I use Google as my browser (as opposed to God is my Co-Pilot) for much of my on-line spelunking (don't tell Pantload 45 or he'll cry (louder)) though on many occasions I do cruise through some neighborhoods with Microsoft's Edge.
When I'm using the latter I come across stuff that sometimes proves to be more click-bait than worthwhile but this one's title, "100 Slang Terms from the 20th Century No One Uses Anymore," caught my eye, and its content held my interest.
Mom used to use "cruisin' for a bruisin'" and in the days of the old school-yard we used to beat feet to get away from the sixth graders at recess, but much of the terminology amused and bemused me (even the stuff, surprisingly before my time) or, in by-gone parlance, really razed my berries.
-bill kenny
Friday, August 31, 2018
Thursday, August 30, 2018
Random Notes and Noise
I saw a man yesterday with a Mohawk haircut, but the part that wasn't in the Mohawk was shaved to the naked scalp. He was wearing a three-piece suit that probably cost twice what my car is worth. I cannot imagine what he does for a living to be able to do what he does for a living. He wasn't a young guy, either. I'm not really good at guessing ages, or weight for that matter, so that career as a Carney is out.
Actually, he was closer to being my age and he looked as goofy as the guys with whom I didn't go to Woodstock together all look-you see 'em, too. They have long hair, gray and frayed and wispy, in a pony-tail or up in a man-bun (sort of a dead heat in terms of goofiness). Nothing sticks it to the man like a Volvo station wagon, Teva sandals, and the green 'we recycle' grocery bag filled with tofu and bean sprouts. Fight the Power!
Here's somebody I'd like the 'man' to stick it to. The auto-American cretin who compensates for his car's driver's side headlamp being burned out by driving with his high beams on and not dimming them as you and he approach one another. Yeah, I remember what Driver Ed said: don't retaliate and turn yours on-it makes two blinded drivers but still. My son gave me a great idea-I turn off all my lights which makes it a lot easier for Hi (no Lois) to see me behind the wheel as I visually suggest that he's my #1 special friend, but not in that way.
I also don't know what to do about the driver who drives up a one-way street for a short distance the wrong way, but slowly because he certainly doesn't want to cause an accident, so he can pull into somebody's driveway, rather than go around the block. I love when he comes nose to nose with a car coming down the street the correct way and they glare at each other like Mr. Upstream Salmon has any comeback at all. Or that guy's cousin, the driver who backs up a one-way street in he wrong direction with the car flashers on, so I guess it doesn't count as much.
And finally (for now) how many crumbs from the toaster tray do you suppose it takes to assemble an entire piece of bread, and can you toast that slice when you're done?
Actually, he was closer to being my age and he looked as goofy as the guys with whom I didn't go to Woodstock together all look-you see 'em, too. They have long hair, gray and frayed and wispy, in a pony-tail or up in a man-bun (sort of a dead heat in terms of goofiness). Nothing sticks it to the man like a Volvo station wagon, Teva sandals, and the green 'we recycle' grocery bag filled with tofu and bean sprouts. Fight the Power!
Here's somebody I'd like the 'man' to stick it to. The auto-American cretin who compensates for his car's driver's side headlamp being burned out by driving with his high beams on and not dimming them as you and he approach one another. Yeah, I remember what Driver Ed said: don't retaliate and turn yours on-it makes two blinded drivers but still. My son gave me a great idea-I turn off all my lights which makes it a lot easier for Hi (no Lois) to see me behind the wheel as I visually suggest that he's my #1 special friend, but not in that way.
I also don't know what to do about the driver who drives up a one-way street for a short distance the wrong way, but slowly because he certainly doesn't want to cause an accident, so he can pull into somebody's driveway, rather than go around the block. I love when he comes nose to nose with a car coming down the street the correct way and they glare at each other like Mr. Upstream Salmon has any comeback at all. Or that guy's cousin, the driver who backs up a one-way street in he wrong direction with the car flashers on, so I guess it doesn't count as much.
And finally (for now) how many crumbs from the toaster tray do you suppose it takes to assemble an entire piece of bread, and can you toast that slice when you're done?
-bill kenny
Wednesday, August 29, 2018
Build Bridges NOT Walls
Some of what you're about to read is true; some of it is a little less than that. You decide which is which.
I had a fifth-floor office and used the stairs rather than the elevator to reach it. Walking those stairs and jumping to conclusions was about all the exercise I got most days.
One morning walking up the stairs I encountered a co-worker struggling to move a heavy length of chain and without needing to be asked, I grabbed as big a piece as I could and started to help him try to move it.
Despite our best and most strenuous efforts, after ten minutes, we and the chain were still on the third-floor landing. My colleague sighed in exasperation, "we'll never get this down to the second floor!" I looked at him with both alarm and chagrin.
"Down to the second floor?" I repeated. "I thought we were trying to get it up to the fourth floor." He could/should have told me; I should/could have asked him. Our inability to simply and fully communicate caused us to fail.
"Down to the second floor?" I repeated. "I thought we were trying to get it up to the fourth floor." He could/should have told me; I should/could have asked him. Our inability to simply and fully communicate caused us to fail.
I know. 'If that's your idea of humor, don't quit your day job.' Too late, I already did.
Actually, that silly story is my respone to last Monday's Norwich City Council vote on the proposed 8.47 million-dollar economic development bond and the published reaction by Mayor Peter Nystrom, Sunday's Op-Ed by Alderman Joseph DeLucia and the Bulletin's editorial in its aftermath.
I attended two presentations on the proposal before last Monday night's vote and was struck by two things: the sparse turnout at both of them and the lack of specifics at how the bonds would be managed.
Quite frankly the former bothered me a lot more than the latter. I read a lot of comments online from people who are never at meetings; they not only know everything but know everything better. And I've come to expect programs and the processes that produce them to evolve as we move along.
To be clear: there's no Republican Norwich and no Democratic Norwich. There's just us, all of us here in Norwich. Last Monday's vote can make us better or bitter and help define us as victors or victims.
It's what we do next and how we choose to do it that matters now.
Was the bond proposal a good idea? I believe it was; but, that said, I also believe it can and should be open to improvement with successful and honest communication from all interested parties.
Too often we play keep away with information. If I know something you don't, I have an advantage. No one and no one political party has a monopoly on good ideas and I don't think I've ever encountered a good idea that couldn't be improved by inviting more people into the process.
The City Council's vote was a reminder that at every moment we, as residents have the power to say this is not how our story ends. We can and should all work to make Norwich better because we deserve to live in a city we are proud of.
When do we start? Right Now.
-bill kenny
Tuesday, August 28, 2018
Where Did He Keep His License?
I am exceptionally good at feeling sorry for myself and never ask for sympathy because I am very competitive and simply don't need your pity. Besides, all I have to do whenever I am downcast is look at the World Wide Weird for news and notes scrapped from the floor in the teletype room (do they still have those?) and I start to feel better about me, myself, and I almost immediately.
