Sunday, May 31, 2009
One that didn't condemn the murder
"I subscribe to over 100 blogs. Well over a dozen have commented on this. I’ve yet to see one that didn’t condemn the murder." -- Neil
Read your own damned blog, you puffed-up fake.
God. Damn.
--ER
Read your own damned blog, you puffed-up fake.
God. Damn.
--ER
Is me
I'm coming to the conclusion that I simply do not have time to take any classes this fall. Household circumstances require more of me than I have to give and have much left over after work. I'm caught with one foot in sad, one in mad, and I'm straddling the hard reality that it really would take a "God thing" or things for me to be about to do the seminary thing.There. I've let it go, for now. I've turned it loose. As they say, if it was ever mine to begin with, it'll come back to me.
Sigh.
--ER
Saturday, May 30, 2009
'The People Chaser Derecho'
Friday, May 29, 2009
Here we go again: Not sure Oklahoma can stand another gun-toting 'folk hero'
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Say a prayer for Alva and her friends
Me, to a guy at the counter at Subway, waiting for the meatballs to be heated: "The meatballs are always frozen here. They always have to heat them up. I don't know why. It's supper time. They should be ready. There you go, for the next time."
Guy: "Thanks. Thanks for the warning."
Young woman behind the counter, with eyes narrowed, asks me: "What kind of sandwich can I get you?"
Me: "Have you got jalapeno cheese bread? A footlong jalapeno cheese, roast beef, pepper jack, toasted."
YW, eyes mere slits, gets it going, and asks: "Did you want that toasted? Wait. You said that didn't you?"
Me, smiling overlargely, being extra friendly because I realize, a miracle, that I've been unnecessarily gruff: "Wake up now!"
YW: "Oh, I'm awake. My brain is just dazed."
Me: "I'm sorry."
YW: "I've had a rough day. Started out rough."
Me: "I'm sorry. Sorry to hear that."
YW: "I watched my girl friend get shot and another girl bleed to death in the other room. I didn't want to come to work today. Had to come to work."
Silence, as she fixes my sandwich.
YW: "What vegetables would you like on your sandwich?"
Me: "Everything but spinach and, I see no carrots, so everything but spinach."
She's putting it together.
Me: "What's your name?"
YW: "(Al-something.)
Me: "Alvin?"
YW: "Alva."
A few pregnant seconds pass.
Me: "Alva, I'll say a prayer for you."
Alva, face AWAKE, eyes wide, lookin' AT me and TO me: "Thanks."
Me: "It's all I've got. I pray for you. And your friends."
Alva: "Thank you."
She rings up my sandwich, I pay and leave.
Snapshot. Join me in praying for Alva and her friends.
--ER
Guy: "Thanks. Thanks for the warning."
Young woman behind the counter, with eyes narrowed, asks me: "What kind of sandwich can I get you?"
Me: "Have you got jalapeno cheese bread? A footlong jalapeno cheese, roast beef, pepper jack, toasted."
YW, eyes mere slits, gets it going, and asks: "Did you want that toasted? Wait. You said that didn't you?"
Me, smiling overlargely, being extra friendly because I realize, a miracle, that I've been unnecessarily gruff: "Wake up now!"
YW: "Oh, I'm awake. My brain is just dazed."
Me: "I'm sorry."
YW: "I've had a rough day. Started out rough."
Me: "I'm sorry. Sorry to hear that."
YW: "I watched my girl friend get shot and another girl bleed to death in the other room. I didn't want to come to work today. Had to come to work."
Silence, as she fixes my sandwich.
YW: "What vegetables would you like on your sandwich?"
Me: "Everything but spinach and, I see no carrots, so everything but spinach."
She's putting it together.
Me: "What's your name?"
YW: "(Al-something.)
Me: "Alvin?"
YW: "Alva."
A few pregnant seconds pass.
Me: "Alva, I'll say a prayer for you."
Alva, face AWAKE, eyes wide, lookin' AT me and TO me: "Thanks."
Me: "It's all I've got. I pray for you. And your friends."
Alva: "Thank you."
She rings up my sandwich, I pay and leave.
Snapshot. Join me in praying for Alva and her friends.
--ER
What's a little rape between enemies?
I really wish I had any reason whatsoever to doubt this.
Pentagon denies that prison torture photos show rape
But I don't.
--ER
Pentagon denies that prison torture photos show rape
But I don't.
--ER
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Smarter'n we let on
By The Erudite Redneck
Met a Virginia gal yesterday who was a livin’ example of a life lesson the Lord and unfamiliar circumstances blessed me with back when I was in Congress.
I was in Congress – as a press intern for a House member from Georgia, back in the mid-'80s. His name was Patrick Swindall (apt, since he served on the House Banking Committee). He won his seat in the Reagan landslide of ’84, the first Republican from the district, near Atlanta, since Reconstruction. Ben Jones later beat him for the seat -- Ben Jones, who played “Cooter” on the “Dukes of Hazzard,” and I swear I am not making any of this up, you can check the records on-line, I’m sure.
