Shmol-itics.

I've come up with two things that I should never write about. And, that being said, it took all of about five posts for me to abandon all good sense and logic and dive right into one of the subjects. It is with extreme trepidation that I tip-toe to the edge of a very deep and dark pool and stick my foot in testing the water. Religion and politics. Two party crashers. Because I value my sanity and my limited reputation, I will vow to stay far, far away from religion. But, I just can't help myself on the other one. First, a very brief summary of my personal history as well as views on all things political. I can pretty sum it up with one sentence. I couldn't give a rat's ass. Now, let me assuage those of my friends who are very passionate about it, and/or the few that I know who actually make their living in the arena. I like to think that I am in the vast majority of America who absolutely and unequivalically just wishes it would all go away. I dont' know anything about politics and I have never studied politics, and I further couldn't and probably...no, definitely wouldn't seek out a conversation about politics. I would be perfectly content to just be told that we will always be promised a democracy and that within that democracy, stuff would get taken care of, and to not worry about it, cause I dont know any better anyway? Some of my acquaintances out there cringe mightily at any scenario that involves turning over trust to the government, even in a made up or ficticious idea like mine. I have to respect their bravado and the fact that they are so passionate about it, even if inside....I think its a colossal waste of time. The bravado and passion, that is. I just cant take it lying down anymore. It's getting worse and worse and the stench of all the political jargon has infiltrated every facet of all of our lives. With facebook and twitter and cable TV and the internet all ablaze with wall to wall mud slinging and all sorts of truths, half truths and a load of outright crap.....all being shoved into every orifice on the human body. And, here is the ultimate rub. In my humble and admittedly un-educated opinion, none of it makes a bit of difference. No one is ever happy, no one is ever content. Even the "side" that wins is only euphoric only on the night of the win. The next morning begins the vicious cycle all over again. I have this vision that I'll bet takes place in many a hotel suite on the morning after some of these electoral wins. It has the victor summoning his or her troops around and uttering...very emphatically, "Ok, now we gotta figure out how we're going to fulfill half of this shit we promised". Call me crazy. Again, I feel the need to throw out the olive branch before launching into the next bit of this diatribe. I read daily blogs and posts and the like all screaming about this guy and against that guy and proclaiming how our country is on the verge of falling into the ocean because of him, or will be if we elect her and it goes on and on and on and on. I get the feeling that if I or anyone goes onto some of our favorite social media outlets and backs a candidate, it will be viewed as pure blasphemy by about half? I know this isn't the case, because most are like me. Most think it's all just a colossal waste of time. You know what I heard about Obama before he got elected? Well, first the positive. Our country needed a change. Obama was going to be all about that change. The first African American to be elected president. Look out world, change is coming. Outgoing President Bush was obviously the reason the country was about to fall into the ocean and was a clueless and mindless red-neck who had long ago out-stayed his welcome. Obama was the answer. Look out world, let the re-birth begin. And, the negative? It's actually one of my more favorite lines of all time, politically speaking. Some, and more than you might suspect....proclaimed, with a straight face....that Obama was the Anti-Christ. The Anti-Christ? I laugh even today. And now, some four years later? Both sides are equally vociferous and unwilling to listen to anything but total support of their position. My view on mr. Obama? About average. I know so very little of any of issues. I hear the yelling back and forth from the Hannity's and the O'Reilly's and the whole spectrum of talking heads, so I surmise that lost somewhere in the buried middle is the truth? I take that to be that he's just like everyone else, or most everyone else in that or any elected position. All of us here in the majority, the masses of the average....just dont' and won't see any huge shifts in policy, or any huge life changes. And, certainly not any to warrant all the vitriole and the hatred that is spewed back and forth between brothers and friends?
As long as I've waded in this far, allow me to completely dunk myself. Take the phenomenon, or whatever you want to refer to it as, of the grass roots candidates such as Ron Paul. I must reiterate that I dont know anything about this man, but, it doesn't really matter for the point im making, or flailing to make?! I get it. It is vital that as a true democracy, anyone and everyone should have their voice and have their passion and be counted and viewed as an equal with regards to political ambition. We all know that's not necessarily the way it has turned out. Now, does that mean that folks should just shrug their shoulders and "take their ball and go home"? No. Let me skip to the end point first, and then move backwards. Candidates like Ron Paul and now his off-shoot, some Johnson guy....have NO chance, NO chance to ascend to the office. We all know it. Right? This isnt an endorsement of the two big guys, nor is it some kind of an attack on the small guys. They have no chance. I applaud their ambition, and I start to applaud all of the woodstock like followers who shut out any and all opposing views(just as the followers for any and all parties do), and blindly and often loudly chant Paul's or now Johnson's name. Great, and we're happy for you, but...and I suppose this is my veiled point....isnt' there so much more to life than getting so freaking wrapped up in a cause that, at the end of the day just doesn't matter? Regardless of the man, woman, party, affiliation, beliefs, promises, ideals, money, age, or whatever...I truly in my heart of hearts feel that it barely matters. Clinton, Bush, and now Obama....they all have illicited heaps and heaps of passion and strong opinions and nothing ever changes. Sure, there will always be that one or two policies that get pushed through that either side of the aisle gets all fired up about and it matriculates through and through to the masses, but...and please be honest here...who is ever really content and happy with any of it? Does that mean that i'm suggesting we all just shut up and take it, or turn into Oliver Twist with our bowls of soup shoved out in front of us? No, but I am suggesting that it gets to a point. Barring some kind of radical change in this country(and please...to all of the Paul-ites....I know, I know....I'm positive that Ron would be that guy to make such a radical shift?), it's going to always be the same, sort of? It might shift a bit to the left, or a shade to the right, but life is too short. Live it. Enjoy it with family and friends. Go see it. Take in the majesty and the breathtaking beauty of this country. Drink a glass of wine or two, and philosophize into the wee hours of the morning and together solve all of our ills.
In closing, there isnt' and never will be some kind of a "gotcha" endorsement of "my guy"? Cause, I honestly don't have a guy. I'm just tired of all the layers and layers of crap that is associated with the political process. You all have the God given right to get as fired up as you want and continue to tout and shout your beliefs to the world and to moan and becry those of the all opposers. I just happen to believe that it's a colossal waste of time and energy.

