media in. He described the white jail guards, some not so ugly and others more so verbally abusing them with “Boy” this and “Boy” that, and of course the “N” word.
It hit me. This friend is a 30+ year master sergeant with an armload of gold stripes for service. I had asked someone what the stripes meant and was told they signified time in service and the color signified behavior in a way. Gold meant that the wearer had never been in trouble.
The next time I saw my friend I said “Now I know what all that gold is for, and I know you have been a good boy, too.” My black friend said “I’ll take that from you” and then explained the stripes and the differences between the Army and Marines in this regard.

“I’ll take that from you.” And when I heard James Farmer I got it. “Boy”. In a thousand years I would never intentionally insult a black man by calling him “Boy”. I know what it means. I know the history. I hate it. I did not mean it as a racial slur. How do you apologize for an unintentional remark that hurts someone? My way is to write it down and share it, and ask for forgiveness. I’m sorry Master Sergeant . No offense meant.

Image: http://www.airforcetimes.com

One More Lesson in Life

The Cardinal family built a nest in the Loropetalum beneath our kitchen window. We watched it go up, three tiny eggs appear, three tiny babies hatch. We watched as the pair worked all day every day until yesterday to feed the hungry mouths, and we watched the babies grow with astonishing speed. From featherless pinkies to primary wing feathers on small wings in a week.

They were our family, too. Our babies.

This morning I found the nest in the driveway, babies crushed and dead. Nothing to do but mourn a little, then bury the remains of nest and babies in the flowers. I suspect our lovely dog Millie did this, but will never know. Another animal would have eaten the young. Dogs don’t do things out of meanness. They react with reflex. I suppose she spotted one of the parents go to the nest, went to have a look, and did what dogs do. So no recriminations there. ("Damn your eyes you baby bird killer" went unsaid.)

The lesson once again is “Drink the Good Wine First”, because you never know what is waiting around the corner. A mindless accident or a planned attack. It happens suddenly and is over. No turning back.

Your banana look like this?

What does it take to embarrass a conservative Republican? Nobody seems to know because the defining moment hasn’t yet been reached. The stupid ‘birthers’ have finally had it stuck in their eye (barring, of course, the stupid subset that will claim the newly released Obama certificate is a fake), and the next item being ‘Trumped Up’ is a series of vague questions and innuendos about Obama’s college transcripts. And the rabid panting birthers are lining up in the amen pew. I shudder to think that these citizens (I wonder if all of them could actually produce a long-form birth certificate or would they rely on the old family bible?) actually vote and control who runs the country.

I propose the next issue will be the loudly whispered and oft repeated rumor that Obama isn’t really a Christian (the best, you know) but is actually a Moslem. Hussein? And, there is an easy way to prove it: Mr. President, show us your dick. Yup, if it’s circumcised he is, and if it isn’t he isn’t. Unless he had a foreskin transplant to try to cover up the earlier surgery. With that possibility the former birthers, now called the ‘skinners’ will want an expert to examine said organ for evidence of tampering. Remember those clinics in Hong Kong where a woman can get her hymen reconstructed? Remember those clinics in Australia that add length and thickness to the male member by fat transplantation? Well my chickies, there is probably a clinic somewhere in Indonesia (WAIT!! OMG. He visited there lately!!!) where a foreskin can be reconstructed.

You think this is farfetched? Get real. Anybody that believes in Noah’s ark can be talked into anything.

Image: www.vidaefectiva.com.ve

The Final Tale of Firenze

This month, that's correct, THIS MONTH I noticed a 35 euro charge on my credit card from Hertz (Italy). What the hell? I immediately thought “Ahh. Credit card rip-off”. After a fairly quick inquiry the charge turns out to be correct.
Firenze, AKA Florence, is a wonderful (was) town to visit. Massive numbers of great things to see, including the original and copy of David, art museums, architecture out the wazoo and more. But it is a bitch to navigate in a car. They not only have the usual bewildering maze of Italian one-way streets, but they have added a twist: some streets CHANGE the direction of one-way depending on the time of day, and those changes are for the most part not posted. Cabbies know them; residents know them; tourists do not know them.
Our total driving in Firenze was to enter the city according to the Hotel-provided directions, get screwed up in a maze of one way streets, and then find the hotel. They took the car and we never saw it again until we left several days later. They asked the route we took getting to the hotel and said “Good. That was correct”.
The credit card charge: Thirty-five euros charged by Hertz to give my mailing address and id information to the Firenze Police for a summons for driving the wrong way on one of their shitty streets. Yes, the date coincides with our arrival, and the time is about when we were lost. I still haven’t heard from the Police, so I have no idea what the actual fine may be. And, being me, I will pay it. But it will cost Firenze dearly: We will NEVER go back there; no hotels, no restaurants, no snacks, and no admissions to museums, churches or any other damn thing.
And I recommend to all of you the same: STAY OUT OF FIRENZ. That is why this is the Final Tale of Firenze.
Image: http://mydinnerswithrichard.blogspot.com/2010/06/five-guys-me-florence-italy.html

Note from Woody

An editorial note to my friends on Facebook and Woody’s World: I use these forums to express my own thoughts and opinions on everything that occurs to me. Well, not Everything. Even I don’t have the courage to go into some waters. I really appreciate the fact that many of you read what I write and some are moved to comment. It is my choice to allow comments on essays is Woody’s World, and my choice to allow anyone in particular or everyone in general to comment on my musings, many of which are related to Woody’s World, on Facebook.

I mostly enjoy the back and forth that is sometimes generated and the pointed comments that sometimes fly. I hope you all remember, though, that these forums are my place to sound off, or pontificate or tell lies (which I don’t do but reserve the right to do so in the name of literary license) or act as a repeater for others. I do get uneasy when my threads are co-opetd for competing views that go way beyond comment and become threads in themselves. An example of this might be an essay of mine that comments on the role of conservative school boards in the dumbing down of science in favor of some religious text. Any reader is invited to chime in with a comment or two, but a full-fledged attack followed by arguments pro and con is better saved for the commenter to publish his or her own blog essay and reference it on my pages. See? My pages, my ideas. Your pages, your ideas?

In other words, keep the cards and letters coming, but publish the tomes on your own pages and invite people to read and comment. You can always block people you don’t like, or even defriend them. Jump into the deep end and express your own views in your own right. It really is fun and helps clarify the thought process. Just getting the image you want can be a real bitch sometimes, too.

Image: www.baretruth.wordpress.com