A Very Disturbing Fact

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And I mean fact fact, not the bullshit ‘alternate facts’ or simple lies. These are NUMBERS and they do not lie. Here is a fact: In the 2016 election, only 60% of the eligible voters voted. You can do this math: That means the 40% of people that could have voted did not.

In perhaps the most important election since Nixon, certainly the most controversial one, almost half the goddam citizens sat home. It also means that about 29% of the electorate put Trump in office.

News people are always interviewing people asking why they supported such and such a candidate. Why don’t they ever ask the other 40% why they didn’t bother to vote. I will cut slack (but not much, because there are people always willing to drive someone to the polls) to those too old or infirm or poor to get ID cards or get to the polls.

But that cannot be nearly half the populace. I want to know why these people refused to participate in the most basic civic function of a Republic. It is easier than Jury Duty. Easier than getting a Drivers License. Yet no one ever holds their feet to the fire. No one ever says, “You sorry son of a bitch. Why didn’t you vote?”

There was an old time SF writer, Robert Heinlein, that wrote several novels that had a society where non-voters did not get to participate. They got basic food and shelter, but had no voice in other civic affairs. He had one where only those that had served in the military got to vote. I am not suggesting we go that far, but there ought to be some cattle prod to use to motivate people to vote.

And that’s all I’m going to say about that. Except that I made that pie chart using a spreadsheet graphing function.  It’s a beaut, isn’t it? I don’t mind that the red and blue are reversed, that Republicans like to be called ‘Red’ and here they are ‘Blue’.

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What’s The Boyfriend As Clown Deal?

AXB50057_result        I’d like to speak to you today about clown songs. Not normal clown songs, like Send in the Clowns, but songs where the boyfriend (always it was the boy, never the girl) laments being a ‘clown’. This was a short time geologically, perhaps the 1960’s through the 1980’s.

It began, I believe, with the Everly Brothers Kathy’s Clown in 1960, continued through Gary Lewis and the Playboys Everybody Loves a Clown in 1964. The thrust of the songs is that the boy singing is a ‘clown’ for his girl. It’s never made clear what this entails, but it is obviously not a condition he desires. I was a teenager and young adult during this period and I never, not once, called or heard any boy be called a girls clown. I was part of a population of normally rowdy and cruel kids and it never happened.

So how did the songwriters get the idea that there were girls out there turning boys into clowns? And what was in it for the girls? A Clown doesn’t buy more gifts, doesn’t give the girl money.  It would certainly not enhance the girl’s appeal to have a clown hanging around her. Did she use the boy as a clown weapon, sending him out to throw confetti from a bucket on rivals or squeeze the bulb of a loud horn to irritate them? I never saw anything like that, and I was an Observer.

This clown thing reached its zenith when P.J. Proby covered the song Clown Shoes, I believe it 1987. Johnny Burnette wrote it in 1962. It is one of the most bizarre songs ever about a boy being a clown for a girl. I won’t put them here, but if you want to be entertained, find the lyrics, or better yet, the song, and listen to it.

But none of this explain why it is that the girl wants a clown, whether she deliberately created one or it was an unhappy accident, and what exactly is so disturbing to be one. I know everyone hates and fears clowns, and cross the street to avoid them. But is that the only reason? I wonder.

So This Time I Mean It!

DEO00117_resultI am leaving Facebook®, this time for good. Their latest antics, allowing some outfit to gather data on a shitload of people in order to influence the election, all in the name of money, convinces me that we are not a good fit.

I’m not a social person anyway. I originally joined with the scatterbrained idea to get people to read my books. But that only works if you are willing to sell yourself, to get out there and kiss babies and shake hands. Since I am an introvert, that behavior in alien to me and so Facebook didn’t accomplish anything. I created a page ‘Books I’ve Written’ and in several years, no one bought any books or even visited it.

So the gain (nothing) is not worth the loss (privacy and seeing into other peoples brain and view their political and religious rants). I ended up with most people blocked. I do not blame them. I just wish I did not know their opinions. It colors how I look at a person if I know their inner workings. It is a failing of mine that I cannot separate the person from their thoughts.

However, this blog will still be published and I can be reached by email if anyone needs or wants to communicate with me.

A Thought to Ponder

DET00003_resultThere are a lot of words written today about gender identification. (I could have said ‘in this day and age’ rather than ‘today’ but I find that cliche both meaningless and trite.) The spectrum is pretty much wide open, from super male to super female.

There is a category of porn called, “Chicks With Dicks”. I do not frequent the sites, but as an Observer and Writer, I hear things and research them. Believe me, I am saving you the wade through the swamp of internet porn by advising you this is true so you do not have to find it for yourself.

In the course of my research, I have seen a picture of one of these Chicks With Dicks and they are just as advertised: what appears to be an attractive female human with large breasts, a smooth body, well-made up, possessing a normal appearing male penis and scrotum, presumably capable of all the functions: urination, erection, and ejaculation. Perhaps even fertilization.

