tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13270756837562265732024-02-19T03:18:46.473-08:00...for Readers to DigestShort stories and vague observations.Rick Minerdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06025545276541014862noreply@blogger.comBlogger75125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1327075683756226573.post-52586899912709604482017-02-16T14:41:00.000-08:002017-02-20T05:47:07.179-08:00Devil With the Blue Dress On <br />
When the Democratic Party abandoned its focus on what is best for everyone that is willing to contribute more than they take<i> </i>they subsequently tossed out traditional family values and legions of loyal believers in favor of popular social trends and what it considers <i>politically correct;</i> the result has been a mass exodus of staunch supporters like myself and millions more across the country that make up what is left of the American middle class.<br />
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The new priorities of the party is a reflection of the growing division in our country between people of different ethnic backgrounds, cultures, faith and long held social norms of various communities; it has become symbolic for failure and the near collapse of morality and pride in what our nation always stood for among the vast majority of 21st Century Democrats. They have made flag burning, destroying other people's property and character assassination of anyone who doesn't hate what they hate their adopted identity over common sense and working in unison to achieve good things for all.<br />
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What the Democrats have accomplished during their restructuring phase essentially amounts to dividing us all into groups based on the color of our skin, social economic status, sexual orientation, gender and age. I am a straight male and I am white. I am a U.S. citizen by birth and my heritage is deeply rooted in Jewish faith and I believe I share Christian values with other religions. I am not poor and I am over the age of 40.<br />
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Others in <i>my</i> <i>group </i>who might also be seen as past their prime and now also less valued by the Democratic Party is anyone that falls below the poverty level as well as some that are are much better off financially than most of us! Our group also is also heavily populated with females and it includes people of color and very different backgrounds; some are not physically attracted to the opposite sex but instead prefer being with same-sex partners, and collectively we all seem to have as many different visions for our futures as we do different religious beliefs!<br />
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Nevertheless we have a common denominator in that we walked away or were deemed by them as not in step with the Democratic Party's new focus, thus no longer considered needed by the them to achieve its changing identity. In other words, they divided us, pitted us against one another and then chose sides, and when they took their eyes off us we came back to haunt them from voting booths across the land and we will again and again in future elections until they wake up and discover what is really important to everyone and not just their chosen niche groups.<br />
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If they are unable to do that we could be witnessing the end of them and the birth of a new party that will be called something entirely different but still use the jackass as its mascot. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, until it is met by a voter that has been lied to or forgotten about. or taken advantage of.<br />
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Among the elements of change within the ranks of Democrats is the complexion of the party itself; it is now an organization that has become a tight-knit union of politicians looking out for only themselves while making promises it knows it cannot keep to the growing number of poor people regardless of skin color that have needed to struggle their entire lives whether they are U.S. Citizens or not. They exist to fool them and other segments of society it claims as its own such as the Lesbian, Gay, Bi-sexual, Transgender community. By their rhetoric Democrats have demonized anyone that sees the devil in the details of what they have been offering all of those people but have failed for decades to deliver. <br />
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Marching in parades and standing at podiums to share solidarity with various groups whether they believed in their causes or not didn't work out as well as they thought it might. They miscounted their loyal base and they underestimated the number of defectors from it while courting new voters they believed would show up for them and swell their ranks even greater, but it didn't happen. Instead they were blindsided by reality and force-fed a new president that they despise and a congress that promises to take more away from them!<br />
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Being switch-hitters and wearing cheap disguises when the stakes were as high as they were this time around proved fatal to Democrats' plans of reshaping America into a land of milk and honey only for them, and it is something they may not recover from within the foreseeable future. I know a few key players that admit privately why they show a second face to the public than the one I have known for years. I grew up with some of these politicians, I went to school with them and I worked alongside many of them for the same goals when I too was a loyal Democrat. That all changed about a year and a half ago when I had to come to grips with how they, not me went way left of center! I still hold with traditional Democratic values but finding other Democrats that still do is like lifting a hen's beak and believing you will see teeth.<br />
