Monday, December 10, 2018

Mirrors

This nation has gone completely insane and everybody's armed. I just wanted to point that out before I got to the main subject of this commentary: having birthdays. Lots of them. The topic has been on my mind since I'm about to round that circle once again, and when enough birthdays pile up, you start doing the calculus. It's not age that bothers me, it's the aging process. In my mind's eye, I'm still thirty-five, but my mirrored reflection betrays that fantasy. I'm way far from decrepit and am generally in decent shape for a man whose daily walk is from the bedroom to the den. Of course, the doctor tells me to walk around the block, but baby, it's cold outside. My wife will attest that I'm still very boyish and sometimes downright goofy. Here's a dark confession: I still make funny faces at myself in the mirror. Which brings me to expound upon my concerns in the only creative way I know how- in a song.

Did I tell y'all that I was a songwriter? I thought so. If not, check out "Old Dog, New Tricks," by Rufus Thomas on YouTube. See, this journalism business is just my side-hustle. For many years, I attempted songwriting as a profession, but after nine years in Nashville, I burned out. In addition, since there is no more music business, I've been receiving royalty checks for thirty-five cents, or a buck and a quarter every six months. Why even waste the stamp? However, after I quit writing songs, I found it was a hard habit to break, so I still write them- I just don't have anywhere to send them. But then, I realized that if I wrote out my song in the Memphis Flyer, it would be published automatically. The law states that a song is copyrighted as soon as the pencil leaves the paper, or in this case, the keystroke hits the screen, so don't be messing with my latest hit. I call it "Mirrors."

You're the one who got elected/ But not the one selected.
The word "orange" has no rhyme/ But that's the color you'll be wearing when you're doing time. 

 I'm sorry, that's from a different song I've been working on. If you'll indulge me:

                            Mirrors by Randy Haspel

I think my mirror's lying to me/ Where is that boy I used to be?
My beard is now all specked with grey/ And my hair has mostly gone away.
I just don't look the way I should/ But then, my eyesight's not that good.
I just can't seem to get used to myself/ I think I must be someone else.
The image in my mind is from 1993.
I think my mirror's lying to me.

I don't stare anymore/ but just by chance
I can't help but catch a passing glance.
But what I see just isn't me/ Where is that boy I used to be?
So I'm taking down the mirrors/ And here's the reason why.
I just can't stand to see a grown man cry.

I'm thinking of a Salsa or Samba beat, but it's still a work in progress. I promised myself that I wouldn't be one of those old codgers who sit around and complain about what ails them, yet here I am. I've accepted my circumstances, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. My first sign that I needed to take cautionary action was when I nearly slipped in the shower. I caught myself before falling through the curtain, hitting my head on the sink, and Elvising out on the bathroom rug. Melody is the mechanically inclined person in this household, so the next thing I knew, she was assembling one of those orthopedic chairs, all rubber and plastic, like the kind they use in hospitals. I balked at first out of reflexive vanity. Surely, a chair in the shower is a sign of surrender. But after I tried it, I wondered why it's not standard equipment in all showers. It's like sitting under a tropical waterfall and makes you want to linger. And you don't have to bob and weave around a shower head like some slick prizefighter. The chair helped me come to terms with my limitations. Although longevity is on my side, I still can't help but be concerned. I inherited the longevity gene from my mother, but I also inherited my grandmother's neurosis. If there's a genetic predisposition, I'm on course to live a long life miserably. Now get the hell off of my lawn.

Monday, November 12, 2018

The Horror

Remember Brent Kavanaugh? Or was it Bart? Those noxious hearings seem so long ago, I can hardly remember. I seem to recall something about the rollicking activities of Bart and his bros P.J., Squi, and Tobin having a "drink until you puke" contest during Beach Week on a private island somewhere. In-between alcohol fueled episodes of bird-dogging teenage girls, Kavanaugh's Krewe was directly responsible for the banning of beer on the beach because girls kept getting sand in their Schlitz. It seems Burt may have received serious mental impairment from Beach Week because thirty years later, he sat in front of a Senate Sub-Committee and continued to repeat the phrase, "I like beer," as if it were some sort of alcoholic zombie mantra. The all night benders, the shit-faced stupors, along with the alleged molestations, are just the qualities many fine people look for in a Supreme Court Justice. I heard Thurgood Marshall was known to butt-chug some suds while attending keggers at Howard University Law School. I don't know for sure but many people are saying that. He shouldn't worry. I understand that Thurgood Marshall is getting more popular every day. He and Frederick Douglass rented a loft in D.C. where they have "brewski orgies" every weekend. Bruce Kavanaugh is still waiting for an invitation, but he gets so mean when he's schnockered, he frightens the ladies.

Trump got his Preppie, frat-boy, jock "fixer" onto the Supreme Court just in time to quash any pesky subpoenas he might receive to testify before the Special Council. Weren't the tumultuous Kavanaugh hearings supposed to be the major issue for the Republicans in the mid-terms? But, as usual, Trump had to make it all about himself. He told his rabid cultists to "pretend I'm on the ballot," and they did. Either voters believed his racist and maniacal rantings about the "Caravan" filled with ISIS terrorists and horny, "big, strong men" walking from Honduras to your town to have their way with your women and spread exotic diseases, or you believed the truth. Fox News even featured an ex-ICE agent who said the migrants were bringing smallpox, leprosy, and TB, even though Smallpox was eradicated in 1980. According to President Norman Bates, Democrats are evil people who "don't care about crime and want illegal immigrants to pour in and infest" the nation. When Nancy Pelosi objected to the reference of migrants as "animals," Trump responded by stating that she "came out in favor of MS-13." Miraculously, when the election was over, the Caravan vanished from the news, except for Trump's stunt sending five-thousand troops to spend Thanksgiving in West Texas eating turkey and dressing from a MRE pouch.

Trump's post-election press conference was the most graceless, combative, and condescending yet. Words can't compare with the YouTube video you should see for yourself. His singling out of CNN's Jim Acosta as, "A rude, terrible person (who) shouldn't be working for CNN," was only the beginning of the cratering of decency. After the press berating, the unforgivably recused Jeff Sessions only lasted an hour. The angry and paranoid Trump left it to Gen. John Kelly to do the firing. This was expected, but before Trump flew off to France to become an international pariah, he installed his pool boy as Acting Attorney General. His lackey's name is Matt Whitaker, who looks like a bouncer in a biker bar, but was actually a huckster for World Patent Marketing, a fraudulent invention promotion firm that scammed clients out of twenty-six million dollars, including the doomed investments from their marketing outreach program for veterans. The FTC shut the company down in 2017 citing "threats, intimidation, and gag clauses," and froze their assets. Now who doesn't deserve a job in the White House after that? Especially since Whitaker wrote in USA Today that Hillary should be indicted, and appeared on CNN advocating for a limitation to the Mueller probe. It's become obvious that in the lame-duck session, the cornered Trump will do as much damage as possible before the new Congress comes in and demands to see his birth certificate, so expect more Brownshirt rallies.

Cable news pundits assert that Democrats should feel elated for taking back the House, but this election left me disgusted. I'm dismayed that nearly half the country thinks that this sociopath's blatant racism, sexism, and fear of the "other," is alright by them. This was the most vile, repulsive, and racist campaign in my lifetime, and that was just in Tennessee. The former "image consultant," Marsha Blackburn, embraced every Trump atrocity, and then some. Her television ads were a disgrace. Sure, Phil Bredesen stepped on his dick with the whole Kavanaugh business, but I naively believed enough people thought he was a good enough governor to be elected. He wasn't just beaten, he was slaughtered, proving that fearmongering works among the rural folk. Our little corner of Tennessee was a blue canoe in the midst of a redneck sea. Trump has pledged a "war footing" if the Democrats begin investigating his abuses, meaning nothing gets done for the foreseeable future. There hasn't been one calm day since this duck-tailed Colonel Parker clone took office. California is currently experiencing the most deadly fires in its history, on top of the twelve people slaughtered by a twisted gunman with an illegal extended magazine in a college bar in Thousand Oaks. Trump has yet to utter a word. He has, however, announced the winners of this year's Presidential Medal of Freedom awards. Among Trump's picks are right-wing scourge Antonin Scalia, baseball legend Babe Ruth, and home-boy, Elvis Presley. At least he doesn't have to worry if they'll be showing up for the medal ceremony.

