A View Askew
(Or: Did the Dinosaurs See the Comet?)
Jun 2014 Issue
14
The Good Master
Never let it be said that Dear Leader is a harsh dog owner. (Bad
golfer, poor yard maintenance, snorer - but not harsh owner.) In fact, it could
be said that I am overly generous when it comes to our dear Prudence. While I
don’t sleep on the floor (intentionally) I do share with her when I take my
nap. (What? You don’t take a nap? Or you don’t nap with a dog? You don’t know
what you’re missing – except maybe some dog hair on your clothes.)
Anyway, it does occur to me that we humans have become very
(some would say too) attached to our pets. I mean, we walk around and pick up
their poop, we feed them, talk baby talk to them - and support their vet’s
addiction to expensive cars. I’m not kidding. Apparently the veterinarian
business has caught on to our, shall we say, obsession to our pets and decided to get in on the
gravy train like that of our corrupt, human healthcare system has – expensive
lab tests, pills and physicals. And don’t even talk about end of puppy life
treatments. Ugh.
Ah, but one look from those big brown eyes or her head on my lap when we're dozing and all those concerns fade away. Were that the rest of life's problems could so be easily solved!
Waiting for
the Master . . . or the Master is waiting?
(Note
copious amount of toys taking over the bed and no, they’re not mine.)
Short Takes
This Bud’s Not for
You
There have been a lot of articles in the paper lately - and I
even heard a discussion on the radio - about the proliferation of micro
breweries here and it leaves me shaking my head and wondering: who the hell is
drinking all this beer, this expensive beer? My dad’s and my generation
drank good, old beer because it was: a) inexpensive and, 2) got the job done.
Now, it’s about the “experience.” Having new beer with a preposterous name
(Moose Drool anyone?) and sharing it on Twitter, Tumblr or some other social
media deal that I don’t know anything about. The only conclusion that I can
come to is that the target market is mostly younger urban hip types (and those who
think they are.) You know, the same folks who wear tight, lycra shorts with two
hundred logos and commute 127 miles each way to work on their bike.
But that’s okay with me. I am working really hard on
adapting to the fact that the world no longer gives a rat's butt about what I or my
generation think is important. I do have a sneaking suspicion, though, that the
younger generation is going to get a good lesson soon in the great American
pastime called “chasing a fad.”
New NFL Logo
In a recent article in the Star Tribune we got a taste of
just how larcenous the NFL can be when their conditions to bring the Super Bowl
to Cities in 2018 were revealed. By the follow up letters to the editors I am really
proud of my fellow Minnesotans (those that aren’t captured by their private
parts that is) for being as outraged as I am. Given my disdain for all the
damage that professional sports is inflicting on the country I feel I must
contribute my own vitriol to this.
How bad is the NFL’s behavior you ask? Here's just a few items; you be the judge: FREE police escort for team
owners to/from games, 35,000 FREE parking spaces, FREE Presidential suites at
upscale hotels and ALL revenue from ALL tickets (and no tax to be charged on
athletes pay.) There are some small things too like: 12 cases of water, 800 lbs
of ice and 1000 towels DAILY, 20 free billboards and access to “upscale golf
courses” the summer before the event so big shots can come to town and play. You know, there’s more but that's just rubbing it in - and my head hurts.
My hat is off to them; the greed, sheer hubris and audacity of this
is breathtaking. They cajole and blackmail US into financing a billion dollar
stadium for them and then make US pay for the privilege of letting them come here to make millions more dollars off of US?
This from a NON PROFIT organization that paid its CEO $30 MILLION in
2011? Mein Gott in Himmel!
The good news is that our fine committee that agreed to this mess
will get 750 tickets to the game . . . BUT THEY HAVE TO PAY FOR THEM - Ha ha
ha! (Wait, oh shit, I suppose that we tax payers will have to pay those too!)
The VA Mess and the
Two Time Loser
Minneapolis VA Medical Center
I am not going to go into this a lot just now because
there’s lot more to this than “Short Takes” allows. I will just say that in
addition to the pain and suffering that this scandalously mismanaged
organization has caused to vets around the country (thankfully not as badly here in the
Twin Cities) it also has taken a good man down with it, the former Secretary of
the VA, Eric Shinseki (General, USA, retired.)
The sad irony is that Gen. Shinseki is one of the few people
to be fired by two different presidents and in his case, only one was
justified.