This gal from Virginia made me think of some uppity Georgians. Not unlike myself, she grew up so far back in the sticks it’d take at least a half-dozen prepositions to get to her house. It was way back down over in to the hills of southwestern Virginia, so close to Bristol Motor Speedway you could probably hear the races on clear nights -- and that’s twice as many prepositional zigs and zags as it takes to get way down upon the Suwannee River.*
She just wallered syllables and words around in her mouth 'til they tumbled out so natural-like it made me want to pour a cup of the way she talked and drink it. She’s 27, and in the course of my visitin’ with her, she had cause to mention her “mommy,” which Loretta Lynn has always called her mama. Loretta is from Butcher Holler, Kentuck, of course, as everyone knows, but she and the sweet-talkin’ gal are from the same neck of the woods culturally and coal-mining-wise. I swear, I just wanted to hug her, all innocent and cousin-like if you know what I mean and some of you do.
Some people – and I use that term loosely because what I mean is Yankees and stuck-up Southerners who have got above their raisin’ – hear her talk and dismiss her as an ignorant yokel, hick, fool or worse. Well, she is a yokel, and a hick – and it takes one to really know one. But she’s no fool, and no dummy.
Despite her unhurried manner of speakin’, she was fleet of thought, and that apparent contradiction is what drives Yankees and uppity rustics plumb crazy. She had served in the Air Force, which even startled me a little because she seemed so slight and dang-near fragile, bless her heart, although I’m pretty sure she could’ve torn my head off, climbed down my neck hole and ripped my heart out with her bare teeth if I crossed her.
She was disarming, in other words, which is why I was reminded of the lesson I learned in Congress.
The folks in Swindall’s office were suburban Atlantans, with one or two from the Washington, D.C., side of Virginia, both of which are Southern only in the technical sense. My twangy, ain’ty way of talkin’ had them thinkin’ I was a yokel, hick, fool or worse, and I was, and am, none of the above. I just talk that way because I grew up around people who talk that way.
Heck, when I was 20, workin’ at a radio station in Arkanas, the program director sat me down one day and gave me a good talkin’ to because I sounded like such a hick on the air. What pushed him over the edge was a Valentine’s Day promotion we were runnin’ where the first caller could have a bouquet of flowers sent to his or her sweetie. A bouquet of flowers, properly pronounced “BOO-KAY UV FLOW-ERS.” It came out of my then-still-Copenhagen-dippin’ mouth as “BO-KAY UV FLYERS.” Turned out that not only did I have a face made for radio, but I also had a manner of speech made for writin’.
But I’ll be damned if I’ll let others’ hang-ups persuade me to pretend otherwise and talk like I’m from central Nebraska or wherever it is they train most national TV news anchors.
Besides pure-dee regional pride, there’s one other reason I will employ my natural dialect, as needed, in the course of life, and this is the lesson I learned in Congress:
I’m in the information bidness. When people think you’re dumb, they always tell you more than you ask for, more than you really need, and more than you can use. Research bein’ the secret to almost any kind of writin’, letting people think you’re a dolt, if you can stand bein’ talked down to some, is a great way to get ahead and stay ahead.
(A rerun from August 2-ought-ought-4. Been busy.)
--30--
Met a Virginia gal yesterday who was a livin’ example of a life lesson the Lord and unfamiliar circumstances blessed me with back when I was in Congress.
I was in Congress – as a press intern for a House member from Georgia, back in the mid-'80s. His name was Patrick Swindall (apt, since he served on the House Banking Committee). He won his seat in the Reagan landslide of ’84, the first Republican from the district, near Atlanta, since Reconstruction. Ben Jones later beat him for the seat -- Ben Jones, who played “Cooter” on the “Dukes of Hazzard,” and I swear I am not making any of this up, you can check the records on-line, I’m sure.
This gal from Virginia made me think of some uppity Georgians. Not unlike myself, she grew up so far back in the sticks it’d take at least a half-dozen prepositions to get to her house. It was way back down over in to the hills of southwestern Virginia, so close to Bristol Motor Speedway you could probably hear the races on clear nights -- and that’s twice as many prepositional zigs and zags as it takes to get way down upon the Suwannee River.*
She just wallered syllables and words around in her mouth 'til they tumbled out so natural-like it made me want to pour a cup of the way she talked and drink it. She’s 27, and in the course of my visitin’ with her, she had cause to mention her “mommy,” which Loretta Lynn has always called her mama. Loretta is from Butcher Holler, Kentuck, of course, as everyone knows, but she and the sweet-talkin’ gal are from the same neck of the woods culturally and coal-mining-wise. I swear, I just wanted to hug her, all innocent and cousin-like if you know what I mean and some of you do.
Some people – and I use that term loosely because what I mean is Yankees and stuck-up Southerners who have got above their raisin’ – hear her talk and dismiss her as an ignorant yokel, hick, fool or worse. Well, she is a yokel, and a hick – and it takes one to really know one. But she’s no fool, and no dummy.