Monday, October 15, 2018

Try Me

Y'all know me. Heaven forbid that I would use this valuable space to self-promote, mainly because I haven't had much to promote lately. But I couldn't help but notice in last week's front page story in The Memphis Flyer that there's somewhat of a kerfuffle going on concerning community radio station WEVL. This is a subject that I know a little bit about because I was a volunteer programmer at WEVL for twelve years. I left the station under somewhat less that pleasant circumstances, but it was my fault. I was playing protest and anti-war music from the sixties, and I couldn't help but draw comparisons between the arrogant decision to go to war in Vietnam and the idiotic invasion of Iraq. I was told by both the Board and  management to cease my on-air political commentaries, and I tried. But then came Hurricane Katrina and I went a little nutty. I prepared some "fight the power" music and some measured personal outrage for my first post-Katrina show and did the modern-day equivalent of locking all the doors and playing "Louie, Louie" for two hours. I thought if I had a platform, no matter the size, and failed to use it to express indignation over the complete neglect of hurricane victims in New Orleans, then I'd be a coward. Considering my longevity, I kind of thought the station would have my back, but unfortunately, I caused a couple of members to cease their contributions in protest. I had committed the cardinal sin. My show was cancelled, and I felt obligated to resign. I still continue to support the station, mainly because I have many friends there who do dedicated work that's worth supporting. Other than that, I have no idea what's going on at WEVL since I haven't set foot in the studio for thirteen years. According to the Flyer, the Board of Directors and station management haven't changed much in that time either, so I have an inkling about what the "Friends of WEVL" are trying to accomplish. But that's no longer my concern. I've returned to volunteer radio now and I'd like to tell you about it.

One of Memphis' best kept secrets is the Public Library's radio station, FM 89.3 WYPL (Your Public Library). I had assumed the station was solely for the purpose of reading to the blind, which they do and much more, but I never knew that after dark, WYPL 89.3 lights up. Daily programming consists of volunteer readings for the visually impaired, not just the daily news, but best sellers, popular magazines, and everything else from the Memphis Flyer to the New Yorker. But when the sun goes down, it's party time, utilizing the library's extensive Memphis Music Collection and much more. For your listening enjoyment, here's what's happening. Monday features guitarist and former Gentry's drummer Alan Heidelburg with "Memphis Music Memories," followed by Ron Hall and "The Roaring Sixties." Author of four books about Memphis Music, including "Playing For a Piece of the Door: A History of Garage and Frat Bands, 1960-1975," and the exhaustively researched, "Memphis: The Rock & Roll Years," which documents all the concerts that took place in Memphis from 1955 to 1985, Ron Hall plays music from every local band that ever cut a record in the sixties, such as the Guilloteens or Tommy Burk & the Counts. Tuesdays belong to the legendary Leon Griffin, veteran disc jockey, entrepreneur, former Weatherman on Good Morning Memphis, and producer/director at WHBQ TV for memorable programs like Talent Party, Studio Wrestling, and even the Happy Hal Show. Leon features music from the 70s and 80s in his "Memphis Radio-Active" show. Wednesdays spotlight the "Memphis Gospel Collection" with archivist and engineer Vance Durbin.

Are you ready for self-promotion, because Thursdays are Soul night in Memphis. That means my show, "The Memphis Soul Revue," features music not just from the world-famous local studios, but from artists that traveled with the great Rhythm & Blues package shows that played the Auditorium and the Coliseum. For many years, I've been asked when was I getting back on the radio. I'm back. Rufus Thomas said, "'The Memphis Soul Revue' is the most exciting new show on the air today." If I'm lyin', I'm dyin'. But then so is everyone else. Friday features the Sun Studio Collection with various hosts and Saturday, singer/guitarist and blues aficionado Paulette Regan hosts "Memphis Women's Music," followed by "Playing Around" with Bob Elbrecht, and former WLVS DJ Tim Mullins playing current music from our local artists. On Sunday, the "Reigning Queen of Beale Street," Ms. Barbara Blue, plays the blues on "Shout, Sister Shout."  Former FM 100 and Rock 103 DJ, Mitch McCrackin hosts the "Memphis Music Inner View," where local musicians are interviewed in depth. Musician extraordinaire Jim Spake hosts Memphis legends to discuss and listen to their music. So, just in case you were looking for an alternative to the alternative, how's that line-up fer ya? I've been there for a year now and having more fun than a dunk-tank clown. All the equipment is top-notch and Antonious Smith is the innovative engineer. Station Manager Tommy Warren is ambitious about improvements and additions and the station is streaming on the interstates. It's all financed by the Public Library, so I guess self-promotion's not bad if it's for a good cause.

Funding for both the FM station and WYPL TV Channel 18 comes from the popular twice yearly book sales and support from the Friends of the Library, a non-profit, charitable organization that has existed since 1962. Last year, the group raised $400 thousand from the May and October sales of books, CDs, and DVDs, and through the library's bookstore, Second Editions," which offers gently used books from donors and the library. I just bought "Hitch-22," a memoir by Christopher Hitchens, for three bucks. The Friends give free books to Juvenile Court, the Shelby County Jail, Wounded Warriors and other worthy groups, they fund all adult programs at eighteen different public library locations, they've created an online bookstore through Amazon, and they established the Community Art Academy for kids in conjunction with the University of Memphis. They have volunteers that have been there as long as forty years. If you're like me, I must have driven past the Central Library a thousand times, always intending to stop. It's not just an architectural marvel, there's more going on in there than you can imagine. Plus, they have a wonderful music collection, which brings me back to my self-promotion. Turn off the exhausting news and tune me in on FM 89.3 Thursdays at 7:00pm (c) instead. I mean, where else are you going to hear Bo Diddley and the 5 Royales?

 

Monday, September 17, 2018

The Big One

This is the big one. I know that's what they always say, but this really is the big one. The upcoming elections will determine if we can preserve this nation's noble experiment in democracy or sink further into the man-made chaos spewing from the White House. This is the final chance to put a check on the blatant corruption of Donald Trump because no one in his party dares stand up to him. Nobody confronts his ignorance, his cruelty, his self-absorption, his greed, his serial lying, and his disregard for the rule of law. It's imperative that these elections must flush the remnants of the Tea Party, aka the Freedom Caucus, from the body politic. Trump and his weaponized propaganda machine, Fox News, have poisoned the electorate as surely as the governor of Michigan poisoned the residents of Flint. We've had bad presidents before. James Buchanan sided with slave-owners and was an ardent supporter of the Dred Scott decision. (Google it). Andrew Johnson showed up intoxicated to Lincoln's second inaugural and three months later found his drunk ass in the White House. Then there was George W., the first American president to invade another sovereign country with disastrous repercussions that we're still enduring. But this country has never seen a dangerous lunatic in the Oval Office before. Donald Trump may never have taken a drink, but he's most assuredly drunk on power. Let's put Baby in a corner and see what happens. 

