The Mule

 

We're all unstuck in time at some point in our lives. The essence of a human being relies on memory and comprehension and a certain amount of self-consciousness about our time and place on this mortal coil. We may be the only species on Earth that can't survive without those traits.

I write these words as a 65-year-old man, thinking about a book I received as a boy from a man who probably wanted to have sex with me. That book, written before I was born, is about a future history of human strife and upheaval that resonates with the current malevolence swelling in the hearts of many humans, especially here in the United States.

How's THAT for being unstuck?

"The saddest aspect of life right now is that science gathers knowledge faster than society gathers wisdom." - Isaac Asimov, 1920-1992

The book in question, Isaac Asimov's The Foundation Trilogy (TFT), is a benchmark of 20th century science-fiction spanning a thousand years of future human history. It should be required reading for every high school Senior to help them better understand the world they'll graduate into. They need to become unstuck in time to understand the future they'll help to create as thinking, feeling, emotionally complex human beings, even though the story covers vast distances in time and space.

My hardcover copy of TFT is worn out from multiple readings, its spine held together with packing tape, the pages yellowed with age.  I was around 12 or 13 years old when it was gifted to me by one of the male Boy Scout leaders involved with our troop after he found out I was inhaling science-fiction novels. The guy didn't have any kids.

I came to understand much later that this man - unmarried, pasty-faced and overweight - was likely a pedophile who involved himself in scouting to groom young boys for sex. I remember the day he presented the book to me as our Troop gathered at my house for an event (Dad was our Scoutmaster), signing his name on the inside cover and telling me he knew I'd enjoy reading it. Thankfully, he disappeared from our orbit soon after, who knows why (I think I know why).

Side Note: Pedophilia has ALWAYS been on the fringes of Boy Scouts. It's not a new phenomenon, and IMHO seemed to have increased as churches became more prominent supporters of Scouting activities. I never saw or knew anyone in my Scouting life who was abused or molested by a leader, but that doesn't mean it didn't happen.

So it goes. 

He was right about the book. I read it right away, then a second time to revel in the fantastic saga of science and galactic war and space travel.  What I didn't grasp... and wouldn't until I read it again as an adult... was that the story was actually about human interaction, human emotion, human loss and human achievement, cloaked as a space Western... a galactic 'Dallas'... a sci-fi 'How The West Was Won'.

The central theme of The Foundation Trilogy revolves around the science of 'psychohistory' and a man named Hari Seldon, a university mathematician living on the planet Trantor (as Earth would be called in a future time). He developed and championed a theory that could foresee the future of humankind solely based on human psychology, emotion and predictability. His predictions also included thirty-thousand years of galactic turmoil and war unless certain things happened at certain times, which relied on human beings being just that: HUMAN.

However, he couldn't know that his barely-accepted theory of psychohistory (and the entire galaxy) would be threatened by a mutant possessing incredible mental powers that could control the thoughts and actions of others across the vast distances of space. Known only as 'The Mule', the mutant would wreak havoc and threaten to upend the human race with the aforementioned thirty-thousand years of war and death and mental servitude.

No one really knew when The Mule was exerting his powerful mind control. They just 'thought' with seeming free will, but were in fact being manipulated by an unseen force that bent them to his bidding with literally no effort. Entire fleets of men and warships were controlled in this way, and planetary systems fell one after the other to The Mule.

Naturally, I ain't about to give away how the story ends, but OMIGOSH is it a great ending.

I re-read TFT again last year while the 'Rona raged around the world, and the story resonated with me more than ever, forging a strong connection between the malevolence of The Mule... a powerful tyrant who controlled the minds of others... with our 45th President, Donald J. Trump.

I'm NOT the only person to make this connection, as I've read a couple of articles that connect DJT with The Mule in concept.

Here's the rub: whereas The Mule used his incredible powers of mind control over others without their knowledge, DJT has created a 'cult of personality' that's been accepted, codified and practiced by his followers, seemingly with their full knowledge and approval. BUT... are his followers fully cognizant of the control he seems to have over them?

In fact, the idea of a 'Trump cult' is gaining traction due to the way his acolytes ignore science and facts and information which completely refute everything he says and does, yet they still pledge allegiance to him.  Some are even claiming he was 'sent by God to smite those who don't believe in Trump, the one true savior of our country.'

Really, truly scary.

A pathological liar, tax cheat and failed businessman with hundreds of millions of dollars in personal debt to foreign banks.

An aggressive philanderer, misogynist and accused rapist with dozens of women credibly claiming he'd abused and assaulted them.

A man who displayed a stunning level of ignorance of science, history and politics. 

A bully who would personally abuse, insult, demean, debase and denigrate anyone he pleased.

And finally, as a failed Presidential candidate, an instigating traitor who fomented an insurrection against the U.S. Capitol to support 'The Big Lie' and stood idly by, watching on TV from the White House, while his violent mob threatened the lives of lawmakers and law enforcement and tried to force the 2020 election results to be overturned. 

"Violence is the last refuge of the incompetent." - Isaac Asimov, 'Foundation'

Donald Trump was and is all of these things... and yet he's still revered, supported, promoted and defended by a large swath of the GOP and the citizenry.

Willful ignorance? Brainwashing? Mass psychosis? Latent stupidity?

None of this is mind-control on the level displayed by The Mule in TFT, but what can explain the counter-intuitive behavior of so many people? 

I think there are several things at work here which may not be considered mind-control per se, but in concert manipulated the thinking and opinions for millions of people. This includes a slavish devotion to celebrity, the aforementioned willful ignorance, pernicious misinformation and the 'The Gish Gallop', barely-disguised criminality, an unchecked and unregulated social media, FOX NEWS, and a Congressional GOP that's degenerated into the Disloyal Opposition.

Think about it: every one of these conditions set up a Foundation of Mass Misinformation that was absorbed and shared by millions of people, duped by their own inability to know the difference between facts and bullshit. Since they couldn't (or wouldn't) question their own belief systems, they decided to follow DJT while he attempted to steer the Ship of State over Niagara Falls. He almost did and still might if given the chance.

I could (and should) go on... but you get the picture, right?

Mind-control writ large. The Mule, reincarnated as a criminally-malevolent political terrorist.

In TFT, there were people determined to stop The Mule by any means necessary, but they were beholden to something he was not: humanity. They were checked in many ways by their own inability to overlook their essential humane-ness, the very thing that separates us from the other non-human inhabitants of our small Blue Marble. They had two crucial human traits: EMPATHY and COMPASSION.

