Today being Veterans Day, please allow me to tip the Mad Dog garrison cap to all of yis who served.
Most of the media rah-rah was yesterday, which was the officially designated Federal Shopping Holiday; I went looking for a new commander-in-chief but nobody had one in stock. “Come back in November 2020,” they said. And I shall.
The individual who currently holds the position finally made it to Vietnam, I see. Boy, golf must do wonders for bone spurs. I hear it’s the new cycling.
It’s a wee bit early for ticker-tape parades and dancing in the streets, and the advice of Winston Wolf remains pertinent, but yesterday’s elections saw the Donks put a few points on the board.
The game ain’t over yet, and they’re a tough team to root for, but whaddare ya gonna do? At least the bench seems a little deeper this time around.
* The boots. The boots are Timberlands. “The timber lands.” OK, so it’s a stretch.
The Duke City is taking a page from the Bibleburg playbook and trying to croak panhandling.
My old hometown has spent years wrestling with the issue of how the less fortunate earn their living, losing two falls out of three.
Nevertheless, that fair Christian community persists; its latest panhandling ordinance, like the new one here, seems targeted more narrowly on the red herring of “safety,” and the ACLU is watching closely to make sure this is not just another cudgel to beat the homeless out of the public right-of-way so their betters don’t have to see them, or think about them.
The ACLU will have its eye on the Duke City, too. And it seems likely that the lawyers will earn, and the City Council will earn, and the police will earn, and the reporters will earn, and the needy will not (for a while, anyway).
Both communities have more pressing safety issues, or so it seems to me. Duke City and Bibleburg-El Paso County both are on track to break homicide records, for example.
And as regards traffic hazards, I’d say the distracted, drugged and/or drunk Duke City driver poses more of a threat to life and limb than does the limper with the homemade billboard working the median at the corner of Fifth and Vermouth.
Part of the problem may be that Limpy has found his way north and east, where the money is. I’ve seen (and donated to) representatives of the Placard People all the way out here in Dog Country, at Tramway and Montgomery. By golly, it’s one thing if they’re shambling around down by Ed Siegelman’s Ground Zero Equal Opportunity Apartments, but up here? What about our real-estate values?
What about our values, indeed.
It might be educational for some of our elected representatives to stumble a few miles in Limpy’s brogans. I’ve done a little panhandling my own bad self, back in my Jackoff Kerouac days, and I can’t recommend it as a career choice.
I was slumming, of course, as are a few of the people you see working the off-ramps. I could go back to my real, privileged life anytime I chose, and I did. But not everybody is so fortunate. If we really want to get the needy off the streets, and keep them off, we need to think a little harder, a little smarter, and with a whole lot more compassion.
On the other hand, maybe this new ordinance will stop the cashier at Whole Amazon from asking me if I want to donate my bag credits to some “worthy cause.” Bloody do-gooder.
Our “leaders” are sending thoughts and prayers around and about once more, this time to a small Baptist church outside San Antone.
I often think about tacos. (“Man, a taco sure sounds good right about now.”) I have even been known to pray for tacos. (“Jesus, let there be a taco stand around here somewhere!”)
None of this has ever gotten me a single fucking taco.
Two visits with the backcracker and I’m feeling more and more like a biped capable of upright locomotion. That said, I’m still not convinced it was a good idea for the Irish to come down from the trees, even though the English were kind enough to teach us how to operate the wheelbarrow.
What I need to be operating is some bicycles. The deadlines, they loom — for Bicycle Retailer and Industry News, for Adventure Cyclist — and I’ve noticed that Kevin Drum’s obsession with artificial intelligence notwithstanding, these pieces refuse to write themselves.
And somebody has to pay the backcracker. ‘Cause he doesn’t accept health insurance.
Thus the temptation is to get out there right now and push those pedals around. Burn some fat, light the cranial fireworks, make a little magic.
Hmm. What would Plato do? Probably not that. Maybe I’ll just go for a walk.
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