Sex Clams, Lizzards, and Roy Moore

Yesterday, I found this photograph of the front page of the Times Daily from none other than Muscle Shoals, Alabama. Soon, like the sun rising in the east and setting in the west, the sarcastic, punny comments started rolling in, some of them outstanding!

My wife: Looks like the people in Muscle Shoals have a thing for mollusks.

Facebook Friend: What a world...even the promiscuity of shellfish is divisive nowadays.

Facebook Friend: Actually, Sex Clams sounds like a great name for a band.

Me: I’m relieved there were no accompanying photographs...

Me: What’s so divisive about this? I’m thinking that whatever two consenting clams do in the privacy of their own riverbed is their business.

Family Member: What happens in the ocean, stays in the ocean.

This whole spelling error thing brought to mind this classic from a couple of winters ago:

I don’t know about you, but this hilarious failure of copy editing turned a sordid story into something light hearted and funny, and for that, I am eternally grateful to whoever was responsible for it. Poor guy is probably freshly unemployed, but he did America a great service. Otherwise, I would be forced to comment about yet another high profile man accused of confoundingly stupid and creepy behavior. Thankfully, most reasonable people from both sides of the political aisle have spoken out against the idea of a 32 year old man stripping down to his tighty whiteies in front of a fourteen year old girl for purposes of sexual gratification. But, predictably, many partisans are out there making the exact opposite argument that partisans made when it was Bill Clinton in the cross hairs of women making accusations of sexual misconduct. Back then, these folks claimed that the women must be believed. Their claims needed to be taken seriously, for it had taken great courage to speak up against so powerful a man. Now, these charges are all manufactured by an agenda driven newspaper determined to bring down a Godly man. The excusers have offered up several conflicting explanations for Mr. Moore’s actions:

He didn’t do it, and couldn’t be expected to remember if he did.

What the heck is wrong with a 30 year old man dating teenagers?

Even if he did, he never had sex with them, and whenever they asked him to stop and take them home, he did.

He never got like completely naked, ok? 

I’ve heard rumors that those WaPo reporters paid these woman $1,000!!

Look, he eventually wound up falling in love with a teenage girl and married her and they’ve been married for over 30 years now!

It’s exactly like Mary and Joseph in the Bible. You remember where it says in Matthew that Joseph plied Mary with wine, then stripped down to his tunic? It’s the exact same thing here, and Mary and Joseph turned out just fine!

At this hour, Roy Moore is still a candidate for United States Senate. Meanwhile, one of his future colleagues, Bob Menendez, accused among other things, of cavorting with underage prostitutes in the company of a lobbyist...and on his dime, is probably about to be acquitted. So maybe if Moore wins, he can be seated next to Menendez...so they can talk shop.

Softly and Tenderly

About an hour before the beginning of the CMA awards show last night, my son sent me a picture of a group of protesters outside the Bridgestone Arena carrying a sign warning of the eternal consequences of rejecting the King James Version of the Bible. I thought, Seriously?? That’s what you’re going with on a cold night in Nashville? Then I texted him back...This might be the most embarrassing time in history to be a Christian. That statement probably needs an explanation.

It seems that more and more lately, my faith takes turns getting hijacked by any number of people and movements who claim Jesus Christ as a major inspiration. Slick, telegenic preachers dressed in $3,000 Italian suits claim him as the inspiration for a teaching that promises nothing but wealth and victory. “You can have your best you...today!” People marching under the banner of white nationalism, who bemoan the presence of way too many of them and nowhere near enough of us, claim a middle eastern Jew as theirs. Many on the far left seem to think that Jesus Christ and Che Guevara were separated at birth somehow since Jesus was clearly a committed Marxist. Many on the far right have contorted themselves in theological pretzels trying to justify their devotion to a President famously fond of grabbing women by the pu***, a man who wouldn’t know the difference between Second Corinthians and the second act of Hamilton if his life depended on it. But, they all claim Christianity as their loadstar, their inspiration. For a man who had virtually nothing whatsoever to say about politics and government, he is claimed by practically every crackpot in America with a half baked agenda of hatred and contempt for others. Just about the time I begin to question my own faith, just about the time I’m about to give up...this woman stands up in front of a packed house in Nashville and millions on television and begins singing a hymn from my childhood...