As his approval rating drops like the Hindenburg, the gaseous menace's conduct over the past two weeks has been particularly disturbing. First came his noxious tweet about the revised death toll from Hurricane Maria:

"3000 people did not die in the two hurricanes that hit Puerto Rico...When I left the Island AFTER the storm had hit, they had anywhere from 6 to 18 deaths...Then, a long time later, they started to report really large numbers, like 3000...This was done by the Democrats in order to make me look as bad as possible when I was successfully raising Billions of Dollars (sic) to help rebuild Puerto Rico. If a person died for any reason, like old age, just add them onto the list. Bad politics. I love Puerto Rico!"
There's no need for the Dems to try and make Donnie look bad. He's achieved that all by himself. And there was no Labor Day telethon for Puerto Rico. We have agencies whose job it is to give financial assistance to American citizens effected by natural disasters, so "raising Billions of Dollars" is just another falsehood to pile on Trump's mountain of lies. A study at George Washington University, financed by the government of Puerto Rico, placed the number of deaths related to the storm at 2,975, so at least Trump was correct in stating there weren't 3000. Independent studies by The New York Times, Penn State, and Harvard all estimated deaths in the thousands. After being called "fake news," George Washington University responded: "We stand by the science underlying our study. This study...was carried out with complete independence and freedom from any kind of interference." Yet Trump continues to place blame on San Juan's mayor and the country's fragile infrastructure. Trump claimed it was difficult to get supplies trucked in to hurricane victims because, "This is an island surrounded by water, big water, ocean water." Has he not been informed that we have jumbo cargo jets for that specific purpose? Three thousand dead is the equivalent of Puerto Rico's own 9/11, yet Trump actually said, "I think that Puerto Rico was an incredible unsung success." At long last sir, have you left no sense no decency? Residents in the path of Hurricane Florence were warned by the chief executive that the storm would be "tremendously big and tremendously wet." No shit. The President has congratulated himself in advance for responding to this disaster even while area rainfall has set new records and flooding continues. 

Speaking of rain, by the time you read this, you should have received a text from the new "Presidential Alert System." FEMA, in partnership with the FCC, has devised the Wireless Emergency Alert (WEA) system, which sends direct messages to anyone owning a cell phone. The FEMA homepage divides the alerts into three categories: Extreme weather or "other threatening emergencies; AMBER alerts; and "Presidential alerts during a national emergency." FEMA states, "You can opt-out of receiving WEA messages for imminent threats or AMBER alerts, but not for Presidential messages." On September 20th, at 1:18pm (central), be prepared for your phone to sound a tone and start to vibrate- twice. Your personal text will be headed "Presidential Alert." At any other time in history this might be a good idea, but does anyone doubt that the Infantile Tweeter might use the "Presidential Alert," for his own demented intentions? FEMA officials insist that the system can't be used for political purposes nor track your location. Does it make you feel safer knowing that Donald Trump now has immediate access to every cell phone in the country? We already have warning systems in NOAA weather, the news, and that annoying Emergency Alert System that blasts out every week from television. The FEMA weather alerts include "Tsunami warnings, tornadoes and flash floods, hurricanes, typhoons, dust storms and extreme wind warnings." In good conscience, how can one of our a local weathermen pre-empt Jeopardy! to tell you there's a thunderstorm in Kennett, Missouri if you've already received a cell phone alert?

I've never been much of a conspiracy theorist, but I'll bet my iPhone that as the walls close in, you'll be receiving text messages from Donnie the Liar. And the walls are closing in on a President that historians might well call "The Great Aberration." That's why the upcoming election is The Big One. Certainly the biggest one of my life. Mad King Don's daily assaults on the free press and anyone who has the temerity to disagree with him must end. And the same goes for his cowardly enablers in the bankrupt GOP. The "Witch Hunt" has now snared Paul Manafort, whose plea deal puts Don, Jr., Jared Kushner, Roger Stone, and the President himself in serious legal peril. This "fake Russher," thing has now produced eight convictions plus indictments for twenty-six individuals and three corporations. After Manafort does his Tony Bennett impression, an avalanche of indictments will be forthcoming. One morning, and it won't be long, we'll all awaken to hear Robert Mueller speak for the first time. Pandora's Box is fixing to open, and when it does, all the fraud, the money laundering through Trump properties, the Russian Mafia connections, influence peddling, graft, tax evasion, and whatever Putin has on Trump will come pouring out, and when that happens, it will be "tremendously big and tremendously wet."

Monday, August 20, 2018

George Klein's Memphis

One of my favorite shows on local television is "Memphis Sounds with George Klein" on the Library Station, WYPL Channel 18. The "Geeker (pronounced jeeker) in Your Speaker" does pretty much what he always has, interviewing artists and musicians, both famous and non-famous, that figure into this thing we call Memphis Music. The only problem is that for the last several weeks, George has taken a leave of absence because of health reasons. His substitutes, Leon Griffin, Dave Brown, and William Bell, have all been great, but nobody does it like GK. Now in its twelfth year, George has interviewed everyone from Isaac Hayes to Justin Timberlake, along with scores of local musicians, while treating disc jockeys from small stations with the same respect reserved for the superstars that show up when George calls. His encyclopedic knowledge of rock n' roll and radio give Klein decades of anecdotes to call upon, from being part of the original "Memphis Mafia," to the list of musical giants who Klein has promoted over the years. Always entertaining, "Memphis Sounds" is dedicated to the promotion and preservation of Memphis Music, something that Klein has been squarely in the middle of for his entire professional life.

George Klein has been a fixture in Memphis radio and television since he was an assistant to Dewey Phillips on WHBQ back in the fifties. Dewey may have been the first disc jockey to play an Elvis record, but George was the second. Beginning his radio career in Osceola, Arkansas, like most disc jockeys, George worked several small stations before landing a job in Memphis at powerhouse WMC, who wanted to experiment with this new rock n' roll thing. After a year or so, the stations' management informed George they believed that this rock n' roll stuff was just a passing fad and let him go. Fortunately, George's Humes High School classmate, Elvis, hired him on the spot, beginning with a whirlwind year of traveling with The King and culminating with a bit part in Jailhouse Rock and subsequently seven other Elvis movies. The friendship between Klein and Presley has become legendary, from George's book, "Elvis: My Best Man," to his radio program, "George Klein's Original Elvis Hour," now in its thirty-fourth year. His syndicated, "The GK Show," on Sirius XM, broadcast from Graceland, is in its tenth year. Priscilla Presley even asked George to accept the award for Elvis' induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. But this is not about what George did for Elvis, it's what GK has done for the city of Memphis.

I first became aware of George when he was the afternoon disc jockey on WHBQ. Back then, he was a rhyming DJ who spoke "hep talk." He could go on a five minute rhyming patter without missing a beat. In a way, GK might have been the first rapper. George enjoys the story of how we met when I was thirteen. Hitchhiking was forbidden in my family- so, I was standing on the corner with my thumb out when a shiny Cadillac pulled over. Of course, it was George. He encouraged me when I told him I had started a little band, and when he found out I was heading for Poplar Tunes downtown, he drove me the entire way and dropped me off at the front door. That's the kind of guy George is- generous to a fault. In 1964, GK's radio popularity led to hosting a weekly television show called Talent Party. He brought in the finest artists around to lip-sync their latest hits, but most importantly, GK hosted every ambitious, young garage band in town. If they didn't have a recording, George sent them to Roland Janes at Sonic Recording to cut songs which they could then perform on Talent Party. Being the beneficiary of several of GK's invitations, I can testify that every time we appeared on Talent Party the bookings flooded in. In essence, GK was responsible for the whole sixties garage band scene which ultimately produced some of Memphis' most notable entertainers. Scores of local musicians owe their start to George's generosity. Klein also arranged for the first African-American to perform live on local TV. Fats Domino not only sang live, he recorded several songs to be broadcast in future shows. After George booked Fats, it was no problem for him to get James Brown, Jackie Wilson, and Sam Cooke. Talent Party was on every Saturday afternoon for twelve years.