The one where I grovel....

Here I am on bended knee, palms to the sky, with a look on my face that hopefully mirrors a cute yet sad little vulnerable puppy dog? It's kind of fitting and timely, this being another year of a presidential election, that I'm here on my new blog stumping for followers! The Lords of Google have strongly suggested that this is the next logical step on my road to blogging legend. Let's review the steps up to this point, shall we? Step one....have something original to say, and more importantly a desire and a willingness to share it with the legions of society. Check. Step two....develop an iron clad stubborness that allows you to forge ahead even when every single person is either bored by what you have to say, or finds it to be pure crap.....check(I hope?). Step three....turn to one of the media powerhouses and take full advantage of the whole "free blogging" extravaganza.....huge check. Step four....wake up one day and realize that you actually have to WRITE stuff....check. Step five...beg any and all family and friends to sign up and be followers and by doing so, start the chain reaction that leads to my first and most cherished group of fans?? That's where you all come in. There are a zillion blogs out there. I realize that. I'm aware of the fact that everyone with a computer and a spare hour has some sort of blog, some sort of something that just has to be said. I want to be better, I want to be different. Statistics suggest that I won't be. Logic dictates that I'll be one of the zillion and will blend into the fabric of what is a thick and outdated carpet of muddled and overused words. None of that matters to me. I'm intoxicated by what awaits around the corner. Think of it like a runaway train. I'm huge on the train references. Me and Jon Bon Jovi!! Seriously, listen to the man's brilliant lyrics...tons of train references. I want to cram that train with as many passengers as I can fit into it! The more the merrier. A train ride suits me. I will always, and I mean always have one and a lot of the times, two....feet firmly planted in the past. Ride the train with me. Please!! Follow me, I'll follow you. Follow me, I'll pay you? Granted, it won't be much, but....I'll keep track! Follow me and maybe I'll do the Taylor Swift thing and write a song about you? Follow me and i'll remember it forever.