Has ignorance, venality, vengeance and violence now become the hallmarks of conservatism in the United States of America?

We'll know in a year or two if this country learned a valuable lesson about putting a criminally-malevolent political terrorist in The White House. We'll find out if our collective humanity can prevent an inhumane leader from once-again gaining power in and control of our nation.

Here's what I've learned: the past is ALWAYS prologue, and we usually get the leaders we deserve. 

The sci-fi novels I read as a youth are still important to me, mostly because I can read them now with the eyes and perspective of a seasoned Old.

Isaac Asimov... Arthur C. Clark... Ray Bradbury... Harlan Ellison... Kurt Vonnegut... Kim Stanley Robinson... Robert Heinlein... these writers held the wild future of the human experience in their big brains and shared it without trepidation or hesitation or apology. They put forth ideas which, with the passage of time, are now more real than ever.

The youth I once was, star-struck and inspired by the fantastic future these brilliant people created, gained an open mind and open heart and a willingness to question everything. That questioning mind rejected the simple-minded poetry of religious belief and chose instead to ask a lifetime of questions that result when asking hard questions without easy answers. I've not regretted that decision for a nanosecond ever since.

The grizzled adult I am now can still see that wild future with the same youthful open mind and open heart, regardless of the willful ignorance or the mindless religious fervor held by so many around us. The future of our Nation will rise or fall as the tides of political and sectarian turmoil ebb and flow, constantly rebuilding or eroding the foundation we stand on, literally and figuratively. 

As revealed in Isaac Asimov's story, The Foundation was shackled by a fear of ignorance and tethered to an ideology that valued knowledge, empathy, humanity and the certainty that civilization would eventually find it's way to universal peace through education and enlightenment.

A single hardcover sci-fi novel has given me a lifetime of reading enjoyment, filled my head with questions about mortality and continues to offer a peek towards a vast future history as yet unwritten.

It doesn't matter that my life will end sometime in the next 20 to 30 years, because I've already seen the wild future, or at least several versions of it. I'm a spectral mote of dust, insignificant and expendable. At the same time, I'm made from the stuff of stars, living a singularly unique life on this small Blue Marble that spins around a dying star on the far edge of a galaxy intermingled among millions of other galaxies.

It just doesn't get any better than that, nor should it.

"Scientific truth is beyond loyalty and disloyalty." - Isaac Asimov, 'Foundation'

All images, Gracias de Google Images; Living Colour 'Cult of Personality' and 'Blue Danube Waltz' videos, Muchisimas Gracias de YouTube; Do not fear death or the unknown... always look it straight in the eye and laugh mightily.

Dear Mr. President...

Dear Mr. President,

I don’t know you personally, nor am I a psychologist or trained in human behavior, so the following observations are based strictly on your public persona, my interpretations of you as a public figure, and my own understanding of people.

I am an American citizen of Mexican heritage, born in East Los Angeles, California to parents who were also born in the United States.

I consider myself to be a member of the middle-class. I have some college education, have worked hard since I was 16 years old, am lucky to own a nice home and enjoy a long and successful marriage.

My personal and emotional foundation was formed as the result of the strict, disciplined and engaged parenting I received, as a child and a teenager, from my Father and many of my relatives. That kind of upbringing is typical of almost all Mexican-American families, and I’ve always been grateful for that good start on my life’s journey.

I was raised in a home where my Father was responsible for single-parenting my younger Brother and me, a role he never envisioned for himself. Although we never had much money, we were always well cared-for and Dad made Boy Scouts a central part of my youth, a gift for which I can never thank him enough.

With the help of Dad and Scouting, I learned the basics tenets of decency, empathy and compassion towards others that still resonate with me today, as embodied by the Twelve Scout Laws:

“A Scout is Trustworthy, Loyal, Helpful, Friendly, Courteous, Kind, Obedient, Cheerful, Thrifty, Brave, Clean, and Reverent.”

To this very day, I live my life striving to achieve the benchmarks of positive humanity as outlined in those twelve laws. They have never steered me wrong.

The question I have is this: where did YOU go wrong?

Much has been spoken and written about what motivates you to display the kind of negative, divisive and demeaning behavior you do as an adult and the leader of our Nation. There's many opinions about the parenting you received and the wealth and privilege you were born into, and how that all shaped your adult mindset.

Whether a janitor, a warehouse worker, a business executive, a puppeteer, an astronaut, a waitress or a politician, we all have a learned set of internal guidelines that help us get through our adult days and (hopefully) will not result with winding up in the hospital or in jail.

Those learned internal guidelines are cemented into our behaviors. Sometimes we must break them apart and reassemble them in ways that will allow us to be successful adults. Sometimes, even though we try our hardest, nothing can change those behaviors, no matter how hard we try.

Not changing bad personal behaviors doesn’t necessarily mean a person wouldn’t be a successful adult, but it does mean that person will never truly be all they can be.

It’s part of being a complicated humanoid in the 21^st Century. 

The thing that most puzzles me about you, apart from our diametrically opposed politics, is how you seem to embody the worst traits of human behavior which any normal functioning adult would have long since shed, especially for someone of your age and education and status. 

My guess is that you behave the way you do because you’ve never experienced a normal life… a normal existence… the kind of life that the vast majority of Americans deal with on a daily basis.

You were born into wealth and privilege. I'd reckon you never once spent a day (or perhaps even a minute) having to think about food or shelter or clothing, worrying about paying for tuition or childcare or health insurance. You were given every advantage money could buy, sent to the finest schools, were fronted a million dollars by your Father to start your first business and bailed out by him several times when your business acumen failed.

That entitled upbringing gifted you with the ability to avoid dealing with life’s harsh realities. It also allowed you to develop a sense of superiority over all others, which is how things often work for the wealthiest among us. That superiority breeds hubris and antipathy towards those whom you feel are ‘lessers’ and the resulting lack of human compassion and empathy they deserve.

There’s a modern word for the malady that I firmly believe you suffer from: 

Affluenza.

Wikipedia notes that Affluenza can be defined as ‘a quasi-illness… an inability to understand the consequences of one’s actions because of financial privilege.’ I would suggest this condition has been a part of your life from the very beginning and has ingrained itself so deeply and completely in your soul that you're literally blind to the effects it has on you.

