TACO TUESDAY

Last Saturday I went to the Greater Kansas City Home Show. Everything that can be linked to home improvement was on display there. The set up in the Convention Center was the traditional, row after row of booths and displays with little gift packets for those who stop to talk, mostly ball point pens and miniature candies. I prefer the little Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. I expected parking to be expensive but $20 seemed a little steep. If 6 blocks wasn’t too far to walk, you could find a lot that only charged $15. Then there was the price of admission. The last time I went it was $5 but now it’s $15. Not complaining; I know everything costs more, that’s a signal the economy is healthy, maybe even robust. But someone was thinking of me when they provided free parking in the West Bottoms, well over a mile away with shuttle service to and from. 

Once inside, I was reminded of Mexican street hustlers in border towns only with manners. They want all of your information so they can follow up with a phone call and an email. It may take 6 months to get back but they never forget. I had two projects in mind when I walked in. Everyone in my end of town with a basement gets water in the basement sooner or later. I replaced my sump pump last year but the routing of sump water outside and away from the house needs attention and I don’t do that kind of work anymore. Also, I want to get a battery powered backup system for the sump as well. So I was looking for those folks. But I stopped to visit with a guy who sells and installs awnings. Shade on the front patio would be great but think I’ll stay with the big umbrella. I visited with the roofing/siding/windows/gutters guy. My house needed siding when I bought it 16 years ago and prices follow the same trend as parking. The worth of my house is just about recovered from the Great Recession but the cost of new siding has tripled. I talked to a guy selling gel inserts and liners for your shoes. One lady was selling jewelry while the next booth was manned by people relocating Greyhounds, bred for racing but no longer running or breeding. The man at the TuffShed booth gave me some advice on how to repair soft floor boards in my shed and I got a hand full of M&M’s. 

Nearly 3 hours later I had trekked all the isles, some twice, talked to almost everyone, had a big sack full of smaller sacks full of brochures and samples. I stayed away from the concessionaires. The way prices had gone up with home improvements I’m guessing it would be cheaper to buy food at the air port. I was the only passenger on the shuttle going back down to the bottoms. The driver wanted to know my take on the exposition. His tone suggested others had not been impressed: it cost too much and the exhibiters were too few. I told him “I’m easy to please.” For my own sake I lower expectations when it comes to anything people can exploit; it was just about what I expected. 

Now, 5 days later, I’m getting phone calls all hours of the day. Last night it was after 8:00 p.m., wanting to know if I was ready to proceed with my new siding or or was it a redwood fence. I’m nice to telemarketers. It’s their job and they have bills to pay. I picture them either calling from a tiny cubicle with a computer screen, talking into one of those ear-mounted phones, typing as they go or maybe even from their own home, scribbling details on a yellow note pad. One good thing about my smart phone, I can tell when it’s a telemarketer before I hit the button. I’m working on my own telemarketing pitch. Instead of answering, “Hello” I will go through my own sales pitch: “Everyday is Taco Tuesday here at Dos Culos Tacoria; will this be carry out or are you eating in?” Maybe I’m not as nice as I said. If I talk only about tacos they will figure it out and hang up. I won’t really do this but it’s fun making believe. 

TO HER CREDIT

I watched Saturday Night Live the other night, first time in many years. Everything has changed, the set, lighting, band, all of the cast members; but they are still merciless, roasting public figures who blunder in plain sight. Harry Truman understood very well, if you want to live in that pressure cooker you must be able to take the heat; still famous for his quote, “The Buck Stops Here.” SNL knows where the buck stops and they are good at applying some serious heat. Unlike other political grist mills, they supply humor in large doses. The usual format is to work up skits that mirror faux pas and indiscretions by those famous if not powerful people, the way Darrell Hammond ripped Bill Clinton and Will Farrell did the same to George W. 