We Were Northwest

We were Northwest. We weren't Fox, Eureka, Lindbergh and no way in hell were we Parkway. We were Northwest House Springs, Mo. We weren't some private or "it" school, and that was just fine with us. After all, those who fled to those places had already done so. We were metro the middle of nowhere....close enough to the city to make ourselves believe we were St.Louisans and yet close enough to the farmland and the sticks to be lumped in with all the "hicks" according to all those who truly were St.Louisans. It's been a tad over 20 years ago, and yet as I sit here and reminisce about those four enchanting years, it could have been yesterday. I know that while I was there, I probably wouldn't have used such sappy language. High school can be and usually is a stark and sometimes abrasive crash course into the rigors and heartaches of life. But, many years later...all I can remember are the moments. The endearing moments. I'm sure that its' somewhat natural and common to revert to the "age of innocence" once one passes through middle age, or is on the cusp of that inevitable sensation of getting old, or shifting from one perceived stage to another one. Adult life turns out to be nothing like the fantasy we think it to be and suddenly, those four years of awkwardness and discovery dont seem so bad? In my case, in our case....it was far from bad. It was idyllic.
Parusing a rogue video that all of a sudden appeared out of thin air rekindled decade old feelings and I was suddenly awash with a combination of tears and goosebumps. I take it for granted that we have all of these simple conveniences that we just can't live without now? Cell phones, video cameras, computers. Back then, though....these were foriegn concepts, in many cases, concepts that weren't even around yet. So, to see images from a roving and roaming video camera, some twenty years later, is indeed something to see. It's the simplest of things....the color of the walls, the smiles and the facial expressions from ancient students, the lockers in the annex, the passing teacher or two....it was almost possible to close my eyes and smell the nachos and pizza wafting from the cafeteria. I was a junior again. A junior at Northwest. I watched this "simple" piece of history with the glazed eyes of a kid on Christmas eve. I was on the edge of my seat, fighting back the tears as I recognized this classroom, and that hallway. There was Mrs. Bagby, my old freshman english teacher....thank you Steve King for this most cherished and hallowed of gifts.

Armed with twenty plus years of so called "wisdom", I'm sure we all would do a bunch of things differently. Kenny Chesney has a poignant and heart wrenching song that uses this concept as its backdrop. In it, he croons that most certainly he would do a lot of things differently. We all would. I would have went to every athletic event possible and cheered lustily for our Lions. I would have joined every single club and group and committee in order to emerse even deeper into the depths of the experience that I only lightly touched. I would try and meet as many kids from every walk, every clique, every corner of our humble school and learn from them and to befriend them and to walk the halls with them. Damn the connotations and the stigmas. I am drunk with the desire to forge relationships with these ancient faces who are but ghosts now. Math club? Chess club? Too geeky back then you say? Sign me up. I would have actually tried out and played soccer because I know I could have, if only I wasnt afraid of failure. How much do we miss, how much do we really and truly miss because of fear of failure? We all have things we would like to go back and do, or in many cases, un-do. Unfortunately, that's not how life works. We live and learn. I'm about to rip off the great Anthony Michael Hall, and his iconic character in one of the most iconic movies from our wonderful decade...."The Breakfast Club". Can't you vividly recall that defining closing scene? Simple Minds is starting to jam and the club is walking out of detention together, but seperate. And, Anthony is reading his letter from the group aloud. I get chills every time! I"m paraphrasing but we were jocks and burnouts. We were geeks and nerds. We were preps and we were nobodies. We were all these things because society labled us as such. We labled ourselves as such. We weren't all friends. We were far from communal. We subscribed to the same high school cliques as every single high school in the entire world, but you know what? We were in a way all dreamers. And, we grew up together. We lived, we learned...together. We all had plans. We were on the cusp of the rest of our lives, together. And this world was vast and just begging to be conquered. I'm sure there were and are a few of us who did some ass kicking out there. But, the vast majority of us probably left the conquering to others. And, that's absolutely fine! That is how life works. But, what I wouldn't give to walk the halls of Northwest one more time and to feel that innate bravado. I'd love to walk the halls and dream about tomorrow.