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If any of this sounds harsh it is intended to because there are harsh realities they would prefer will never be discussed or exposed! For example: there are very few if any elected Democrats that would qualify for public assistance programs or could be considered to be barely making it. Most earn above average incomes for the work they do and they live in the finer neighborhoods; they have amazing health care benefits, good retirement programs and are usually only seen outside of their safer environments when stumping for support of something they want; whether it is to remain popular among their colleagues and constituents or because they fear not being elected or re-elected and forced to actually look for a job like everyone else that needs to earn a living.<br />
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Don't believe it? Look at any Democratic controlled city in America and count the familiar names that keep getting elected to one office after or another or to the same one over and over. It's an easy gig once they get their names established and recognized, and usually that is all they need because once that happens the money they suck from supporters and donors flows their way like water from a spigot! But as you come to realize that the worst cities in America with the highest crime rates and most ghettos are typically under Democratic control and have been for decades it should cause you to wonder how these people keep getting elected.<br />
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Democrats know the answer to that mystery; they recruit voters from those dirty and dangerous places with promises everyone knows they will break to clean them up. They show up in every parade where they climb into convertibles to play a rolling shell game; hiding their true agendas and then distracting everyone on both sides of the street by waving in a friendly gesture with one hand while tossing Tootsie Rolls to their children with the other and making them believe there is more candy where that came from.<br />
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A typical example of a city where Democrats are pulling the wool over the eyes of anyone that still believes they are looking out for who the say they are is my hometown of Columbus, Ohio. I can point to and describe the community I have called home for nearly 60 years as an example of their cloak and dagger policies, and none of our elected officials (nearly all Democrats) would be eager to engage in any debate with me. If any are actually reading any of this they will pretend they didn't and won't weigh in one way or another because they cannot afford to be made to look like frauds.<br />
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We used to call this part of town <i>the south end </i> before the big investors moved in and ran off most of the blue collar families and replaced them with a community of mostly upper income professional people.<br />
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The old south end was once home to a middle class that stayed here for generations but was forced to scatter when jobs disappeared, property values escalated and when the inner-city public school system became more of a watering trough for liberals and their politically correct knuckle headed ideas instead of focusing on teaching kids to learn much more than basic academic skills or how to become productive citizens when it becomes their turn to contribute to the good of others. In addition to having had a Democratic mayor for nearly two decades every seat on our city council, every seat on the board of county commissioners and our school board is and has been under Democratic control and it has been for a generation or more! <br />
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Collectively they are responsible for every problem that has resulted from bad decisions made by reckless people who make their living in politics. Our school system has gotten by without checks and balances by misguided people that use the board as a low-diving platform into higher paying elected offices, and by some that choose to run for seats on it because they have nowhere else to go in politics for a paycheck. Ours has been racked with mismanagement mistrust and scandal for more than 40 years yet it keeps pestering voters for more and more money during almost every election.<br />
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Instead of being able to boast of successes it looks for excuses for its failures and reasons to close more buildings that don't have enough students in them to make it worth anyone's tax dollars to keep them open. Columbus has grown to the fifteenth largest city in America yet the student population in our public school system doesn't reflect growth, and in fact is less than half of what it was forty years ago! The area I grew up in was once the neighborhood of hundreds of school-aged children but one could stay outside 24 hours of any given day now and never see any kids because families with more than two people have nearly all but vanished from around here.<br />
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We never see children walking to school or waiting for a bus to take them there, and we never see young mothers or fathers loading them into mini vans or SUV's to take them. The few that do live somewhere close by attend private schools even though there are public school buildings operating within a five or ten-minute walk from their homes. The houses around here that not long ago could have been purchased for under $100,000.00 if they were pristine now go on the market for as much as three-to-ten times that amount even if they need worked on. There are no homes close by that the poor people Democrats claim to be concerned about could afford to purchase or even rent!<br />
