Why Do We Need More Stereotypical Males?

Very few things get me as upset as some ignorant man posting on Facebook that we need more ignorant men. The post starts out saying, The masculine America male is a dying breed. We have been told for far to long that violence isn’t the answer. It goes on to say that males now, have to wear skinny jeans and shave their chests. What about smoking cigarettes without a filter, drinking your coffee black and writing your name in the snow with your piss? Aren’t those important too?

What about violence being the answer? I’ll get to the important points of shaving our chests and the skinny jeans later. But back to violence. Sure, sometimes you need to stand up for yourself. Usually, it’s to some other stereotypical male who wants to act tough, or look big in the eyes of his friends. Alcohol is generally involved. But it takes two to fight so I would just shake my head and walk away.

Of course I’m above average in height and weight and it didn’t happen often. Maybe I looked like too much trouble. I know a man bigger than I am, stronger too. He never got into fights either. He said it looked like it might happen once, but he grabbed the guy in the crook of his arm and said: “Really?” the guy changed his mind. Oh, this man was trained as a baker and is a very loving husband and father.

I think the idea of being a man comes from where you live. If you live someplace rural, a man might need to buck bales, chop wood, fix an engine, carry a knife, butcher a hog and shoot a gun. However, there are plenty of women who can do these same things. So, I don’t think these skills necessarily make you a man,they just make you competent for your environment.

The point I’m trying to make is that being a stereotypical male doesn’t make you a man. Here are some things that do. They pertain to women as well. Raise your children. Be a good example, and discipline them when they need it. Be the kind of person who can make a deal on a handshake. Be honest, stick to your word. Do what’s right, even if it isn’t easy. Stand up for the weak and vulnerable. Put your family’s needs before your own. I believe these are more important than knowing how to whittle and spit.

Oh, and as far as shaving your chest and wearing skinny jeans, I’ll leave those decisions entirely up to you.

The Cardiff Giant, the Border Wall and Trump

*The phrase “Nobody ever went broke underestimating the intelligence of the American public.” Is attributed to American author and social critic H. L. Mencken (1880–1956) but not found exactly verbatim in his published works, so the source and original form of this expression are not known with absolute certainty. A nearly-verbatim paraphrase of: “No one in this world, so far as I know … has ever lost money by underestimating the intelligence of the great masses of the plain people.”Appeared in Mencken’s ‘Notes on Journalism’, in the Chicago Tribune on September 19th, 1926.

The phrase: “There’s a Sucker Born Every Minute” is commonly attributed to P.T. Barnum. However, many of his contemporaries say he never actually said it. A man called R. J. Brown asserted that it actually originated with a banker named David Hannum. It was in reference to one of Barnum’s hoaxes: a replica of the Cardiff Giant.

The Cardiff Giant was the creation of a New York tobacconist named George Hull. Hull, an atheist, decided to create the giant after an argument at a Methodist revival meeting about Genesis 6:4 which stated that there were giants who once lived on Earth. Hull hired men to quarry out a 10-foot-4.5-inch-long (3.2 m) block of gypsum in Fort Dodge, Iowa, telling them it was intended for a monument to Abraham Lincoln in New York. He shipped the block to Chicago, where he hired Edward Burghardt, a German stonecutter, to carve it into the likeness of a man and swore him to secrecy.

Various stains and acids were used to make the giant appear to be old and weathered, and the giant’s surface was beaten with steel knitting needles embedded in a board to simulate pores. During November 1868, Hull transported the giant by railroad to the farm of his cousin, William Newell. By then, he had spent $2,600 for the hoax (nearly equivalent to $48,000 in 2017, adjusted for inflation).

Nearly a year later, Newell hired Gideon Emmons and Henry Nichols, ostensibly to dig a well, and on October 16, 1869 they found the giant. One of the men reportedly exclaimed, “I declare, some old Indian has been buried here!” Newell set up a tent over the giant and charged 25 cents for people who wanted to see it. Two days later he increased the price to 50 cents. People came by the wagonload.

Archaeological scholars pronounced the giant a fake, and some geologists even noticed that there was no good reason to try to dig a well in the exact spot the giant had been found. Yale paleontologist Othniel C. Marsh termed it “a most decided humbug”. Some theologians and preachers, however, defended its authenticity.