See if it doesn't work for you as well.
Take this story out for a test drive and when you come back to the dealership tell me what kind of a deal I have to make to put you in a little beauty just like Patrice's. Happy Motoring!
-bill kenny
See if it doesn't work for you as well.
Take this story out for a test drive and when you come back to the dealership tell me what kind of a deal I have to make to put you in a little beauty just like Patrice's. Happy Motoring!
-bill kenny
Monday, August 27, 2018
The Passing of a Statesman
Requiem
by Robert Louis Stevenson
"Under the wide and starry sky
Dig the grave and let me lie.
Glad did I live and gladly die,
And I laid me down with a will.
"This be the verse you grave for me;
'Here he lies where he longed to be,
Home is the sailor, home from sea,
And the hunter home from the hill.'"
Rest in peace, John McCain. We have the watch.
-bill kenny
Sunday, August 26, 2018
To Be that Young Again
As school-age children across the USA start to reconcile themselves to the inevitability that the next academic year is beginning (for some) in a matter of days if they've not yet started back, I feel compelled to note, in the interests of good sportsmanship and fair play, the boys of summer (subject to the rules and interpretations of the respective national governing boards) are a one game away from crowning the next Little League World Series Champion.
Here it is, so grab some couch as only two teams remain. In a world where we pay grown men (and some women) wages that approximate the gross national product of some Third-World nations to participate professionally in a sport our children play for free, there is something about the joy and exhilaration of this annual competition in Williamsport, Pennsylvania, that I find a tonic for the soul.
The enthusiasm and engagement of the television announcers, some of whom as youngsters, played on these same fields in pursuit of a championship, is contagious and inspiring. If you can listen to the Little League Pledge, almost as old as I am, or even just read it, and not get goosebumps, don't bother checking your pulse, call your coroner, as you're no longer among the living.
All you can be is reminded and refreshed about why you choose to follow baseball. Why, in an era of a dozen other sports all grabbing more headlines and worldwide attention, the simple beauty of a contest that, at its most basic, involves striking a small leather-bound and round spheroid with a stick, be it wood, metal or some kind of composite and doing it better than a like number of others attempting to do the same on the other team.
For a few days, eleven-year-olds have served as role models for grown men, for which I am grateful (and wonder where we can get battalions and boatloads more). An entire team, who've just been white-washed and whose run to the Series has ended prematurely and with a drubbing no one would wish on anyone else, stand one behind the other along the first and third baselines after the final out and shake the hands of the team sending them home and tell them 'good game' and really mean it, because the Little League World Series isn't just about baseball, it's about life, as it should be lived. Enjoy!
"... I will play fair.
And strive to win.
But win or lose,
I will always do my best."
Somehow, it's always better than good enough.
-bill kenny
Here it is, so grab some couch as only two teams remain. In a world where we pay grown men (and some women) wages that approximate the gross national product of some Third-World nations to participate professionally in a sport our children play for free, there is something about the joy and exhilaration of this annual competition in Williamsport, Pennsylvania, that I find a tonic for the soul.
The enthusiasm and engagement of the television announcers, some of whom as youngsters, played on these same fields in pursuit of a championship, is contagious and inspiring. If you can listen to the Little League Pledge, almost as old as I am, or even just read it, and not get goosebumps, don't bother checking your pulse, call your coroner, as you're no longer among the living.
All you can be is reminded and refreshed about why you choose to follow baseball. Why, in an era of a dozen other sports all grabbing more headlines and worldwide attention, the simple beauty of a contest that, at its most basic, involves striking a small leather-bound and round spheroid with a stick, be it wood, metal or some kind of composite and doing it better than a like number of others attempting to do the same on the other team.
For a few days, eleven-year-olds have served as role models for grown men, for which I am grateful (and wonder where we can get battalions and boatloads more). An entire team, who've just been white-washed and whose run to the Series has ended prematurely and with a drubbing no one would wish on anyone else, stand one behind the other along the first and third baselines after the final out and shake the hands of the team sending them home and tell them 'good game' and really mean it, because the Little League World Series isn't just about baseball, it's about life, as it should be lived. Enjoy!
"... I will play fair.
And strive to win.
But win or lose,
I will always do my best."
Somehow, it's always better than good enough.
-bill kenny
Saturday, August 25, 2018
Friday, August 24, 2018
Passion Is No Ordinary Word
I keep a wallet filled with foolscap, absolutely crammed. It works out well unless you were to rob me, as there's rarely any money in it, though not necessarily because of all the foolscap. We're coming up on the seventeenth anniversary of the murderous calamity of 9/11; my brother Adam reminds me and all of us about it quite eloquently every year.
Once upon a time when I could construct a compound sentence (before the gerund strike of ought eight) and express a complete thought, I offered this and am surprised at how close to cogent it was.
Many years ago, in a galaxy far, far away I was a little too tightly wound (that gasp of incredulity you may have just heard from people who've known for three decades is legit). In all candor, Me of Back Then makes Me of Right Now look comatose; I may have actually slept with my jaw ratcheted closed. I cannot imagine in hindsight why I didn't have a stroke, unless, perhaps, it's because I'm a carrier).
I couldn't let go of my anger. The Air Force, to my relief as their employee, rather than dump me amongst the flora and fauna, decided to send me to the head of the Psychiatric Services Wing at the Rhein-Main (Air Base) Clinic, Colonel Doctor Gurtin. He was terrific, very funny (because he thought I was if I'm being honest) and very willing to try to rescue a wild-eyed junior enlisted Sammy Glick impersonator who kept wading out into the deep end.
He came up with the foolscap. Every time something angered me, I was to write it down on a piece of paper and put the paper in my wallet. But every time I'd write something down, his rule was that it had to be on its own, separate, piece of paper. No doubling up, no lists. By the end of the day, I could, and did, have hundreds of slips of paper in my wallet.
No worries-I had to review ALL these slips each night and put on a different sheet of paper, all those items I was still ANGRY about (I could put those on a single piece of paper) and then I'd put that list on my nightstand. The night before I would go to see him at the hospital, I had to review the (six) pieces of paper, and transfer anything I was still angry about, to yet another piece of paper and bring that one piece to our weekly conversation.
Within a month, I had no lists, simply because I'd review all the slips of paper of all the things that made me angry and realized I had no idea what the heck was written on most of them or what the words I could read actually meant or concluded (after reviewing the note and thinking about it, which Gurtin told me later was the key point) whatever had happened to spin me up wasn't that important after all.
How about this week or real soon (and I mean real soon) we all decide to use the Gurtin Solution. Watch the news, read a newspaper, check out a column online--we are REALLY CRANKED about a lot of stuff. It's a miracle that boxing gloves aren't the #1 item ordered on Amazon and eBay since we all know or know of, someone who wants to "fix" things by looking to punch someone (else) in the nose.