Despite her unhurried manner of speakin’, she was fleet of thought, and that apparent contradiction is what drives Yankees and uppity rustics plumb crazy. She had served in the Air Force, which even startled me a little because she seemed so slight and dang-near fragile, bless her heart, although I’m pretty sure she could’ve torn my head off, climbed down my neck hole and ripped my heart out with her bare teeth if I crossed her.
She was disarming, in other words, which is why I was reminded of the lesson I learned in Congress.
The folks in Swindall’s office were suburban Atlantans, with one or two from the Washington, D.C., side of Virginia, both of which are Southern only in the technical sense. My twangy, ain’ty way of talkin’ had them thinkin’ I was a yokel, hick, fool or worse, and I was, and am, none of the above. I just talk that way because I grew up around people who talk that way.
Heck, when I was 20, workin’ at a radio station in Arkanas, the program director sat me down one day and gave me a good talkin’ to because I sounded like such a hick on the air. What pushed him over the edge was a Valentine’s Day promotion we were runnin’ where the first caller could have a bouquet of flowers sent to his or her sweetie. A bouquet of flowers, properly pronounced “BOO-KAY UV FLOW-ERS.” It came out of my then-still-Copenhagen-dippin’ mouth as “BO-KAY UV FLYERS.” Turned out that not only did I have a face made for radio, but I also had a manner of speech made for writin’.
But I’ll be damned if I’ll let others’ hang-ups persuade me to pretend otherwise and talk like I’m from central Nebraska or wherever it is they train most national TV news anchors.
Besides pure-dee regional pride, there’s one other reason I will employ my natural dialect, as needed, in the course of life, and this is the lesson I learned in Congress:
I’m in the information bidness. When people think you’re dumb, they always tell you more than you ask for, more than you really need, and more than you can use. Research bein’ the secret to almost any kind of writin’, letting people think you’re a dolt, if you can stand bein’ talked down to some, is a great way to get ahead and stay ahead.
(A rerun from August 2-ought-ought-4. Been busy.)
--30--
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Just cuz we'uns talk funny and slow don't mean we're stupid and ain't got no talent! Behold redneck rib art!
Sunday, May 24, 2009
A Scripture readin' fer this fine Sunday
When Jesus got done talkin’ he left and headed for his own stompin’ grounds, out around Nazareth, where he marched right up to the meetin’ house and started teachin’ – and they said, “How in the world did that boy get so smart? Looky at what all he can do! Huh. But wait a doggone minute! Idn’t that that carpenter’s boy? Idn’t his mama Mary? James, Joseph, Simon, Judas – those’re his brothers, and then there’s his sisters. They’re just everyday folks, like us. How’d he get so big for his britches? What makes him think he’s so dang smart?” And they turned agin’ him. Jesus said: “It figures. It’s like they say, ‘Familiarity breeds contempt.’ But y’all just think you know me.” So he didn’t do much to write home about in them parts, because he was home, and the home folks didn’t put much stock in what he was sayin’ and they had a real devil-may-care attitude about what he was doin’.
(Matthew 13: 54-58. Consider it copyrighted by myself).
--ER
(Matthew 13: 54-58. Consider it copyrighted by myself).
--ER
Saturday, May 23, 2009
If Jesus were a Choctaw ...
... I wonder what he'd think of this.
In, “The Conqueror Meets the Unconquered: Negotiating Cultural Boundaries on the Post-Revolutionary Southern Frontier,” a chapter in Pre-removal Choctaw History: Exploring New Paths (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2008), historian Greg O’Brien hangs the assumptions and complications of the 1885-1886 Choctaw Treaty of Hopewell with the United States on a fundamental Choctaw worldview that defined relationships with others thusly:
“Creating peaceful relations with a foreign people required the Choctaws to manipulate supernatural powers and employ political-religious specialists who could establish the sacred atmosphere necessary for incorporating strangers into the Choctaw kinship system. This requirement existed because there were essentially two types of people in Choctaw eyes: relatives and enemies.”
Two types of peeps: kin and enemies.
Now, Jesus said: "Love your enemies." Treat 'em like kin, in other words.
Why? Because we're all kin when it comes down to it.
The Choctaws manipulated supernatural powers and employed political-religious specialists who could establish the sacred atmosphere necessary for incorporating strangers.
Is there an example in there for us?
--ER
In, “The Conqueror Meets the Unconquered: Negotiating Cultural Boundaries on the Post-Revolutionary Southern Frontier,” a chapter in Pre-removal Choctaw History: Exploring New Paths (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2008), historian Greg O’Brien hangs the assumptions and complications of the 1885-1886 Choctaw Treaty of Hopewell with the United States on a fundamental Choctaw worldview that defined relationships with others thusly:
“Creating peaceful relations with a foreign people required the Choctaws to manipulate supernatural powers and employ political-religious specialists who could establish the sacred atmosphere necessary for incorporating strangers into the Choctaw kinship system. This requirement existed because there were essentially two types of people in Choctaw eyes: relatives and enemies.”