Lesley Stahl (CBS 60 Minutes) is highly respected and widely recognized as a top television journalist. Two weeks earlier, she had interviewed Betsy DeVos, Secretary of Education in the current White House Cabinet. Long story short: Lesley Stahl took Secretary DeVos apart, made her look like a fool. She was prepared, DeVos was not. Hard questions were deflected with rehearsed, philosophical double-talk. She simply didn’t know answers to questions that is her job to know. In the end it was clear, Ms DeVos’ only qualification to be Secretary of Education was that she graduated from college. To her credit, she has been really good at fund raising, hundreds of millions for conservative, Republican campaigns and causes and serving on appointed committees. The daughter of a multibillionaire, married to another multibillionaire, I’m forever amazed by the power of privilege or privilege that comes with power, however you order it. Compared to other rich and powerful women like Oprah Winfrey, there’s no comparison. 

What I noticed in the SNL skit was that they couldn’t exaggerate the bizarre interview. All they could do was add eye rolling and drop the intelligence level to 3rd or 4th grade level. Then I thought of a line from the movie, “Top Gun”. Goose and Maverick go to a party, noticing all the women one comments about, “The target rich environment.” With a Barnum & Baily White House, I should expect lots of distraction: it’s a target rich environment. I remember Dana Carvey and Guilda Radner from the old days; Tina Fey and Chris Farley too but they’ve moved on. SNL ain’t the same but then neither is the world, neither am I. I don’t know who did the Betsy DeVos part but she got the ‘Deer-in-the-head lights’ perfectly. DeVos is a West Michigan, Dutch Reform stereotype. Grand Rapids wouldn’t be the same without them. They are so nice. They put high value on keeping things clean and organized, coloring inside the lines. With a truly great work ethic they assume responsibility to decide who deserves what and who does not. She has long been an advocate for funding private/charter schools and defund public schools. Being an old, public school teacher it’s easy for me to find flaws and prejudice in her cultural, moral set. I’m so glad SNL is there to give me a voice. 

HAVE YOU EVER . . .

National Public Radio has a program not unlike poetry slams of the 1980’s except that people, regular people tell their stories. Winners move on. It’s called “The Moth Radio Hour.” After 10 years or so, the only stories you hear on the air are polished to perfection. Most tellers have some professional background in broadcasting, theatre, stand up comedy and that’s alright. The other day a man, obviously an experienced performer, began his story with the line, “Have you ever. . .” Then he went on to detail a set of circumstance or a situation. After a perfectly timed pause comes the, “Well I have.” Once into the story, at strategic points he reboots; “Have you ever. . . well I have.” As a storyteller myself, I find it interesting that I remember his hook but can’t recall what his story was about.

Have you ever been trapped in a room with more adults than places to sit, too many dogs, upended plastic tubs with their toys strewn, and 5 preschool, toddlers? Well I have. Not that it’s not manageable but it stretches me out of my comfort zone. The simple math of so many little faces at dog level, 5 little mouths, 10 little nostrils, 50 little digits dripping with runny-nose and drool, making little petri dishes of every surface in reach; the simple math explodes the probability of contracting a child borne disease to either, “Most Likely” or “Damn Sure”. 

Have you ever been ushered awake, congested, unable to breathe, with a dull, constant, pressure headache, in the dark, not knowing the time of day or even the day of the week, unable to hold back a cough that makes the whole body pain, realizing you really, really need to pee? Well I have. Toddlers day plus 6 and death wasn’t such a bad option. Plus 7 and I went to the doctor who said something reassuring like, “Yes, you’re sick.” I have to admit I self prescribed some peach brandy to go along with pills from the pharmacy and now it’s plus 11days. 

Have you ever dreamed weird dreams when you were sick? Well I have. I dreamt I was with Frodo and Gandolf at the grocery store, shopping for Gatorade and chicken soup. We had to kill a few Orcs in the deli and when I saw a lady with her toddler in tow, I wanted to kill it too but Gandolf zapped me with a short bolt of lightning and I straightened up. On my way out to the parking lot I felt myself shuffling, mumbling something about my precious. Being old and well is tough enough; kid cooties are cruel and unusual punishment. Where did I go wrong?