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The blocks that have escalated out of their reach in value have been tagged with names like Schumacher Place, Merion Village and German Village; where houses that routinely cost a half-million dollars or more line brick streets and are enjoyed by people that probably never needed to worry about making one paycheck last until the next.<br />
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The residents close by no longer resemble the working class that was here; one would be hard-pressed to find any with jobs like meat packers, steel workers, glass makers or someone working in retail or in the service sector. There are a few, but they are greatly outnumbered by people who earn salaries high enough to afford those expensive homes and who pay servants like house-keepers and gardeners to do their domestic labors and who drive vehicles with nameplates like Audi, Mercedes, BMW, Lexus and Infinity.<br />
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These are the people that mostly identify themselves as Democrats. During the 2016 presidential election cycle Hillary Clinton campaign signs outnumbered Donald Trump yard signs a thousand or more to one! It was the same for Democratic candidates running for office on the state and local level as well and it has been this way for the past twenty years! When this was a blue-collar area there was an even number of Republicans and Democrats living here but that ratio no longer exist and the few Republicans that are still around keep quiet about their political leanings for fear of being labeled unfairly by their neighbors as being sexist or supporting racism, homophobia and every other bad title they can think of.<br />
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Those Democrats that claim to care about people that are not white are mostly white people that have no interest in moving to other neighborhoods close by where poorer minorities are forced to live. They invest nothing but talk in those communities where homes are worth under fifty thousand if they don't have a few windows covered with plywood or aren't decorated with gang inspired graffiti.<br />
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They claim to care about the trash strewn alleys and streets where children walk to school past drug dealers and prostitutes and they go to their community festivals each summer and fall to deliver political speeches that promise help is on the way but they leave the ghetto as they found it and concentrate instead on making those little islands called Schumacher Place, Merion Village and German Village prettier and safer for the people that have the means to help their nearby neighbors but don't.<br />
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The mostly hand-picked Democrats that hold nearly every important office here are made up of people they all claim to care about and they are black folks, white folks, men and women, gay and lesbian and they are getting younger and younger with each new election. But what few can claim to be (if any) is someone that truly puts others needs above their party or even on the same level playing field.<br />
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They are too busy to really care about people in general, they bed down with special interest groups and they build properties the middle class will never be able to afford and then they buy them for investment purposes. But what is worse than that is they give tax-breaks to their friends that build them while gouging everyone else to make up for revenue loss.<br />
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Their investments are returned to them in the form of campaign contributions and higher salaries they vote for themselves. They don't create the jobs they promise and they offer no incentives for struggling families to want to stay where they are. Instead they create chaos in neglected communities so more people will want to leave and free-up more bargain properties they can buy and sell to people that can make them attractive and more expensive to expand the boundaries for them to invest in and profit from.<br />
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They pretend to be interested in lower income areas by cleaning out community watering holes like public swimming pools or turning on fire-hydrants for poor kids to run through on hot summer days. They build cheap little recreation centers or make cosmetic improvements to dilapidated or closed ones for children to go to for structured play-time, and they turn vacant lots where houses that weren't worth saving have been torn down and put a few basketball nets and call it a park.<br />
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Those parks don't have a sliding-board or a swing-set because they aren't really <i>parks </i>when compared to the wealthy Democrat's majestic <i>Schiller Park</i> in German Village (also a stone's throw from nearby Schumacher Place and Merion Village) where there are numerous tennis courts, an outdoor music and arts facility, a huge indoor recreation center, a grand lake, lots of lighting, a running track, tall trees and beautiful gardens that are meticulously kept along with plenty of open space for their dogs to run freely while they sit at picnic tables and gossip about the crime that lives just a few blocks away.<br />
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The people that comprise the neighborhood associations are people I know, they are my neighbors and they talk to me about gala's they host to raise funds to keep their park and streets clean and safe and they include some who hold public office, professors and some who work in radio, television and print media. Many are attorney's, doctors, engineers, business managers and even CEO's of large companies and a few ease their consciences with philanthropic endeavors that show they care but are able to easily reel their gifts back in through tax write-offs for themselves or by being awarded contracts by their friends to build new things. <br />