Two types of peeps: kin and enemies.
Now, Jesus said: "Love your enemies." Treat 'em like kin, in other words.
Why? Because we're all kin when it comes down to it.
The Choctaws manipulated supernatural powers and employed political-religious specialists who could establish the sacred atmosphere necessary for incorporating strangers.
Is there an example in there for us?
--ER
Friday, May 22, 2009
Furry Friday frippery!
From the writings of Bailey, he of the short-yellow doghouse!
8 a.m. - Dog food! My favorite thing!
9:30 a.m. - A car ride! My favorite thing!
9:40 a.m. - A walk in the park! My favorite thing!
10:30 a.m. - Got rubbed and petted! My favorite thing!
Noon - Lunch! My favorite thing!
1 p.m. - Played in the yard! My favorite thing!
3 p.m. - Wagged my tail! My favorite thing!
5 p.m. - Milk Bones! My favorite thing!
7 p.m. - Got to play ball! My favorite thing!
8 p.m. - Wow! Watched TV with the people! My favorite thing!
11 p.m. - Sleeping on the bed! My favorite thing!
From auxiliary kitty Eames's diary:
Day 983 of my captivity. My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects.
They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while the other inmates and I are fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets. Although I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to keep up my strength.
The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape. In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the carpet.
Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their feet. I had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts, since it clearly demonstrates what I am capable of. However, they merely made condescending comments about what a "good little hunter" I am.
There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight. I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event.
However, I could hear the noises and smell the food. I overheard that my confinement was due to the power of "allergies." I must learn what this means and how to use it to my advantage.
Today I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of my tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking. I must try this again tomorrow -- but at the top of the stairs.
I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and snitches. The dog receives special privileges. He is regularly released -- and seems to be more than willing to return. He is obviously retarded.
The bird has got to be an informant. I observe him communicating with the guards regularly. I am certain that he reports my every move. My captors have arranged protective custody for him in an elevated cell, so he is safe. For now ...
(author, source unknown)
LOL! :-) Frappy Hiday, y'all!
--ER
8 a.m. - Dog food! My favorite thing!
9:30 a.m. - A car ride! My favorite thing!
9:40 a.m. - A walk in the park! My favorite thing!
10:30 a.m. - Got rubbed and petted! My favorite thing!
Noon - Lunch! My favorite thing!
1 p.m. - Played in the yard! My favorite thing!
3 p.m. - Wagged my tail! My favorite thing!
5 p.m. - Milk Bones! My favorite thing!
7 p.m. - Got to play ball! My favorite thing!
8 p.m. - Wow! Watched TV with the people! My favorite thing!
11 p.m. - Sleeping on the bed! My favorite thing!
From auxiliary kitty Eames's diary:
Day 983 of my captivity. My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects.
They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while the other inmates and I are fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets. Although I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to keep up my strength.
The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape. In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the carpet.
Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their feet. I had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts, since it clearly demonstrates what I am capable of. However, they merely made condescending comments about what a "good little hunter" I am.
There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight. I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event.
However, I could hear the noises and smell the food. I overheard that my confinement was due to the power of "allergies." I must learn what this means and how to use it to my advantage.
Today I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of my tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking. I must try this again tomorrow -- but at the top of the stairs.
I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and snitches. The dog receives special privileges. He is regularly released -- and seems to be more than willing to return. He is obviously retarded.
The bird has got to be an informant. I observe him communicating with the guards regularly. I am certain that he reports my every move. My captors have arranged protective custody for him in an elevated cell, so he is safe. For now ...
(author, source unknown)
LOL! :-) Frappy Hiday, y'all!
--ER
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Would-be seminarian's remorse?
I'm having no second thoughts. What I *am* staring in the face is doubt that I can do the work! Not a question of ability, but of time!
Seems like I barely have time to do what I have to do now! Yikes.
--ER
Seems like I barely have time to do what I have to do now! Yikes.
--ER
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Geritol drink recipes?
Neat? Rocks? GeritOld-fashioned? Geritol Wallbanger? Geritol shot-and-a-beer? Geritini?
I'm feelin' like I ought to be one of the sick-n-shut-in. Just pooped plumb out.
--ER
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Redneck food porn
Monday, May 18, 2009
On 'sexual-like union' with God
LOL! The very *notion" of "sexual-like union with God" -- mentioned by Feodor in this rambling, volatile thread over homosexuality -- sent a couple of the usual suspects into self-righteous, faux pious conniptions!
From a "deep recess of ... rectum," Marshall Arts ejaculated! "Offensive and blasphemous," Mark spewed!
It reminded me of the following.
"Holy Sonnet XIV"
Batter my heart, three-person'd God; for you
As yet but knock, breathe, shine and seek to mend;
That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
Your force to break, blow, burn and make me new.