I know people who tune in to certain TV programs just to yell at the talking head in the vapor box who is making a fortune by yelling at them. I guess they watch because it feels so good when the show is over (explains the uptick in cigarette sales I guess). There are others who insist on reading columnists' words out loud and follow every line of the writer's argument with a scowl, or a gesture or a deprecation. And we just keep getting louder and angrier about more things, and more people every day. we don't know how to get off the escalator-and most of us don't even know we're on one.
Passion is fine and necessary. If our ancestors back in the ooze didn't care if they evolved to have legs that carried them from the pond and helped us grow lungs, every day would be Friday, if you follow my drift. It's the grinding though, that is wearing out us out, the pitched battles we are waging to benefit who knows who or for what purpose. You wanna feel silly about how we now get along with one another, but you don't want to use the foolscap?
Here's the exercise, ready? Tell me five things this country was PO'ed about at eight AM on September 11th, 2001. Go ahead, I'll wait. Too hard? Gimme three things, then; how hard could that be? No?
You want to take a break from all this head noise and hate to concentrate on the real and important tasks at hand instead? Go ahead, I'll make a note of where we were and we can get back to it sometime real soon.
-bill kenny
Once upon a time when I could construct a compound sentence (before the gerund strike of ought eight) and express a complete thought, I offered this and am surprised at how close to cogent it was.
Many years ago, in a galaxy far, far away I was a little too tightly wound (that gasp of incredulity you may have just heard from people who've known for three decades is legit). In all candor, Me of Back Then makes Me of Right Now look comatose; I may have actually slept with my jaw ratcheted closed. I cannot imagine in hindsight why I didn't have a stroke, unless, perhaps, it's because I'm a carrier).
I couldn't let go of my anger. The Air Force, to my relief as their employee, rather than dump me amongst the flora and fauna, decided to send me to the head of the Psychiatric Services Wing at the Rhein-Main (Air Base) Clinic, Colonel Doctor Gurtin. He was terrific, very funny (because he thought I was if I'm being honest) and very willing to try to rescue a wild-eyed junior enlisted Sammy Glick impersonator who kept wading out into the deep end.
He came up with the foolscap. Every time something angered me, I was to write it down on a piece of paper and put the paper in my wallet. But every time I'd write something down, his rule was that it had to be on its own, separate, piece of paper. No doubling up, no lists. By the end of the day, I could, and did, have hundreds of slips of paper in my wallet.
No worries-I had to review ALL these slips each night and put on a different sheet of paper, all those items I was still ANGRY about (I could put those on a single piece of paper) and then I'd put that list on my nightstand. The night before I would go to see him at the hospital, I had to review the (six) pieces of paper, and transfer anything I was still angry about, to yet another piece of paper and bring that one piece to our weekly conversation.
Within a month, I had no lists, simply because I'd review all the slips of paper of all the things that made me angry and realized I had no idea what the heck was written on most of them or what the words I could read actually meant or concluded (after reviewing the note and thinking about it, which Gurtin told me later was the key point) whatever had happened to spin me up wasn't that important after all.
How about this week or real soon (and I mean real soon) we all decide to use the Gurtin Solution. Watch the news, read a newspaper, check out a column online--we are REALLY CRANKED about a lot of stuff. It's a miracle that boxing gloves aren't the #1 item ordered on Amazon and eBay since we all know or know of, someone who wants to "fix" things by looking to punch someone (else) in the nose.
I know people who tune in to certain TV programs just to yell at the talking head in the vapor box who is making a fortune by yelling at them. I guess they watch because it feels so good when the show is over (explains the uptick in cigarette sales I guess). There are others who insist on reading columnists' words out loud and follow every line of the writer's argument with a scowl, or a gesture or a deprecation. And we just keep getting louder and angrier about more things, and more people every day. we don't know how to get off the escalator-and most of us don't even know we're on one.
Passion is fine and necessary. If our ancestors back in the ooze didn't care if they evolved to have legs that carried them from the pond and helped us grow lungs, every day would be Friday, if you follow my drift. It's the grinding though, that is wearing out us out, the pitched battles we are waging to benefit who knows who or for what purpose. You wanna feel silly about how we now get along with one another, but you don't want to use the foolscap?
Here's the exercise, ready? Tell me five things this country was PO'ed about at eight AM on September 11th, 2001. Go ahead, I'll wait. Too hard? Gimme three things, then; how hard could that be? No?
You want to take a break from all this head noise and hate to concentrate on the real and important tasks at hand instead? Go ahead, I'll make a note of where we were and we can get back to it sometime real soon.
-bill kenny
Thursday, August 23, 2018
R U Ready 4 Some Football?
Lord knows, I'm not, but it's almost that time of year again when baseball gets to the good and very serious part of their season for the National Football League to break training camp and gobble up, at last count, Sunday afternoon and Monday and Thursday nights (not counting NFL Light also known as NCAA Division 1) on our televisions.
This is from quite sometime back and the part of Brett Favre in my screed is now being played, I believe, by Adrian Peterson. At the time I called this:
This is from quite sometime back and the part of Brett Favre in my screed is now being played, I believe, by Adrian Peterson. At the time I called this:
The Wolf Who Cried Favre
By now, unless you've been in a coma for most of the week, or in the NY Jets' front office, you know Brett "The Human Boomerang" Favre is taking it to the turf for the Vikings of Minnesota this season (and maybe next season as well if his telenovela "Dime cuánto me quieres con el dinero" is renewed). I know, color me surprised.
My brother Adam, who is amazingly even-tempered and slow to anger (considering both the gene pool and examples of all of his older siblings) had some wonderfully caustic observations on the Mississippi Barn Boy you should check out, here. Go ahead, it's not like I have anything important I'm doing, I can wait.
I grew up a New York Jets fan-no amount of medication or surgery can do anything about that, it seems. Four out of five doctors recommend changing out the fifth doctor and learning to live with the quiet greyness of despair that the green and white carry with them all season long, every season.
I grew up a New York Jets fan-no amount of medication or surgery can do anything about that, it seems. Four out of five doctors recommend changing out the fifth doctor and learning to live with the quiet greyness of despair that the green and white carry with them all season long, every season.
For those who've had trouble believing it's been forty years since we walked on the moon or danced, covered in mud, on a farm in upstate New York (or was that vice versa?), it's also been forty years since the Jets won their only Super Bowl appearance (I believe of all the NFL teams who've been to the Super Bowl, only the Jets have a PERFECT winning percentage).
Last season when the Jets' press folks rolled out a new red carpet (because they'd worn out all the old ones for the battalions of can't-miss guys they were bringing to play in the Meadowlands) and Brett stepped off on it, I didn't even blink. When he, and with him, the team's playoff chances, went south as the fall winds circled and grew colder, it was just more business as usual. He retired at the end of the season but I don't think anyone believed it and I don't think he expected anyone to.
Perhaps he's working his way through every team in the NFL--I'll wager Al Davis is pinching himself at that thought-finally a player older than he is--though I think Brett's got a little Sally Field in him. He's certainly got a little something in him. I was impressed the other day during the latest return press conference at how he has moist eyes on command with an oh-so-slight catch in his voice. The only thing missing was a "It's not you, it's me" speech as part of the makeup to break-up patter, but that will come with time, I'm sure.