I don’t blame you for the parenting you received… no one can, for themselves or for others. It would seem that you are who you were raised to be, but therein lies the problem.

As we become adults, slogging our way through the emotional turmoil of maturity and responsibility, we have two paths forward: continue on with the emotional tool kit we collected through childhood and adolescence, or re-tool and revise our tool kit to deal with the realities of adulthood.

Clearly, you chose the former and it worked well-enough because of your special stature as a wealthy while male… someone who received every break and entitlement and privilege available.

What you didn’t learn, as indicated by your behavior as an adult, are the critically important foundational traits of decency, empathy and compassion towards others. In your words and actions, you seem to lack even the basic knowledge of what it means to be anything other than what you are: a self-centered and narcissistic Master of the Universe.

A person with no concept of what it means to struggle to survive.

A person who has most likely never cleaned a bathroom, mowed a lawn, shopped for groceries or rode a bus to work.

A person who looks down on others who don’t share your social standing, your heritage, your financial success or your idea of what Americans are supposed to be.

A person who freely insults, denigrates and diminishes anyone who you feel doesn't live up to your self-defined levels of success and patriotism.

It would be very easy to dismiss your divisive and destructive behavior if you were just another fabulously wealthy and powerful media  personality, but you're not. You're the President of The United States, and although you seem not to realize it, the rest of the World looks to you as an example of American ideals, morals and leadership.

And therein lies my problem with you.

Your actions... your words... your behavior... your demeanor... are all hallmarks of a spoiled child. It seems your maturity level has never risen above that of a 7-year-old who refuses to eat his vegetables, clean his room or play nicely with others.

I know this much: if I displayed any of your behaviors when I was growing up, you can bet that I'd catch a belt whipping from my Dad that would leave welts which faded only after several days. I also know that if I acted in the same childish and immature manner as an adult like you do, I'd have been fired from most of the jobs I've held and certainly wouldn't still be married to the same amazing woman for 34 years.

So once again, I ask the question: where did you go wrong?

Have you ever even once in your entire life questioned your personal behavior as it relates to others? Has it ever occurred to you that normal adults don't actively insult and demean others without consequences? 

Most importantly, does it ever bother you to know that your son Barron is watching every single negative and insulting thing you say and do and is learning from your example?

No... I didn't think so.

Your supporters always dismiss and rationalize your aberrant behavior by saying, 'Well... his remarks and behavior aren't helpful but I hope he'll turn down the rhetoric and start to act more Presidential.'

That's a lie. They know you're incapable of changing your behavior and are just making excuses for you.  No one should have any allusions about you magically changing stripes at this time in your life.

But you're a grown man with a teenage son, so if you have even a shred of decency or compassion, please... think about what your behavior is teaching your son. Think about how you could be creating someone with the same stilted, inhumane and indecent feelings towards others that you seem to be so proud of.

It's obvious what happened to your older children, who seem to be the same kind of awful human beings as you are. 

But Barron is still young enough to work with and save.

Think about Barron, if you can.

We as a Nation can vote you out of office, and I hope with every fiber in my being that you'll be swept out of power in November. But Barron... he's stuck with you for the duration, so for his sake you owe him at least the chance to grow up with a Father he can look up to... can be proud of... can aspire to emulate. 

Someone who respects others, who can offer understanding and empathy and compassion without regard for their differences. Someone with a sense of decency and humanity, irrespective of their station in life or their heritage or their philosophy.

Don't let Barron suffer the same fate as an adult that you and your other children have... only you can do that for him. Otherwise, he'll become exactly what you've raised him to be... an adult just like you.

Can you do it?


No... I didn't think so.

Lead image, Gracias de Google Images; CSNY 'Teach Your Children' video, Muchismas Gracis de YouTube; Vote Blue in November.

Magic Carpet Ride

"All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware." -- Martin Buber

This is a 100% true story.

The Set-Up

Summer of 1971... Igor Stravinsky and Jim Morrison take the Dirt Nap, the Pentagon Papers are published, and 'Brown Sugar' by The Rolling Stones tops the pop charts.

I was 14 years old.

It was also My Summer of Discovery, a.k.a. when I went on a 3-week cross-country station wagon road trip with two adult driver/chaperones and ten other Boy Scouts, rolling from Pasadena to New York City and back, without my parental unit.

See, I was a competitive Indian Dancer during my formative Boy Scout years... a Modern Oklahoma Fancy dancer, to be specific. My indoctrination into the Order of the Arrow (OA, a Scouting honor society based on Indian lore) lead to our Tatanka (Buffalo) Lodge starting an Indian dance troupe. As a result of my success in Local, Divisional and Regional competitions, I qualified for the US Indian Dance Finals at the National OA Conference that summer in Champaign, Illinois.

This was a pretty big deal for our Lodge, which had never sent a competitive dancer to Nationals, so a formal road trip was set up for a group of Scouts to attend the Conference. We'd drive to the week-long Conference, over-nighting at military bases, then head East afterwards to spend a few days touristing in New York City and Washington D.C. before making the long trek back to Cali. 

Here are some mental snapshots of that trip that have burned into my memory like a wood-burning tool on a two-by-four. 

The Take-Off

On the morning of departure, everyone gathered at the offices of the Boy Scout's San Gabriel Valley headquarters in Pasadena. The anticipation among us Scouts and our families was high while we waited for the adult driver/chaperones to arrive with their sleds.

The first adult (his name was Gene) rolled up in a Baby Blue '68 Ford Fairlane Wagon, not a bad ride for this journey. It was instantly dubbed The Blue Bomb.

We'd already drawn lots and knew who would be riding in this wagon, so you can guess what the rest of us thought when driver/chaperone/Certified Curmudgeon Leon Tomerlin (I will NEVER forget his name) rolled up in his personal car, a worn-out '63 Plymouth Valiant.

This was not the sled that we had in mind! Seems the wagon he was promised for the trip didn't make it to our starting point so we'd have to pile our bodies and gear into his Valiant and hopefully grab the wagon in Las Vegas... IF it was ready and IF the Valiant made it there in one piece. Once the family members heard about Mr. Tomerlin's plan and looked closely at his car, one the of Dads stepped up and offered up his car for the trip:

That's right... a beautiful Green 1970 Mercury Grand Marquis wagon, complete with vinyl wood siding, leather interior, a rear-facing jump seat and room to stretch out. Suddenly everything seemed OK and we were all thankful for that Dad's selfless act of support.  We dubbed it The Green Monster... this would be MY Magic Carpet for the entire trip!