I, like an usurp'd towne, to another due,
Labour to admit you, but Oh, to no end,
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captiv'd, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved faine,
But am betroth'd unto your enemie;
Divorce me, untie, or break that knot againe,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I
Except you enthrall me, shall never be free,
Nor ever shaste, except you ravish me.
--John Donne
Four years ago, when I first discovered that piece, I wrote:
"It makes me think of how I am so past due to have my hip broken while wrestling with an angel. Plus, what seems sensual, even sexual, in today's understanding, overwhelms me with the reality that 'sex,' and all its associative realities, is actually an act of creation. To compare the two makes perfect poetic sense. And to be overcome with God's Godness must be the ultimate receiving of the Act of Love in a way that my poor pitiful mind can't begin to grasp. The best words of even the most erudite among us can do nothing but be insulting to the idea in their feeble attempt to convey it."
Still.
--ER
From a "deep recess of ... rectum," Marshall Arts ejaculated! "Offensive and blasphemous," Mark spewed!
It reminded me of the following.
"Holy Sonnet XIV"
Batter my heart, three-person'd God; for you
As yet but knock, breathe, shine and seek to mend;
That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
Your force to break, blow, burn and make me new.
I, like an usurp'd towne, to another due,
Labour to admit you, but Oh, to no end,
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captiv'd, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved faine,
But am betroth'd unto your enemie;
Divorce me, untie, or break that knot againe,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I
Except you enthrall me, shall never be free,
Nor ever shaste, except you ravish me.
--John Donne
Four years ago, when I first discovered that piece, I wrote:
"It makes me think of how I am so past due to have my hip broken while wrestling with an angel. Plus, what seems sensual, even sexual, in today's understanding, overwhelms me with the reality that 'sex,' and all its associative realities, is actually an act of creation. To compare the two makes perfect poetic sense. And to be overcome with God's Godness must be the ultimate receiving of the Act of Love in a way that my poor pitiful mind can't begin to grasp. The best words of even the most erudite among us can do nothing but be insulting to the idea in their feeble attempt to convey it."
Still.
--ER
Sunday, May 17, 2009
An ER still life, on the road
In the passenger seat of my Mazda, comin' back from Tulsa. Fair sampling of ER things.Rocky Patel cigars, a belated birthday gift from my brother, who I met at Chimi's, a Sonoran Mexican restaurant.
Coffee cup from the Cattlemen's Steakhouse in OKC.
Koop CD "Koop Islands."
A newspaper still in its plastic sleeve.
Printed Mapquest directions to Chimi's,
Ear piece from my freshly broken pair of Oklahoma State sunglasses.
Nothing profound. Just some ER stuff on a laid-back Sunday. :-)
--ER
Friday, May 15, 2009
ER all up in the heazy, fo shizzle my nizzo
Thursday, May 14, 2009
The Kingdom of Heaven is ... what? Help!
Lend me y'all's brains please.
Srsly. Brainstorm ways to get across the notion of the "Kingdom of Heaven," as in "the Kingdom of Heaven is at hand" -- see Jesus -- in common, old everyday words.
Country words. Rustic words.
Redneck words even.
Think similes. Metaphors. Just different ways to get it across. Don't try to match it word for word. Feel free to extrapolate a little. If it takes you 25 words to get it across, fine.
Right now, the way I'm puttin' it in my rewrite project is: "God and his posse are ridin' by, itching to help everybody, right here and right now." Note: I see the idea as dynamic, not static.
"GOd and his posse ..." is fine, although clumsy. Clumsy is OK. I'm not satisfied with it, though, because it's more "Old West" than "country" or "redneck."
Now, Old West imagery is part of the country-redneck-chicken-fried vernacular, but still. It doedn't quite fit.
So, knock y'all's selves out. I'll be out more than in today. Nothing is too silly, or too weird. Just keep in mind my aim is to be respectful, not risque or profane, and as true to the concept behind the words as possible, while opening the expression up and countryfying it.
Go! Or, "hyaah!"
--ER
Srsly. Brainstorm ways to get across the notion of the "Kingdom of Heaven," as in "the Kingdom of Heaven is at hand" -- see Jesus -- in common, old everyday words.
Country words. Rustic words.
Redneck words even.
Think similes. Metaphors. Just different ways to get it across. Don't try to match it word for word. Feel free to extrapolate a little. If it takes you 25 words to get it across, fine.
Right now, the way I'm puttin' it in my rewrite project is: "God and his posse are ridin' by, itching to help everybody, right here and right now." Note: I see the idea as dynamic, not static.
"GOd and his posse ..." is fine, although clumsy. Clumsy is OK. I'm not satisfied with it, though, because it's more "Old West" than "country" or "redneck."
Now, Old West imagery is part of the country-redneck-chicken-fried vernacular, but still. It doedn't quite fit.
So, knock y'all's selves out. I'll be out more than in today. Nothing is too silly, or too weird. Just keep in mind my aim is to be respectful, not risque or profane, and as true to the concept behind the words as possible, while opening the expression up and countryfying it.