Isn't it just about the time where we are supposed to sit around the dinner table and regale our kids with our legendary and inflated tales of just how magical things were when we were young and dumb? Didn't we roll our eyes when our very parents went on and on about the fifties and sixties? I for one, take up this gauntlet willingly and eagerly! We were Northwest. We were a big blue “N” on a hill above our football field. We were band geeks under the direction of Mr. O'rear. We were warblers under the eye and ear of Mr. Raspberry. We were Gary the guard. We wore tight rolled jeans and all too often we flipped up the collars of our Ralph Lauren Polos. Oh that little logo. We were tricked out muscle cars. We were under the tutelage of some incredible and mind sculpting teachers. I have always held thesein reverence: Mr. Murphy, Mrs. Boyle, Mr. Ewing and Mr. Cook, Mr. Cavalerro, Mrs. West....and I am confident that I'm leaving out some heavyweights. We were innocent....or not. We were full of school pride. We were the best of friends....some of mine being Shelly and Gene(sorry for leaving out so many?! I only have so many characters to type!). We were scholars like Angie and Vu. The boys all wanted to be Alex, and the girls all wanted to be Tonia, we were just kids in a nowhere school, in a nowhere county. We were Northwest. Its taken me some 20 years to realize that and to verbalize some pretty potent memories. We were Northwest. More importantly and more poignantly, we are Northwest

Live Strong and then go down a coward

Lance, Lance, Lance. You just iced the cake on what has been a week for the books in the world of sport and athletic competition. I assumed that all of the performance enhancing and steroid stuff had started to fade into the background and that we would only occasionally be annoyed by a random snippet here or there of some low level minor league baseball player being suspended for his dalliances. Well, boy was I wrong? Two fairly large MLB stars later, and now the trophy of the anti-dopers, Lance Armstrong. I should preface this with a simple and plain fact. I've never liked the guy. Had to give him his props for the seven tour de' France titles and of course applaud all he was able to do to raise awareness and countless millions for cancer research and all of its various charitible off-shoots. The most notable of which is/was his own, the Live Strong foundation, backed by the mother ship, Nike. I mean, who amongst us hasnt adorned one of those cutest ever yellow arm bands? All that being said, there has just always been something about the man that has rubbed me the wrong way. All athletes, or at least nearly all of them who reach the stratospheric levels that Lance did, do so with at least a smidge of cockiness and/or arrogance. I get it, and I"m sure I will succumb to the same fate when I become the preeminent blogger/novelist dujour and am raking in billions and billions for my sought after words. See what I did there? But....Lance just came across to me a little more pompous and a bit too cocky and standoffish and I labeled him early on as one more jackass of an athlete whose head gets a bit too large. Now I know why his head was getting so large. He was pumping it and the rest of his body full of the finest and most elaborate enhancers that all of that cancer money could purchase? Make no....and I mean ZERO mistake about it folks. He did it. He did it and he did it alot. I know, I know. I've already seen all of the posts and the all of the pleas, backing Lance Armstrong. We need heroes. And, when our heroes are proven fallible or mere mortals, we as good red-blooded Americans defend them to the end, any and all contrary evidence be damned. The man hasnt failed a drug test. On the surface that sounds like a pretty good starting point for a defense. Until you hear of all the masking agents that are even more exotic than the PED's themselves. There is literally no one other than Lance himself who has not fingered him. Fellow competitors, teammates, trainers, experts in the field, doctors....all of them saying emphatically and many with very little to gain. He is guilty as the day is long. And, it matters not that it occurred in a sport that has been and probably still is ripe and rampant with abuse. He built his name, he built his reputation, he built a nations trust and love all based on an image of a warrior wounded. What started out as whisps of smoke, mere whispers of wrong-doing, eventually were fanned into roaring blazes of undeniable lies. I know the die-hards will back him to the end, and certainly won't be swayed by the rantings of a non-descript blogger from the midwest. Any last shred of hope that Lance is innocent were snuffed out by the man himself yesterday. The day of reckoning came. The kingdom of Lance was obliterated with one fell swoop. The seven tour titles? Gone. Eradicated. His future in the sport? Gone. He can and never will be allowed to coach, to train, or even to have one of those feelgood "Im coming out of retirement" race thingys. His name? Tainted, to be kind. His legions? Seeping by the hour. And, when confronted with all of this, how does our champion, our warrior react? Does he rise up and stick his fists in the air and vow to fight, to clear his name and to restore the faith and adoration of all of his fans? Does he demand justice and scream till his lungs are empty of breath? Uh....no. Instead, he says he's done. Done? Ask yourself if confronted by something similar, albeit on a much less grand scale, would you fight for your name? Would you never ever aquiesce to the mounting avalanche? See you Lance. I for one won't miss you on the red carpet of the MTV music awards and the ESPY's. Can't say the same for all of those touched by your foundation. Do you think Finish Line will give me a refund on one of those faded yellow bracelets?

