Sadly, Nancy Mace is the best South Carolina can do.
The following was sent to U.S. Representative Nancy Mace of South Carolina:
I just listened to your interview on NPR, and I was struck by how rude you were to the journalist interviewing you—noting how many times you interrupted her before she could even complete her question to you. I just sat there shaking my head in disbelief. Your interview seems especially cringe-worthy knowing you have a master’s degree in journalism and mass media. Obviously it must have been a “participation degree” instead of anything associated with earning the degree.
Further, you indicated how almost every problem in this country is on the current President’s lap. It was ridiculous and all I could think was, “Yeah, she must represent all those dumbed-down, knuckle-dragging racist of South Carolina. All you accomplished in the interview was throwing out the usual red meat like Donald Trump and the nightly Fox News line-up.
In short, you are what’s wrong with this country… full of yourself arrogance, disrespectful toward other professionals, self-centeredness, and unquestionable stupidity.
It was a typical coffee gathering for us “old/retired guys.” A nice Wyoming spring day outside with another semester and another school year coming to an end. It’s difficult not to feel optimistic about the world when the stars align like this every year in early May.
Yet, in this moment of everyday euphoria, it all came crashing down when a 30-some stranger (I’d never seen before) walked into the coffee shop with a gun strapped to his hip like he was walking out of a 1950s Hollywood Western movie set—I don’t doubt that’s how he saw himself too.
This has happened to me before when I was in a Rock Springs Loaf & Jug store; another time at a Walmart in Riverton. Each time, my reaction is the same—just leave. Whatever I’m doing at that moment, I’m not doing any longer, I am simply getting out of that setting as quickly as I can without causing others to panic.
It’s one thing if a police officer is in the same space as me knowing they are armed. Although there are no guarantees even with armed police officers, at least I know they are thoroughly vetted when it comes to their line of work and carrying a weapon. With “Joe Cowboy” walking into a public space with a gun, I have zero knowledge of the rationale behind his self-appointed armed status.
In such instances I’m not going to stick around to find out whether he’s simply some paranoid, insecure White dude who needs to announce to the world that he is carrying a gun and is here to save us all, or he is some insecure White dude with a chip on his shoulder and has intentions of using the gun indiscriminately in the form of a mass shooting. If all I have is one’s appearance to go on, I’ll always error to the latter.
Hanging around to discern the intentions of an armed stranger is just another version of Russian roulette in my book.
And unless you’re a fool or have had your head in the sand lately, my reaction shouldn’t seem too extreme giving the frequency of mass shootings in the U.S.
And, while I’m here… fuck the N.R.A. and fuck the 2nd Amendment, period.
It’s odd, funny, interesting, and even mysterious how certain obscure terms can become household terms overnight thanks to some controversy or news event that never seems to go away—think “viagra,” “ginormous,” or “janky.” And so, for the last couple of weeks, it has been “mifepristone.” Thanks to the Supreme Court, I think it’s here to stay.
Regarding the recent letter to the editor by Tina Purdy in the Powell Tribune on the dangers of wind and solar energy systems (elegantly titled “Solar and wind farms not good for man or beast”), I had to question the shady sources listed at the end of her piece. I think this type of cherry-picking and thus, gullible research illustrates the single-mindedness that appears to be running rampant in our community, our state, and our country.
Starting with her sources: Michael Shellenberger is at best a controversial figure who has constantly been in opposition to most environmental scientists and academics of environmental studies. His “bad science” positions and writings on climate and the environment have for the most part flown in the face of the true research and data collected by the experts in the environmental sciences for decades. His education/expertise—both undergraduate and graduate—are in the social sciences rather than the physical/environmental sciences. He’s certainly an eloquent writer, but no authority on any of the above.
And, Tucker Carlson… well, I’ll just leave it at Purdy’s simple mentioning. His credentials for anything are only that he is handsomely paid for spewing whatever red-meat material that boost the ratings for Fox News, period.
I would encourage any reader who finds Purdy’s letter convincing to do their own research and avoid the input of scoundrels and posers such as Shellenberger and Carlson for starters.
Brittney Griner is finally free from her Russian captors. Although many Americans are happy about this, there appears to be just as many who are not—including some tool-turned-psuedo-journalist named Benny Johnson.
Benny and his ilk think Griner should still be in Russia instead of former U.S. Marine, Paul Whelan, who has been painted by Johnson as a patriotic Marine who loves his country.
If we look deeper into the character of Paul Whelan, we’ll find he’s not all that red-white-and-blue—certainly not a “John Rambo” as they’d like us to believe.
For one, Whelan is a citizen in three other countries—Canada (his birthplace), the United Kingdom and the Irish Republic. Secondly, although he did serve in the U.S. Marine Corp and was part of two tours in Iraq, he was ultimately discharged from the Marines for bad conduct on larceny—writing bad checks and stealing Social Security numbers.
He’s hardly a patriot, certainly not a hero by anyone’s definition. Yet, Benny Johnson and company will always choose a White dude over a Black woman, an obedient member of the military over an outspoken athlete, a straight guy over a lesbian—even if that straight, White, member of the military is a swindler.
