Tagged: poetry

The Drones Are Operated By Trolls

Sometimes my wife doesn’t even have to say a word to “warm me” in the 19th century adventures-for-boys books’ sense. Anyone know what I mean?

The other night I came home from my week at work as a professional pilot and found her watching news clips on the drones. Now, any mortal’s wife who watches news clips on drones is just behaving like a woman. But a pilot’s wife who gets caught up in the story without asking her divine husband about it? That’s worse than calling a fella a liar to his face.

As I said, it warms me. No words necessary. No tumbling around necessary.

It isn’t just the disrespect which accompanies the fact that I would have some insight because it’s my job, that gets me going. It isn’t just that the people talking to the news reporters she is watching are less qualified to know anything about aviation in 2024 than I am. It isn’t just that she is the same woman who would blame my job’s schedule for most of the current and constant marital discord and yet cannot seem to piece together that “I have someone I can ask”, no. It’s that even after all the fake news and bad reporting of the last, I don’t know, 10 years, she is still willing to consider that “they don’t know what they are.”

Well, honey, they’re drones operated by trolls. And at this point I would drive out there and have a little fun with the morons, if only I had a drone.

As far as national security is related, I will tell you confidently, and not confidentially, that the only threat to national security these drones possess is revealing to the occupants of the universe that the USA is populated by morons. Unfortunately, or fortunately, we’re tops at the moment. So the threat isn’t grave. Carry on.

The Gays Will Save Us?

I discovered Douglas Murray by accident. He was openly and authoritatively denouncing Islam—and still breathing.

On the other hand, a friend shared a Bari Weiss piece with me. I assumed Bari was a man. Funny. She just started a new university—who does that?

Neither of them utter nonsense. They both seem to pick the most relevant fights. But they’re gay.

They’re not dead, so it’s possible that they see the light before too long. I don’t want to discourage anyone who fights for truth from fighting. So keep it up! Keep writing and podcasting. Please do.

But I have been thinking about these two figures for some time now and I just cannot conclude that being gay doesn’t matter. Sure it does. Of course it matters. All sorts of historical figures, so we’re told, were gay, and they may have even done good for Western civilization. But being gay isn’t a binder for us.

Something is amiss. The being gay is not going to work for the same reason that there eventually is just one straw that breaks the camel’s back. One cannot rebel in every instance, at every turn.

Put another way, why can’t we (sober, reasoning mankind) just have one celebrity level, A-lister who is married with kids and boring. Why is that so repulsive and stigmatized as inherently uncool and unintelligent?

In the end, my point is simply that the fact that that last question resonates tells me that no, no the gays (Murray and Weiss) will not save us. Whether this is because 1. We don’t need saving, or 2. They are not fit for the work of saving, I do not yet know. (I’m leaning towards option 1.)

Today Is the Definitive Day of Sadness for the United States of America

I feel sad.

It’s difficult not to brood or stew for the next several hours until the press conference.

I don’t join the “elder abuse” or “his family won’t let him” choruses.

I just feel sad.

As a child, all I wanted was to serve our great country, the greatest country the Earth had ever seen, bar none.

As a man, all I feel is sad.

Reaction to a Couple Obituaries, to Include the First Ever (for this blog) Mildly Approved Sentiment

“(Person) loved his family and he spent his life in service of their welfare and happiness. Most recently, he found great joy in being a grandfather, investing an enormous amount of time and love doting on his dearest (two named grandsons). He also cared deeply for the larger community around him.”

– What is being hidden here? A “lifetime in service of their welfare and happiness”? That kind of lie can only mean bitter, bitter relationships and it also evinces a total misunderstanding of language. Sorry, it was rough being in his family folks, but a few words in the Sunday paper after he’s dead is not going to “manifest” anything pretty, let alone reach back into the past and fix the issues. And why is it wrong to pick out one or two people (from the billions) to love? Ever since whites learned the power of the phrase “black community”, they feel guilty if they don’t use part or all of it during supposedly momentous occasions. Just stop. We don’t live as members of some group which needs fancy and false descriptors any different than T-Rex or George Washington did.

****

Onto the first ever approved, if mildly, obituary assertion.