Starry Night

The plan was to overnight at military bases during the trip, but by the end of that first travel day we were so late in arriving at our stopover outside of Salt Lake City that the decision was made for us to just pull off the highway and camp out until morning. Hey... we're Boy Scouts, no problem! I don't recall exactly what city's outskirts we stopped at, but we found a small site that perfectly suited our needs, with the lights of the city glittering off in the distance.

It was about midnight when everyone finally crapped out in their sleeping bags, but I lay awake for a long time looking up at the brilliant starry Utah sky. I was overwhelmed by powerful emotions, being away from my family and essentially on my own, beginning a journey of discovery and friendship and adventure. I was awake most of that first night, looking at stars, enthralled by life, breathing it all into my soon-to-be-15-year old soul.

Missouri Breaks

We'd been on the road for a few days by now and were getting punchy, as teenage boys do when caged up in cars on extended road trips. When we reached the outskirts of Joplin, Missouri it was time for another gas station pit stop for fuel, bathroom and snacks... this activity became a running gag during the entire trip because we were always yelling at guys to " HURRY UP AND GET IN THE CAR, MAAAAAN!!!"

While the adults fueled the wagons, we all crowded into the bathroom and discovered (gasp!) CONDOM VENDING MACHINES!!! We'd never seen these before, being from California and all, so naturally we snapped up a bunch of them at $.25 each because... well, who knows why?

Once we'd stocked up on rubbers, sodas and snacks, we were on the road again... but in just a few minutes, we in the Green Monster realized what we MUST do and convinced Mr. Tomerlin to pull over and stop, so the Blue Bomb pulled over right behind us. We jumped out of both cars and did the most important thing in the world: took out several rubbers, blew them up and tied them to the car's antennas. 

For the next few hours we rolled Eastward at speed, the condom balloons whipping around on the antennas of both cars while making a loud "WHOMPWHOMPWHOMPWHOMPWHOMP" sound, much to the shock and surprise of every other driver on the road who looked around to see where that unholy noise was coming from. We were laughing hysterically, and to their credit our chaperones were absolutely magnificent by letting us be weirdos. It was a great day.

Conference Confidential

By the time we arrived at at OA Conference, my wagon mate Kurt (his Dad was the one who loaned us the Green Monster) and I had become fast friends and were known for the rest of the trip as 'Duck' and 'Tonto'. He was Duck because his new braces gave him duck lips, and I was Tonto for obvious reasons. We would always room together and stayed friends for several years after this amazing journey.

During the conference we stayed in the empty dormitories at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, and the dorms were all connected via underground walkways that also featured small cafes, game rooms and laundromats. Each night after our group dinners, dozens of Scouts would gather in the laundromats to engage in 'Dryer Bronco Busting'. A Scout would crawl inside one the the large industrial dryers and, with the temperature turned waaay down, would brace himself inside and try not to throw up once we'd dropped in quarters and started the tumbler spinning. Much laughter and vomiting ensued.

I made it to the Semi-Finals in the Modern Oklahoma Fancy Dance Competition. Even though I was only 14 years old and dancing against Scouts who were older and more seasoned than me, I placed a very respectable 12th Overall. Here's an example of that style of dancing, performed by the Real Thing... the dancer in black & white is amazing:

Dorm room shenanigans were the order of the week for everyone, from short-sheeting beds to noisy late-night room break-ins to drag a naked half-awake Scout into the hall and locking him out. The shower rooms were witness to many vicious towel-snapping incidents, and huge food fights were known to break out in the underground cafes over the smallest incident. It was AWESOME.

Her name was Patti, she was 16 and worked in the underground cafe right below our dorm. She liked my taste in jukebox music (Rod Stewart's 'Maggie May' was my fave), that I was an Indian Dancer, and even came to see me compete. One evening while everyone was out at a stupid bonfire, Patti and I walked around the darkened campus, went up to my dorm room to make out and wound up 'doing it'... my very first time! It was nerve-wracking and crazy, and luckily I still had a Joplin gas station rubber (surprise!) and figured out how to actually use it. I will NEVER forget snuggling with her in that dorm room bed, and we hung out for the rest of the week until the conference ended. We traded a few steamy letters later that summer but eventually lost touch. So it goes.

New York/DC Shuffle

During our time in New York, we stayed at the Fort Wadsworth Army Base, located on Staten Island directly below the Verrazano Narrows Bridge. We ate at the base Mess most mornings and evenings and even bought snacks and souvenirs in the PX. One evening we went to the Base theater to see the film 'Woodstock', which was in theaters all over the country. We sat there watching this really cool film and then began to smell something.  After a few minutes, we realized the theater was filling up with pot smoke... ON AN ARMY BASE. I don't remember if we got a contact high, but it was still an amazing thing to experience... ON AN ARMY BASE.

While taking one of our many rides on the Staten Island Ferry, we were all sitting on an upper-deck bench watching the glorious sunset when a very attractive woman sat down next to Mr. Tomerlin.  At first we just ignored it until we realized... SHE WAS A HOOKER. She tried for about 5 minutes to get him to go below-deck with her (heh heh heh), and we were loudly egging him on to go for it! He was so nervous and flustered that while he was stammering a refusal to her offer, his dentures fell out of his mouth and right into his lap. Much howling laughter ensued, the hooker split and we all congratulated him for being such a hunky target.

I'd been looking forward to visiting Ellis Island and especially the Statue of Liberty, which I'd been told was a pretty amazing place. I wanted to climb up into her head, grab a snack and a souvenir up there and look out over the New York skyline.  It was a stifling hot day when we started climbing the steep spiral stairway inside the Statue, and the going was tedious and slow because tourists. After what seemed like an eternity, we made it up to her head... but I was shocked to see how tiny the space inside was! There was only one platform to view out of the ports in her crown, and because of the lineup of people behind us, we had to keep moving.  We were in her head all of maybe 2 or 3 minutes before we started the long downward climb. There was no restaurant or gift shop in Lady Liberty's head. I'd been HAD.

Our stay in Washington D.C. was filled with visits to the National Mall, the Capitol and all the museums, including a full day at the Smithsonian which was incredible. The place that really stood out for me was the U.S. Mint, where the tour included a glassed-in walkway directly above an open area where they were printing paper currency. I was amazed at what I saw right below me: a huge rectangular stack of freshly-printed $20 bills, easily 5 feet high and 20 feet long. They were in giant sheets that were waiting to be cut and I was speechless at the sight of all that money, right there, less than 20 feet away from me. The image of that stack of money is still vivid in my ancient hard drive.