Go! Or, "hyaah!"
--ER
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Today's not so bad, after all
Today is one of those days when if I blogged anything other than this ...
"Everything about me and around me is going to absolute sh-t -- and apologies to Kipling, but I am not keeping my head."
... well, it would be a baldfaced lie.
Hey, I've swallowed or ignored various and sundry pains, toils and troubles to come up with a decent blog post many a time. The daily obsession is an occupational hazard. In the news bidness, the beast must be fed, come hell, high water or hangover.
If I did have my head about me, I might tell some stories about the things I used to have to do as a reporter that, because of my own habits, I had to do with the worst kind of hangover, but ... well, OK:
Infant-mother murder scene; small plane crash; old-lady murder scene; small plane crash; violent psychiatric escapee; flooding; tornado damage; the worst car crashes you can imagine; house fires; house fire with burned bodies; others.
Ah ... this makes me realize that today's not as bad as all that.
Never mind. But let tomorrow be a better day.
--ER
"Everything about me and around me is going to absolute sh-t -- and apologies to Kipling, but I am not keeping my head."
... well, it would be a baldfaced lie.
Hey, I've swallowed or ignored various and sundry pains, toils and troubles to come up with a decent blog post many a time. The daily obsession is an occupational hazard. In the news bidness, the beast must be fed, come hell, high water or hangover.
If I did have my head about me, I might tell some stories about the things I used to have to do as a reporter that, because of my own habits, I had to do with the worst kind of hangover, but ... well, OK:
Infant-mother murder scene; small plane crash; old-lady murder scene; small plane crash; violent psychiatric escapee; flooding; tornado damage; the worst car crashes you can imagine; house fires; house fire with burned bodies; others.
Ah ... this makes me realize that today's not as bad as all that.
Never mind. But let tomorrow be a better day.
--ER
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Godderel doggerel
Damn the blues
Tossed and turned
45
and now all
I can show
are a bunch
of bylines?
"News" stories?
Some columns?
Is that all?
Is this all?
Jesus saves
36
years now since
I met Grace
Deacon, yes
Sing some hymns
Man a pew
Following?
Sitting still
Toss and turn
Damn the blues
--ER
Tossed and turned
45
and now all
I can show
are a bunch
of bylines?
"News" stories?
Some columns?
Is that all?
Is this all?
Jesus saves
36
years now since
I met Grace
Deacon, yes
Sing some hymns
Man a pew
Following?
Sitting still
Toss and turn
Damn the blues
--ER
Monday, May 11, 2009
Leather-bound graven images
It just blows my mind that this is even a debate. Alas, it is the idolatry of our day, and I dare say that, as such, it's demonic by definition.
We humans have a tendency to fall into idolatry quickly. Idolatry is always wrong, even when worshiping objects that point to God. Many worship the Bible, rather than the one to whom the Bible points.
The Bible is not the fullest revelation of God; Jesus as the Word taking on flesh is the fullest revelation of God.
Only God should be worshiped, not the book that reveals God.
Read all of "A pop quiz for biblical literalists" by Miguel De La Torre, from Associated Baptist Press.
--ER
We humans have a tendency to fall into idolatry quickly. Idolatry is always wrong, even when worshiping objects that point to God. Many worship the Bible, rather than the one to whom the Bible points.
The Bible is not the fullest revelation of God; Jesus as the Word taking on flesh is the fullest revelation of God.
Only God should be worshiped, not the book that reveals God.
Read all of "A pop quiz for biblical literalists" by Miguel De La Torre, from Associated Baptist Press.
--ER
Sunday, May 10, 2009
The Oklahoma Legislature would have this prayer stricken from the record: Julia Ward Howe's Mother's Day Proclamation, 1870
Julia Ward Howe's Mother's Day Proclamation -- 1870
Arise then ... women of this day!
Arise, all women who have hearts!
Whether your baptism be of water or of tears!
Say firmly:
"We will not have questions answered by irrelevant agencies,
Our husbands will not come to us, reeking with carnage,
For caresses and applause.
Our sons shall not be taken from us to unlearn
All that we have been able to teach them of charity, mercy and patience.
We, the women of one country,
Will be too tender of those of another country
To allow our sons to be trained to injure theirs."
From the bosom of a devastated Earth a voice goes up with
Our own. It says: "Disarm! Disarm!
The sword of murder is not the balance of justice."
Blood does not wipe out dishonor,
Nor violence indicate possession.
As men have often forsaken the plough and the anvil
At the summons of war,
Let women now leave all that may be left of home
For a great and earnest day of counsel.
Let them meet first, as women, to bewail and commemorate the dead.
Let them solemnly take counsel with each other as to the means
Whereby the great human family can live in peace ...
Each bearing after his own time the sacred impress, not of Caesar,
But of God.