I almost missed it. I had been in the other room writing. I got up to go ask Pam something at the beginning of the song. I couldn’t look away. First of all, Carrie Underwood can flat out sing, no autotune required. But, it had been years since I had heard the song, and I knew every word. It’s not even one of my favorites. In fact, back in the day, it was this sort of song that inspired people to write new stuff. It was usually performed like a funeral dirge, slow and uninspired. But last night it was the lyrics that grabbed me, their simple distillation of the message of Christ, artfully and beautifully rendered...

...Softly and tenderly Jesus is calling, calling for you and for me.

        See, on the portals, He’s waiting and watching;

                Watching for you and for me.

...Come home, come home, Ye who are weary come home;

        Earnestly, tenderly, Jesus is calling;

                 Calling, “O sinner, come home!”

Here, finally, an accurate portrayal of my faith, one that reaches out with love and compassion to a fallen world. Softly. Tenderly. Waiting. Watching. You don’t need to be a member of the right political party. Nobody cares about your money. If you’re weary, come home...

...O for the wonderful love he has promised, promised for you and for me.

        Though we have sinned He has mercy and pardon;

                Pardon for you and for me.

...Come home, come home, Ye who are weary come home;

         Earnestly, tenderly, Jesus is calling;

                Calling, “O sinner, come home!”

It’s love he has promised, not wealth. He brings mercy and pardon, not national renewal. Jesus isn’t a founding father, he’s the Son of God. Jesus isn’t someone we co-opt and his teachings aren’t something we get to shoehorn into the latest political theory. He stands on those portals, waiting, watching and calling to us... come home. 

It took a transcendent performance from a country music star to remind me of this truth.

Thanks, Carrie Underwood.

       

This is What Winning Looks Like

The Democrats had a bigly night in Virginia. Not only did they sweep the big three races, but they picked up over a dozen seats in the House of Delegates. Reliably, President Trump assigned blame on his Twitter account:

...Ed Gillespie worked hard but did not embrace me or what I stand for. Don’t forget, Republicans won 4 out of 4 House seats, and with the economy doing record numbers, we will continue to win, even bigger than before.

All of this winning. So much winning. At some point I may tire of all the winning. 

With this Tweet, Trump is asking his devoted followers one question...Who are you going to believe? Me, or your lying eyes?

His followers will read about the thrashing the Republican Party took last night in the Commonwealth of Virginia and say, Fake News.

His followers will look at the returns and wonder what might have been if only the voter rolls were purged of illegal immigrants.

His followers will believe that a candidate more enthusiastically committed to the President would have carried the day, Ed Gillespie being far too moderate in his praise of Trump... 

But, make no mistake, Donald Trump will keep on winning. One win after another. He will be the irresistible force of winning, the Babe Ruth of winning. He will be to winning what the 1927 Yankees were to the American League, what the Black Death was to 14th century Europe, what Stevie Ray Vaughan was to a Stratocaster...total domination.

Decision ‘17

Election day is here in the Commonwealth of Virginia. I know this because of an avalanche of mail in my mailbox and a torrent of radio, television, and social media ads that have followed me around like a Russian spy for weeks now. Here’s what I know as decision time has arrived:

I must decide among Republican and Democratic Party candidates, (and the always random Libertarian/Green Party odd-ball) for the three statewide offices, Governor, Lt. Governor, and Attorney General. Prior to this campaign season, I had never heard of most of them, but apparently they are each men and women of great accomplishment and skill...at climbing the ladder of their Party’s hierarchy. In addition to these statewide races, I will also be asked to select a Delegate to the Virginia House of Delegates from among two other candidates, one of whom is the only candidate on the ballot this year who actually personally showed up at my door to ask for my vote.

The Attorney General race comes down to a choice between a guy named Mark. R. Herring and another guy named John D. Adams. Advantage Adams. I mean, come on, the dude has an all American, iconic name, bringing to mind our second President and an excellent HBO miniseries. What are we to make of the other guy’s name? What’s the R stand for Mark...Red???

The Lt. Governor’s contest is a tough choice, as it asks the voter to make a decision between a white woman and a black man, clearly a no-win situation. Vote for the woman and it’s because you’re a closet racist and can’t handle a powerful black man in higher office. Vote for the black man and you have latent misogynistic issues, the same sort that contributed so mightily to Hillary Clinton’s upset loss in 2016...according to Hillary Clinton. So, this one is a toss up. Luckily, it doesn’t really matter who wins since the office of Lt. Governor is a toothless, utterly meaningless job with no real world consequence to any Virginian, living or dead. From best I can tell, the actual job of the Lt. Governor is to begin running for Governor as soon as he finishes taking his/her oath. So, whoever wins won’t be able to raise any mischief since he or she will be busy raising money.