I recently spoke with artist manager and music entrepreneur Jerry Williams, George's friend of nearly seventy years, who is the producer of "Memphis Sounds." Jerry said the annual George Klein Christmas Charity Show was the longest running charity in Memphis. The first one was held in a wrestling ring at the Mid-South Coliseum. While the grapplers took a breather, GK featured Charlie Rich, The Bill Black Combo, and Ace Cannon. The next year, the show was moved to the National Guard Armory and then to the Fairgrounds to accommodate the crowds. Major artists donated their talents. Jerry Lee Lewis performed every time George called, as well as local bands like Flash and the Board of Directors, who George championed. Donated items were auctioned  with a professional auctioneer, who flew to Memphis at his own expense. In fact, everyone worked for free- the bands, the promoters, the building owners, and the concessionaires. One hundred percent of the profits went to local charities. After each show, the promoters put a little money away into what they called a "Rainy Day Fund," so that in years when the crowd was smaller due to ice or snow, the same amount of charitable donations could be made. After forty-two years and hundreds of thousands of dollars raised, the yearly gala ended, but the "Rainy Day Fund" produced enough revenue to establish the George Klein Broadcasting Scholarship at the University of Memphis. Williams said that he knows of no other person who has dedicated his life to the betterment of this city than Klein. Now it's time to say thank you. Thank you George, for convincing Elvis that recording at American Studios was a good idea. Thank you George, for naming the Guilloteens. Thank you George, for the nights at Fridays or Alfred's where you spun records and donated the proceeds. Thank you George, for being the first to play Johnny Cash on the radio. Thank you George, for introducing the Beatles at their Memphis show. Thank you George, for hosting the Memphis Mafia program during Elvis Week every year from 1978 to 2017 and donating the funds to the U of M. Thank you George, for all the years of entertainment. And thank you George, for a lifetime of selflessly promoting the great music and artists that come from your home town. We love ya' madly.

Monday, July 23, 2018

Dear Congressman Cohen

Dear Congressman Cohen,

The Democrats are practically salivating over their chances to retake the House and possibly the Senate in November, especially since the treasonous antics of this aberration of a President in Finland with his handler, Vlad the Impaler. However, there are still some major obstacles. I believe that among the reasons that so many people sat out the last election rather than vote for Hillary was their reluctance to return Bill Clinton to the White House. Similarly, I sense that the same voters who mistrusted the Clintons, do not want to see the Speaker's gavel returned to Nancy Pelosi. You know me, Congressman. I have no special insights or inside sources to assist me in formulating an opinion. I'm like a Will Rogers for the electronic age. All I know is what I see, hear, and read from multi-platforms and trusted sources, so when I say the Democrats have problems, that's just my perception of things, backed up with a generous knowledge of history and politics. I believe that this will be a generational election, much like 1960 when the torch was passed to JFK. When the torch was passed to our generation, we unfortunately passed it back. Now is the season to rectify old mistakes. Former DNC Chairman Howard Dean said, "Nancy (Pelosi) is probably the greatest speaker since Tip O'Neill," but in the next breath said it was, "time for (his) generation to get the hell out of the way." Ms. Pelosi has been in the party's top spot for fifteen years. That's five years longer than Tip O'Neill. She has been a familiar face since she was elected to Congress in 1987, representing most of San Francisco. That was the same year Michael Jackson released "Bad," and the number one movie was "Dirty Dancing." As effective a leader as I believe Ms. Pelosi has been, I fear she has stayed too long at the ball.

We both know that a great deal of politics is perception. For instance, the Republicans are perceived as the Neo-Know Nothing Party, thoroughly corrupted and devoid of any social conscience, while the Democrats are perceived as either whimpering simps or simpering wimps, who have allowed the word "liberal" to become a filthy epithet, and have no true compass for the future of the nation. We also know that the Democrats could fuck up a mayonnaise sandwich, and are entirely capable of doing it again. People are clamoring for fresh voices and new leadership, but I only hear crickets from the Dems. Currently, the ages of the House Democratic leadership are respectively: Ms. Pelosi-78, Party Whip Steny Hoyer-79, and Assistant Minority Leader Jim Clyburn-78. I'm not sure if these are politicians or the cast of "Cocoon." During a brief discussion, you told me that Nancy Pelosi accomplished more in a day than others did in a month and that she had the energy of others "half her age." Therein lies the problem. Representatives half her age should already be rising into positions of influence in the party. At least twenty current Democratic candidates have said they will not vote for Ms. Pelosi as Speaker, causing the party leadership elections to be postponed until Thanksgiving. Matt Fuller of the "Huffington Post" wrote, "Pelosi was able to save face, delaying the elections herself instead of actually letting the group force her into moving the date."

Speaking of perception, it's not all about age. We know Nancy Pelosi as the first female Speaker in history, a champion of women's rights, and perhaps the greatest fundraiser in party history. She also Blocked George Bush's plan to privatize Social Security and helped shepherd Obamacare through Congress when others had given up. Conversely, after the Bush regime misled the American people about Weapons of Mass Destruction and took the country into an unnecessary war, Pelosi said impeachment was "off the table." Concerning Trump, Ms. Pelosi said that impeachment would be "a gift to the Republicans," that could alienate voters. She concluded, "this is not the path (the Party) should go on." She has advocated not poking the bear. Don't talk about impeachment? I want that lying, ill-tempered, conniving, money-laundering, puffed-up Putin's punk not just impeached but arrested and jailed. Our Democracy is burning. If there were ever a time to discuss impeachment, it's now. I don't care if it motivates the Trump cultists, the Democrats' job is to turn out more voters than they do. The Republicans are actively involved in their favorite activity; suppressing the vote. Of course, the right-wing perception of Nancy Pelosi is a "Demon, blood-sucking San Fransisco liberal," who wants to raise your taxes and give it all to MS-13 gang members and abortion clinics. The GOP spent sixty-five million dollars on anti-Pelosi ads in 2010 and are gearing up to spend even more this outing. The Trumpsters need an enemy and now that Hillary's gone, Nancy Pelosi is the best they have. Republican ad men believe "her face on the screen stokes fear and anger." Retiring abject failure Paul Ryan claimed, "The Democratic candidates are tied to Nancy Pelosi and her toxic liberal agenda, no matter what they say."

We know that Chuck Schumer has been called "The Senator From Wall Street," but that's not your purview. Trump is fond of labeling the Democratic leadership  "Chuck n' Nancy," more in derision than anything else. But if "Chuck n' Nancy" were a Broadway show, it would have been cancelled on November 9th, 2016. Since Nancy Pelosi took the gavel in 2007, Democrats have lost thirty-nine House seats, yet she still claims impeachment is a "distraction."  Former CIA Chief John Brennan tweeted, "Donald Trump's press conference performance in Helsinki rises to & exceeds the threshold of 'high crimes and misdemeanors.' It was nothing short of treasonous." The "Need to Impeach" campaign of billionaire Tom Steyer has accumulated over 5.4 signatures, sixty percent of which are "registered voters who don't vote." Steyer said, "We believe fighting against a reckless and lawless president is not something that will turn off voters. I have immense respect for Nancy Pelosi..I love her, but I disagree with her on this." One Representative has said, "The time has come to make clear to the American people and to this president that his train of injuries to our Constitution must be brought to an end through impeachment," That was you Congressman Cohen, and I respect and admire you for your courageous stance. It is imperative that the Democrats succeed in washing the poisonous Tea Party, aka the "Freedom Caucus," from the body politic in November. There are excellent chances this may happen but not while Pelosi's amped-up, hysterical backbiters blame her for everything from the wildfires in California to trapping a Thai soccer team in an underwater cave. No one should have to tell Ms. Pelosi that she is an impediment to the chances of a Democratic victory. She could gracefully withdraw her nomination for Speaker before the fall election and drive the rabid opposition insane. We should honor Nancy Pelosi's long and brilliant service as party leader, but as Near-President Al Gore once famously said, "It's time for them to go."  