I'm thinking maybe Deanna, his wife, puts up with him puttering around the barn for a certain amount of time after football season and, when he doesn't make 'honey, I'm packing for camp' noises, she has a word, or two, with him. My moment of Zen at Tuesday's press conference came, realizing that with digital video production as it is these days, there's no need for any more real press conferences.
Let's face it, the questions never change and neither do the answers. Just the backdrop, team logo and the kind of doughnuts served to the press corps who wait for the always-late guest. The Vikings' press conference looked like the Jets' press conference which looked like the "Farewell Forever (or the better part of an hour, whichever comes first) Lambeau Field" press conference, and we already know how much news NONE of them contained.
With apologies to Monty Python, 'we'll take the foreplay as read' and leave it at that. The boys and girls from our "Brett's Back 'N' Better!" merchandising division will hit the streets, starting tomorrow, in the twenty-nine other NFL cities where he has yet to play to make sure we get those jersey colors, number and name spelled correctly (Remember: home and away jerseys, ka-ching!).
Last season when the Jets' press folks rolled out a new red carpet (because they'd worn out all the old ones for the battalions of can't-miss guys they were bringing to play in the Meadowlands) and Brett stepped off on it, I didn't even blink. When he, and with him, the team's playoff chances, went south as the fall winds circled and grew colder, it was just more business as usual. He retired at the end of the season but I don't think anyone believed it and I don't think he expected anyone to.
Perhaps he's working his way through every team in the NFL--I'll wager Al Davis is pinching himself at that thought-finally a player older than he is--though I think Brett's got a little Sally Field in him. He's certainly got a little something in him. I was impressed the other day during the latest return press conference at how he has moist eyes on command with an oh-so-slight catch in his voice. The only thing missing was a "It's not you, it's me" speech as part of the makeup to break-up patter, but that will come with time, I'm sure.
I'm thinking maybe Deanna, his wife, puts up with him puttering around the barn for a certain amount of time after football season and, when he doesn't make 'honey, I'm packing for camp' noises, she has a word, or two, with him. My moment of Zen at Tuesday's press conference came, realizing that with digital video production as it is these days, there's no need for any more real press conferences.
Let's face it, the questions never change and neither do the answers. Just the backdrop, team logo and the kind of doughnuts served to the press corps who wait for the always-late guest. The Vikings' press conference looked like the Jets' press conference which looked like the "Farewell Forever (or the better part of an hour, whichever comes first) Lambeau Field" press conference, and we already know how much news NONE of them contained.
With apologies to Monty Python, 'we'll take the foreplay as read' and leave it at that. The boys and girls from our "Brett's Back 'N' Better!" merchandising division will hit the streets, starting tomorrow, in the twenty-nine other NFL cities where he has yet to play to make sure we get those jersey colors, number and name spelled correctly (Remember: home and away jerseys, ka-ching!).
Get the Gillette razor folks on the horn-Tiger Woods is so last week! That three- day stubble ain't gonna shave itself now, is it? And tell Wrangler Jeans to get ready to cowboy up. Hall of Famer endorsements cost money and lots of it.
-bill kenny
Wednesday, August 22, 2018
The Time Twixt the Two Tells the Tale that Transpires
I guess timing is everything (or nothing) when it comes to measuring your life with a calendar. A week from today, children in kindergarten through sixth grade begin a new year of classes at Norwich Public Schools, which is also the same day classes start at the Sachem Campus of Norwich Free Academy and the first day for 9th graders at NFA. Didn't we just wish everyone a great summer last week? Certainly feels like it.
Like you, I've been seeing back to school displays in stores everywhere for weeks as the retail sector has its own calendar that moves even swifter than the one the rest of us have hanging in our kitchens.
Speaking of back to school, we are smack in the middle of Connecticut Sales Tax Free Week which and which should have an asterisk because what's 'sales tax free' is most apparel (to include square dancing clothes) and shoes (such as 'bicycle sneakers without cleats') costing less than one hundred dollars. And before you ask, no, I did not make any of that up; that's how they are described on the Department of Revenue's Chart of Exempt and Taxable Items.
We can combine our back to school shopping trips with money-saving and patronize local businesses so that more of our dollars stay here where we live and continue to support those merchants who help make our community a better place for all of us.
As we head towards autumn, perhaps this is a good time to check those kitchen calendars to see if we can't find space and time that allows us to volunteer for one or more of the many activities we have across our city, like the Greek Food Festival, A Taste of Italy or Walktober through dozens (if not hundreds) of others. We all enjoy going to them, right? And while it's nice to believe they run on rainbows, all of them rely on volunteer power, which is where you and I come in.
There's an 80/20 rule of volunteering about who does the work and who enjoys the fruits of that work but my larger point is there isn't a single aspect of our community that would not be better for more of us getting involved and engaged.
I mentioned the start of the new school year and not just for parents of school children but for all of us, a great place to lend a hand and stay close to home is our local Norwich Public School. We certainly had enough to say last May and June about our schools during City Council budget hearings. But we all have a stake, all-year round. The children in my house and perhaps yours are grown and gone, but their graduations shouldn't mean the end of our interest and engagement.
Start by attending a parent-teacher conference or a Board of Education meeting and see what happens and what can happen next. Summer's ending and it's time to become a bigger part of where we call home. Pick your passion and begin.
-bill kenny
Like you, I've been seeing back to school displays in stores everywhere for weeks as the retail sector has its own calendar that moves even swifter than the one the rest of us have hanging in our kitchens.
Speaking of back to school, we are smack in the middle of Connecticut Sales Tax Free Week which and which should have an asterisk because what's 'sales tax free' is most apparel (to include square dancing clothes) and shoes (such as 'bicycle sneakers without cleats') costing less than one hundred dollars. And before you ask, no, I did not make any of that up; that's how they are described on the Department of Revenue's Chart of Exempt and Taxable Items.
We can combine our back to school shopping trips with money-saving and patronize local businesses so that more of our dollars stay here where we live and continue to support those merchants who help make our community a better place for all of us.
As we head towards autumn, perhaps this is a good time to check those kitchen calendars to see if we can't find space and time that allows us to volunteer for one or more of the many activities we have across our city, like the Greek Food Festival, A Taste of Italy or Walktober through dozens (if not hundreds) of others. We all enjoy going to them, right? And while it's nice to believe they run on rainbows, all of them rely on volunteer power, which is where you and I come in.
There's an 80/20 rule of volunteering about who does the work and who enjoys the fruits of that work but my larger point is there isn't a single aspect of our community that would not be better for more of us getting involved and engaged.
I mentioned the start of the new school year and not just for parents of school children but for all of us, a great place to lend a hand and stay close to home is our local Norwich Public School. We certainly had enough to say last May and June about our schools during City Council budget hearings. But we all have a stake, all-year round. The children in my house and perhaps yours are grown and gone, but their graduations shouldn't mean the end of our interest and engagement.
