Freedom of Speech and the Right to Offend

It appears that part II of Cowboys and Muslims will be taking place at a mosque in Arizona during their largest prayer session of the week. I have absolutely no respect for the people who are doing another “Draw Muhammad” contest that should be starting in about seven hours from now. Sorry folks, I can’t show disrespect for the person who dips a crucifix in urine and calls it art, just like I can’t respect anyone who want to make Muslims feel miserable by doing this. Wrong is wrong, and I am breaking from the ranks of those that I assume are usually on the same side of political debates as myself.

The throngs of bikers that will be armed in the area to protect those that are “executing their rights to free speech,” kinda makes it look even more lame to me. I mean, sure you will probably need them since it is a stick in the eye of radical Islamists who solve all their problems with weapons, but having absolutely no compassion for those that just find it all insulting and want to live THEIR lives in peace, cannot be ignored either. I have no dog in the fight actually aside from speaking out for human decency. Arizona is about as far away from where I am as anywhere in the United States, I never served to defend our flag, and I probably have too many Muslim friends that would never think of carrying a gun to defend their religion. I also speak out about teachings in Islam that are probably criminal, and this is no way to show them.

Think about all the people in Garland Texas who had to be in fear of the reprisal from the last stunt like this. Just because you think you are taking it to the place where the shooters might have worshiped, doesn't mean that the people in that Mosque tonight deserve this. Even if the place is radicalized, an act like this could serve to radicalize them even more, and then you just allow that to seep out into the streets where I assume there are a lot of people who are going to know what the people in Garland had to deal with. Oh did I mention that you are still being outwardly insulting for the sake of making a point?

The drum has been beaten, and I feel like I have said my peace. I will be fast asleep about 3000 miles away from Arizona tonight while this is going on. I will sleep well actually because I don’t think I have the right to be incendiary, despite the fact that some would say I am and often. I don’t specifically go after a religious group because I don’t like the way they worship (and yes that is what you are doing) and I definitely don’t drape myself in the flag, and surround myself by armed people to do it. To be honest with you it sounds a lot like the people you think you are making a statement against if you ask me.

Shoot Out at the Not So OK Coral

Remember the show “Undercover Boss?” I don’t actually know if this show is still on the air or not, but I do remember that I loved the show when it came out, thought it was ok the second season, tolerated it for the third, and then I remember the exact moment I stopped watching it. It was the “Twin Peaks” episode, where about 15 minutes into the episode I just said to myself, “Self? I have had enough of this show, and I really hate the owner of Twin Peaks.”

Seriously there had been plenty of owners as the show wound itself out for me that I couldn't stand, but the owner of Twin Peaks was the one that finally did it. He was a jerk, a misogynist (and I don’t say that lightly, you can run a place that exploits women, but this guy was over the top) and I just hoped that nothing good would happen for this guy. I definitely didn't want to stick around for the end of a show I was slowly growing to hate, to see him be the benevolent dictator, like that show always seems to end. I really looked at this place as somewhere I would never want to go, where bad things were bound to happen.

Well apparently yesterday bad things happened at a “Twin Peaks” and although I am not leaving the perpetrators out of the equation I am not going to let a place run like a wild west whore house off the hook for in the end having a wild west whorehouse atmosphere. Two rival biker gangs managed to have a good old fashioned “shoot out” and 9 people ended up dead. I mean I am not for censoring things, I definitely don’t want to come off as a moral crusader, and I am perfectly fine with people spending their time how they want, but the “Twin Peaks” culture from the owner on down SHOULD be discussed in this whole ordeal in Waco Texas. Sue me!

I can’t get that television show with that smarmy little worm smugly explaining his business model, and the bad taste it left in my mouth. Yeah I realize that it is a very bad reason to write something, but I at the very least hope that someone throws a microphone in front of the benevolent dictator of Twin Peaks and asks him about it. Wriggly little worms deserve to squirm, and you can’t expect all press about your “ideals” to be good, especially when your ideals belong back in the mid nineteenth century. He obviously forgot an old saying in the life business which is a play on the restaurant business. You order shit, you eat shit.

Let's Talk About Rape

uprooted tree trunk with bits of dirt clinging to its' roots and rootlets. 

     The woman approaches the stage. Her cheeks are painted red and her eyes are glowing with something other-worldly. I hold my breath. I know this is going to hit me right in the gut. Give it to me, sister. I am ready.

     She warms up to her subject. The re-telling of her life gets more and more sordid and convoluted. The dam breaks and the lights shatter. "I was the one who decided to get into that van with those men," she said. "No one forced me to do that. I was responsible for my rape that night."

     Already I can feel myself collapsing inwardly. This I was not expecting. I was not ready. No one should have to be that brave. That strong. That needy. 

     I stare at the other members of the audience. I am the Other. Everyone else is nodding in approval. Some are clapping. I want to vomit. A guy passes me a piece of cake. Stuff the emotions downward. Something else to focus on. I lift up the sugary fakeness with a plastic fork. I don't enjoy the taste of it at all.

     Nine more minutes. People are smiling. Laughing. How could they? Let them who have the ears hear. I groan inwardly. Ain't nuthin' going to fix this. I focus on my breathing. On the walk I took with my dog and her doggie friend today in the woods. A purple trillium was blooming and the mayapples were busting out all over. 