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What most have in common is no small measure of arrogance and belonging to or only supporting the Democratic Party. Not the one I was raised to believe in and place my trust with, but a new one whose demographics and complexion is different than what it ever was before. It has become a party that has hung out the welcome sign for new voters that are younger and have less to contribute than my generation and those before mine have. When they see us we peering into their new storefront window they turn that sign around and shut off the lights hoping we will not join the opposition party but just go away instead.<br />
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They do this because they know we aren't as easily fooled as their new congregation and because we aren't shy about voicing our opinions or questioning there motives. Anytime there is an organized rally somewhere to protest the purging of so many many Democrats in Washington or in State Houses around the country I get the flyers asking me to attend, they are delivered to my doorstep and then I watch the social media where my neighbors encourage us to join them in protest there also. And they do go; they make signs or buy them from vendors and they dress up in vulgar costumes and attempt to shame everyone that doesn't think like them or has the the moxie to stand for anything they don't.<br />
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The Democratic Party in America truly has become the Devil with a blue dress on and it isn't just the women wearing the dress anymore, sometimes it is a man who probably has an identity crisis. <br />
Rick Minerdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06025545276541014862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1327075683756226573.post-25835425787204803232017-02-07T09:12:00.000-08:002017-02-07T12:39:59.435-08:00Creating Your Own Drama<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Other people's drama doesn't concern me in the slightest; whether they are bogged down in a personal relationship that keeps them off balance, or if they are upside down with their finances or mired in political passion with nowhere to go but to Facebook to tell the world how miserable they are or why they have turned on previous friends or current relatives. We see the same caustic political opining every day, usually by the same people we allow to invade our own social networking space with their lopsided and often misguided rhetoric. It has become something we expect and only what we know will be there whether we agree with them or if we consider them to be off-the-charts-bat-shit-crazy.<br />
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There is no escaping it unless we drop out of social networking altogether or delete every actor in our lives whether they are friend, foe or total strangers that we don't agree with or anyone that tries to drag us into their miseries. But then we would need to stop reading newspapers, magazines and online news feeds and turn off our radios and televisions and concentrate only on our own drama.<br />
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I find myself constantly rubbing the back of my head without any answers to me to explain why I read most of the garbage that Facebook is now but I do read it and then move on to more garbage being posted by the same purveyors of hate, bullying and self righteousness. Many of them believe they can change the world by expressing opinions that only prove they are angry about something or by finding fault with everyone that doesn't agree with them but all they are really changing is other people's opinions of them.<br />
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Celebrities and politicians are the worst of the lot because those people feed and exist off being adored and supported by others that agree with them and they know where to find them. They exist in a cyber world that is heavily populated by people that are eaten up by hatred and mistrust of anyone that doesn't share their views or likes something they don't. The politician seizes the opportunity to invite them into a world of make-believe and broken promises and because some people have nowhere else to go or are simply unable to think for themselves they accept those invitations and thus become surrogates for them and their true personal agenda.<br />
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On the other hand, celebrities in the entertainment sphere have mammoth egos and only want to be admired because they need to sell movie tickets or promote their latest recording, or gain radio listeners or television viewers. They understand that there are enough people who are easily star-struck, waiting for a hero to follow, so they pick sides in every argument whether they believe in it or not because it is a built-in audience that is easily wooed; they become their master of ceremony, the front man to share and shine on their behalf and to lead them in a cadence echoed across the land with like-minded others that agree with them.<br />
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A recent example of celebrity leadership was the highly anticipated half-time show for the 2016 Superbowl. It was widely believed that Lady GaGa; considered by many left leaning liberals to be one of the great orators of modern times and among the most trusted voices in America today, as well as one of the great political scientist of the 21st Century. They believed she would take the stage before tens of millions of TV viewers and make the most profound political statement since Abraham Lincoln's Gettysburg Address. Lady Gaga was going to set the world on fire by sharing her opinion of America today and the President of the United States and of everyone that doesn't despise him or anyone who is willing to give him and his promises a chance to see if we can do better.<br />