IT AIN'T EASY

Grand Haven, Michigan: the first week of March and I’m back in the world that always makes me feel at home; it’s a good feeling. In my office here at Coffee Grounds coffee shop on Washington Street, it’s a clear, sunny Sunday morning. The last time I sat here writing it was full summer; people heading to the beach. This morning it’s clear but there’s an edge. Pedestrians have their collars turned up and their pace belies, too many rpm’s to be a stroll. There is a short phase in between winter’s dirt veneer, born of melting snow and the first welcome rain. ‘Bluster’ is that short 5th season that bridges a careless winter with a reluctant spring. Maybe today is the 1st day of Bluster. 

Before I left the house, my brother by a different mother told me the winter hadn’t been all that bad. I took that to mean nobody lost any fingers or toes and the chickens are still laying. I still struggle with the idea that ‘Home’ is a place where your roots are nailed to particular, GPS coordinates. I think ‘Home’ is a feeling you get when you can close your eyes, take comfort in the moment and truly appreciate whatever it is you see when you open them again. It ain’t easy being an exception to the rule. Kermit said it very well, “It ain’t easy being green.” I never expected anyone to see the rest of the world through my eyes, only to accept that my eyes are the ones I have to trust. Still, the Left Coast of Michigan has coordinates, I can’t take it with me when I roam. When I cross the state line, coming or going, I smile and honk the horn. Sometimes I call a friend and share my Michigan connection. Maybe home is simply the place where you get that feeling, easier, sooner than wherever else you might be.

I’m rambling. I do that when I try to reconcile ideas with feelings and facts, wanting to nail down loose ends and leave those ends alone that can’t abide with nails. I’ll ramble again but for now, in every sense, I’m getting a strong dose of home. 

SHAME ON ME

 

Writing a piece about the 2nd Amendment is a daunting challenge but that’s what I’ve tasked myself to do. I’ve been chewing on this gristle for a long time. To begin with, gun culture in America is entrenched, it is the norm but it is no surprise that easy access to guns is controversial. Just because it is widely accepted doesn’t mean it is loved by all. Some see it as a step forward in personal security while others see it as a dangerous step back to vigilante justice. The high rate of gun violence can be used to argue both points of view. 

From my view, most of the push back against easy access to guns is based on a moral premise. That argument goes: Access to fire arms correlates directly to frequency of gun violence. Less control over fire arms means more shootings and it is wrong. Gun rights arguments are rooted in historical/traditional and legal terms. Our freedom was won with guns. We can own and carry them legally. Everyone agrees, 16,000 gun fatalities last year is unacceptable but that’s where consensus ends. Gun advocates say, “Guns don’t kill people, people kill people. We should enforce existing laws and identify potential mass shooters before they kill. More guns in the hands of qualified citizens will be a deterrent to crime. Self protection is a guaranteed right under the constitution.” From the other side I hear, “It’s not rocket science; the simplest, most effective choke point for keeping guns away from dangerous people is by limiting their availability. It works extremely well in other free, developed, democratic countries.”  Two points of view: both convinced they are right. 

Human nature requires of us all that we be right. You can’t serve a worthy purpose if you are mistaken about what is right. But the Greek philosopher Epictetus debunked that myth nearly 2000 years ago. He wrote, and I paraphrase, there is no right or wrong but thinking makes it so. “Right” is whatever we decide. Feeling right is extremely empowering and caving into emotions is preferable to swallowing a bitter though obvious alternative. We find ways to believe the unbelievable, satisfying our need to be right: Human Nature. So both gun rights and gun control advocates are right in their own view and that’s the only view that counts. If we are right, those who disagree must be wrong, right! Epictetus was ahead of his time or we are way behind ours. 