Homeward Bound

After an event and memory-filled trip from West to East Coast, the roll back to Cali was blur of highway travel with stopovers only for fuel, food and sleep. For some reason, we cruised on I-80 back through Chicagoland and the states of Iowa and Nebraska, maybe due to weather issues as we had a deadline for our return to Pasadena.

The only vivid memory I have of the ride home was that the entire time we rolled through Iowa and Nebraska, all we saw were miles and miles and miles of cornfields.  Coupled with the hot and humid weather, the heavy aroma of fresh corn filled every square inch of The Green Monster.  Unfortunately, my buddy Duck was allergic to corn and was horribly ill during our transit of those two corn-filled states. He was puking and shitting like crazy, which caused us several unplanned stops for emergency cleanups, for which he felt doubly-awful. Once we left Nebraska and the Cornfields of Death, Duck came around and The Green Monster stopped smelling like an outhouse. WHEW.

Why This Matters

This past summer, my 17-year-old Grandson Ben embarked on a 6-week musical adventure, playing the Contrabass tuba for the Jersey Surf Marching Band in the 2019 DCI Drum Corps and Marching Band Competition Series. It was his first extended time being away from home, and while he was on the road all over the Eastern and Southern US, I told his Mom that Ben would come back changed in ways seen and unseen. The visible changes he experienced are obvious in the image below... the left side when he arrived at Band Camp, the right side near the end of the competition journey:

That right there is one hell of a visible change, and I'm so damned proud of him!! Naturally, his mental and emotional changes were less noticeable upon his return home but his Mom knew right away when those changes manifested themselves in words and deeds that were... different.

Ben's Big Adventure was a catalyst for this essay about one of my youthful Big Adventures, one that (obviously!) saw me return home as a wholly different person. Although I'd had the chance to spend many weeks at Boy Scout summer camps, that trip to New York and back... that one was special for a lot of different reasons.

I'd already been a pretty responsible teenager to that point, mostly staying out of trouble and earning my weekly $5 allowance by washing dishes, cleaning house, mowing the yards and washing Dad's truck. This New York trip forced me to draw on the tools Dad had burned into my head and behave like (gasp!) a responsible adult. I kept myself and my clothes clean and neat, helped the drivers out at pit stops all the time, mediated personality clashes that happened during those loooooong highway jaunts, and generally did everything I could to enjoy this singular adventure without muss or fuss. 

Initially, several of the other Scouts struggled with the personal responsibility an extended road trip without parental units requires, and we saw more than a few emotional breakdowns, jags of open hostility and the need for adult disciplinary measures that were embarrassing but warranted and necessary. However, by the end of the trip we were all Road Warriors -- self-sufficient, congenial and adherents to pretty much all twelve of The Scout Laws.

Thanks to my love of science fiction, the summer of 1970 was an introduction to a more expansive universal understanding than my Catholic upbringing could ever have accomplished. Thanks to Boy Scouting and my Awesome Dad, the summer of 1971 was a first peek into the World of Responsibility, regardless of how it may have seemed at the time. I learned a lot about myself, about other guys my age and how adults can interact with teenagers without losing their shit every 5 minutes. 

I also learned how a condom works, so there's that.

I can only imagine the fun-yet-shall-never-be-spoken-of adventures that happened during Ben's Big Musical Adventure, and maybe someday he'll be willing and able to share some stories with me. I know he's created memories that will last a lifetime, and has already stated his intention to re-join his Jersey Surf band mates in the summer of 2020 for another Summer of Discovery.

I know this much: the searing memories of our youth are the ones that add context and contrast to the rest of our lives. We never really know which ones will be the stickiest, which will evaporate forever into the cerebral ether, or which will jump into conscious thought keyed only by a word, a song, a story... or a Grandson.

"Life isn't about the number of breaths you take... it's about the moments that take your breath away." -- George Carlin

Post Script: Awesome Dad recently informed me he has boxes filled with 35mm slides of photos that I took during this trip, stashed somewhere in his pile of belongings now being moved to his new home in Emmett, Idaho. You can bet your ass that I'll get my paws on those slides and do the Time Warp... Again.

Lead and station wagon images, Gracias de Google Images; 'Mens Fancy Dance Suite' and Steppenwolf 'Magic Carpet Ride' videos, Gracias de Youtube; Awesome Ben Before and After image, Muchismas Gracias de Rebecca Loren Macias

A Distant Drummer

It was just supposed to be a visit to the museum… nothing more. But it became something more, purely by accident.

Oh sure, there’s lots of mind-numbing activities one could enjoy in Las Vegas, and for sure The Artist and I partake in many of them, both banal and bizarre. But come on... a museum of natural history? IN LAS VEGAS?!!?!?!?!?!

Come ON.

But it’s true. There we were, on one of our many trips to that dazzling burg in the blanched desert to celebrate our wedding that took place on The Las Vegas Strip back in the far-away year of 1986. I know, Las Vegas in July is just insanely hot, but we really don’t spend that much time outdoors anyways, and we both hate blistering by the pool.

So to make the anniversary trips more fun, The Artist does something that always makes for an interesting and enjoyable time for when we’re not sexing up in our room or playing the slots.

In the weeks prior to an upcoming journey into the Vast Hotness, she searches the intertubes for alternative LV activities. There’s lots of really cool things to do that don’t involve slot machines, alcohol or endless foot travel. Recent side trips included the Ethel M Chocolate Factory (she of the M&M Mars Family), the Pinball Hall of Fame (500 machines from vintage to modern), the Bellagio Hotel Gallery of Fine Art  (world-class art is there if you can find the place), Frankie’s Tiki Room (a genuine hard-core tiki lounge, darkest bar I’ve ever been in), and the King Putt indoor/Egyptian-themed/black-light miniature golf course(!?!?!).

This trip found us sweating outside of the Marjorie Barrick Museum of Art on the campus of UNLV, which was hosting a gallery exhibit of ceremonial masks from the indigenous peoples of the West spanning almost 2500 years. She thought it sounded intriguing, so one stifling weekday morning after we roused from the hotel room sexing bed we made our way out to the campus, the place literally abandoned for Summer break.