Benny Johnson’s bullshit tweet.
Simply put, Whelan is another grifter who once wore a Marine uniform. Further, the other countries where he holds a passport aren’t making much noise over his Russian detention either. The truth is Griner is a much greater asset, an inspiration to all young women, an activist, and a great athlete.
Lastly, if Whelan is truly the patriot that Benny Johnson says he is, surely Whelan is good to know that Griner went home before him. That’s what military people sign up for—to serve, protect, and sacrifice if needed. Besides, trading Whelan for the Russian gun-runner Viktor Bout would truly have been a bad trade.
Young lesbian couple celebrating their marriage in front of their friends. —marieclaire.com.au
Lorie Smith of “303 Creative” somewhere in Colorado is a graphic artist/designer who specializes in websites, graphics, social media, and marketing. No doubt, she is one of several hundred businesses in Colorado who offer such services. So, to get herself more noticed, she has decided to take a different approach to promoting herself rather than the usual, good-old-fashioned hard work method.
Here’s her plan: Smith doesn’t want to do wedding websites for same sex couples because according to her faith, she doesn’t believe in same-sex marriages and is afraid the State of Colorado will force her to do such. “I want to design for weddings that are consistent with my faith,” Smith said. So, before any same-sex couples even ask her to create a website for them, she is going to the Supreme Court and challenging this possible scenario before it ever materializes.
Yeah, right… Smith is just another individual to add to the growing list of pollyanna, look-at-me, attention-needy whores who believes that her hang-ups and her problems should belong to everyone else—think cake decorator, Jack Phillips of Masterpiece Cakeshop (also in Colorado), or the Kentucky County Clerk, Kim Davis, who refused to issue marriage license to same-sex couples because of her faith.
Snake-Oil Salesman, Kenneth Copeland
You know, I don’t want to do graphic design for asshole politicians like Donald Trump or any of his cronies because I want to do graphic design for projects that are consistent with my ethics, my morals, or my faith. Yet, I’m not going to the Supreme Court and asking them to excuse me from working for such people should they ever come calling. I don’t want to do family portraits for brainwashed, evangelical families who attend churches run by snake-oil salesmen like Joel Osteen or Kenneth Copeland because I want to do graphic design for projects that are consistent with my ethics, my morals, or my faith. Yet, I’m not going to the Supreme Court and asking them to excuse me from working for such people should they ever come calling.
Good God, Lorie Smith must think she’s the only web designer in all of Colorado—possibly the entire country or world. Talk about a needy and over-inflated ego.
There’s a simple solution to Smith’s problem that graphic designers, artists, printers and other businesses have been practicing for years when it comes to not taking on jobs that are of no interest to an “artist” like herself—and surely she knows it too (unless she really is that stupid).
You don’t want to do a job for a same-sex couple? OK, just tell them you’re really slammed with other work and you can’t take on any other jobs at this time. You don’t want to do work for a known White supremacy group, tell them you’re working on a huge project for the Southern Poverty Law Center (if you want to add a little spice to the conversation) and you’re not sure when you could get to their project.
Whether right or wrong, ethical or unethical, businesses have been turning down work for years—and for all kinds of reasons. Yet, Smith seems to insist that her business “ethics” be put out there for the entire country to know about. Lorie Smith is the epitome of a drama-queen, dime-store martyr.
Most business operations avoid being too political, too religious, too anything because they typically want as much business as they can get. But, there are those customers who are undesirable for whatever reason—some reasons more legit than others. Maybe they don’t pay their bills on time, maybe they aren’t pleasant to work with, maybe they own a bar or a strip joint, maybe they are a lawyer, or maybe there is simply something about them that you don’t like as soon as they walk into the room. The great thing about being in business, you don’t have to be bluntly truthful in turning down any client that seeks you out. You can simply decline a job because you’re busy, and (in making them feel good as they walk out the door) suggest someone else who might be a good alternative for their project.
Of course, those like Lorie Smith like to wear their values, their ethics, their religion, and whatever else you can think of on their sleeve for the whole world to see. Lorie Smith’s faith and morals are as sickening sweet as Masterpiece Cakeshop’s wedding cakes.
If only someone would set up another marketing/graphic design operation next door or across the street from Smith with a banner that says, “We Welcome Same-Sex Wedding Clients.”
Not too long ago, I made the mistake of sending money to a political campaign, and then sometime after that, a little dough here and there to other campaigns, but nothing extensive in terms of frequency or amount.
As a result of my political generosity, I now get email every day from someone who is running for a government office, or someone who is representing them—mostly Democrats, because I lean that way, but not always (see image).
At one time I thought that votes won elections, not money. Yet, given the amount of email I receive everyday asking for funding, I guess this isn’t true—at least not to the people running those campaigns.
Here’s a small sample of the many pitches I receive everyday:
You haven’t made a donation yet this year. Ahead of Friday’s deadline, can I count on you to split a $25 donation between my campaign…
So please, can you chip in a donation of $5 or more to help me…
Make no mistake, by donating to support my campaign, you played such an instrumental role in building our movement—and I couldn’t be more grateful.
