Sunday, June 22, 2008
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
My Obama Sign
Sometime after dark on the night of June 10/11, somebody stole my Obama sign.
Swiped it right off my front lawn, probably put it in the back of a jacked up pickup truck with an American flag decal in the back window and drove off listening to Darryl Worley's "Have You Forgotten," hootin' and hollerin'.
"Some say this country's just out looking for a fight
After 9/11 man I'd have to say that's right."
Yeeeee-Hawwwwww!
I wish I had caught 'em. Caught them taking my Obama sign and the others that once stood tall on front lawns in this small town, harmlessly proclaiming a preference during this contentious time, as American as that American flag on the back window of the jacked up pickup truck.
I don't know what I would have said to them, had I caught them. It would have been hard for me not to beat the living hell out of them, but I suspect had I tried, I would have gotten the hell beat out of ME. And they would have been hootin' and hollerin' the same time.
Can you hear it?
The music?
It's Darryl Worley's "Have You Forgotten" playing from those speakers in that truck that holds my fucking Obama sign.
"Have you forgotten how if felt that day
To see your homeland under fire
And her people blown away?"
I haven't.
That's why I put the Obama sign in my yard.
Swiped it right off my front lawn, probably put it in the back of a jacked up pickup truck with an American flag decal in the back window and drove off listening to Darryl Worley's "Have You Forgotten," hootin' and hollerin'.
"Some say this country's just out looking for a fight
After 9/11 man I'd have to say that's right."
Yeeeee-Hawwwwww!
I wish I had caught 'em. Caught them taking my Obama sign and the others that once stood tall on front lawns in this small town, harmlessly proclaiming a preference during this contentious time, as American as that American flag on the back window of the jacked up pickup truck.
I don't know what I would have said to them, had I caught them. It would have been hard for me not to beat the living hell out of them, but I suspect had I tried, I would have gotten the hell beat out of ME. And they would have been hootin' and hollerin' the same time.
Can you hear it?
The music?
It's Darryl Worley's "Have You Forgotten" playing from those speakers in that truck that holds my fucking Obama sign.
"Have you forgotten how if felt that day
To see your homeland under fire
And her people blown away?"
I haven't.
That's why I put the Obama sign in my yard.
Sunday, June 1, 2008
The Obama Rally
These photos were taken at the Barack Obama rally in Mitchell, S.D., Sunday afternoon, June 1 with my wife's little Canon Elf 600.
You think he's good on TV, you should hear him in person.
You think he's good on TV, you should hear him in person.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Love it
This is from the Feb. 13, 1908 edition of the Freeman Courier:
An old man lately said that when we see so many young men with their hair parted in the middle and hanging down over their foreheads so as to obscure every trace of intellect and so many young women with their hair all frizzly-frowsly and flopping around over their face in fifty different directions, we are not surprised that the followers of Darwin are now positively sure that mankind descended from the monkey.
Classic.
An old man lately said that when we see so many young men with their hair parted in the middle and hanging down over their foreheads so as to obscure every trace of intellect and so many young women with their hair all frizzly-frowsly and flopping around over their face in fifty different directions, we are not surprised that the followers of Darwin are now positively sure that mankind descended from the monkey.
Classic.
Monday, December 3, 2007
Punk-Ass
Just saw a press conference with Patriots quarterback Tom Brady following the 27-24 win over Baltimore. He's a punk-ass, and I hope he breaks a leg next Sunday. Seriously.
Sunday, December 2, 2007
A Way With Words (Read This Now)
I came across the wonderful piece as I was scanning Couriers from 100 years ago. It was published Nov. 28, 1907 and appears to have been written by then-publisher J.J. Mendel, who was widely known for his way with words. This is Mendel at his best. It is humorous, entertaining, poetic and touching all at once. It's long but well worth the read. I now keep a copy in the folds of my wallet:
There are times when every thing seems to go wrong. From seven o'clock a.m. till 10 p.m. affairs are in a twist. You rise in the morning and the room is cold and a button is off and the beefsteak is tough and the stove smokes and pipes burst, and you start down the street nettled from head to foot. All day long things are adverse. The ink bottle upsets and spoils the carpet. Someone gives a wrong turn to the damper and the gas escapes. An agent comes in determined to insure your life, when it is already insured for more than it is worth, and you are afraid someone will knock you on the head to get the pride of your policy, but he sticks to you, showing you pictures of Old Time, the hour glass, and the death's scythe, making it quite certain that you will die before your time unless you take our papers in his company. Besides this you have a cold in your head, a grain of dirt in your eye and you are walking uneasy. The day is out of joint and no surgeon can set it. Be careful and not write any letters while you are in that terrible mood. You will pen some things in the way of criticism or fault findings that you will be sorry for after wards. The table would be poorly set that had on it nothing but treacle. We need little vinegar, mustard, pepper and horseradish that brings the tears even when we do not feel pathetic. If this world were all smoothness we should never be ready for emigration to a higher and better world. Blustering March and weeping April prepare us for shining May. This world is a poor hitching post; instead of trying fast on the cold, cold mountains, we had better whip up and hasten on toward the inn, where our good friends are looking out of the window watching for us to come up.
There are times when every thing seems to go wrong. From seven o'clock a.m. till 10 p.m. affairs are in a twist. You rise in the morning and the room is cold and a button is off and the beefsteak is tough and the stove smokes and pipes burst, and you start down the street nettled from head to foot. All day long things are adverse. The ink bottle upsets and spoils the carpet. Someone gives a wrong turn to the damper and the gas escapes. An agent comes in determined to insure your life, when it is already insured for more than it is worth, and you are afraid someone will knock you on the head to get the pride of your policy, but he sticks to you, showing you pictures of Old Time, the hour glass, and the death's scythe, making it quite certain that you will die before your time unless you take our papers in his company. Besides this you have a cold in your head, a grain of dirt in your eye and you are walking uneasy. The day is out of joint and no surgeon can set it. Be careful and not write any letters while you are in that terrible mood. You will pen some things in the way of criticism or fault findings that you will be sorry for after wards. The table would be poorly set that had on it nothing but treacle. We need little vinegar, mustard, pepper and horseradish that brings the tears even when we do not feel pathetic. If this world were all smoothness we should never be ready for emigration to a higher and better world. Blustering March and weeping April prepare us for shining May. This world is a poor hitching post; instead of trying fast on the cold, cold mountains, we had better whip up and hasten on toward the inn, where our good friends are looking out of the window watching for us to come up.
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