Fairways and green.

I'm working at wrapping my mind and fingers around this new concept(new to me?) of daily blogging, or semi annual blogging, or at the very least, dusting off the laptop once every blue moon or so. Some wise man or woman once said that writing well is about....well, writing. Actually, I just made that up and I kinda like it! I may have to channel my efforts and future endeavors into the creation of my very own "how to" book on writing. Or, not. Until I wake up with some sort of jolt of inspiration, or until I find the genie's bottle and after rubbing it am granted three wishes, I'll probably be sort of an "airborne" writer with regards to this tiny little forum. Oh, I also read that when writing, you arent supposed to use 'tiny' and 'little' to describe something? What is airborne writing? It's writing where the writer, in this instance me, jumps all over the place. The real airborne guys have parachutes when they do it. I can assure you there will be no parachutes.

I couldn't help but notice the breaking news this week that Augusta National has finally admitted not one, but two women to its hallowed and stuffy grounds. And, stop the presses....but, one of the women is not just a woman, but a black woman. In this day and age of instant information and the overall need to saturate our senses with every single bit of information and to re-hash it until it is chewed up and spit out and then inevitably that is still not enough, and someone comes along to do it all over again...the story became one of those hot button specials that just demanded to be weighed in on. We live in a society that is just thirsty, if not starved for salicious stories outside of the normal box. Night after night of baseball scores and highlights and accounts of this pitching perfomance and that clutch two out RBI....it's just not enough for any of us anymore. We need the sex. We need the drugs, and yes...we need the rock and roll. And lo and behold, there are more than enough pushers out there clamoring to be the one to give us that fix.
So, after hearing about this supposed delicious morsel of a story on all, and I mean all, of the usual suspects in television and radio, it was all I could do to stifle a yawn. The legs of this story can be attributed solely to the man made and man fed machine of our modern media. Hootie and Cletus and the rest of the blue blooded rednecks running Augusta finally relented and let a couple of women in. Folks....this is not....NOT Rosa Parks revisited. Hardly. This is not Jackie Robinson breaking the color barriers of white and deeply raicst at the time baseball. The admittance of women into the lush confines of the nations most exclusive golf club has nothing to do with "doing the right thing", or with women's rights, or even with race. And, that last one is a tough one for me admit, because in my heart of hearts, I still believe that the hierarchy of this club are probably closet racists. Now, that's just me and its nothing more than my gut. But, regardless, don't fool yourselves all of you out there championing the fact that there are now women who have been granted access to being members. Billy Payne was all smiles and was saying all the right things. Hip hip hooray for Condaleeza and Darla what's her name. They will forever be known as the guinea pigs, so to speak of course, who were maticulously selected for all the right reasons. All the right reasons for the good old boys that is. You want to impress me Billy? Go to the muny course in downtown Atlanta, or Savannah and pick the women's top player.....and give her full admittance. Picking an ex politico big wig and a local money bags financier is akin to Charles Manson selecting Lizzy Borden to be the first female in his prison knitting club. Of course, this is a hoity-toity upper crust elite level golf club. Not just anybody can walk in and think about playing, let alone joining. Its a different blog for a different day, but I say to hell with all of these "I've done just a wee bit better than you in life, so I'm going to go behind