Start by attending a parent-teacher conference or a Board of Education meeting and see what happens and what can happen next. Summer's ending and it's time to become a bigger part of where we call home. Pick your passion and begin.
-bill kenny
Tuesday, August 21, 2018
Yet Another Back Page
This is from the other end of this decade and more and makes me smile when I look at how the journey has gone but the destination has changed. Or has it? Back in the day, I called it:
You try to take a day off from the noise of the news and you get so far behind they're piping in daylight to you. I thought I was closing my eyes for but a moment but when I opened them, the political topography nationally and (I suspect) locally had changed, again.
This time last week at town meetings across the country we were yelling at each other at the top of our lungs about national health care concerns and coverage, calling one another the (other) "L" Word and 'unfeeling capitalist' until we discovered almost none of us have sore throat coverage in our own health care insurance.
And then, just as it looked the US of A was coming to a boil on this, the President suggested he could live with another variation and refinement of what has wound up being called "Obamacare" (for reasons that make no sense at all to me, except it had to be called something I guess).
That seemed to mollify some people who had been unhappy while causing some who had been supportive to become unhappy. I have the funny feeling we're still a good distance away from Grandma's house and when we pull up in front and try to sort out exactly whose Grandma's house we're at, oh boy, won't that be fun? (And all those cookies and milk going to waste.) We do this a lot around here, here being the United States on most days of the week. When you read our history in school, we seem so streamlined, so possessed, so driven. And then you dive beneath the surface, and the movie's a lot different.
We stumbled towards and into Independence--some of the Founders who traveled to Philadelphia in the summer of 1776 weren't firebrands yearning to be free. Some of them got hijacked on their way to the Jersey Shore--some were Steve Carlton fans waiting for the founding of the Phillies. KIDDING! (about the Carlton part), but you can guess where this is going, right? Accidental Excellence. When we get it right, we don't know how we did it and we can't seem to do it again.
Doesn't mean we should give up or just settle for what we've got. If we used that mentality there'd be BILLIONS of people on the shores of Western Europe, and Africa as well as Eastern Asia (standing on one another's shoulders by now, I suppose), staring across the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans trying to figure out what was going on 'over there.' (And a really, teeny-tiny group of indigenous peoples on the North and South American continents looking nervously over their shoulders.)
And it's the not-giving-up, the-how-does-this-part-go-on-to-that-part line of inquiry that's also part of who we are. We're a nation of loudmouths (I got a megaphone for my birthday one year; I use it to demand pony rides for my next one) who don't always listen to one each other's words but who, at the end of the day, somehow, can look into one another's eyes and see the heartbeat behind the polemic and understand that the person with whom we are disagreeing isn't evil or ignorant, but just different (and maybe a knucklehead, or is that just me?).
And he/she is looking at us in exactly the same way. Walt Kelly's Pogo was on to something, and we could offer to buy him a beer, but there's a lot of resentment about those uneaten cookies and milk from Grandma's house.
-bill kenny
We're Lost BUT We're Making Great Time!
You try to take a day off from the noise of the news and you get so far behind they're piping in daylight to you. I thought I was closing my eyes for but a moment but when I opened them, the political topography nationally and (I suspect) locally had changed, again.
This time last week at town meetings across the country we were yelling at each other at the top of our lungs about national health care concerns and coverage, calling one another the (other) "L" Word and 'unfeeling capitalist' until we discovered almost none of us have sore throat coverage in our own health care insurance.
And then, just as it looked the US of A was coming to a boil on this, the President suggested he could live with another variation and refinement of what has wound up being called "Obamacare" (for reasons that make no sense at all to me, except it had to be called something I guess).
That seemed to mollify some people who had been unhappy while causing some who had been supportive to become unhappy. I have the funny feeling we're still a good distance away from Grandma's house and when we pull up in front and try to sort out exactly whose Grandma's house we're at, oh boy, won't that be fun? (And all those cookies and milk going to waste.) We do this a lot around here, here being the United States on most days of the week. When you read our history in school, we seem so streamlined, so possessed, so driven. And then you dive beneath the surface, and the movie's a lot different.
We stumbled towards and into Independence--some of the Founders who traveled to Philadelphia in the summer of 1776 weren't firebrands yearning to be free. Some of them got hijacked on their way to the Jersey Shore--some were Steve Carlton fans waiting for the founding of the Phillies. KIDDING! (about the Carlton part), but you can guess where this is going, right? Accidental Excellence. When we get it right, we don't know how we did it and we can't seem to do it again.
Doesn't mean we should give up or just settle for what we've got. If we used that mentality there'd be BILLIONS of people on the shores of Western Europe, and Africa as well as Eastern Asia (standing on one another's shoulders by now, I suppose), staring across the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans trying to figure out what was going on 'over there.' (And a really, teeny-tiny group of indigenous peoples on the North and South American continents looking nervously over their shoulders.)
And it's the not-giving-up, the-how-does-this-part-go-on-to-that-part line of inquiry that's also part of who we are. We're a nation of loudmouths (I got a megaphone for my birthday one year; I use it to demand pony rides for my next one) who don't always listen to one each other's words but who, at the end of the day, somehow, can look into one another's eyes and see the heartbeat behind the polemic and understand that the person with whom we are disagreeing isn't evil or ignorant, but just different (and maybe a knucklehead, or is that just me?).
And he/she is looking at us in exactly the same way. Walt Kelly's Pogo was on to something, and we could offer to buy him a beer, but there's a lot of resentment about those uneaten cookies and milk from Grandma's house.
-bill kenny
Monday, August 20, 2018
The Horizon Seems to Disappear
The summer is shrinking as the daylight diminshes. The latter has been happening since the Summer Solstice but we barely noticed until right around now on our calendars when we look around frantically for the hours we thought we had but don't.
I'm almost two months into retirement and am past enjoying the question about how much I like it since I never know how to answer because it all still feels like a long vacation. Maybe when the kids head back to school next week I keep telling myself, I'll start to focus on whatever life is left and decide what to do about it, except at almost half past sixty-six years of dawdling and doddering along that has yet to ever happen and I am not sanguine at the chances for this time either.
As a kid, I used to turn to the back of the school book to get to the quiz and find out the answers. I'm no longer in such a rush to turn the pages. I guess that's called wisdom but I'm still not sure if the price I've paid is worth the cost.
-bill kenny
I'm almost two months into retirement and am past enjoying the question about how much I like it since I never know how to answer because it all still feels like a long vacation. Maybe when the kids head back to school next week I keep telling myself, I'll start to focus on whatever life is left and decide what to do about it, except at almost half past sixty-six years of dawdling and doddering along that has yet to ever happen and I am not sanguine at the chances for this time either.
As a kid, I used to turn to the back of the school book to get to the quiz and find out the answers. I'm no longer in such a rush to turn the pages. I guess that's called wisdom but I'm still not sure if the price I've paid is worth the cost.