I own guns, have them locked up in a vault. I have long guns, hand guns, semi automatics and I have ammunition for most of them. I keep them clean but haven’t fired one in so long I can’t remember when. I used to hunt. I’m sorry but yes, I killed Bambi. If I needed my guns to protect myself today and I had time to get one out, I would probably use it. But I’m the first to say that I’m poorly qualified to be making decisions about use of lethal force. I’m afraid most gun owners have no better skills than I do and no real preparation to make life and death decisions in a pressurized situation. What is my position on the 2nd Amendment; I would say, the courts have ruled and it is what it is. I should be able to keep my guns. If I wanted to buy another gun I should be able to but tighter control over those transactions will not trouble me. Comparing George Washington and pioneers with their flint lock muskets to social malcontents bearing Glocks and AR-15’s is too big a stretch for me. We abolished slavery and gave women the vote. Times change and the way we address guns should be subject to change as well. 

It seems to me, every time we have a mass shooting, the tide of public opinion shifts a little more to the side of more control rather than fewer restraints. I think over time, as with sexual harassment and LGBT rights, we will reach a tipping point and the traditional “Founding fathers and Boys will be boys-that’s how it’s always been.” mentality will fall out of favor. It doesn’t require consensus, it only has to start the bubble moving.  The argument that a dedicated shooter will always find a way to kill just changes the subject; death by stabbing and strangulation are not a national problem. 

I struggle, trying to find common ground with my 2nd Amendment friends who agree in principle but hold out with a fire arms Domino Theory; if one falls, they all fall. They agree something needs to change but any concession on guns would mark the beginning of the end. So, in the words of Nancy Reagan, “Just say no!” 

I have two stories that relate to the 2nd. Amendment. Back in the days when milk was delivered to our door step, a man noticed extra ice cream in the freezer. Later he discovered his wife was having an affair with the milkman. He was distraught over his wife’s infidelity. He knew he should call them out but he let it go, thinking how much he liked the ice cream. That’s how I see the NRA/gun lobby and the ordinary gun owner. From the top down it’s about the money first and then about a need to protect life and property. The milkman was the gun merchant, the wife the NRA and the man was being bought off with a sweet distraction. It’s no different than religion; keep people feeling threatened and be the source of their salvation. That’s the business plan for selling both religion and deadly weapons. 

Our culture is not homogenous. What is important to Wyoming ranchers is very different from what moves parents in urban neighborhoods. The affluence/poverty gap is too much to address here but certainly a factor in gun violence. A single remedy to cure all ills is not going to satisfy a complex need but then neither is  controlling movement of weapons across state lines. 

The idea that armed rebellion is so much a part of our heritage that citizens will always need the means to fight back agains an oppressive government; romanticized rhetoric. A malicious teenager can do more damage with a computer than an army of minutemen with AR-15’s. The idea of holding out for a year or two, off the grid in Idaho may sound appealing but they’ve been doing that in Alaska for decades and they still need credit cards, a wi-fi connection and hide all you want, a satellite or a drone can find you. The successful way to push back against an oppressive government won’t be with bullets. 

The second story is; when defense lawyers have a weak case the most effective recourse is not to defend their client but in changing the subject, confusing the jury and discrediting the victim. The judicial system has always been about justice in the broad sense. But the people who do the work, the people who follow the rules in that pursuit are dedicated to winning for their client first and let justice find its own balance. It’s what Johnnie Cochran did in 1995, defending O.J. Simpson for the murder of his wife and her friend. Certainly in fact, O.J. killed them but the jury took the bait, ruling not in O.J.’s favor but against the Los Angeles Police Department.

My 2nd Amendment friends will chafe at my observations but still, thinking makes it so. All you have to do is believe. You need to be right and once you feel right it’s truly difficult, nigh impossible to reverse that position. When we have to choose between acting on our feelings or what makes sense, we have a terrible record of bad choices. I’m a gun owner and I take comfort in that liberty. But as long as it’s legal for citizens to buy weapons of war, then sell them from the trunk of their car, something is wrong. If you fool me with Johnnie Cochran tricks once, shame on you. If I fall for it twice, shame on me.