We arrived just before the museum’s 10AM opening, which allowed us the chance to walk the small but excellent desert foliage garden out front, grabbing whatever shade was available. Natch, we were the first (and only) people to walk in when they unlocked the doors and were almost knocked over by the arctic air blasting from inside.

The gallery exhibit of ancient masks was simply breathtaking. Displayed on a timeline, it was stunning to see how long-dead hands had lovingly formed these avatars of ancient peoples, fabricating and decorating them in a way that would exalt their ancestors, their spirits, themselves.

But something else grabbed my attention, dragged it away from those beautifully symbolic masks. It was sitting there, in the literal center of the gallery, waiting just for me.

A giant American Indian pow-wow drum, easily 4 feet in diameter.

The moment I saw it, drumsticks leaning all around the side, surrounded by empty benches, I looked over at The Artist who was already looking at me with an expression that said 'You're not really going to, are you?' She knew what was in my head, but she also knew it would be impossible to prevent the inevitable.

Remember, we're the only people inside this museum gallery on a weekday morning. I walk up to the drum, sit down, grab one of the drumsticks, and begin to softly drum.

"bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum hum bum..."

A steady, even cadence, not the made-up Hollywood drumming that everyone thinks is real.  You know:

"BUM bum bum bum BUM bum bum bum BUM bum bum bum BUM bum bum bum..."  

That's a fake drum cadence, and only a very few non-American Indians know the difference.  

But I do.

I sat there, drumming with my eyes closed, hearing the echoes bounce around in the empty gallery, filling the place with an ancient sound, and in that instant I was transported through time and space to other moments in my life.

"bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum hum bum..."

I traveled to my performances of the Eagle Dance at many Boy Scout ceremonies celebrating a Scout's achievement of the Eagle Badge, the highest award in Scouting. I wore my dance costume without the large feather bustle on my shoulders or the horsehair roach on my head, replaced by a set of feathered eagle wings and a ceremonial Eagle headdress, dancing and spinning and flying across the stage, at one with the moment.

"bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum hum bum..."

I traveled to one of the many Indian pow-wows our Order of the Arrow dance team was invited to attend, REAL pow-wows replete with women and children and youth and elders, all dressed in their finest costumes, dancing around and around and around the drummers in the center, all drumming and singing ancient songs of the Original Americans. I even met Iron Eyes Cody once and he shook my hand and thanked me for being there.  I danced for hours in those circles with Original Americans.

                                                       Iron Eyes Cody

"bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum hum bum..."

I traveled to another pow-wow, dressed in my completely handmade costume, a Modern Oklahoma Fancy Dancer, with my bells ringing and fringe flying and feathers swooping and my head roach tossing back and forth, and then the drumming became more insistent and we youth, we Fancy Dancers, began to dance even faster to keep up with the drumming cadence.

"BUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUM..."

Faster and faster we danced and spun to keep up with the beat, and on each heavy beat we'd either bounce in the air or drop to the ground and bounce right back on the beat, each and every time, faster and faster and faster.

"BUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUM..."


                     Modern Oklahoma Fancy Dancers, circa 2016


As is typical of time travel, I was only drumming there for a few minutes, but it felt like I'd been there for much longer. Eventually The Artist begged me to stop because I was prolly getting the docent angry, so I stopped drumming, put down the stick and waited for the echoes of the past and present to fade away.

I love time travelling.

We finished our gallery visit and decided to head out to another weirdo non-gambling Las Vegas activity. As we started to leave, I veered off and went over to the museum office where the docent who let us in was doing some paperwork.

Me: (peeking my head into her office) "Hi there... many thanks for the really great exhibit. I'm glad we made the trip out here."

Her:  "Oh, you are most welcome!" (Brief pause) "By the way, was that you drumming in there?"

Me: (highly embarrassed) "Ummm... yep, that was me.  Hope I didn't make too much noise on this quiet morning for you."

Her:  "NO NO NO... your drumming was amazing! It's nice to hear someone drum who knows what they're doing with that wonderful instrument.  Thanks for that!"

Me:  "Oh, OK, you're welcome. Thanks again!" (head swells to ten times its normal size)

Out into the Stoopid Hot we walked, into the sunshine and mindless excess that typifies Las Vegas. However, I left something important behind, something that was a part of me, and I was glad to leave it.

I had punched a hole in the time/space continuum, stepped through and went for a stroll with a drumstick in my hand, an ancient beat in my heart, and the memories of a joyous time paying homage to the Original Americans in my mind's eye.  That hole was still in there, exactly where I left it, waiting for someone else to peek through.

I will always be grateful for those formative youthful years communing with Indian spirits at pow-wows, dancing for hours around and around the drummers, singing their ancient songs to their ancestors, who were swirling all around them.

I will always be grateful for the chance to participate in such a singular and special activity, accorded to me by the Boy Scouts of America, the Order of the Arrow, and My Father, without whom none of it would have been possible.

                    My first Indian dance costume, circa 1969, fabbed by Dad

The same Father who spent hours and hours fabricating my costumes while I sat at his side, watching and reveling at his skill with needle and leather and feather and bell.

The same Father who spent countless hours carting our dance team around from one show to another, giving up his time and energy to allow us to fulfill our Scouting dreams.

The same Father who cheered me on at competitions, soaking in the success when I won, consoling my broken heart when I didn't, but always showing me that my efforts were valued nonetheless.

The same Father who watched as I took possession of a set of amazingly beautiful Fancy Dance feather bustles hand-made by a Real Indian, complete with Cloud Eagle feathers, from the son of the man who made the bustles and wanted to see me compete in them.

And yes, the same father who I railed against as I grew older and decided I didn't need Scouting or Indian dancing or any of that stuff, but stayed silent anyways.

That Father.  The Best Father Ever.

To this day, I am always thanking that guy for all the things he gave me as a growing, obstinate, fickle youth. Especially the chance to dance with feather and bell, around and around the giant drum, honoring The Original Americans.

"bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum hum bum..."



Lead image gracias de drumsktcorp.com; INFP Fancy Dance and Red Eagle 'Song of Survival' videos gracias de youtube.com; first costume image Muchismas Gracias de Mi Padre

Anatomy of a Murder

“Rarely do we find men who willingly engage in hard, solid thinking. There is an almost universal quest for easy answers and half-baked solutions. Nothing pains some people more than having to think.” -- Martin Luther King

Donald J. Trump is set to become the 45th President of the United States of America.