“He got a black lab puppy last year in April named Oslo. She was the best thing that had happen to him in quite some time. He never went anywhere without her, and they spent hours every day playing fetch with the tennis ball. He loved telling jokes and always had a smile on his face, despite away being described as grumpy ass sometimes.”

– What makes these sentiments worthy is they are fearless. Do you see? This dude lived a kinda shitty life (if a dog is the best thing to happen to you, then you’re having a “sour go”). I love the use of “tennis” to describe the ball—like anyone really cares what kind of ball it was. So quaint. I could do without the “ass”, and I wonder why no “air quotes” around “grumpy ass”, but the beauty is that whoever wrote this had some respect for the dead. I repeat: whoever wrote this respected this man. And the dead man obviously had threatened, or lived in a way which threatened, haunting whoever lied about him after his death.

So good work. This pairing of deceased and writer can teach us all a thing or two.

Reaction to Kiefer’s Sentiment About His Father’s Passing

Kiefer Sutherland said, “He loved what he did, and did what he loved. And one can never ask for more than that.”

I disagree. I can ask for far more than that.

I have felt bliss. I want instant bliss.

I want more time than I’m slated for, and when my body was twenty-one.

I want sane women.

I want a job that requires no concern about “pleasing people” or making people “happy”.

I want my daughter.

I want every human on earth to have discernment.

I want every human on earth to acknowledge and live according to their strength of memory and speed of thought.

I want pizza on a rotating schedule from all my favorite restaurants served at a place of my choosing as I feel, and new types coming out according to a timeline of my fancy.

I want to be adored.

I want to be listened to.

Back to the time thing; I want time enough to flesh out this post and have my afternoon coffee stay hot until I say so.

In short, Mr. Kiefer Sutherland, you’re wrong. No. Doing what you love or loving what you do, or both, is not all anyone can ask.

Instead of failing at sounding wise, please just tell us how you feel at the news that your father died. Or don’t.

People: we must do better at this death thing.

America’s Husband

My wife doesn’t listen to me, so I think it’s time to offer my services more generally.

First, because it happened merely moments ago, wives and mothers of our great nation: you do not get to leave for your shitty job (whose money we don’t need) and have some soft “miss you” moment with the kids. That’s for the actually poor (not just the envious) and/or the single mothers who have a job or three because they don’t want their precious little babies pregnant at 16 too.

Next, we need to talk about envy. Yeah, yeah. The Ten Commandments forbid envy. But it was uninspired men who clarified the problem with envy. The problem is not what happens on the inside of the envious. Envy is a problem because of what the envious do as their life’s main work: sabotage.

Case in point: a wife/mother who works a shitty, low-paying job when she doesn’t have to and uses the money to keep up with the Kardashians and mega church wives. This isn’t about money. It isn’t about control. It is envy. She suffers from envy and is sabotaging the entire family—her own children most importantly.

There’s something else, you terrible wives and mothers of America. Take a first aid course. Or join Scouts. But you need to do something to stop the incessant and melodramatic overreacting to childhood.

Proceed at your own risk, reader. What you are about to read is true and terrifying.

****

So I hear J- screaming. Ag- and An- are both upstairs with him. I had just told An- to shut the bathroom door and it soon became clear that she didn’t watch out for J-’s fingers.

Next thing I know, my wife is running up the stairs as if it’s D-Day and someone just called “Corman!!”

I sat at the table, shaking my head and dreading this totally unnecessary scene.

A moment later and J- is still crying. My wife is now frantic.

I can’t completely suppress my humanity, and I am curious if there is about to be some blood or a clearly distorted digit.

I finally see the boy’s hand as my wife carries him down the stairs and into view and it is…completely normal looking.

He is still crying.

My wife has now grabbed some ice from the freezer and is trying to apply it to his hand.

J- is not having it. He is constantly ripping himself from her grip and every time the slower-moving particles approach his hand, he shrieks louder as only toddlers are wont to do.

Next, (when will it end, I wonder?) my wife grabs a towel and tries again with the ice, this time, though, insulated by a grimy kitchen towel.

From upstairs, to the kitchen table, and now the stairs, J- is holding his ground. Rather, he is running the show and displaying a sinewy—if still covered in baby fat—wile that impresses even me. Given the situation, I am compelled to believe it comes from his man-mind.