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She was to be the dynamite at the end of a fuse of yet another incendiary device being lobbed at mainstream America and its choice for new leadership that has taken positions that radical leftists fear will derail their efforts to turn us all into a <i>love your neighbor </i>society even if the neighbor hates everything you stand for and might someday kill you. That radical left of liberals that believes in free speech only when it suits their needs and expectations, the liberals in America that are still seething and will continue to seethe and simmer in a boiling pot of irrationality until the whole world agrees with them.<br />
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Her legions of admirers were stung by the results of the presidential election and she was supposed to right the sinking ship they call America and set us all straight with whatever pearls of wisdom she was expected to unleash. Her fans were excited and liberal politicians were frothing at the mouth with anticipation; they changed their own plans, cancelled previous engagements and commitments to be somewhere else just to be in front of a television for the halftime show because they were sure she would put everyone they disagreed with or despised in their place and bury them beneath a heap of shame.<br />
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I missed the program so I cannot say with certainty, but whatever she did or said on stage didn't change the world as many hoped it would. From the disappoint in her performance I saw from liberals I can assume it fell short of what Lincoln's political messages meant to large crowds that gathered to hear his take on important American issues. <br />
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The anticipated drama of what Lady Gaga would unleash, nor the game itself was on my list of things to do on <i>Superbowl Sunday, </i>but putting a fresh coat of wax on my car was! I try to keep the drama in my own life manageable and in perspective, totally devoid of being a distraction to anyone else's. Before the coin was flipped for the 51st Superbowl the wax was applied and my car was again shiny, and before it ended I was back on Facebook sharing pictures of it with friends that appreciate images of shiny Ford Mustangs!<br />
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I have to be honest I am not familiar with Lady GaGa: I have never listened to her music and never concerned myself with her political views, and I didn't care one way or the other about either team in the Superbowl or who would win. It is the reason I didn't get caught up or emotionally anxious about any of it. Like I said; I avoid other people's drama while doing all I can to concentrate on my own and mine isn't the kindling for anyone's distorted views of other people or their political passion. My drama isn't about asking for favors or understanding of anything, yet I suspect there are some that might read this and find enough in it to pick a fight with.<br />
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But whatever any reader's take on all of this might be it is hard to imagine how anyone could look at my car and not agree that it looks good when it is clean and sports a shine!Rick Minerdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06025545276541014862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1327075683756226573.post-86991721200088719742017-01-16T12:25:00.000-08:002017-01-16T13:02:15.032-08:00Fixing To Die In March, 2017 it will be twenty years since my mother passed. I often wonder what she would think of us and the world if she could come back and try to pick up where she left off before she got sick, and before we all had to say goodbye to her. I have a pretty good idea that she would not be pleased with all of the changes she would encounter, in fact, I knew her well enough to believe she would be as terrified as she would be mortified.<br />
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1996 was the last year she was well enough to still be the family <i>go to girl </i>when any of us had a problem or if we needed comforted or only reassured that <i>tomorrow will be a better a day;</i> that was her signature saying when she couldn't explain or fix something for someone else right away. In October of that year she was diagnosed with Ovarian Cancer and the day before she received that horrible news she went shopping. That day began as any other before she realized for sure that something was wrong and from then on everything in her world (and ours) went downhill and then five months later she was gone.<br />
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She wasn't fixing to die before she was told that she might, and it wasn't until she was too weak to struggle against what was rapidly becoming inevitable and fell into a coma before her will to keep hoping and fighting to stay with us eventually gave out. I was at her bedside when she passed and the next twenty years have seemed like only a few days. But here we are; two decades since, and with the years came the changes of attitudes and behavior of most of the world in addition to technological advances that changed how we get things done, how we treat one another and of course our economy, one that she and my dad (who passed a year later) probably couldn't survive on their own if they were still here, even if both were healthy.<br />