-bill kenny
Sunday, August 19, 2018
Who Am I?
Here's the difference between motivations and behaviors and why you can't use the latter to determine the former.
Many years ago I was late leaving work for our daughter's violin recital at school. I was driving fast, not too fast, but fast enough to get me to the school before she performed. I was swift, but I was safe.
Two blocks from the school coming over the Laurel Hill Bridge some maniac passed me on the right, overtaking all of us in the flow of traffic and sped away. Talk about a crazy person, that guy was a maniac!
Anyway. I arrived at school and as I pulled into the lower parking lot on Washington Street, prepared to walk up the hill to enter the school on the lower level I saw the lunatic that had passed me, getting out of her car, two spots away from where I parked, Her son played the violin, too. It was a lovely recital.
-bill kenny
Many years ago I was late leaving work for our daughter's violin recital at school. I was driving fast, not too fast, but fast enough to get me to the school before she performed. I was swift, but I was safe.
Two blocks from the school coming over the Laurel Hill Bridge some maniac passed me on the right, overtaking all of us in the flow of traffic and sped away. Talk about a crazy person, that guy was a maniac!
Anyway. I arrived at school and as I pulled into the lower parking lot on Washington Street, prepared to walk up the hill to enter the school on the lower level I saw the lunatic that had passed me, getting out of her car, two spots away from where I parked, Her son played the violin, too. It was a lovely recital.
-bill kenny
Saturday, August 18, 2018
Health Care at a Discount
Our car needed an oil-change so I headed to the place in Montville off Route 32 where I have it changed every three thousand miles. Yeah, I've read all the car-care columns on the new and longer oil-change increments and that's well and good but many years ago my friend and neighbor, Eric, who knows more about cars sound asleep than you and I will ever know wide awake told me to get the oil changed every three thousand miles and that's what I do. And it works like a charm.
There were four or five people getting routine maintenance accomplished and I joined them while the oil was changed. One of the fellows who changes the oil came into the waiting area with the filthiest air filter I have ever seen, from a Chrysler Pacifica (he said) and spoke with the guy who drives the vehicle (who looked to be about my age, but with pointed (and muddy) cowboy boots and a trucker type ball cap) to confer.
The vehicle, said the guy, needed a new air filter and, opening his left hand, he showed the owner the oil drain plug that had been in his vehicle and that was pretty much worn down. The employee suggested the driver buy a new plug for four dollars since the old one was cross-threaded. A new air filter was nineteen dollars and some change, plus tax.I could see from where I was sitting, the owner had zero desire to do this and sure enough, he looked at the employee and told him "that's okay, I'll take care of it all later."
All of us, to include the kid holding the air filter containing the sands of the Sahara, knew this guy was full of carp (I hate typing 'crap') and he went back in to change the car's oil while I returned to reading one of the newspapers lying about, with a story on an inside page about the "new, affordable" health care plans that masquerade as saving Americans money but will in reality (and by design) damage/destroy and weaken choices available with the Affordable Care Act.
I've never really understood why we think the right to die from an illness or injury we cannot afford to treat or cure is in the Constitution or why insisting everyone have universal health care is some kind of socialism that leads to communism. I lived in my wife's country, Germany, which has universal healthcare and from what I've experienced, her countrymen are in considerably better shape physically than mine because the system works.
There are, I'm sure, probably a lot of reasons for that, but being able to afford and finance preventive care (like getting a new air filter for your car) is, I suspect, no small part of the equation. And more significantly, to me, might be projecting what NOT having preventive care costs us as a society.
I took another look at the Pacifica, still on the rack as I drove away, realizing the next time I see it, it'll probably be by the side of the road with the hood up and the emergency flashers on. I'm sure the repair bill total on that day will be considerably higher than what it might have been yesterday, but the owner did get to exercise free choice as a God-loving and socialist-fearing American, and that, I'm sure, will be very comforting when the wheels stop turning, assuming they don't just fall off.
-bill kenny
There were four or five people getting routine maintenance accomplished and I joined them while the oil was changed. One of the fellows who changes the oil came into the waiting area with the filthiest air filter I have ever seen, from a Chrysler Pacifica (he said) and spoke with the guy who drives the vehicle (who looked to be about my age, but with pointed (and muddy) cowboy boots and a trucker type ball cap) to confer.
The vehicle, said the guy, needed a new air filter and, opening his left hand, he showed the owner the oil drain plug that had been in his vehicle and that was pretty much worn down. The employee suggested the driver buy a new plug for four dollars since the old one was cross-threaded. A new air filter was nineteen dollars and some change, plus tax.I could see from where I was sitting, the owner had zero desire to do this and sure enough, he looked at the employee and told him "that's okay, I'll take care of it all later."
All of us, to include the kid holding the air filter containing the sands of the Sahara, knew this guy was full of carp (I hate typing 'crap') and he went back in to change the car's oil while I returned to reading one of the newspapers lying about, with a story on an inside page about the "new, affordable" health care plans that masquerade as saving Americans money but will in reality (and by design) damage/destroy and weaken choices available with the Affordable Care Act.
I've never really understood why we think the right to die from an illness or injury we cannot afford to treat or cure is in the Constitution or why insisting everyone have universal health care is some kind of socialism that leads to communism. I lived in my wife's country, Germany, which has universal healthcare and from what I've experienced, her countrymen are in considerably better shape physically than mine because the system works.
There are, I'm sure, probably a lot of reasons for that, but being able to afford and finance preventive care (like getting a new air filter for your car) is, I suspect, no small part of the equation. And more significantly, to me, might be projecting what NOT having preventive care costs us as a society.
I took another look at the Pacifica, still on the rack as I drove away, realizing the next time I see it, it'll probably be by the side of the road with the hood up and the emergency flashers on. I'm sure the repair bill total on that day will be considerably higher than what it might have been yesterday, but the owner did get to exercise free choice as a God-loving and socialist-fearing American, and that, I'm sure, will be very comforting when the wheels stop turning, assuming they don't just fall off.
-bill kenny
Friday, August 17, 2018
Mouths to the Soda
Was watching the other day as someone in sweats walked across the Norwichtown Commons parking lot towards the Planet Fitness smoking a cigarette, which she finished and flipped the butt to the pavement pretty close to the front entrance.
I smoked about three packs of cigarettes a day for twenty-two (plus) years and have my own definitions of insanity and dependence, as does each of us with a vice, but for Kafkaesque humor, you'd have to go some to top that. I'm thinking perhaps of trying to wolf down a Haagen-Dazs giant ice cream cone before crossing the threshold into the fitness center, assuming the H-D guys are still in business and make such an item.
We like the routine, the assurance of the rote drill (I think) and maybe that's where we believe the benefit accrues. It's like small children learning the Pledge of Allegiance long before they have any idea what allegiance means (for some of us that's still true, Pantload45). A whole generation now hits the fitness centers in the same way previous ones frequented the bars and clubs on Saturday nights or the churches on the Sunday mornings that followed.