Eventually, Hull sold his part-interest for $23,000 (equivalent to $456,000 in 2018) to a syndicate of five men headed by David Hannum. They moved it to Syracuse, New York, for exhibition. The giant drew such crowds that showman P. T. Barnum offered $50,000 for the giant. When the syndicate refused, he hired a man to model the giant’s shape covertly in wax and create a plaster replica. He displayed his giant in New York, claiming that his was the real giant, and the Cardiff Giant was a fake.

Hannum sued Barnum for calling his giant a fake, but the judge told him to get his giant to swear on his own genuineness in court if he wanted a favorable injunction. On December 10, 1869, Hull confessed everything to the press, and on February 2, 1870 both giants were revealed as fakes in court; the judge also ruled that Barnum could not be sued for terming a fake giant a fake.

Barnum went on to exhibit his giant as one of the, ‘Greatest Hoaxes Ever’ and got people to pay to see it.

**Donald Trump’s plan to build a wall along the U.S.-Mexico border did not come from security analysts following years of study or through evidence that a wall would reduce illegal immigration. Amazingly, for something so central to the current U.S. president, the wall came about as a “mnemonic device” thought up by a pair of political consultants to remind Donald Trump to talk about illegal immigration.

In 2014, Trump’s plan to run for president moved into high gear. His political confidant was consultant Roger Stone. “Inside Trump’s circle, the power of illegal immigration to manipulate popular sentiment was readily apparent, and his advisers brainstormed methods for keeping their attention-addled boss on message,” writes Joshua Green, author of Devil’s Bargain: Steve Bannon, Donald Trump, and the Nationalist Uprising. “They needed a trick, a mnemonic device. In the summer of 2014, they found one that clicked.”

Joshua Green had good access to Trump insiders, including Sam Nunberg, who worked with Stone. “Roger Stone and I came up with the idea of ‘the Wall,’ and we talked to Steve [Bannon] about it,” according to Nunberg. “It was to make sure he [Trump] talked about immigration.”

The concept of the Wall did not click right away with the candidate. “Initially, Trump seemed indifferent to the idea,” writes Green. “But in January 2015, he tried it out at the Iowa Freedom Summit, a presidential cattle call put on by David Bossie’s group, Citizens United. ‘One of his pledges was, ‘I will build a Wall,’ and the place just went nuts,’ said Nunberg. Warming to the concept, Trump waited a beat and then added a flourish that brought down the house. ‘Nobody,’ he said, ‘builds like Trump.’”

The Border Wall, and the Cardiff Giant are alike in two ways. Both were disparaged by the knowledgeable and learned as fake, or ineffectual. And both were viewed by a portion of the general public as genuine or essential. In both instances someone will, or did, make a lot of money; and in both instances the American public was left holding the bag.

*special thanks to Wikipedia

**Where The Idea For Donald Trump’s Wall Came From, Stuart Anderson, Forbes Magazine

What is true Strength?

I don’t think anyone who’s really thought about it thinks true strength has anything to do with being physically strong . This is from Wikipedia:

On 5 or 6 August 1942, German soldiers came to collect 192 orphans (there is some debate about the actual number: it may have been 196) and about one dozen staff members to transport them to the Treblinka extermination camp. Korczak had been offered sanctuary on the “Aryan side” by the Polish underground organization Żegota, but turned it down repeatedly, saying that he could not abandon his children. On 5 August, he again refused offers of sanctuary, insisting that he would go with the children.

The children were dressed in their best clothes, and each carried a blue knapsack and a favorite book or toy. Joshua Perle, an eyewitness, described the procession of Korczak and the children through the Ghetto to the Umschlagplatz (deportation point to the death camps):

Janusz Korczak was marching, his head bent forward, holding the hand of a child, without a hat, a leather belt around his waist, and wearing high boots. A few nurses were followed by two hundred children, dressed in clean and meticulously cared for clothes, as they were being carried to the altar.

Ghetto eyewitness, Joshua Perle[18]

Mr. Korczak didn’t exhibit any physical strength, yet he was undeniably strong. Maybe strength is how you treat others? Or, like Mr. Korczak standing up for your convictions. I also think being strong has to do with being kind and honest. Sincere, dependable and doing what’s right. Not for any reward, either on earth, or in Heaven, but because it is just.

I think true strength is innocent. But, it’s also harsh and doesn’t mince words. It’s fighting when you know you’ll loose. It’s sticking to your opinion when everyone else is against you. And admitting when you’re wrong.