these walls and play the gentleman's game with other like minded and like resourced types while you play on the hardened turf of the local city links" private country clubs. But, I digress. Allow me to arrive at something resembling a point. The only thing I've admired about these guys has been their stubborness. They pointed their snooty snoots in the air and stuck their thumbs as well as their middle fingers at all in the establishment and in effect, took their ball and went home. So, are we to believe that at some point in the last few months, years, even the last decade that the powers that be in charge of Augusta national had a moment of clarity? Did this group of previously staunch and stubborn captains of industry all of a sudden cave to the public perceptions of the serfs of America? How loud can you scream "Hell no?"  It is, was and will always be about the money. Numbers were crunched, egos put in check and one green jacket finally opened the eyes of a few of the other green jackets that there are pools and piles of green to be added to the coffers. I personally dont give two cents that female members are now allowed to happen at Augusta. Women's rights and their cause were not advanced even an iota with this. Every corner of the media would have you believe different, and thats just fine with the members of Augusta.

Still Looking

Hello world. Isnt that how all blogs, both good and bad, are supposed to begin? Welcome to the inner workings of what constitutes my brain. Buckle up. I sit here, like the proverbial kid on Christmas morning, or maybe on Christmas eve, brimming with excitement as I think of all the myriad of possibilities that my very own blog can and will provide. Kind of like my very own shiny red fire engine. You see, Im an aspiring author trapped inside of a procrastinator's body. Im an aspiring author who is waiting for the good novel princess to come down and tap me on the shoulder and utter..."write".....and have it all just....materialize?! So, with the finest album of my lifetime as my backdrop, as well as the soundtrack of my life, I march onward. I'm not entirely sure of what I'm looking for, only that there is definitely something at the end of the journey. I vow to myself and any other potential readers to go light on the U2 overtones! I love the band but, am kind of looking to forge my own identity and it's probably best to steer clear of too much lyrical quoting and such. But, in ulitmate homage, the title of my blog spells out all that I hold dear. The greatest song of all songs starts out with The Edge and his haunting guitar licks, as if from a far off land and the orgy of sound builds with each beat. By the time Bono is belting out the words, I am full of goosebumps and shivering with child like delight. But, what is it about the words, about the emotion. Where the streets have no name is a place of magic. Its a place where you go to get lost from it all, escape if only for a moment. Its where you are with brothers, each rising and falling with gusto, with deep bravado and no one caring from whence each has come from, or why you're there. Its' the past melded with the future, and very much mired in the here and now. I chose my title, however hokey and some might suggest even however token....because its' who I have found myself to be. So many times in my life, I've sought a title, a certain name. I've wanted to fit in with this group or with that one. I've sought acceptance from this person, or from that group of people. Damn the names, damn the titles. I want to write. I want to channel the passion that I have for it onto the page. It burns inside me all hours of the day, deep into the night, begging to be set forth. I've tried countless times to unleash the rage, or what I hoped to be rage, only to be underwhelmed with the direction and another idea cast aside. A classic case of trying to write the award winning title, the glitzy name without the substance. Well, today starts a new chapter. These streets will have no names. I make no promises, no hard and fast vows. No rules.