He will be my President.  I'm not happy about it, but that's how politics and elections work sometimes.

A large number of us are still mystified as to how and why Donald Trump defied the odds and snuck away with enough electoral votes to move into the White House.  

My standard answer is: it didn’t just happen. It took almost a decade for us to get to the point where a racist pussy-grabbing tax-cheating scumbag like Trump could con and lie his way into the Oval Office.

It's no secret that Donald Trump, a pathological liar, murdered Truth as a pathway to his electoral success, but there were many accomplices in this murder. Each in their own way, with their own agendas, conspired to murder Truth as a means to an end that they held as Most Important, moreso than their citizenship or civility or decency. They lied about facts, lied about their motives and intentions, lied about reality, lied lied lied about everything they could think of to generate a reality we now refer to as ‘post-truth’.

And guess what?  IT WORKED!!!

I knew trouble was brewing a few weeks before the election.

I had a conversation with an elderly fellow who, for the sake of all involved, will remain nameless.  We were talking about the upcoming Presidential election and he made it very clear that he was voting for Donald Trump. This is just a small sample of how the entire stupefying conversation went:

Me: “You realize that he’s wholly unqualified and unfit for that job, right?”

Him:  “It doesn’t matter. He’s going to make America great again. He’s a successful businessman and knows what he’s doing.”

Me: “Does a successful businessman claim a billion dollars in losses and file for bankruptcy multiple times?”

Him:  “That’s not true. Where’d you hear that?”

Me:  “Ummm… yeah, actually it is true. So what exactly is he gonna do to make this country great again?”

Him:  “He’s gonna bring back law and order to stop all the riots going on.”

Me:  “Which riots are those?”

Him:  “Well… the ones all over the place, those riots where all those blacks are destroying property and killing cops!”

Me:  “Surely you’re not referring to the civil unrest over indiscriminate police shooting of unarmed black men?”

Him:  “Yeah, those riots.”

Me:  “Riiiiight… OK, what else is he gonna do to make this country great again?”

Him:  “I forget, but I know that I knew and I agree with everything he says.”

Me:  (incredulous, eyes bugging out) “Come ON… he’s a racist and a bigot and a sexual predator! He’s a tax cheat and a pathological liar!”

Him:  “No he’s not! Who says that?”

Me:  (eyes narrowing, throwing a sideways look) “What news shows do you watch?”

Him:  “Well… mostly Fox News.”

Me:  “Any others?”

Him:  “Nope… don’t need to.  They’re the only ones who tell the truth. The rest of the lamestream media are liars.”

Me:  (head explodes and launches brains all over the walls, body falls into a twitching heap on the floor)

Congressional Republicans Murdered Truth

From the moment Barack Obama announced his run for the Presidency in 2007, the latent racism and bigotry bubbling just below the surface of our national skin spewed out like a ripe pimple being pinched. It didn’t matter that he was an American citizen, a Christian, a public servant, a Harvard graduate, a constitutional law expert. The GOP and Congressional Republicans would seek to de-legitimize and destroy him because they could not and would not allow a Black Man to be President.

They lied about his heritage. They lied about his faith.  They lied about his education.  They lied about his family. They lied about his politics. They lied about his qualifications. They lied about his patriotism. They lied about everything pertaining to him and they never stopped lying, not even once.

When he won the Presidency, they lied about his intentions. They lied about his motives. They lied about what he would do.  And on the day of his inauguration, a group of powerful Republican liars met in a Washington DC restaurant and developed a strategy to destroy him. They agreed to obstruct, delay, stonewall, obfuscate, slow-walk, deny, torpedo and sabotage anything and everything he tried to do. 

Don't believe me?  Go look it up.

They wanted to teach that uppity Black Man a lesson for thinking he could make things better for Americans. Their guy W had spent the previous eight years destroying the very fabric of our country and left a smoking mess for Barack Obama to somehow fix (which he eventually did), and that just would not do. And they would be damned if they’d give the uppity Black Man a single solitary win, so they enacted their plan to do just that, as only Republicans can do because they are inveterate liars.

If Obama was for it, they were against it. Didn’t matter what it was, who it would benefit, how right or fair or just it was.  They objected to every single thing he tried to do. From rescuing the economy to providing affordable healthcare to creating a more just legal system, they dug in and stood their ground.  NO NO NO to everything.  And then they lied about it.  They refused to govern and became the Disloyal Opposition, sabotaged everything he tried to do, and then blamed him when the results weren’t as successful as they could or should have been. They even shut down the government based on lies and blamed that uppity Black Man for it.

They lied about the economy even when it revived and thrived.  They lied about the Affordable Care Act even though it dramatically lowered the costs of healthcare, reduced the Federal deficit, provided 20 million Americans with coverage and dropped the number of the uninsured to historic lows.  They lied about unemployment even though it was reduced to the lowest rate in decades. They lied about a lack of jobs even though millions and millions of new jobs were created.  They lied about his foreign policy even though he ended two illegal wars and rebuilt trust and admiration from around the globe that had been squandered by his predecessor. They lied about the federal deficit, claiming it had skyrocketed when in fact it had been lowered by two-thirds.

They went on Fox News, the most popular ‘news’ channel ever, and lied and lied and lied. Every time they were in front of a camera or reporters or constituents, they lied and lied and lied.

And guess what?  IT WORKED. The unthinking and incurious masses of Americans who watched Fox News night after night, lie after lie, believed the lies and started to blame that stinking liberal Obama for all the bad things that were happening, for the inability for Congress to get anything done, for the stagnation of job creation and the skyrocketing crime rate, even though it was all based on lies.

Those ignorant Americans didn’t bother to think about whether or not their single source of information might be lying to them because it was too much trouble to check other sources, to use critical thinking about what they were hearing, to weigh facts against hyperbole and lies. They bought the lies hook, line and sinker.

And here we are.

A Compliant And Weak Media Murdered Truth

When Donald Trump announced his candidacy in the Summer of 2015, his speech was filled with lies and racism and unhinged insanity, but the mainstream media slavishly covered every single minute of it.  Oh sure, they chortled and guffawed at his obvious stupidity, but... no one came right out and called him a liar, nor would they.

They couldn't, and he knew it, because he is a Master of the Universe, an entitled celebrity asshole with wealth and power and influence. Someone who spent his entire life supping from a gold-covered chalice, shitting in a gold-encrusted toilet, demeaning and insulting and degrading everybody else because he could... always had, always would. And NO ONE would ever be able to tell or show him otherwise.