I will end with this:

Anyone can give up; it is the easiest thing in the world to do. But to hold it together when everyone would expect you to fall apart, now that is true strength.”

 Chris Bradford, The Way of the Sword

My Favorite Halloween

Uncle Rick’s Chrysler Imperial had fins like a rocket, and a push button transmission. My brother Joe, and I were riding in it trick or treat at my other uncle’s houses along Twin House Road south of Cottonwood, Idaho. It was 1969, and I was seven years old.

Rock chips splattered against the car’s wheel wells. It was dark, and all I could see through the windshield was a gravel road, and the edge of harvested wheat fields. A gray bird swooped through the headlights. I gasped. Felt my brother jerk, and the Chrysler slow down. “What was that?”

My uncle put his foot back on the gas pedal. “An owl. It’s probably hunting for mice in the fields.”

“Wow, it was big. I didn’t know owls got that large?”

“They get to be pretty good sized,” Uncle Rick answered, concentrating on the road.

I stared across the Camas Prairie at the scattered lights of farm houses. Looked up at the faint white smudge of a moon in the black overcast sky. I turned back to the windshield and noticed a small pinpoint of light. It was all by itself, and got brighter as we drew near. Jack-o’-lanterns.

There must have been at least eight of ‘em. They were arranged against the fence corner at the turn to my Uncle Johnny’s. The light of a burning candle flickering through each of their hollow eyes, and gap toothed grins.

I thought back to the owl that’d startled everyone in the car. The pinpoint of light, in the middle of nowhere. The glow of the Jack-o’-lantern’s dancing flames. This, I thought. This is the way Halloween was meant to be.

I’ve never forgotten that Halloween. Since that day I’ve experienced Halloween in the movies, on television and at Disneyland. None of them compare to that car ride, and the welcoming glow of my cousins hand carved, candlelit Jack-o’-lanterns, on that cold dark night. That was pure Halloween.

Carving a pumpkin at Halloween is as important to me as having a turkey at Thanksgiving, or a tree at Christmas. My childhood rushes back as soon as I pry the top off a freshly cut pumpkin. That smell, and the feel of the cool slimy seeds as you prepare the huge berry for carving. I plop it’s guts out on a newspaper, or into a bowl. Flicking my wrist to free its sticky entrails from my fingers.

Once most of the viscera is gone, I scrape. I use an ice cream scoop. One with a good sturdy handle. I tilt the pumpkin sideways and rotate it. Scraping and dumping until the last of the slimy strings are gone, and the inside of the pumpkin is clean and smooth.

Now the important part, the face. Triangle eyes and nose with a wide toothy grin, or round eyes and a mouth open in surprise? The options are endless. It’s up to you and your imagination. You could also use a pattern and make an intricate design. It’s your choice.

Candles have lost favor to battery powered lights or glow sticks. I’m a purist. Tea lights are the easiest candle to use. The kind in the little aluminum container. Store the candles in the freezer so they’ll burn longer. A stick of spaghetti works great for lighting them.

Let your candle burn about fifteen minutes, or so and remove the Jack-o’-lantern’s lid. There should be a black mark, or warm spot from the candle. Cut it out. Make a chimney for the heat of the flame to dissipate. You can enjoy your creation longer that way.

My favorite pumpkin story happened when I was in sixth grade. Buttery’s in the Lewiston Center had pumpkins for five cents a pound. My neighbor Mike , his brother Doug and my little brother Jack and I decided to walk down and buy one. Mike and I were probably ten, Doug eight and Jack seven.

We left right after school on a warm Indian Summer afternoon. It was a little over a mile to the store one way. Neither Jack, or I remember the walk down NezPerce Grade to the store. But we both remember the walk home. It was uphill all the way, and the pumpkins got pretty heavy. Jack was holding his like a suitcase by its stem. Then it broke. After that, all he could do was carry it in his arms.

NezPerce Grade used to have large concrete pillars with cables strung between them as guard rails. The cables were gone but Jack made it up that hill one pillar at a time. Setting his pumpkin on top of each for a few minutes before taking it in his arms and trudging to the next. Mike and Doug walked on ahead but I stayed back with Jack. It was a long walk home.

When I drive up that grade around Halloween I still see us carrying those pumpkins. A childhood journey completed almost fifty years ago, but still not finished in my memory. A lot has changed since then. Halloween has changed. Now there are stores that specialize in animated props, digital displays and costumes and decorations I could only dream of.