My first thought was, ‘Who is this aimed at? It can’t be male heterosexuals, as they would be turned off by the penis. Not lesbians, because they would be repelled by the penis as well. Not male homosexuals, because the breasts and such would be against their desires. Not a female heterosexual because of the same reason.

But Internet Porn did not get to be the thriving business it is without appealing to peoples lusts. This CWD category has to be for someone. I do not know, and feel there must be some sliver of human sexual desire that doesn’t fit any category.

But that’s not the reason I brought you here today, other than to introduce you to the phenomena. Here is my stand:

I Do Not Buy The Original Premise. Chicks with Dicks? No. Instead, I think it is Dudes with Tits. Think about it. It is easy surgically to add breasts to a man. It is far more difficult to add a working penis and testicles to a woman. No gender reassignment I ever hear of does the full monty, the swap of a working penis and balls to a new host. But removing body hair and adding breasts? Easy as Pie.

So when you see – or have someone offer you – a Chick With Dick, simply say, ‘You mean a Dude With Tits?’ No, Thanks.” Unless you are one of the ones the CWD category is aimed at.

The Times Have Changed, Indeed …

life     My birthday is approaching. They are not as much fun as they used to be, but they are still cultural milestones: you cannot avoide them, Facebook if no one else, will remind you. Many years back, Nancy bought me an old copy of  Life from their closest publication date to my actual birthday, from Match 9, 1942. It was enjoyed briefly back then, then consigned to the Bin Of Old Things, where print artifacts ranging from newspaper reports of John Kennedy’s assassination to the original Whole Earth Catalog lie in State.

I opened that Vault today and re-read the magazine. Besides the technology advances in the past 76 years, the articles reflect a simpler, more earthy time. They called the enemy Japs and dirty Nazi’s. It is amazingly filled with articles and ads that would be considered racist and genderist today (I don’t think genderist is a real word).

But one ad struck me, as it is relevant to the current upsurge of female outrage against sexist behavior. It is sponsored by some brewing association, and it advises women to fetch their man a refreshing beer when he gets home from work, for it has been stressful for him, and no matter how hard she may have worked at home, it is nothing compared to his efforts. Have a fire going. Comfort him, get him happy and fix him food.

No matter how bad it must seem to women today, it used to be worse.

I was unable to find the issue for free to look at: everyone wants to sell it to you. But if you get a chance, read it. It is enlightening. I could not copy is because my scanner won’t take a page that large. Different times.

Worst Business Award!

DER00004_resultEquifax ©. Experian©. TransUnion©.

They are toxic waste. Infectious pus coated toads. Anyone that knows me or reads anything I have written knows that I detest these rat bastards. These ground weasels beyond scum. They are what scum calls scum.

Think of one good thing they do for consumers. You cannot. They gather private information about you, and sell it to any goddam body that wants it. Do they secure it? Shit no. Let the crooks get it; doesn’t matter to them.

IT AIN’T THEIR INFORMATION. They steal it and do not pay you for it. They don’t pay when they gather it and they don’t pay when they sell it. They are sloppy and do not secure the stolen data. But they get away with it because we let them. They let your private information get stolen and then basically say, “Tough shit, Kid. Get out of the way. This is Business.”

The only thing you can do, unless the spineless assholes in Washington someday get off their asses, is to freeze your credit. No controls or restrictions are likely while the GOP is in charge. They ain’t ever seen a business that gives them money that they didn’t like. But even the Demos roll over for people with deep pocketbooks. So you are screwed.

The Ballad of Davy Crockett

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You may remember the song The Ballad of Davy Crockett, Music by George Bruns and Lyrics by Thomas W. Blackburn. It was released in the mid-1950’s. I’ve been thinking about some of the lyrics.

“Born on a mountaintop in Tennessee”. That doesn’t seem logical. Even 18th century Tennesseans would know better than to build a homestead on top of a mountain. No access to water, very difficult to get to in any kind of bad weather. There were no paved roads, no grading so that trails were not too steep. I suspect people in the late 1700’s wanted to make access to necessities as easy as possible, so they built on flat land when they could.

But this is the most onerous: “Kilt him a B’ar when he was only three.” Even given that Davy was a clever and efficient outdoorsman, this seems unlikely. A child that young would have difficult even reaching the trigger of a long musket while holding it to his shoulder. And that’s assuming he could even shoulder the weapon. They are long and heavy. It seems as if the B’ar would have had him a child snack instead of the other way around.

Anyway, it’s something to think about.

Blogsters Note: I might add that another famous American woodsman, Daniel Boone, also kilt a b’ar. He was so happy with the accomplishment that he carved it into a tree, so they say. Lots of b’ar killing going on in those hills.