“Where is your instinct, woman?!” I finally erupt. “He doesn’t want the ice. He isn’t hurt. Why would you keep fighting against him?”

Catechizing rabbits.

“How about this? I’ll stop if you can answer a question. What does ice do?”

Crickets.

“J-.”

The boy stops crying (face is still a slobbery mix of tears and snot and spit) at the sound of reason and calm.

“J- just go downstairs and play.”

He turns.

“Or if you want to go upstairs and play with your trains, that’s fine too.”

He chooses trains and heads up the stairs, hands and feet in action.

Pause the story here and ask yourself, “Why would the mother not worship her husband and the father at this point?”

Back to the story.

“Nag nag nag.” (I honestly don’t remember what she said.)

“What does the ice do?”

And now, as typical, she believes I am belittling her in front of the kids and fires off on that accord.

I turn to A- (who had apparently taken a seat beside me at the table to enjoy the show) and say, “Ice reduces swelling.”

A- turns to her mom and begins, “Momma, ic-.”

I stop her. “No, A-. I am teaching you.”

****

What, wives, in the hell are you thinking ice does? You saw some doctor use it once? Does it cure COVID?

In short, my beloveds, I will not feel bad for being aware that you can somehow look past a screaming child in order to apply, what to you, is merely an old wives’ tale remedy to a non-injury.

Reaction Post to Lines/Phrases from Today’s Obituaries

“In lieu of flowers, please donate to the charity of your choice.”

– I honestly don’t know which use of money is more worthless these days.

Keywords from one poor lady’s obituary: active member, served, nearly every way possible, invested, (another) active, zest, dedication to social justice, quality time.

– Way to sh!t on regular members (the rest of us) and whatever other type of time (god) there is.

One poor man’s: loved to be social, never met a stranger, always smiling and laughing.

– impossible

Another poor lady’s: enjoyed motorcycling, skiing, traveling, camping and boating in Puget Sound.

– she enjoyed all that only in Puget Sound? Or just the boating?

Lady: married a GM designer, raised her family, always involved with her church and in the community, excellent seamstress, creative and enthusiastic spirit.

– been a Ford guy myself (Hyundai and Toyota too), what is a seamstress in our day? Is it racist?

Lady: teacher at heart, loved volunteering in special education classes

– we can stop right there. This lady (or the writer) was a topper. How can I possibly compete with someone who loves working with specials?

Lady: (be sitting) married x in ‘68 and divorced in ‘99 and she remained single and happy until her passing, greatest love was her dogs, expert roller skater, fantastic seamstress, gifted mathematics student, donate her remains, and [she] would love it if you…

– was she not happy during the marriage? Or was she always happy, no matter her marital status? Dogs? No wonder she got dumped. I need specifics to further qualify skating ability claim, ie what age? What is a seamstress? We talking pre-Independence home-spun? She still getting kickbacks from body donation business? Why is that relevant? Lastly, do not, I mean never, talk to me like I am a child.

At Bedtime, You Gotta Be Smarter Than The Toddler!

I don’t know why I didn’t think of it earlier.

The trick is having them lay in bed as soon as possible in the bedtime routine. That’s the trick.

I had been reading to them (the best possible thing imaginable). But we had been sitting on the floor together. Or almost together. Usually Bee-bop and Rock-steady would find their way around every corner of the room as if led by a bewitched divining rod while I read and beckoned them back to the fold. But the reading was happening and they even were memorizing the words in turns. So I was fine with it.

But then we would excitedly pray (Aaronic blessing from frame on the wall—“Favor, A-, not favorite”) and sing and then I would put them to bed. Finally, I have a little thing I say to them every night.

But if I left at this point, someone would get out of bed and the light would be on and playing would ensue.

Any parent knows this is enough to drive you crazy. Just GET IN BED!!

No more. Tonight I had a moment of clarity and put them in bed before the book. They both tried to sit up to see the pictures until…they got tired of maintaining that position. Then they laid until the page turn and then sat up and then laid down again after examining the picture.

Finally it was pray, say the thing, and then I sung any remaining pressing ideas to sleep.

Boom!

Lights out.

What an amazing dad I am. And not a moment too soon.