In the name of womanhood and humanity, I earnestly ask
That a general congress of women without limit of nationality,
May be appointed and held at someplace deemed most convenient
And the earliest period consistent with its objects,
To promote the alliance of the different nationalities,
The amicable settlement of international questions,
The great and general interests of peace.
--ER
Saturday, May 09, 2009
For SCOTUS: Vicki Miles-LaGrange
President Obama: nominate Judge Vicki Miles-LaGrange.
Among other good things, it might do a little toward repairing Oklahoma's wildly intolerant, right-wing image.
--ER
Friday, May 08, 2009
Political Compass, by request
First, myself (and I have remained fairly consistent, although I ticked more toward the middle this time on the libertarian-authoritarian scale):
Your political compass
Economic Left/Right: -4.75
Social Libertarian/Authoritarian: -2.26
I'm still hangin' with Ghandi, Nelson Mandela and the Dalai Lama. Solidly liberal-libertarian. Imagine.
Check in with yer updates, peeps!
Here it is, Anon. Don't say I never gave ya nothin'.
Political Compass
--ER
Your political compass
Economic Left/Right: -4.75
Social Libertarian/Authoritarian: -2.26
I'm still hangin' with Ghandi, Nelson Mandela and the Dalai Lama. Solidly liberal-libertarian. Imagine.
Check in with yer updates, peeps!
Here it is, Anon. Don't say I never gave ya nothin'.
Political Compass
--ER
'Changing Lives: The UCC's Wider Mission'
Thursday, May 07, 2009
Don't anybody think I'm comfortable
Mark, God love him, said, on this rambling thread:
"I think ER has searched out and found a church that best echoes his own personal ideas of what he thinks God's Word should mean, even when it's obvious it doesn't. His church appears to be a "feel good, regardless of what the Word says" type of church."
ER said:
Not even close. Dude, sometimes I glance around there on the fourth pew from the front on the left side (as seen from the pulpit), and I realize I'm sitting among six or seven gay guys, and it gives this ol' natural-born redneck the heebie-jeebies. Sometimes, I get tired of being preached to about how we're to love ALL, including our enemies, because this ol' natural born redneck actually likes to hook it up sometimes, especially with people who suck. Sometimes, I want to throw a hymnal when I'm admonished, yet again, to actually work for peace, not just pray for peace, because, you know, this ol' natural born redneck has a lot to do in life, and making phones calls, or attending protests or going to meetings and trying to organize people is just so much trouble for so little return, and this ol' natural born redneck has better things to do. Sometimes, I wonder what the hell I'm thinking, planning to take seminary classes this fall, when I have so many irons in the fire already, and a wife whose health ain't the best. Sometimes, this ol' natural born redneck wants to go back where he was comfortable, on a pew with a bunch of other smug, self-righteous rednecks. But I'm not just a natural born redneck, man, I'm a born-from-above redneck, and I didn't go looking for ANY of this way of thinking that is so unnatural to me! It found me. God God's self led me here, and continues to lead me. Thank. God. Almighty.
--ER
"I think ER has searched out and found a church that best echoes his own personal ideas of what he thinks God's Word should mean, even when it's obvious it doesn't. His church appears to be a "feel good, regardless of what the Word says" type of church."
ER said:
Not even close. Dude, sometimes I glance around there on the fourth pew from the front on the left side (as seen from the pulpit), and I realize I'm sitting among six or seven gay guys, and it gives this ol' natural-born redneck the heebie-jeebies. Sometimes, I get tired of being preached to about how we're to love ALL, including our enemies, because this ol' natural born redneck actually likes to hook it up sometimes, especially with people who suck. Sometimes, I want to throw a hymnal when I'm admonished, yet again, to actually work for peace, not just pray for peace, because, you know, this ol' natural born redneck has a lot to do in life, and making phones calls, or attending protests or going to meetings and trying to organize people is just so much trouble for so little return, and this ol' natural born redneck has better things to do. Sometimes, I wonder what the hell I'm thinking, planning to take seminary classes this fall, when I have so many irons in the fire already, and a wife whose health ain't the best. Sometimes, this ol' natural born redneck wants to go back where he was comfortable, on a pew with a bunch of other smug, self-righteous rednecks. But I'm not just a natural born redneck, man, I'm a born-from-above redneck, and I didn't go looking for ANY of this way of thinking that is so unnatural to me! It found me. God God's self led me here, and continues to lead me. Thank. God. Almighty.
--ER
Wednesday, May 06, 2009
So, he might as well nominate a real Leftist
G -- oofy ...
O -- out-of-touch ...
P -- arty.
What idjits! What maroons!
To wit (say it fast):
WASHINGTON -- The person President Obama wants to put on the Supreme Court is "far to the left," says one Senate Republican. A "hard-left judicial activist," a conservative group says. The nominee better remember that judges have to "subordinate themselves to the law," another GOP senator warned Tuesday.
Imagine what they'll say when they actually know who the nominee is.
...
What some progressives are hoping, in fact, is that the right wing stirs itself up into such a frenzy opposing the nominee in theory that by the time an actual name surfaces, conservatives have marginalized themselves.