But for what purpose, and to what end? Behaviorists refer to an Obesity epidemic in the United States and it surfaces for its fifteen minutes on the electronic vapor and vapid box in the corner of the living room and then we have another double cholestro-and-bacon burger from the neighborhood drive in and don't forget to supersize the fries and, what?-oh yeah, the drink? Gimme a diet cola, no ice.
Instead of studying and attempting to learn the lessons behind research like this, we watch Oprah live her best life (or something close to it) and dream of the day we can be in the studio audience and under our theater seat is a ......pair of Nike Running shoes(?) I think not. There may not be a free lunch, as the teachers in school told us, but Oprah can give us healthy eating tips and the napkins are recyclable.
I'm wondering if we're not better off just eliminating the middleman and cutting out the white space. Put a cigar bar in the fitness center--or set up one of those luxurious dessert places in the lobby; call it "Cool Whip and Curls", no one will snicker. Those who wish to indulge can, and the rest of us can pretend to not see any of it as it'll all be out of sight.
Look at how often we've used that trick to handle world events that should and could have numbed us. Besides, it keeps us from walking around with our eyes closed-people can get hurt going through life like that.
-bill kenny
I smoked about three packs of cigarettes a day for twenty-two (plus) years and have my own definitions of insanity and dependence, as does each of us with a vice, but for Kafkaesque humor, you'd have to go some to top that. I'm thinking perhaps of trying to wolf down a Haagen-Dazs giant ice cream cone before crossing the threshold into the fitness center, assuming the H-D guys are still in business and make such an item.
We like the routine, the assurance of the rote drill (I think) and maybe that's where we believe the benefit accrues. It's like small children learning the Pledge of Allegiance long before they have any idea what allegiance means (for some of us that's still true, Pantload45). A whole generation now hits the fitness centers in the same way previous ones frequented the bars and clubs on Saturday nights or the churches on the Sunday mornings that followed.
But for what purpose, and to what end? Behaviorists refer to an Obesity epidemic in the United States and it surfaces for its fifteen minutes on the electronic vapor and vapid box in the corner of the living room and then we have another double cholestro-and-bacon burger from the neighborhood drive in and don't forget to supersize the fries and, what?-oh yeah, the drink? Gimme a diet cola, no ice.
Instead of studying and attempting to learn the lessons behind research like this, we watch Oprah live her best life (or something close to it) and dream of the day we can be in the studio audience and under our theater seat is a ......pair of Nike Running shoes(?) I think not. There may not be a free lunch, as the teachers in school told us, but Oprah can give us healthy eating tips and the napkins are recyclable.
I'm wondering if we're not better off just eliminating the middleman and cutting out the white space. Put a cigar bar in the fitness center--or set up one of those luxurious dessert places in the lobby; call it "Cool Whip and Curls", no one will snicker. Those who wish to indulge can, and the rest of us can pretend to not see any of it as it'll all be out of sight.
Look at how often we've used that trick to handle world events that should and could have numbed us. Besides, it keeps us from walking around with our eyes closed-people can get hurt going through life like that.
-bill kenny
Thursday, August 16, 2018
Captain Hook Would Appove
My mom, tired of the snow and the cold of the Northeast, called Florida home for many, many years.
I keep telling myself she probably never had the pleasure of knowing, or knowing about, anyone resembling Shawn Kilums.
I wish I could say the same, don't you?
I keep telling myself she probably never had the pleasure of knowing, or knowing about, anyone resembling Shawn Kilums.
I wish I could say the same, don't you?
Wednesday, August 15, 2018
Will and Wallet
Whether you've lived in Norwich for twenty-seven days or twenty-seven years in all likelihood you've looked more than once at a situation or a circumstance where you live and said 'somebody really should do something about that.'
And yet, as true as that statement is, we never seem to have quite enough 'somebodys' (or maybe we just have too many 'thats') for us to really do much of anything at any time. And that's sad because everywhere I wander across Norwich I encounter people who want to work to make where we all live better.
As you probably know, I'm not a life-long resident (though I long ago wore out my welcome with many who are) but chose the promise of what Norwich could be for my family. I remain to this day an enthusiastic believer in that promise and the premise for improvement despite experiences to the contrary.
You may have heard/read, "If not us, then who? If not now, then when?" I'd be one of the first to insist that though both questions can never be fully or finally answered, we should never cease to ask them. And as I've learned, talking about change and actually changing are two very different things.
And it was in that spirit I supported the bonds for downtown Norwich we approved back in 2010. The progress across Chelsea, to both our quality of life and enhancement of the grand list, since that investment has been gradual and understated where most of us would have preferred swift and dramatic, but it has also been consistent and constant. My mom used to say patience is an under-rated virtue and I think she was right.
We started a journey of reinvention that can continue and also have an opportunity to shape both the pace and the path of that journey as part of this Monday night's City Council meeting when our alderpersons consider a ten-year and 8.47 million dollar bond proposal first outlined to them in a late July workshop by Bob Mills of the Norwich Comunity Development Corporation.
We all agree this is a lot of years and a lot of dollars and each (and all) of our voices, insights, suggestions, and ideas need to be heard by our City Council before they decide what to do next. I'm not someone who confuses having hope with having a plan and neither are you.
Especially because of the amount of money and the proposed scale and scope of the proposal we each need to measure (at least) twice before cutting once. From news accounts, I've read the members of the Council are doing their due diligence and seeking answers to questions they have and to those many and additional questions, no doubt, that some of those answers have precipitated.
I'm confident armed with answers, they, and we all, will be better able to decide on how and how much to continue to invest in ourselves. I look forward to seeing you in Council Chambers Monday night.
-bill kenny
And yet, as true as that statement is, we never seem to have quite enough 'somebodys' (or maybe we just have too many 'thats') for us to really do much of anything at any time. And that's sad because everywhere I wander across Norwich I encounter people who want to work to make where we all live better.
As you probably know, I'm not a life-long resident (though I long ago wore out my welcome with many who are) but chose the promise of what Norwich could be for my family. I remain to this day an enthusiastic believer in that promise and the premise for improvement despite experiences to the contrary.
You may have heard/read, "If not us, then who? If not now, then when?" I'd be one of the first to insist that though both questions can never be fully or finally answered, we should never cease to ask them. And as I've learned, talking about change and actually changing are two very different things.
And it was in that spirit I supported the bonds for downtown Norwich we approved back in 2010. The progress across Chelsea, to both our quality of life and enhancement of the grand list, since that investment has been gradual and understated where most of us would have preferred swift and dramatic, but it has also been consistent and constant. My mom used to say patience is an under-rated virtue and I think she was right.
We started a journey of reinvention that can continue and also have an opportunity to shape both the pace and the path of that journey as part of this Monday night's City Council meeting when our alderpersons consider a ten-year and 8.47 million dollar bond proposal first outlined to them in a late July workshop by Bob Mills of the Norwich Comunity Development Corporation.