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Nevertheless, my parents were strong people that played by the rules and they spent their lives under a different set of them than we now have for everyone; maybe it is a disguised blessing in their favor that they didn't live to see what we all do now, or that they needn't be expected to accept changes I suspect they wouldn't want if given a choice, or to even be able to comprehend. That changing economy for example; most of my mother's favorite shopping venues are gone or are closing, largely because of how the masses shop now through the convenient process of never having to leave home by doing it on line.<br />
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Mom was a window shopper who enjoyed walking past one and peering into another and seeing a reason to enter a store; she found joy in getting dressed up to leave the house whenever it was possible to go somewhere or do something different than being cooped up at home where she was busied by the daily routines of housekeeping and making sure hers was a fine oasis away from the madness and chaos of others. She would return from a day out there in it and say she was glad she didn't have to face it everyday but we all knew she enjoyed it. <br />
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Websites have replaced those windows and keyboards and computer screens asking for credit card numbers have made it easier to purchase just about everything (including food) without ever seeing it close up, trying it on to see if fits, or being tempted by an aroma. We pay on line for what we want to buy instead of handing money to cashiers and carrying it home ourselves and then wait for someone in a brown or white truck to bring it to us. Simple transactions but with possible consequences ranging from identity theft that can wipe us out financially or theft of the products from our porches when there is no one home to greet the delivery man.<br />
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Before the stores boarded up their windows and the employees that worked in them were sent home for good getting anywhere presented fewer challenges and was less expensive as well as being far less dangerous than it has become for people her age. Her commute was on city buses where she didn't mind standing at a stop waiting for one to get her away and back home again. But most of those destinations she wanted to visit are gone and those buses are no longer the safe capsules of transportation they once were. She would be reluctant to even board one today if yesterday she saw something on the news where something horrible happened. The hugely inflated fare it now requires to climb aboard or how riders now pay with debit or credit cards instead of coins dropped into a box beside the driver would leave her gasping in disbelief.<br />
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For that matter, what we pay for <i>everything</i> would go well beyond sticker-shock for both my parents and probably for everyone that died around the time they did. But what might shock them both more than prices for goods or services is the people that were born shortly before or after they died and how we are raising and educating them as well as the people they knew and how so many of them have changed!<br />
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The <i>progress</i> that has come wouldn't be viewed by them with the same zeal it is for everyone that has embraced how we get things done or the new tolerance for other people's behavior that was different from what they believed was normal.<br />
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Nearly all of the progress<i> </i>that was made in their lifetime and the things that were new in the 20th Century has become old-school now; all replaced with gadgets and ideas they might not understand or want, and it has taken just twenty years to all but erase that familiar world they knew. This would be a scary place to be for my mother but not for my dad. His attitude would be more in line with mine, which is a will to accept what I have to but to hold onto what I want to keep until my time is over and not allow anyone or any machine change how I manage my affairs or what I think when it is my decision to make.<br />
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My parents were never fixing to die; they treated each day as they did earlier ones until the choice was no longer theirs. I on the the hand have reasons to and they are reasons neither of them were confronted with because they lived in a time when dying was probably a sadder occurrence because for them there was more to look forward to in their <i>normal </i>world than some of us see in ours. In their lifetime not much was so different from a past that was interesting and when the world was more sane than it has become, and when what they accomplished in all of their years of living would still matter for the future more than what we have does for ours.<br />
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Progress is galloping past us faster than it did in their time and people's attitudes and expectations are flying off in different directions even faster! My cell phone that I have had for 15 years is a <i>dumb phone </i>compared to newer ones with bigger screens that are really compact computers. Nothing about my life and what I use is regarded as <i>smart. </i>I still do most things manually even when I could pay for <i>smart </i>things and my own attitudes and expectations haven't changed significantly from what they were twenty or even 30 years ago.<br />
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But a lot has changed for my generation which has become one that is more and more willing to forget the past and do its best just to find a comfortable place in the years we have left. Were I to die today and somehow find myself back here in 2037 I am sure I would drop dead again from shock when I saw the changes that are surely ahead. So I <i>am</i> fixing to die; not that I have any plan for that to happen soon, but even if we cannot be sure of when...we do know that death will befall us at sometime, and as morbid as it may sound I have been busying myself with being ready to the point of embracing the idea!<br />