There’s so much riding on this close race, and I can’t win without your help, so I’m asking: Will you donate $5 now to help me…
Whatever happened to “I can’t win without your vote.” And, what’s with these random deadlines?
Recently I started getting emails from the campaign of Val Demings who is running for the Florida Senate seat now held by Marco Rubio. I’ve never sent her campaign a dime, but I know how these things work. Once you give to one, they all find out about you. And, I get it—I’m sure she’s a much better person than Rubio, but her campaign is downright relentless in petitioning the world for money via email. At least four emails today and four yesterday (a Sunday) alone, and 23 emails for all of last week.
Back when I first heard about her in one of those earlier emails, I remember thinking to myself, “Well, that seems like a reasonable campaign that I could support.” But now, I can’t get past the blitzkrieg of emails to find my checkbook.
It’s all a bit of a turn-off.
And then I think about that self-proclaimed billionaire and former President who is standing up in front of his supporters asking them to send him money for his political wars. At least I’m not receiving that kind of bullshit.
I’m finished with sending money to political campaigns. I’ve never really believed in it anyway. From now on, it’s only my vote they will be competing for. Something tells me I won’t be getting many emails asking for only that.
I never would have known a thing about the town of Newtown, Connecticut if it hadn’t been for the senseless slaughter of school children in 2012 at Sandy Hook Elementary. Now, here in 2022—and for the same reason—I get to learn about the town of Uvalde, Texas and its ordinary-sounding (up until today) Robb Elementary School. I suppose this is how America gets a small town on the map these days for the rest of us, they have a mass shooting there.
Take comfort America in your thoughts and prayers; across the street from the Robb Elementary School is the Hillcrest Memorial Funeral Home.
I’d truly prefer to discover the charm of these towns on my own, rather than the blood-filled news after they are cursed with a mass shooting.
So, how does stupid America solve the problem? The same way it’s always solved the problem (not really)… by throwing more guns into the equation. More guns for the “good guys.” If this wasn’t such a tragic solution, it would be a comedy.
And, if America was a fire brigade, it would bring gasoline to every house fire.
So, when all of the teachers and educational administrators are “packing” during the normal school day to end “school shootings,” we’ll need to do the same for our doctors and nurses. Why? Because inevitably, the blood-thirsty, attention-needy, fringe element of the gun-owners and NRA (all hiding behind the Second Amendment) will be coming for the hospital nurseries.
That’s right, you heard it hear first. The new-born children will be next because these gun-worshipping, sick-fucks are all about soft targets and nothing is softer than a ward of new borns and their weakened mothers. On top of that, we’ll also have an occasional gun-toting educator who flips out and commences a second wave of school-based mass shootings all over again.
And you thought Omicron was a bitch.
And if the hospital nurseries are too secure, they’ll go after the elder living facilities. And after that, family reunions, weddings, funerals… any place you think would be void of such carnage.
And, finally after all of that—hopefully and deservingly—Russia will nuke us hard.
Postscript: I am a gun owner (3 in all) and would gladly jump through whatever hoops required of me to maintain that ownership, or simply (and gladly) surrender them all.
Last night, I awoke around 1:30 in the morning after retiring at 10:30—typical of my sleep patterns in the last three years. I restarted a YouTube ASMR video on my phone nearby—the same one that I fell asleep to at 10:30, but it would be another two hours later before I would fall back to sleep.
When I finally fell back asleep, I found myself in some large parking lot associated with a big arena or stadium—it felt like somewhere in the Phoenix metropolitan area. There was some event going on as the parking lot surrounding the structure was full. For whatever reason, I was outside of the structure (near its doors) hanging out and waiting for the event to conclude. It felt as though I was waiting for someone who was still in attendance on the inside, but I don’t know who that was.
While outside, it seemed as though I was carrying on in small talk with someone that I knew—it could have been Jerry Brown, an old friend I knew when I was working for ASU Student Publications.
Then suddenly, Jerry or someone else nearby shouted out, “It’s finally happening… Here it comes.”
I walked away from the doors so I could see around a portion of the building to where a person was pointing—a rising and colorless mushroom cloud on the horizon—akin to a giant jellyfish in the sky. There was no sound at that moment, and it was far away, but not too far to be seen, growing larger and taking up more of the sky. Perhaps it was on the outskirts of Phoenix like one of its Air Force Bases—Luke or Williams, I couldn’t be sure.
What I was sure of, more would be coming—perhaps at any moment.
I was hesitant in what to do next. Should I venture into the arena and throw myself into a crowd that was certainly going to be panicked by the time I was inside, finding the person I came with, or simply go to the car and wait for them—or wait for the next strike?
Knowing what I had just witnessed, I knew it didn’t matter. The end that was surely near was going to override whatever I would do next. And then I woke myself for another round of sleeplessness.
Meanwhile, Russia’s attack on Ukraine enters its third week with everyday reminders that this is a war no one can afford to escalate.