The Governor’s contest has been a nasty one, especially these past couple of weeks. As the campaign reached the homestretch, accusations have begun to fly all over the place. If all I knew about either of these guys was what I have heard in commercials for the last two weeks, my choice would boil down to this:

I can vote for a greedy, money grubbing lobbyist who’s supporters are out there tormenting young children with pickup trucks, forcing their parents to comfort them after they wake up from their nightmares to assure them that mean old Candidate X will NOT be the next Governor!! Or, I can vote for the guy who isn’t even a politician, but merely a pediatrician who loves kids, would never, ever run them down with a Confederate flag draped pick up and who has lived his entire life by the VMI Keydet Code of conduct. I mean, seriously...is there even a choice here? How could I possibly bring myself to choose a lobbyist over a pediatrician??

On the other hand, there are troubling issues with regards to the boring doctor. Apparently he disdains ordinary Virginians, (probably because he’s spent half his life trying to collect fees from his cheap, reprobate Virginia patients), preferring the company of effete Northern Virginians and gang members from Central America. That doesn’t sound good. Search through his opponent’s bio and you won’t find a single gang member. What you will find is a series of wholesome waiter jobs he had while working himself through college and then a series of successful businesses he started and ran as an adult, no career politician he. Since he has experience starting companies, who better to create jobs as Governor? And, if we ever need help backing our car into the garage, he’s our guy!

Well, there you have it...Decision ‘17. I honestly haven’t kept up with the polling on any of these races. I have no idea who’s ahead or behind. I would think that the Democrat candidates would be favored since my State has turned bluer with each passing year, it seems. But, if 2016 taught us anything it’s that when it comes to politics and elections, anything is possible. So, I will head over to Short Pump Elementary and do my civic duty. You probably should too.

The Gun Control Act of 1968

The Gun Control Act of 1968 states, among other things, that it is illegal for a dishonorably discharged veteran to possess a firearm. The specifics are as follows:

"d) It shall be unlawful for any person to sell or otherwise dispose of any firearm or ammunition to any person knowing or having reasonable cause to believe that such person— 

(6) who [2] has been discharged from the Armed Forces under dishonorable conditions" 

"g) It shall be unlawful for any person— 

(6) who has been discharged from the Armed Forces under dishonorable conditions; 

to ship or transport in interstate or foreign commerce, or possess in or affecting commerce, any firearm or ammunition; or to receive any firearm or ammunition which has been shipped or transported in interstate or foreign commerce" 

Here’s a suggestion. How about all of these investigative bodies descending on Texas find out who sold Devin Patrick Kelley this:

He was quite proud of his purchase, sharing this photo of it on his Facebook page a mere week ago. She’s a bad bitch, he crowed. So, apparently, despite the clear, unambiguous intent of the Gun Control Act of 1968, Mr. Kelley was able to get his hands on this weapon. The natural human plea when something like this happens is, We have to pass a law that would prevent this sort of insanity. Well, we already did...in 1968. It either didn’t work, or was not followed in the case of this particular purchase. If it is discovered that Mr. Kelley purchased this gun from a registered dealer who simply didn’t obey the law prohibiting this purchase, the dealer would be thrown in jail for the rest of his life since his negligence makes him complicit in this heinous crime. If, on the other hand, the killer got his hands on the rifle via the black market, or some other criminal...then we’re screwed. Short of government confiscation of 300 million firearms from the homes of Americans, I see no remedy. Perhaps instead of passing new laws, we devote more energy and attention to enforcing the ones already on the books...like the Gun Control Act of 1968.