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In my work as a writer I have shared more than just clues that I am ready to go anytime the Lord is ready for me, and if today were my last one I am fine with it. In fact, if he were to leave it to me to decide if today was the finish line or choose to hang around another twenty years this would be my day of glory! What I envision in becoming an old man portends a place I want no residency in, especially if it is a nursing home or the more polite term for a warehouse for old people (assisted living space). The idea of living longer if it means not being able to care for myself without help is something I hope I never experience. <br />
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It is a roll of the dice; be okay with checking out soon, or risk catastrophic happenings that could render us helpless, bankrupt or wishing we were dead all because we weren't ready or didn't plan for either.<br />
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Those my age who say they are excited about getting older than we are, or that they enjoy this time more than when they were younger are either easily amused, still in near perfect health, or they are lying to someone. Even if they are financially better off than most I suspect there is some truth missing from their vocabulary when they talk about how much better they think the world is now than it was before it got on the fast track to change. But if they are really honest and really think it is I hope they live another 40 years. If they do, good for them; maybe by then all of what they hope to see around them will be worth it.<br />
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But what is around me now, and what is trending and evolving is more than I want twenty more years of, so I shake off as much personal frustration as I can by staying focused on what makes me happy while keeping an eye on anything or anyone that displeases me and avoiding it when I can. I am fixing to die by living the way I choose for as long as I possibly can. That means expecting less and staying satisfied that I lived in a better time and can still do only the things I must and what my personal resources allow.<br />
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I am fixing to die by not hoping for phone calls that could change my life or waiting for my government to ever get around to caring more for more people than it has lately and by not fearing what it is likely to do or become. I am fixing to die by voting against politicians that continue to seek new ways to keep their careers going by making themselves more popular to people I have little in common with, and I am fixing to die by setting my own last few goals to manageable heights.<br />
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That means waking up every day and ignoring changes that don't suit me and shrugging off all of the warning signs of things or people that make me uncomfortable or could kill me! In other words I am preparing the best I know how to finish how I was when that day was decades still ahead. I am fixing to die by not waiting for someone else to do anything I want done and just doing it myself on my own terms.<br />
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We are turning a political corner in America with a new president that is unlike any politician I have seen and for that reason I voted for him against any expectations I had that he could possibly win the election. But he did win and although he scares a lot of people who are hoping he and the country fails under his leadership I remain optimistic that he will not only succeed in undoing what those who came before him changed for the worse or to only benefit a few, but that it will be better for more people before the smoke and noise subsides from the angry ones that only have their own interest at heart.<br />
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I hope I am right about this man, but even if it turns out that he isn't much different than the rest I'll be okay with that also because whether half of the world likes the other half or not our choices become fewer and with less hope with each new election and there isn't much anyone can do about that. I have been approaching this whole <i>fixing to die</i> thing with the attitude that it is inevitable if not just over the horizon for me, and after that what is left behind will be up for grabs for someone else just as it always has been.<br />
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By then it won't matter to all of us who moved on to whatever is next, and when the time arrives for me to face the consequences of living a long time no one should wonder if I was ready to die or not because if anyone has been paying even a little attention to me or what has defined me as a writer they will know that I have been fixing to for a spell.Rick Minerdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06025545276541014862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1327075683756226573.post-27478167131317115452017-01-10T08:14:00.002-08:002017-01-10T08:57:32.210-08:00The Man with the Golden Gun<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-PRVHNCz1cQQ0JVj4h1GI_3bKPivRLxR0ah1xonIacuizHFGgyNBZYNCuP1zWUAz02p9-BZ3rpj2xFumKS-AzlzPb11FnBKn3KKyIhSgRXsnnwcxTV9jeT_w7d7fdSvPg7PKsYAr7Or7y/s1600/bond1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-PRVHNCz1cQQ0JVj4h1GI_3bKPivRLxR0ah1xonIacuizHFGgyNBZYNCuP1zWUAz02p9-BZ3rpj2xFumKS-AzlzPb11FnBKn3KKyIhSgRXsnnwcxTV9jeT_w7d7fdSvPg7PKsYAr7Or7y/s320/bond1.jpg" width="182" /></a></div>