But then there’s that night. The night with the owl swooping through the headlights. The orange pinpoint of light ahead in the darkness. Jack-o’-lanterns stacked on the corner of a quiet country road. Candlelight flickering through their child imagined faces. Technology can’t replace that. Nothing can, that’s the essence of Halloween.

The Dog with blue Eyes

A blue eyed dog

on a white tile floor

looks at a black conical hat

worn by witches

The hat of the witch is distorted

the picture slightly askew

how the dog with blue eyes really sees it

is the answer I have now for you

The witch’s hat wouldn’t be shiny

it’s purple and gold not so bright

the distortion would lose much of its luster

however a dog’s eyes excel in low light

To the dog none of this really matters

it’s instinct and smell are what’s keen

seeing mostly grays violet blues and light yellows

is visually all that it needs

Now we humans see a world full of color

our eyes very highly refined

we see hundreds of color variations

and can interpret them all with our mind

However we can’t all seem to live together

although a dog in a pack is at ease

each has their own place within it

but also when living among humans seems pleased

As a pet dogs are not always perfect

but a truer friend you’ll never meet

they may poop pee and get in the garbage

but are loyal don’t lie and can’t cheat

It’s how the dog with blue eyes thinks that’s different

not the colors or shades that it views

it seems to see the best that is in us

that’s the lesson all we humans can use

It was the conical hat

I was supposed to describe

but the dog’s blue eyes intrigued me

so to my muse’s desire I obliged

Born in the USA

I was born in a little town in Idaho. I’m a 3rd or 4th generation American depending what side of the family you look at. My mother’s people were from Austria, my father’s from Ireland, then Canada. Everyone on the North American continent is an immigrant unless you an indigenous person. My relatives just happened to get here before there were real stringent regulations.

My wife is a Naturalized Citizen. She came here on a Work Visa. She followed all the rules, got her green card, paid thousands of dollars and eventually became a US Citizen. I wish everyone could get to know someone who is a Naturalized Citizen. Maybe then all the malarkey about illegal aliens would finely be dealt with.

Right now we rely on illegal aliens to do our dirty work. They have no protection under our laws, are paid less than the going wage and are trapped in a world of silence. They can’t complain to anyone or they’re out of here. All of this is part of a “wink, wink” economy. Everyone knows it exists, but nobody admits it.

If the truth were told, representatives from our Federal Government would tell you I’m right. Their maids, pool cleaners and gardeners are probably not legal citizens and they’re well aware of it. They pay them less, and work them harder with no repercussions, unless they get caught.

We don’t need a wall. We need to overhaul out Immigration Laws and Agency so we let more hardworking, taxpaying people into our country. Until we do the illegal immigrant circus will never leave town, and the clowns in Washington DC will never quit honking their horns of divisiveness.

I’ve got mine, and that’s all I care about.

My wife doesn’t understand how come I get upset. What’s happening in the United States really bothers me. I don’t care if unemployment is low, and the stock market is high. They don’t matter, we are destroying our future. I’ll use the Republic of Nauru as an example.

*Nauru (pronounced NAH-roo) is the world’s smallest and most isolated republic. The island has an area of eight square miles, about a third the size of Manhattan, and it is so remote that the nearest island of any size is hundreds of miles away. But Nauru generates wealth that might make a few oil-rich potentates envious.

*Thanks in part to what was left behind by the sea birds that have sought refuge here over hundreds of thousands of years, this island’s 7,500 people are among the richest in the world, at least on paper, because of phosphate mines that bring in tens of millions of dollars a year.

*The phosphate, the product of fossilized bird guano and a primeval stew of marine microorganisms, is exported as fertilizer, most of it to Australia, Nauru’s former ruler.

*Inch for inch, Nauru is the most environmentally ravaged nation on earth. So much of the island has been devoured by strip-mining begun 90 years ago that Nauruans face the prospect that they may have to abandon their bleak, depleted home.

This is what we’re doing to ourselves. We’re being short sighted. We’re treating or allies badly. We’re treating our neighbors like they’re out to get us. We’re borrowing, and spending so much money we’re dooming our children and grandchildren to staggering deficits. We may make a few more dollars now. But we’re destroying ourselves doing it. Prosperity now, desolation and hopelessness later.

Nobody seems to care. That’s why I get upset.

*A Pacific Island Nation Is Stripped of Everything

By PHILIP SHENON