Respectfully, your loyal constituent of TN District 9,

Randy Haspel












 



Monday, June 18, 2018

The Steve Miller Ban

What would you call a nation that separates children from their immigrant parents and warehouses them in abandoned Big Box stores behind chain-linked fences? What do you call a regime that institutes a "zero tolerance" policy for immigrant families fleeing violence, political upheaval and poverty in their own countries?" What does it say about the law when the Attorney General has the pomposity to quote Scripture to justify the administration's gestapo tactics while grinning at the camera? And what do you say about a nation's leader that demands that all followers of a global religion be banned from entering the country? It used to be verboten for any responsible journalist to compare our democratic republic with the Nazis. How do you avoid the comparison when two Texas Public Defenders testify that some parents were told by Border Agents that their children were being taken "to bathe," and never returned? Reporters have told of nursing babies taken from their mothers; the screams of parents following the realization that their children were gone; and the tears of refugees who presented themselves at proper border crossings seeking asylum but instead were hustled off into criminal custody. I saw a documentary about children torn from their parents' arms once, only it took place in 1939 and I had to read the subtitles because it was in German. This is no longer the home of the brave and the land of the free. It's the home of the intolerant and the land of the incarcerated. I don't know about you, but I want my country back.

Always looking to deflect his assholism on to someone else, Trump tweeted in his own ungrammatical way, "Democrats can fix their forced family breakup at the Border by working with Republicans on new legislation, for a change." He's lying. No law requires this. During the influx of mothers and children from Central America in 2014, the Obama administration attempted to detain families with Immigration and Customs Enforcement until their cases could be adjudicated, which was administrative rather than criminal detention. Even then, a federal judge ordered a stay for confined asylum seekers and ruled that families could be held in detention for only a short period of time- usually twenty days. And children were not taken from their parents. In Trump's America, immigrants are taken into federal criminal custody, thus transforming their children into unaccompanied minors who are then whisked away to one of two hundred immigrant detention centers dotted all over the fruited plane. Chief of Staff John Kelly claimed that children and their parents would be separated, "In order to deter more movement along this terribly dangerous network. The children will be taken care of- put into foster care or whatever." Currently, the government has opened a "tent city" near El Paso to house three hundred sixty minors in one hundred degree heat, with plans to construct numerous such "cities" across Texas. They are also actively looking at military bases to house immigrant children. Even conservative pastor Franklin Graham said it was "disgraceful."

It only figures that a corrupted corporatocracy like the United States would eventually cough up a hairball like Donald Trump, but you'd have to look far and wide to find a Jewish Nazi like Stephen Miller. A far-right icon, Miller is a Senior Advisor to the President at the age of thirty-two. Born into a liberal Jewish family in Santa Monica, California, Miller is a descendant of ancestors who fled the pogroms of what is now Belarus. His conversion to conservatism took place after reading "Guns, Crime, and Freedom," a screed against progressive ideas and criminal justice reform written by National Rifle Association CEO Wayne LaPierre. At Duke University, quasi-nazi and white nationalist Richard Spencer claimed he mentored Miller, although Miller disavows ever knowing Spencer. Miller's first D.C. gig came as spokesman for Minnesota's moron Congresswoman Michele Bachmann, who said in 2014 that American Jews, "Sold out Israel," by voting for Obama, and apologized in Jerusalem only last week for her calls for converting "as many Jews as we can," because "Jesus is coming soon." In 2009, Miller became advisor and communications director for then Senator Jeff Sessions. In an interview with Breitbart News, Sessions praised the National Origins Act of 1924 which restricted immigration from Eastern Europe, saying, "It was good for America." The irony was lost on Miller.

Miller piggy-backed Sessions into the White House where his white nationalist views meshed perfectly with the new administration. After cozying up to the incendiary Steve Bannon, Miller invited the writers and editors of Breitbart News to the White House to discuss immigration. He played an integral part in Trump's illegal travel ban and was a crusader for restricting refugee resettlement and immigration from Muslim countries. He even wrote Trump's "American Carnage" Inaugural speech. His initial appearance on national news was notable for the comment, "The powers of the President to protect our country are very substantial and will not be questioned." A recent New York Times article said, "Mr. Miller was instrumental in Mr. Trump's decision to ratchet up the zero tolerance policy." Senator Lindsey Graham opined, "As long as Stephen Miller is in charge of negotiating immigration, we are going nowhere." I don't know the conditions that create a self-loathing Jew. If Miller was oblivious to the darkest chapter of the twentieth century, you'd have thought he'd at least seen Shindler's List. The Times reports that over the last six weeks, an estimated two-thousand children have been separated from their families. One immigrant from Honduras killed himself in custody after being separated from his wife and child. With Josef Goebbels wannabes like Stephen Miller advising the president, the time has come to decide whether the United States will retain its status as a beacon of liberty to the world or become just another "shithole country."

Monday, May 21, 2018

King Don the Last

There's this classic Soul song that you should hear called "Everybody Plays the Fool," by The Main Ingredient. You could YouTube it, or find it wherever you steal your music. The chorus goes, "Everybody plays the fool/ There's no exception to the rule/ It may be factual, it may be cruel/ But everybody plays the fool." I'll be the first to own up to it. As a younger man, I've been stood up, shot down, duped, used, and abused. I have been made a fool of, and have made a fool of myself more than once. Often, the most difficult part of being misled is admitting it to yourself. I think of myself as a reasonably smart fellow, so how could I allow myself to be so deceived? Coming to terms with my willful blindness meant admitting that I wasn't as smart as I thought I was. Anyone is capable of being hoodwinked if they truly want to believe in what you're selling. What's hard is confessing that you were had. It was a tough life lesson to absorb, but after awhile, I emerged a more cautious and wiser person. So, when are the Trump fanatics going to give it up? How long will it take before it dawns on the MAGA minions that they've been conned by a pro? As of this writing, Trump's approval ratings are at an all-time high. This means the educationally challenged are digging in, abetted by Fox News, Info-Wars, Breitbart, talk radio, and the oxymoronically named "Freedom Caucus," Trump's right-wing commandos in the House of Representatives. They are constantly spoon-fed an alternate reality where the "Deep State" and embittered Democrats are out to destroy the Trump presidency. In Trump World, he's as innocent as Santa Claus. They ask, in all sincerity, "tell me exactly what he has done wrong?" You've probably seen it in your Facebook feed too.

There is no convincing the "true believer" that their convictions are flawed. They must reach that conclusion alone. When attacked, they search for villains to blame and they give them names like Comey, Mueller, McCabe, Rosenstein, Clinton, and Obama- four of whom are Republicans. The revelation that the FBI had an informant embedded in his campaign has driven the President insane. During a tsunami of tweets, Trump wrote, "I hereby demand, and will do so officially tomorrow, that the Department of Justice look into whether or not the FBI/DOJ infiltrated or surveilled the Trump Campaign for Political Purposes (sic)- and if any such demands or requests were made by people within the Obama Administration!" The "king" hereby demands- who does he think he is, Vladimir Putin? Trump is commanding the Justice Department to investigate itself. It's no mystery. Foreign policy "advisors" George Papadopoulos and Carter Page were caught up in routine foreign wiretaps discussing the Trump campaign with Russian sympathizers. It would be negligent if the FBI did not place an informant in the campaign. Both men have pleaded guilty- Papadopoulis for lying to the FBI, and Page for "conspiracy against the United States." Both are co-operating with the Mueller investigation and are awaiting sentencing. And this is the low-hanging fruit. Both the GOP led House of Representatives' investigation and Trump's personal porch ghoul, Rudy Giuliani, have declared the Trump campaign to be completely blameless. Nothing has been proven, they say, so the Mueller probe should be shut down immediately.