You may remember, it was Shinseki’s sad destiny to be the Army Chief
of Staff when the Bush cowboys decided it was a good idea to invade
Iraq. (How's that working out for us now?) Doing his job, he told Congress that the US would need “. . . something
in the order of several hundred thousand
men” for the invasion. The nitwits in Bush’s administration – especially Sec.
of Defense Rumsfeld – took offense at someone actually telling the truth so he
“retired” shortly thereafter.
He needed to go on this problem even though it wasn’t really all
(or mostly?) his fault but Shinseki remains a good man. And almost certainly
better than either of the guys that fired him.
More on this mess in next newsletter. (My son works for the VA
so I might have some additional inside information.) Also my thoughts on the
Bergdahl/Taliban swap mess – Obama’s batting average is going down with every
swing!
We Have a Bone to Pick with South
Carolina
I
have GOT to stop getting my information from non-traditional news sources. (See
link below.) Contrary to popular belief, knowledge is not power; it’s the
source of great angst!
The
concern that we proud Americans might have slipped just a little in the
knowledge and common sense departments isn’t new but it is always painful to
discover how true it might be - and apparently spreading. The link gives
several examples of what the author thinks are signs of our decline. (He could,
of could, just be a liberal, elitist smart ass but you will have to be the
judge of that.) You don’t have to agree with them all but you do have to pause
and think about it a bit, especially about the school girl from South Carolina.
Apparently
the young lass likes fossils and proposed that the state declare South Carolina
have a state fossil (not to be confused with the ones they usually send to Congress.) Seems simple enough and God knows politicians love to declare
various state creatures and special days. Sadly, God is apparently the problem
– at least with some legislators. If you are thinking this problem might be
about evolution versus the Bible you would be correct. Some members objected
because we all know that fossils can’t really be more than 6000 years old and
as one legislator even had inserted in the proclamation, “. . . the Columbian mammoth “was created on the sixth day with the
other beasts of the field.” Oh boy.
It
is not my intent to disrespect Biblical stories but when we disregard set science
to make decisions about modern life then, in my opinion, we are on a long, slow
devolutionary spiral.
I leave you with this statistic from the article.
“The trends are not encouraging. In 1978,
42 per cent of Americans reported that they had read 11 or more books in the
past year. In 2014, just 28 per cent can say the same, while 23 per cent
proudly admit to not having read even one, up from eight per cent in 1978.” Sigh. We could be down to one comic book and “People” magazine in ten years.
Check
out the story and see what you think but it sounds like it’s not just South Carolina
that might have a problem. I have a LOT more to say about this.
Things That I Think
About
Summer Solstice . . .
and Other Horrors
Well, anyone that knows me knows
that I’m entering my annual period of mourning. As you may know my personal
cycle rotates around those two times of the year that the northern hemisphere
changes it attitude (physical and metaphorical) toward the sun. In December,
when the earth decides that it has had enough of the darkness and wishes to
make life bearable again for us poor, sad humans in the northern hemisphere, it
begins its slow, sensuous dance toward the sun. So too does my outlook brighten
and I embrace the challenges once again.
Now, the days are long, the nights are short and life is good. Now, it’s a time of swim suits, flip flops and sundresses. Now, we finally see that glimmer of hope that there really is a point to living past adolescence in this God forsaken state. And is it now that the worst of nature’s many practical jokes is about to be inflicted on us? Yes, damn it, yes! Now is when the solar rug is about to pulled out from under our sandaled feet. Soon, the days will once again grow shorter and autumn is a precious few and ever darker weeks away. We in Minnesota know what comes after autumn, don’t we? I shall not speak its name but suffice to say that darkness and bone chilling cold are “its” close personal friends.
Unlike my handiwork in December, where I have successfully pulled the sun back to our neighborhood lo these many years, I can think of no incantations, lamentations or even prostrations that can stop the sun from picking up its beach ball and start heading south to the Tropic of Capricorn. You all just need to hope that I stay healthy until Dec 21st so I can save us again!
Now, the days are long, the nights are short and life is good. Now, it’s a time of swim suits, flip flops and sundresses. Now, we finally see that glimmer of hope that there really is a point to living past adolescence in this God forsaken state. And is it now that the worst of nature’s many practical jokes is about to be inflicted on us? Yes, damn it, yes! Now is when the solar rug is about to pulled out from under our sandaled feet. Soon, the days will once again grow shorter and autumn is a precious few and ever darker weeks away. We in Minnesota know what comes after autumn, don’t we? I shall not speak its name but suffice to say that darkness and bone chilling cold are “its” close personal friends.
Unlike my handiwork in December, where I have successfully pulled the sun back to our neighborhood lo these many years, I can think of no incantations, lamentations or even prostrations that can stop the sun from picking up its beach ball and start heading south to the Tropic of Capricorn. You all just need to hope that I stay healthy until Dec 21st so I can save us again!