With each new mass shooting, I see more and more people coming out in favor of full confiscation. The ironic thing is, many of those who are the most likely to accuse Donald Trump of being a fascist authoritarian, are the same people who are willing to empower the government with the authority to confiscate 300 million guns from the American people. I suppose “authoritarian” is in the eye of the beholder. But, most people I know who are in favor of more gun control legislation are not proposing confiscation. Frankly, most of them consider themselves supporters of the 2nd Amendment. They just look at what has happened with gun violence in their country over the past ten years or so and, in exasperation, search for some new legal remedy. I have great sympathy for that view. I too am frustrated. I simply don’t see how any new law will work any better than existing law. Even if a complete ban of gun purchases could be passed and even enforced...what of the 300 million guns in the system? And what about the fact that people with ill intent and no respect for our laws will still have access to all the guns in the world, while the rest of us will not? Maybe we could prohibit the manufacture of ammunition. Then once all the available ammo was exhausted all those guns would be useless. Or, we could mandate that every box of ammo contain one exploding bullet that will kill the shooter making the use of a firearm a Russian Roulette sort of thing?

I’m not trying to be flippant about so serious a subject. I’m just trying to point out that this is a deadly serious problem for which there is no easy remedy. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try to fashion some solution, but we need to be realistic and clear eyed about what is possible.

...Again

I woke up from my Sunday nap and opened my iPad. A news flash scrolled across the screen...27 Dead, 30 Wounded in Church Shooting in Texas.

At that point I didn’t know any of the specifics, just the broad outlines of a familiar story in my country. Someone had walked into a church, and started killing people. Before I clicked on the headline to hear the details I began to wonder...

I wondered if it was a black church, a white church, a synagogue, mosque or temple.

I wondered if the shooter was a black man, a white man, or a Muslim.

The reason why I wondered these things is because it would make a difference in how my fellow Americans would react.

If the shooter were a Muslim man shouting Allahu Akbar!, we would more or less be united in our outrage. 

If the shooter were a white man and the victims black, a different kind of outrage.

If the shooter were a black man and the victims white, different still.

No matter who the shooter is and who the dead are, all of us will do the national gun control dance, charges flying around like so many stray bullets.

Then I clicked on the story. At this point all that is known is, some guy dressed in combat regalia, walked into a small Baptist church attended by less than a hundred people, began shooting and when it was over, nearly everyone in the congregation was either dead or injured, including one five year old child. In the ensuing chase, the shooter was either killed or killed himself. The victims and the shooter are white. At this hour, no claims of terrorism, no claims by ISIS that this shooter was their’s. 

For me, the only thing that matters is that 27 souls have perished at the hands of an evil person, bringing the total number of such deaths to over 350 so far this year. That’s over 350 people who have been killed in a “mass shooting” event in America in 2017, a mass shooting event being here described as a single incident where 4 or more people are killed by a single gunman. No other country in the western world comes close to that number. In this regard, we are in a class by ourselves.

What the hell is wrong with us?

My Mother’s Voice

My niece, Christina Garland, posted a very special video on her Facebook wall yesterday. It was filmed on October 31, 2010. It featured my mother, holding Christina’s infant son Ezra in her arms, singing to him in her beautiful alto voice, a song of unknown origin. Part of it was vaguely familiar, but most of it was my Mother playing fast and loose with the original lyrics, and making stuff up as she went along. At one point, whoever was filming moved closer to Mom, and this new angle revealed my Dad sitting next to my sister Linda, the proud grandmother of the infant child. They were talking and laughing with each other. Dad looked happy and healthy. So did Mom. She had less than three years to live.

There’s another one of these videos around somewhere, one of Mom and Dad sitting on the sofa in our old house holding Kaitlin in exactly the same way, Mom singing some diddy claiming that Kaitlin was the most beautiful girl in the world. In that video they were both younger, less gray in their hair, thinner, more robust. I searched for it, but couldn’t find it, so I settled in and listened to Mom serenade Ezra...over and over again.

It’s funny what the sound of the human voice does to a person. Shortly after Mom passed away, Pam and I found a message that she had  left on our old land line. She needed for one of us to take her to a doctor’s appointment. Her voice was filled with sorrow and frustration. There were times towards the end when she would fall into despair, and this was one of those times. After listening to the message, I immediately regretted doing so. I didn’t want to remember her voice this way. The day I had listened to it, I had left for a four day business meeting in Chicago. It had only been a month or two since her death, and I hadn’t up to that point shed a single tear. Two days later, while on a treadmill in the gym of the Marriot Hotel, overlooking Michigan Avenue, the sound of her defeated voice from that phone message came back to me, and I immediately began to cry.

But, yesterday, thanks to Christina, I finally have a new voice from my mother to remember, a generous, loving, melodious alto spent doting on one of her great grandchildren. Much better.

Thanks, Chrissy...