In one year, the Mueller team has indicted nineteen people, including thirteen Russian nationals and three Russian companies, and obtained five guilty pleas. Former campaign manager Paul Manafort, in a twelve-count indictment, is charged with, "conspiracy against the United States," being an unregistered foreign agent, and making false statements. New charges were brought in February claiming Manafort laundered over thirty million dollars, failed to pay taxes for a decade, and used real estate holdings to fraudulently obtain twenty million dollars in loans. That's why Manafort is wearing two ankle bracelets while he awaits trial on charges that, if proven guilty, could land him in prison for three hundred years. Manafort's deputy, Rick Gates, has pleaded guilty and is co-operating with the Mueller investigation. Former National Security Advisor, Michael Flynn, plead guilty to charges of lying to the FBI about his discussions with Russian contacts over removing Obama era sanctions for annexing the Crimea. The overzealous Nixon lover, Roger Stone, said he is "prepared to be indicted" over his communications with Russian hackers and WikiLeaks founder, Julian Assange. If this is the "witch hunt" that Trump claims, the brooms are beginning to stack up in the corridors of justice.

We had yet to mention the Trump Tower meeting between Don, Jr., Jared Kushner, and a cauldron of Russians, when new information emerged about a heretofore unknown gathering in the Tower between Don the Lesser and emissaries from the United Arab Emirates and Saudi Arabia looking to help Daddy. Trump tweeted, "The Witch Hunt finds no Collusion (sic) with Russia- so now they're looking at the rest of the World. Oh' great." Too bad they didn't teach grammar and punctuation at the Wharton School. Every time Trump sends out a tweet, somewhere an English teacher has a cardiac infarction. Trump's personal attorney, Michael Cohen, said he would take a bullet for the President. He might have to. There's not room in a single article to discuss Stormy Daniels, the China bribery, obstruction of justice, personal enrichment, cronyism, nepotism, bank fraud, cover-ups, bribery, extortion, and abuse of power. Next up is a defamation lawsuit filed by former "Apprentice" contestant and alleged victim of sexual abuse, Summer Zervos. Trump said Zervos "made up" a "hoax" to aid Hillary Clinton. Several of the other sixteen sexual harassment accusers have said they are willing to be deposed. Most concerning, Zervos' attorney has subpoenaed recordings from "The Apprentice" that show Trump speaking of women "in any sexual or inappropriate manner." I think I just heard that other shoe hit the deck. If all this causes you to despair, consider the words of porn-star attorney and Trump antagonist, Michael Avenatti, who stated, "Mr. Trump will not serve out his term. No way. No How. He will be forced to ultimately resign." Thanks Obama.

Monday, April 23, 2018

Show Biz Confessions

Several months ago, The Memphis Flyer featured a cover story about local musicians recounting their "Worst Gigs Ever." I wish somebody would have asked me. I have so many horror stories, they have to be categorized by decade. I've been in other bands and played as an acoustic soloist, but most of my performing career has been with the Radiants, a "rock n' soul" group that lasted from my teen years in the sixties until our final show two years ago at Lafayette's. In a 2011 Flyer issue, I wrote about being punched out by the bouncers at Club Clearpool, only to be vindicated by Sputnik Monroe. You could look that one up if you're curious, but first let me tell you about a gig that still gives me the creeps. I was in a band out of Knoxville called Rich Mountain Tower. We had a production deal and were on a mini-tour opening for Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons. Our bass player, we'll call him Todd, was going through some serious psychological problems resulting from an LSD-fried brain. He had that thousand yard stare without ever going to war. When we played Charleston, West Virginia, Todd paused and spoke to the audience. Backstage, I asked what he had said and he told me that he "asked the audience's forgiveness for being a coward all my life." The next night's gig was at the Mid-South Coliseum in Memphis. We set up shop at the old Downtowner Motel, across from the Peabody, where we returned after the concert. I was chatting with friends when I heard shouting and screams for help coming from the next room. I ran next-door to witness Todd, standing on the edge of an open window on the fifteenth floor, with our guitarist sitting opposite on the window sill, bear-hugging Todd's mid-section to prevent him from jumping. We succeeded in pulling Todd back into the room, but he was on a bus at the crack of dawn, leaving for his home-town and psychiatric help.

I had been playing at various joints around Knoxville when an agent booked me and my singing partner, Bob Simon, for a show in Middlesboro, Kentucky at an Elk's Club gathering. Or it could have been the Lions Club, I forget. I was dressed in my hippie finery- bell bottoms, flowered shirt, boots, peace sign, and long hair- while we waited in the kitchen for their program to end. Bob looked  at the crowd of rural, middle-aged men in coats and ties and refused to go out there. I was in the middle of berating him when we were introduced. He agreed to come out, only after I had sung the first song. When I entered with my guitar, the room exploded with laughter. I don't mean snickers or giggles, these were howls and belly laughs at my appearance. I stood in front of the microphone, but the laughter went on and on. As I looked out at the rowdy crowd, waiting for their derision to subside, I felt like Edwin Booth taking the stage just months after his brother had killed Lincoln. I sang one, introduced Bob, and the room erupted again. Bob's face turned beet red. We changed our entire set and sang one country song after the next until they finally gave us some begrudging applause. We cursed our agent all the way back to Knoxville and learned the benefits of knowing your audience in advance.

Many years ago, there was a motorbike dirt track, out near Lakeland on I-40. They occasionally staged races and competitions or whatever the hell dirt-bikers do, and I was booked to play an outdoor concert with a crack, four-piece band cleverly named The Hired Hands. We assumed that we would play in a break in the action or after the race. I never imagined they wanted us to play while the race was taking place. We'd start a song and every thirty seconds the whine of a dirt bike would drown us out. It was not only a ridiculous situation, the bikes were kicking up so much dust that I was literally eating dirt while trying to sing. We were coughing and sneezing on our flatbed truck, parked hard against the track while the motorcycles whizzed by, covering the sky in particles of soot. While wiping my tears when the gig was mercifully over, the track's owner gave me a check. It bounced. The owner assured me the account was solvent and wrote me a second check. It also bounced. When I drove out to the track, it had closed. It was the only time, in a lifetime of performing, that anyone ever stiffed me with a bad check.

The Radiants were playing a gig at an after-hours nightclub in North Little Rock  called The Apartment Club. It was a seedy place filled with drunks with nowhere else to go. A scuffle broke out in the crowd and the band went on break. I've seen a lot of fistfights. I've seen brawls roil from one side of the room to the other while the band continued to play, but this felt different, maybe more menacing considering the clientele. I was standing outside with the bass player when the front doors flew open and a gangly, drunken redneck tumbled onto the ground followed by two huge bouncers. The drunk staggered to his feet, lunged at the bouncers and threw a punch. Suddenly, a handgun appeared and we dove for cover. While one bouncer held the gun in the air, the other pulled out a blackjack and started pounding this guy in the head shouting, "You done fucked up now Bobby Gene." The intoxicated Bobby Gene refused to go down and received a Rodney King-like beating until he finally succumbed to the blows to his head and slumped to the sidewalk. He laid there bleeding for a while but made it back to his feet. He stumbled towards a pickup truck, but for good measure, received one last sweeping kick to his ribs that dropped him to the gravel. The band had to regroup while the crowd was visibly shaken by the episode. Things seemed to be calming down a bit when someone ran in screaming, "Bobby Gene's back with a shotgun." Everyone froze. We were instructed to continue playing while somewhere in the parking-lot, an armed Bobby Gene was fighting with the police. He lost, but all we heard was "Keep playing boys, that's what we pay you for."