But here’s something to take the
sting out of the truth. (You don't have to be a geezer to appreciate one of the greatest summer songs ever written!)
More Things That I Think I Think About
Fathers Day – Ha Ha
Ha!
While I lament that the sun is
beginning its slow retreat to somewhere south of the equator now, there is
still something to rejoice in June – there actually is a Father’s Day!
Don’t get me wrong; my general
motto about Father’s Day is “Who Cares?”
For one day a year, it’s kind of gratifying that we dad’s can walk around the golf course slap, each other on the back and congratulate each other on . . . being the husband of the mother, by golly! Sure, it’s kind of like the other minor celebrations that the greeting card industry (and government workers’ unions) have created like Ground Hog Day, Valentine’s Day,
Speaking of Dads . . .
"Must you foxtrot to EVERY song, Marv?"
(Mom wasn’t kidding, dad did foxtrot to everything – but it was a very good foxtrot!)
My dad was a guy. Don’t see many of
them anymore. By a guy I mean men that did real work; you know, with their hands and
stuff; managed a creamery, (where butter and milk come from) worked
highway construction, was a school janitor and other real jobs, all to try and keep the family fed. Like most of the dads I
knew when I was growing up, he worked hard; kind of helped mom raise five kids; did the best he could - played catch when he had moment - but did NOT go into the delivery room when we were born!
Pop was one of those guys that you
only had to meet once to know that he was a good man – and very comfortable
with who he was. (Not a lot of self reflecting BS and getting in touch with himself;
I think he was too busy making a living.)
He was a great bowler and an even better horseshoe player. You gotta
love a great horseshoe player!
I have three brothers and a sister
and from oldest to youngest there’s an 18 year spread – that’s a looonnngg time
to have kids around the house. By the time he got around to me, number 4, and
my baby brother, all the fathering angst and worry had pretty much been beaten
out of him. That’s another way of saying that he was much easier on us back
enders.
Despite all that, dad had his own
way of connecting with each of us: special names. Not nicknames, names.
I was never, EVER, Doug or Douglas (except for one time that I will mention
shortly.) I was Abe. I have no idea where that came from but that was me (although
once in a while it was Babe. Again, don’t ask.) It was dad's way of making me special, I guess. It worked.
As I said, my dad wasn’t big on
philosophy. His motto (and outlook) – I
kid you not – was, “It’s all good.” This from a man who worked hard all his
life, never really had any money or property – and four sons who wrecked 2 cars
(and, of course, a favored only daughter who called him Daddy to his last
days.) It’s all good.
There was one rule that this
usually mild mannered guy had and it was a simple one: we were forbidden from
ever calling mom the “old lady.” If you wanted a fight with pop just try that
in front of him. Old man? Okay. Old lady? Verbotten. I never tried either one.
Finally, the one time that dad
called me by my given name (that I remember.) I came home on a weekend as a
freshman in college (where apparently I lost my drinking virginity) and got
drunk at some party. I was dragged home by some “friends” and heaved on the
front step. When I got in the house, dad was sitting there in his recliner. He
didn’t yell. He didn’t scream. He didn’t pontificate. He simply said, “Douglas,
your mother will be so disappointed.”
Knife in heart, I crawled to bed and tried very hard never, ever to
disappoint my mom again. (And hopefully not dad either.)
Miss you, pop, hope you’re fox
trotting with mom right now – here you go!
If your dad is still around, give
him a hug – even if he doesn’t want one!
Dougie’s Doggerel for
Everyone!
Much for the Remainder (Raoul d’Bayonne, 1999)
Sighs, tingles and touches
Something
for
The
remainder of my youth?
Risk, chance and delight:
The rewards
of
The
remainder of my youth.
Silly and right, the feelings
So much
like
The
remainder of my youth.
Mere words but heartfelt thanks
For this
visit to
The
remainder of my youth.
For
those of you who think I don't like any music less than 30 yrs old . . .
Okay I've Wasted Enough of Your Time.
Thanks for reading, hope you have a great summer!
In the mean time “Be a good citizen of your world . . ”
“You’re probably wondering,
officer, what I was doing walking up there”
. . . and don’t be
a dope.
Quote Du Jour
“When
a father gives to his son, both laugh; when a son gives to his father, both
cry.”
William Shakespeare
A View Askew is the sole property of D Roger Pederson, Mpls MN. You may forward without special permission but if you want to use anything here for your own purposes please send me a request at dpeders2002@gmail.com.
A View Askew
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