Yep. So, you go Jeff.
Read it all, from Salon.
Jefferson Beauregard Sessions III is, as DrLoboJo said, "a PR guy's nightmare." Indeed. Bring it on, colonel.
Sen. Orrin Hatch said President Obama "was elected as probably the most liberal president in history." Ah, no. That would be Lincoln.
Let the games begin -- wait, they've already begun.
Let the bloodletting start: Obama should nominate a real effing Lefty, if for no other reason to teach these guys the difference between a liberal, a Leftist and a socialist.
--ER
O -- out-of-touch ...
P -- arty.
What idjits! What maroons!
To wit (say it fast):
WASHINGTON -- The person President Obama wants to put on the Supreme Court is "far to the left," says one Senate Republican. A "hard-left judicial activist," a conservative group says. The nominee better remember that judges have to "subordinate themselves to the law," another GOP senator warned Tuesday.
Imagine what they'll say when they actually know who the nominee is.
...
What some progressives are hoping, in fact, is that the right wing stirs itself up into such a frenzy opposing the nominee in theory that by the time an actual name surfaces, conservatives have marginalized themselves.
Yep. So, you go Jeff.
Read it all, from Salon.
Jefferson Beauregard Sessions III is, as DrLoboJo said, "a PR guy's nightmare." Indeed. Bring it on, colonel.
Sen. Orrin Hatch said President Obama "was elected as probably the most liberal president in history." Ah, no. That would be Lincoln.
Let the games begin -- wait, they've already begun.
Let the bloodletting start: Obama should nominate a real effing Lefty, if for no other reason to teach these guys the difference between a liberal, a Leftist and a socialist.
--ER
Tuesday, May 05, 2009
'Piety, schmiety,' I always say
Well, I don't always say that. But I do pretty regularly acknowledge that I don't have a pious bone in my body -- if piety is taken to mean "overly religious" or, well, ahem, "tightassed" when it comes to social mores and customs.
All that said, this is a sad, interesting read from a Decon:
SuperChristians: More Pious than Jesus.
--ER
All that said, this is a sad, interesting read from a Decon:
SuperChristians: More Pious than Jesus.
--ER
Monday, May 04, 2009
So let it be written, so let it be done (eventually)
Oh, boy. I've went and done it. I've done gone went and done it now! Hoo boy. Hoo hoo.
I have done went and already started a writin' project I first thought of eight years ago, but then got sidetracked from by that little ol' master's degree for three years, and have let one thing or another keep me from it for the past five.
But I have commenced it.
Two words:
Redneck.
Bible.
First-draft example e-mailed on request.
--ER
I have done went and already started a writin' project I first thought of eight years ago, but then got sidetracked from by that little ol' master's degree for three years, and have let one thing or another keep me from it for the past five.
But I have commenced it.
Two words:
Redneck.
Bible.
First-draft example e-mailed on request.
--ER
Sunday, May 03, 2009
April, 10, 1979 gives way to May 3, 1999
Ten years ago this morning, the Red River Valley tornado outbreak of April 10-11, 1979, was the defining storm in my life -- because Dr. ER, then 15, was in it, and for me, during 10 years of reporting in Texas it was THE yardstick for measuring storms. Strongest F5 on record.
Ten years ago this evening, even before the extent of the damage was known, the Oklahoma tornado outbreak of May 3-6, 1999, had already eclipsed the 1979 storm. I'd sent reporters and photographers to cover storm damage in southwest Oklahoma around 3 or 4 p.m. -- and they followed the monstrous system all the way to OKC. Bird was with me in Wichita Falls; Dr. ER was in her hotel in Oklahoma City. One hell of a night, including a new strongest-ever F5.
Ten years ago this evening, even before the extent of the damage was known, the Oklahoma tornado outbreak of May 3-6, 1999, had already eclipsed the 1979 storm. I'd sent reporters and photographers to cover storm damage in southwest Oklahoma around 3 or 4 p.m. -- and they followed the monstrous system all the way to OKC. Bird was with me in Wichita Falls; Dr. ER was in her hotel in Oklahoma City. One hell of a night, including a new strongest-ever F5.
Saturday, May 02, 2009
"Happy" ... Feelies ... 45! :-)
Woo hoo, hee hee, ha ha. And I haven't even had a birthday drink yet! D'oh! It's 5 p.m. on the dot. I'm fixin' to fix that!
--ER
Happy birthday to me. I am ...
Friday, May 01, 2009
Good vibes, please
Woo hoo. Dr. ER has had a research-writing opportunity fall into her lap that could amount to quite a bit of moolah. Contract deal, the kind she's looking for these days, not a FT "job."
Join me in wishing her (us!) luck, and her strength and physical comfort, because she's having a tough time of it right now recovering from the *last* job!
--ER
Join me in wishing her (us!) luck, and her strength and physical comfort, because she's having a tough time of it right now recovering from the *last* job!
--ER