I could tell you more- a lot more- because I sometimes wonder if all those awful gigs I endured were worth it just for the anecdotes. Show Biz ain't for sissies, folks. If you're unable to tolerate a constant barrage of bullshit and humiliation, there's probably too many singing guitar players out there anyway.
 

Monday, March 26, 2018

Forward March

Before what Life Magazine called, "the largest expression of public dissent ever seen in this country," President Richard Nixon said, "As far as this activity is concerned, we expect it, but under no circumstances will I be affected whatever by it." The delusional traitor Nixon had previously referred to anti-war protesters as "bums," but half a million people were about to descend on Nixon's front yard in a massive march called "The Moratorium to End the War in Vietnam." On November 15, 1969, hundreds of thousands of anti-war protesters began marching down Pennsylvania Avenue to the Washington Monument. The morning was damn cold. I know because I was there. We listened to speeches by Senator George McGovern and Dr. Benjamin Spock and joined in with Pete Seeger singing John Lennon's tune, "All we are saying is give peace a chance." Nixon spent the day secluded in the White House watching college football but his venal Vice President, Spiro "Ted" Agnew, called the protesters "an effete corps of impudent snobs." The work of several anti-war organizations, plus two hundred-fifty student government officers and student newspaper editors were necessary to draw the massive number of people to Washington. What these young adults from Parkland High School managed to put together last week was nothing short of miraculous.

We are in the midst of an historic moment "and a little child shall lead them." These committed students from Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School are an inspiration, and if you're too old, or too cynical, or too oblivious to grasp the significance of the "March For Our Lives" against gun violence, you fall in the same category as the cadre of dead-enders that sat on their couches and cheered on the Vietnam War- on the wrong side of history. These survivors of the school shooting in Parkland, Florida, were poised and eloquent beyond their years. There were a few celebrities in attendance, but the march and the program were organized by the students who witnessed this horror. Their impassioned and heartbreaking testimonies brought on more than a few tears in our house. When Jennifer Hudson, who lost her mother, brother, and nephew to gun violence, sang "The Times They Are a-Changin'," that did it for me. That brought me full circle. Back when I heard Bob Dylan sing it, I didn't have to go through half a box of Kleenex. 

These high school kids have started a wave of indignation about this country's gun violence that appears unstoppable. I don't know what the popular term is for this generation, whether its Millennials or Gen Z, or whatever the hell it is, but they are about to affect some real change. Politicians purchased by the NRA have been put on notice by this generation, larger than the Baby-Boomers, and they will vote. The National Rifle Association's venomous response was predictable: "Gun-hating billionaires and Hollywood elites are manipulating and exploiting children," while referring to the event as the "March for Their Lies."  Videos of their well-paid lackeys Dana Loesh and Wayne LaPierre, contempt and vitriol dripping from their lips, were regrettably televised. Hatemongers called them "crisis actors." The students were not intimidated. Gun laws will change the moment politicians realize they must face their voting-age children's scorn. Enormous marches were held in hundreds of cities in solidarity with the students from Parkland, including Memphis.

If I were a football game, I'd be in the fourth quarter. I haven't hit the two minute warning yet, but I can see it out there on the horizon. I figured I had one more march left in me, so (wife) Melody and I headed downtown. We gathered at the Clayborn Temple and marched the short distance to the Civil Rights Museum. I'm not good at estimates so I'll just say the crowd was enormous. Young students gave testimonies about their first-hand experiences with gun violence that were both emotional and wrenchingly personal, since Memphis is no stranger to firearm violence. The encouraging takeaway was the determination of these young people to affect change. I did notice a whole lot of gray hair in the crowd and was pleased and proud that everyone's knees still worked. Old hippies never die, they just march on. The Memphis march was great. What was hard was the walk back, trying to find where we parked the car. We marched about four blocks longer than we had to. My calves are sore and my back hurts, but I'm happy we attended. As for policy, I agree that the Assault Weapons Ban should be reinstated. The opposing argument is there would still be millions in circulation. Maybe so, but there wouldn't be any new ones for sale so some vengeful teenager with a chip on his shoulder could legally buy and shoot up his school. If you believe that the Second Amendment entitles you to own a battlefield weapon, where does the right to your firepower end? Grenade launchers? Mortar cannons? Nobody's coming for your guns. Keep your handguns and your long-guns. Go have fun at the range and protect your home. Just spare the life of my child.

Sunday, February 25, 2018

NRA'int

For most of my adult life I have been a staunch and passionate supporter of the 3rd Amendment. If I'm a single issue voter, I'm a 3rd Amendment guy. No matter what else congress or the courts say, I refuse to allow anyone or anything to trample upon my 3rd Amendment rights. So, the next time the government tries to force me to quarter a soldier in my home during peacetime, they can pry the front door keys from my cold, dead hands. The feds don't provide rent or board, nor bath supplies, or uniform cleaning services, not to mention how those troops scruff up your rugs with their boots and cigarettes. I don't care what the dad-blamed gub'ment says, I ain't quartering no damn soldiers in my house. I am protected by the 3rd Amendment to the U.S. Constitution, which states, "No soldier shall, in time of peace be quartered in any house, without the consent of the Owner (sic), nor in time of war, but in a manner to be prescribed by law." My mother used to invite a couple of sailors from Millington over for Passover every few years, but that was a far cry from quartering. In fact, after my mother's Passover meal, the sailors probably would have preferred to have been quartered, at least for the night. And due to the density of the matzo balls, when they awoke the next day, they may have felt like being drawn and quartered.

If this all sounds ridiculous, it is. The Supreme Court has never decided a case on the basis of the 3rd Amendment. Since Congress passed the amendment in 1789, constitutional scholars and politicians alike have conceded that the law is too antiquated to be applicable today. For a bit of history, however, we have to crack open our American History textbooks to Chapter One and check out the French and Indian War of 1754. When the Brits, with the help of their colonial musketeers, finally kicked out the French in 1760, they decided they needed to stick around for awhile to police the new territories. Americans chafed at having to billet the Redcoats. They preferred local militias for their protection rather than professional soldiers. To further incite the colonists, the British Parliament passed the Quartering Act of 1765, which not only required the settlers to provide housing, but also "provisions, firewood, bedding, and beer." The resulting rebellion against the presence of British troops and the high taxes imposed by the Crown to pay for the war, culminated in the Boston Massacre of 1770 and led to the American Revolution. Before the Bill of Rights was ever written, the state of Virginia passed their own Declaration of Rights in 1776, declaring, "That a well-regulated militia, composed of the body of the people, trained to arms, is the proper, natural, and safe defense of a free state." The Founding Fathers trimmed it down for the 2nd Amendment, passed in 1789, which said, "A Well-regulated militia, being necessary to the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms, shall not be infringed."

Do you see what's happening here? The 2nd Amendment is merely a watered down version of the Virginia Declaration which dealt with the regulation of militias and never once mentioned a Constitutional protection for firearms. The colonists believed that full-time, payed soldiers were only necessary to fight foreign enemies. For other emergencies, a militia of ordinary citizens who supplied their own weapons and received part-time training, could be depended upon. Even then, there were laws for the registration of civilian-owned guns deemed appropriate for the militia, sometimes with inspectors going door-to-door. Because of the fear of standing armies living among them, there were even certain laws requiring firearm ownership. The kicker is that the antiquated and forgotten 3rd Amendment was passed by Congress, and then ratified by the states, on the exact same two dates as the 2nd Amendment. So, if we're to apply the same logic to the 2nd Amendment that the founders used for the 3rd, everyone is required to purchase a musket, which must be properly cleaned and registered with the Federal Government. The owners of same weapon must periodically assemble for inspection and military training. In time of war, the government has the power to press them into service and regulate the militias. I didn't say that- the Constitutional Convention did.
  