     Seven minutes. A friend leaves. He is wiser than I am. I stay to witness the debacle. Why do I do this to myself? 

     A woman walks over to me and gives me her phone number. I glance at the name on the paper. She seems to think that I ought to remember her. "I'm working now," she says. "Odd hours. Call me." I stuff the paper into the pocket of my hoodie. "Sure." I glance at the name she has written down. Sheila. At her face. Never seen this woman before in my life. I will have to ask someone later. I am face-blind. My prosopagnopia seems to bother others a lot more than it bothers me. I've gotten used to it. It hasn't gotten any better but it hasn't gotten any worse either. 

     Three more minutes left in the performance. I know full well that there are people who are capable of manufacturing rape incidents out of their imaginations for their own twisted satisfaction or monetary gain. I have seen the results of such machinations up close. I despise people who manufacture their own victim-hoods. They are scum. They make a mockery of the human beings who are  real victims. The woman up on the stage is not making it up. What kind of society allows victims to claim responsibility for the actions of their predators?

     She spends her last minute talking about her triumphs. But it is too late. I am fried. Is that someone crying? I cannot tell in the profound darkness. The woman exits the stage. The applause is thunderous. I cannot join in. Broken, I sing my way home.

The Journeyman Writer of Blog

I received my Google check the other day for the advertising on my blogs, and it got me to thinking that someday I may have to start thinking of myself as a business. Theoretically you have to make over $400 a year on your various schemes .. um .. I mean .. business ventures, and there is a good chance that this year I could do that. It would be a first, and that probably just made everyone who knows I have been blogging for ten years run for the exit out of here. Yes, it takes a very special person to get rich off of blogging and you aren’t reading one of them.

What’s probably worse, is that the “I am a writer, and blogging is a side gig,” crowd is about to get their balloons burst too. For me to pass that whopping $400 mark this year I have to add in my book sales revenue too. It’s been a banner month on that front as I have sold the second most amount of books as I have in any given month. That number would be 3, and it is eclipsed only by the month I sold 7, but then again 5 of those were to myself. You probably are wondering why I can be this honest about these things and it is because lying about it doesn’t do me any good.

Back to the theory I throw out there a lot and why I do so. I am a blogger who writes a lot, and it is a great hobby all things considered, because a lot of hobbies end up costing you money. All things totaled, even if you include the amount of money I paid for my website, the graphic design software that I use to keep it all in order, a few small upgrades o certain things et al, I have made enough money to pay for all of that. Now I am making gravy baby! Ok I am making peanuts, but again my hobby is free from this point on and more over I will probably make enough money along the way to buy more upgrades to my operation, maybe even a new tablet, as long as it is a cheap one.

Yeah forgive me for taking you on a scatter path through my scattered mind. Of all the things that my blogging, web design, and social media engineering has afforded me, you can throw in the friendship, the ability to help others, and even slather in a bit of laughs here and there. The best laughs come at my own expense. What I am really very proud of is the fact that other people seem to like my writing enough that they ask me to write for their blogs. Of course they could just be desperate, but that doesn’t mean I have to tell myself that. It’s just a hobby after all so taking it too seriously would make it a job. YUCK!

If you like this crap, you are the type of person I need. Come see the other crap I write over at TheWhacko.Com or don't, see if I care!

What I Earn Through Me and Others

It’s Tuesday morning, and like I do every Tuesday morning, I gather up all of the trash, and package it up for the garbage men to take it sometime after I go to work. Over the last few months this was quite the miserable task, freezing cold, fingers numb, icicle hanging off my nose, but today is beautiful out. The air is warm, there is a cool breeze flowing in from the west, and yes I am enjoying taking the garbage out. I earned this, and as I didn’t bitch about the snow, and I thoroughly enjoyed the great workouts shoveling it, I have now earned this beautiful weather in which I will take walks and enjoy wearing less clothing.

I’m sure people get really sick of my attitude. That Jeremy just brags about his health, talks about politics like he knows something, rambles on about history, and acts like he is the greatest blogger ever. I earn all that too, every day. I write, I go to the gym, I stay up on current events, and I read a lot of history. I keep a positive attitude because I have to. Deep down inside I am the most negative, miserable human being on the face of the earth. I was a miserable drunk, blacked out all the time, furious at the world and starting fights with everyone to get even with everyone for a miserable childhood. Boo Freaking Hoo. You are what your parents make you and if you choose to stay that way then BLAME YOU.

To be honest with you all, which is what this particular blog of mine is all about, I had to learn to turn my misery outward. No that doesn’t mean that I share my misery and transpose it on others, it means that I enjoy the misery of others especially if they bring it on themselves. Does it mean that I wish misery on others? Nope I wish everyone could be as happy as I am, but the fact of the matter is that most people won’t be more often than they can’t be, and I get a chuckle out of it simply because I am grateful that I am not that person anymore.

I just dealt with snow banks that were taller than myself the entire winter, and I did it with a SHOVEL not a snow blower. I was grateful for all of the exercise I got, and how healthy it made me feel. I was elated that I could actually do it and do it very good at that. I was grateful to all the people living down south who thought they were giving me a hard time, knowing that right about now as all my flowers are popping up, full of all that water that has been leaking steadily into the ground, they will be crying and complaining about droughts and heat. I am living a gorgeous day. I don’t care if it rains, the temperature goes through the roof, or falls into the cellar, and nobody can take that away from me, other than me.