The mainstream media both craved and feared Donald Trump.

They would enable and embolden this pathological liar because regardless of how insane he might be, they wanted to make sure he would always give them what they craved most:  ACCESS and RATINGS. His incoherent ramblings were ratings gold, and they would never EVER do anything that would jeopardize access to the fountain of stupid that is Donald Trump because he is a Master of the Universe.

What they didn't realize is that a massive number of Americans had been pre-conditioned to believe the lies he was spewing each and every day, because they'd already been brainwashed by the incessant lying of Congressional Republicans.

The very same Republicans that had been lying and lying and lying in front of every camera that would point in their direction. Access is key, and any reporter or media that questioned them on their lies was immediately cut off from access to the Lying Republicans. No more interviews, no more quotes, no more access... so a decision had to be made. Maintain access by glossing over the lies, or question the lies and suffer the consequences.

Guess which one they chose?

And here we are.

An Ignorant and Brainwashed Public Murdered Truth

"If a nation expects to be both ignorant and free, it expects what never was and never will be" -- Thomas Jefferson

In the weeks leading up to the election, it was obvious that we had already entered the 'post-truth' era. The lies and bullshit being spread about Hillary Clinton were unbelievable, but a huge swath of the public believed the lies because they had been preconditioned to think that way. They loved the lies, and what Grade-A Quality Bullshit the lies were! For example:

"Hillary lied about Benghazi and purposefully allowed the embassy to be overrun and burned and did nothing while the staffers were murdered."

"Hillary lied about her e-mails and server."

"Hillary suffered a stroke and is barely able to stand on her own."

"Hillary is a crook."

"Hillary has never done anything positive during her time in the public sector."

"Hillary is sick and hiding it from the media."

"Hillary is a secret lesbian."

"Hillary profited from The Clinton Foundation."

"Hillary is involved in a child sex ring run from the basement of a DC-area pizzeria."

"Hillary is responsible for the civil wars in Syria and Iraq and civil unrest throughout the Middle East."

And yet... rather than try and analyze these statements to see if there were any facts to bolster them, the Ignorant Public that loves to not think swallowed the lies whole, without hesitation, without a single thought given to the notion that maybe... perhaps... possibly... the lies were actually LIES.

Nope.  Didn't happen. They swallowed the lies whole like a carp sucking down a mayfly. Didn't even taste it going down. Sustenance.

There's a popular meme that says 'If you think education is expensive, wait until you see how much ignorance costs.' And make no mistake, a large swath of the American electorate is 100% USDA Grade-A Select ignorant. It starts with the watering-down and elimination of high school Civics and Social Studies and History and Political Science courses, allowing students to whip through to graduation without ever thinking... even once... about their civic duties and responsibilities, or How Things Work.


Then the semi-ignorant students are allowed to swim through college (if they go at all) without ever knowing the most basic facts of American Citizenship or American History. Those who don't attend college become Diploma'd ignoramuses with no critical thinking skills or the ability to reason fact from fiction, ripe for the picking by Lying Liars.



And here we are.

Does this seem a bit harsh? Am I being needlessly cruel or caustic or otherwise unfair to those mediocre students who, through no fault of their own, become dim adults lacking the capacity to think for themselves without their spacephone?

Well, harsh is pretty much all I have in me right now, because one of the best parts about getting old is that I've stopped giving a diddly-fuck about what others may think of my opinions. I've stopped worrying about the delicate fee-fees of the vast swath of Ignorant Americans who can't think their way out of a paper bag, who can't be bothered to educate themselves about their world, who are as incurious and bereft of context and contrast as our new Asshole-In-Chief.

As an adult trying to navigate the vast ocean of life, I've always tried to fall back on the meaningful brilliance of the many fine teachers I had in junior and high school, along with my years as a Cub and Boy Scout.  It was all of a piece, and among the most important things I learned to strive for are:  

Be truthful, no matter what. 

Treat others with the respect they deserve. 

Call 'BULLSHIT' when it's obvious. 

Question everything, and be prepared to deal with the hard answers. 

Don't be afraid to ask questions or admit you don't have all the answers.

Give everything you can to the benefit of others.

Never ever stop learning.

Truth is easily lost in the blaring reality we all share, but we gotta keep our eyes on it at all times or it becomes obscured, shaded, hidden from view. I've opined before that we have so much information flooding into our lives that it becomes almost too much to bear, allowing facts and truth to be lost the fizzy reality cocktail we drink deeply from every day.

Don't let it happen. Don't let Truth be murdered right in front of your eyes.  I know it's hard, but you gotta weed through the noise and keep looking for the hard-nuts Truth about what is meaningful and important.  Otherwise you'll become just another American Ignoramus, calmly feeding on the radioactive pablum that suffocates Truth in a thick layer of bullshit.

As a Boy Scout, I had to memorize and try to live by the Twelve Scout Laws:

"A Scout is Trustworthy, Loyal, Helpful, Friendly, Courteous, Kind, Obedient, Cheerful, Thrifty, Brave, Clean and Reverent."

These weren't meant to be hard and fast rules, but instead goals to strive for, to achieve in order to be a Better Scout, a Better Human Being, a Better American.  Little did I know that as I grew into Adulthood and Curmudgeonhood, those very same laws would guide me in my world view, in my interpersonal relationships, in my understanding and treatment of others.

Trustworthy is the first Scout Law.

trust-wor-thy -- (adjective) -- able to be relied on as honest or truthful; synonyms: reliable, dependable, honest, upright, principled, true, truthful, ethical, virtuous, incorruptible, unimpeachable, above suspicion, responsible, sensible, levelheaded, staunch, steadfast... "a trustworthy citizen".

Maybe this is why I'm so unbelievably angry with the Lying Republicans, the Lying Media, the Ignorant Americans who lie to themselves. I know it may be too much to ask that other citizens try a bit harder to be more truthful, more honest about the things that affect us all. I'm not perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but I really try hard to be honest and trustworthy in everything that I say and do, every single day.  

Why can't they at least try to do the same?

Actually, I know why... and so do you.

Lying is easy. 

Lead image, gracias de vintagecoolhunter.com; 'Politically Challenged' and Rollins Band 'Liar' video, muchismas gracias de youtube.com; todas mis gracias y alabanza a Carlos Magallanes, Los Boy Scouts de America, y Mi Papa.