So the entire NRA argument about the absolute American right to own any type of firearm is bullshit. The gun cultists conveniently forget the "well-regulated militia" part, ignore the context of the times, and revere the "shall not be infringed" phrase. Even with all the Founders' brilliance, none could have envisioned modern military-style weapons or allowed them to fall into the hands of the untrained and unregulated. Since the most recent slaughter in Parkland, Florida, a new consciousness has arisen. Young people are rightly appalled at the ease that any social misfit can acquire a killing machine. After each mass shooting, gun sales go up, weapons manufacturers' profits rise, shareholders reap financial rewards, and the NRA is handsomely funded by the all-American gun cartels. It's really not about the 2nd Amendment at all. It's about profit margin. The NRA is now merely a lobbying group for American arms dealers. The "most popular rifle in America," according to the NRA, is the Colt AR-15, with over eight million sold. This semi-automatic rifle, and other brands similarly designed, were prohibited by the Assault Weapons Ban of 1994, along with large capacity magazines. Since the ban was allowed to expire in 2004, mass shootings have spiked. Of the most recent stomach-churning massacres: twenty-six babies at Sandy Hook; fourteen murdered at an office Christmas party in San Bernardino; forty-nine killed at the Pulse Nightclub in Orlando, fifty-eight slaughtered at a Las Vegas music festival; twenty-six gunned down in a church in Sutherland, Texas; and now, seventeen children murdered in their school, they all share something in common. Each heartless killer used an AR-15 styled rifle as the weapon of choice. Yet the NRA rolls out the same tired defenses to protect gun makers and their profits. The 2nd Amendment is as primitive as the 3rd when it comes to guns, but this is the year the NRA may finally have met their match. Who could have believed it would arrive in the form of a children's crusade? Go ahead and keep your long gun or handgun. But if nothing is done to re-instate the Assault Weapons Ban, you're children are coming to bust up the NRA and send their paid congressional lackeys packing.

Monday, January 29, 2018

McMeditation

In these trying times, when half the nation seems to have gone insane, everyone not in a coma seems to be searching for a way to relax. Some choose vigorous exercise which can end in pain and regret. Others might enjoy listening to soothing music, if any exists, or keeping a journal, which is like seeing a shrink without the appointment, bill or condescension. So rather than elevate my blood pressure by discussing the idiots and assholes that populate our current administration, I thought I might offer a balm for the troubled mind and discuss my experience with meditation. All I knew about the subject was that the Beatles had become interested in Transcendental Meditation (registered copyright, but since I don't have that symbol on my keyboard, I'll use an asterisk), or TM*,  from the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi in 1967. The Maharishi, know at the time as the "giggling guru" for his numerous television appearances, developed TM* in India in 1956, but after meeting the Beatles in London, he began making an enterprise of it. When the Beatles and their wives, along with the Farrow sisters (for whom John Lennon wrote "Dear Prudence"),  visited the Maharishi in his ashram in India, the mystical glow faded after the Holy Man hit on Mia Farrow and the band walked away disillusioned. Although the discipline of meditation dates back five thousand years, the Maharishi's TM* technique caught fire in those halcyon days of spiritual discovery, guaranteeing effortless inner peace, at a price. In 1968, the Maharishi began training TM* teachers from his new global headquarters in Seelisberg, Switzerland, and sent them forth to pacify the world.

When I was in the midst of my tortuous decade trying to write Country songs in Nashville, I reached the point that if I heard one more song celebrating poverty and ignorance, I was going to lose it. I was in desperate need of stress relief and TM* was literally the only game in town. Encouraged by a friend who had even moved his family up to Boone, N.C. to live in a TM* community, I signed up for a course. I knew nothing of meditation or its Eastern origins, and unlike the wizened sage you now witness before you, I had everything to learn. I don't think I'd even had dinner in an Indian restaurant. My particular impression of Hinduism was a religion with multitudes of goofy looking gods and goddesses with animal characteristics standing in awkward positions. And because of cow worship, the faithful went hungry while cattle roamed the streets. Since TM* is rooted in the Hindu faith, I approached my lessons with some apprehension. The six-day course cost $250 at the time and could only be taught by a certified TM* instructor, in my case a soft-spoken young man lousy with serenity.

The meditation classes were easy enough, based on a repetitive phrase that centered the mind. Practicing for twenty minutes, twice a day, was prescribed to ease stress and anxiety. The big payoff, or mystic goody, was the mantra, a sacred incantation chosen exclusively for you based on your personal interview with the teacher. For initiation day, I was instructed to bring a clean handkerchief, flowers, some fruit, and naturally, the course fee. A makeshift alter was erected with a peach crate and a bedsheet. On the wall above was a creepy photo of an old, white-bearded man, who was the Maharishi's guru. I was admonished to never utter my mantra aloud, lest I tarnish it and strip it of its power. The Maharishi said, "Using just any mantra can be dangerous. Mantras commonly found in books can cause a person to withdraw from life." When the big finally moment came, I was asked to bow before the guru's photo and receive my mantra. I immediately balked at bowing before anybody but I figured I'd come this far, so I lowered my head. I was hoping for something cool, like "Shanti," but the teacher leaned forward and whispered in my ear, "Hrring." Since it was chosen especially for me, who was I to disagree? I chose a comfortable chair in my bedroom and began to practice. Focusing squarely on the third eye, I began to silently recite, "Hrring,  Hering, Herring." I just spent two-hundred and fifty bucks so I could recite a word that sounded like Jewish smoked fish. I told my teacher that my mantra was making me laugh and could I please have another but I was assured that this was mine and to work with it. Sometime later, I received a call from my old friend Mac, who said, "I heard you took TM*, what's your mantra?" I was appalled, "I can't tell you my mantra. I was sworn to secrecy." Mac said, "If you tell me yours, I'll tell you mine." I reluctanty agreed saying, "Mine's Hrring." Mac burst into laughter. "What's so funny?" I asked. He replied, "Mine is Shrring."

I came to realize that there are a multitude of ways to meditate and the Maharishi had turned TM* into a for-profit, international franchise, much like Weight-Watchers, or psychiatry. TM* was quick to reassure its customers that their fees covered not only the initial training, but a lifetime follow-up, like a Kenmore warranty. Even financing is available. In 1984, Omni Magazine published an article by "disaffected TM* teachers" listing sixteen mantras used by the organization, contradicting the fable that the result was dependent on a trained teacher's choice. A 2007 study found that details of training and knowledge for TM* teachers are kept private and potential franchisees are required to sign a "loyalty-oath employment contract." Fortunately, effective meditation doesn't require the $960 dollars currently being charged for TM* classes. By the time of Maharishi Mahesh Yogi's death in 2008, TM* had become an empire worth an estimated four billion dollars, including the Maharishi International University, now The Maharishi University of Management on three-hundred eighty-one acres in Fairfield, Iowa. The compound in North Carolina called "Heavenly Mountain" unfortunately went bust. Built as a TM* community in 1998 for forty million dollars, the site sold at auction in 2012 for $3.9 million and is now the Art of Living Retreat Center, offering weight loss, detox, yoga, and meditation for an all-inclusive fee. Just YouTube "meditation," and you don't have to pay for it. Meditation really works, but it takes the sort of consistent self-discipline that I utterly lack. Which reminds me, there's a Xanax prescription that I need to refill.