We all agree this is a lot of years and a lot of dollars and each (and all) of our voices, insights, suggestions, and ideas need to be heard by our City Council before they decide what to do next. I'm not someone who confuses having hope with having a plan and neither are you.
Especially because of the amount of money and the proposed scale and scope of the proposal we each need to measure (at least) twice before cutting once. From news accounts, I've read the members of the Council are doing their due diligence and seeking answers to questions they have and to those many and additional questions, no doubt, that some of those answers have precipitated.
I'm confident armed with answers, they, and we all, will be better able to decide on how and how much to continue to invest in ourselves. I look forward to seeing you in Council Chambers Monday night.
-bill kenny
Tuesday, August 14, 2018
Primary Colors
Today for registered voters of both the Democratic and Republican parties in The Land of Steady Habits and Big Slot Machine Pay-Offs, my adopted state of Connecticut, it's freedom of choice to the point where maybe freedom from choice may have seemed more attractive.
We Nutmeggers go to the polls today to pick our party's nominees for every electable office under the sun and a few (at least for me) pretty far beyond that large ball of gas. Voting begins at six this morning and ends at eight tonight and you really owe it to yourself to vote (or stop being unhappy at the way things are decided in this state).
This may not the catchiest slogan for this election season but it's certainly an evergreen that will be true today and forever more: Show up or shut up.
-bill kenny
We Nutmeggers go to the polls today to pick our party's nominees for every electable office under the sun and a few (at least for me) pretty far beyond that large ball of gas. Voting begins at six this morning and ends at eight tonight and you really owe it to yourself to vote (or stop being unhappy at the way things are decided in this state).
This may not the catchiest slogan for this election season but it's certainly an evergreen that will be true today and forever more: Show up or shut up.
-bill kenny
Monday, August 13, 2018
The Broken Hearted Smile
There are days when too much is far more than that.
I've squirreled away a little something when that happens to me and you're welcome to help yourself to some or all of it if/when that happens to you.
And people say Mondays aren't such good days.
-bill kenny
I've squirreled away a little something when that happens to me and you're welcome to help yourself to some or all of it if/when that happens to you.
And people say Mondays aren't such good days.
-bill kenny
Sunday, August 12, 2018
Don't NOT Won't
The saying goes "Time heals all wounds." Maybe it does but maybe sometimes it doesn't even come close. And if you don't mind a suggestion, I wouldn't offer that pious platitude to Heather Heyer's mom.
One year ago, cowardly clusters of angry, disappointed white men marched through the streets of Charlottesville, Virginia, pretending to protest the removal of a statue of a prominent Confederate States general. You remember the Confederacy; they fought the Union and lost. Strange how so many folks never got over that, especially since they weren't there in the first place. How's that "time flies" mentality working for you now?
What the march really was an air horn call, not a dog-whistle, for all those white people who decided since they couldn't change what they wouldn't accept and they couldn't accept what they knew they could never change this time they'd march around with tiki torches and chant snappy slogans popular almost a century ago and a continent away.
And when you have the equivocator-in-chief providing air cover for hate, it would be impossible for there to NOT be a repeat performance. So please don't be surprised when our national news today is dominated by events from Lafayette Square in Washington DC.
If you don't mind (or even if you do), I'll be angry that this is happening yet again. Actually, I'll be way more than angry and you can probably guess which orange-hued orangutan with a too-long tie I'm blaming for it. And the beards have all grown longer overnight.
-bill kenny
One year ago, cowardly clusters of angry, disappointed white men marched through the streets of Charlottesville, Virginia, pretending to protest the removal of a statue of a prominent Confederate States general. You remember the Confederacy; they fought the Union and lost. Strange how so many folks never got over that, especially since they weren't there in the first place. How's that "time flies" mentality working for you now?
 |
| Tiki Nazi Boys |
 |
| So much light but still not bright |
 |
| Difference between cymbal and symbol |
-bill kenny
Saturday, August 11, 2018
Are You Ready for Some Football?
"Amendment I
Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press, or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances."
Of course, Putin's Whore had a problem with protected speech. Of course, he would.
(Sigh). If he didn't have bone spurs, he might've been a football hero, I guess, so I probably should take it easier on him though I'm not sure how a super patriot like Pantload45 fails to know the words to the National Anthem he claims to so revere.
-bill kenny
Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press, or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances."
Miami Dolphins Players Kneel For Anthem During NFL Preseason Opener
(Sigh). If he didn't have bone spurs, he might've been a football hero, I guess, so I probably should take it easier on him though I'm not sure how a super patriot like Pantload45 fails to know the words to the National Anthem he claims to so revere.
-bill kenny
Friday, August 10, 2018
Thursday, August 9, 2018
20/20 Hindsight
I wrote this so long ago the keyboard only had fourteen letters. At least that's how long ago it feels. An army of lovers cannot be beaten; that was Rosa Luxemburg's belief as she and Karl Liebknecht led their Spartacist League comrades into the streets of Berlin on behalf of all workers everywhere, but (pragmatically) mostly in Germany, as World War I was ending, both for Kaiser Wilhelm and Imperial Germany.
Despite their sincerity and well-meaning, they lost a lot more than just the discussion to the overwhelming logic, eloquence and (most especially) arms of the Freikorps, as Germany began a descent into madness that drove all of Europe and nearly all of the world into a darkness that lasted until May of 1945.
Being a nice person who means well, goes only so far. I visit an endocrinologist who is probably a very nice man with many, if not all, of his other patients. Being the persnickety and prickly person that I am (otherwise known as 'a pain in a well-known body part'), I can't afford the luxury of having a buddy as my physician.
Being a nice person who means well, goes only so far. I visit an endocrinologist who is probably a very nice man with many, if not all, of his other patients. Being the persnickety and prickly person that I am (otherwise known as 'a pain in a well-known body part'), I can't afford the luxury of having a buddy as my physician.
I need someone who will scare me into doing the right thing to avoid punishment and/or conflict because while the reward for doing the right thing should be the knowledge that you have done the right thing, it never seems to ring the bell for me.
Neither of us is going shoe-shopping or picking out drapes for the waiting room (though, sitting out there the last time, I couldn't help but feel the current ones make the chip on my shoulder look big; but I digress).
Life is choices and maybe one of the bigger ones is: do you surround yourself with people who mean well, but don't necessarily do well? (I call them stumblebunnies. I used to have another name for them, but my wife made me stop using it in front of the kids) Or do you embrace those who can get done that which you, and they, feel needs to be done?
The right thing isn't always the popular thing. Last week's crowd at the parade in your honor are now an angry mob howling for your head. Feel free to review the New Testament for an illustration of that. What else can you do except to be true to the vision you have of what "right" is?
As Rosa less famously, but more presciently, noted, "Freedom is always, and exclusively, for the one who thinks differently." She could be describing these times in which we live. Be an exclamation, not an explanation.
-bill kenny
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