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They call it our <i>golden years</i> when we reach the age I am now; when no longer do we have to meet deadlines or live up to another's expectations, or for that matter prove anything to anyone. If you are like me you may have looked forward to the time when you could finally slow down or even stop keeping a schedule of any kind. I used to dream of the day when I could stop working and just relax anytime I felt like it; perhaps write my memoirs (as mundane or uninteresting as that might sound) while the rest of the world was out there slugging it out every day for whatever they wanted.</div>
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Then I got there, and I arrived with about 95% of my teeth still in my mouth, most of my hair in places it ought to be and with all of my body parts still attached (except my tonsils) but most of them not working nearly as well as they once did! I got here much sooner than I thought I would because as we get older time continues to fly whether we are having much fun or not. My own <i>golden years </i>showed up in the blink of an eye, and speaking of eyes, mine <i>ain't </i>what they used to be either.</div>
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In addition to spending more time writing than I probably should I also read more now than I used to and a lot of what I read is stuff I wish I hadn't. The news, for example; most of it is more depressing than it ever was to me and because I am getting older I find myself reading things that happen to other old people and what I might expect to also happen to me! For instance: I just read a piece on the Internet that talked about what happens to a man's penis when he gets old. Now that was an article I never would have paid <i>any</i> attention to back when mine mattered more to me than it ever will again. </div>
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But I read it nonetheless even though I knew it would depress me and there isn't anything we can do about it. As a matter of fact the writer pointed that out; the penis loses its elasticity, it shrinks and struggles to perform the basic functions we used to enjoy and there isn't any way to stop the aging process. In other words, it too becomes <i>golden </i>after a lot of years pass and for guys like me who resist change when change doesn't suit us the news about this is not good, but it also is not devastating because I now have fewer reasons to care about things like that than I did when I was in my 30s and there has been a lot of interesting distance covered since then.</div>
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It won't matter to anyone but me that I have become like every other old guy in this respect but still I feel a measurable amount of sadness about the whole thing because not a day goes by where there isn't a reason to think about it or be reminded of it, and it can happen at the oddest times; like when I am watching television and a commercial comes on about pills for men with erectile dysfunction and I see some guy in it who looks to be half my age sitting in a bath tub holding hands with a woman half my age.</div>
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At a time like that I think to myself how lucky I was through the years I never needed to have that discussion with my doctor and still don't because it really doesn't matter if mine is still functional or not and all of that stopped being a priority anyway. But still it seems unfair when you consider that as we age we get a few inches shorter but our nose and ears become larger; those parts that everyone sees every day become less attractive while the part we are urged to keep covered grows smaller, and according to the article as it shrinks our testicles actually grow longer!</div>
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Not a pretty sight to look forward to.</div>
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Throw in that our butts also lose their curvature and become flatter, or in some cases sag there isn't much left in terms of physical attraction (if we ever had any to begin with), and barely anything left of us to attract positive attention from anyone else besides our personality (if we can make it interesting) or something that sets us apart from others (if we can discover what that might be and hone it). </div>
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That <i>butt issue </i>has become more depressing to me than having become a man with a golden <i>gun </i>because it changed how my pants fit. I see men older than me whose belt-lines line up with their nipples and I understand why so many need suspenders to hold them up and why having more room in the crotch area makes less sense (unless it is because our testicles will fall further than they used to hang).</div>
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The moral of this amoral story is my <i>golden years </i>and everything about them that is golden came with hidden fees I never anticipated. But I began this piece by hinting it would be a James Bond story and it is; for anyone familiar with the early Bond flicks you might recall that his boss, an aging but distinguished gentleman known only as "M" always looked at 007 with a scowl on his face and usually spoke to him condescendingly, as if he were disgusted by him, and with blatant resentment even when he knew he was the best agent Her Majesty's Secret Service employed.</div>
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I suspect that it wasn't personal; the man was merely jealous.</div>
Rick Minerdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06025545276541014862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1327075683756226573.post-85813067311362854202017-01-06T11:30:00.001-08:002017-01-06T14:37:43.922-08:00Everything goes well until it doesn't...<br />
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I wrote the title of this post as a polite variation of <i>shit happens, </i>not to complain about anything going on in my own life that has left me feeling down or wondering why every day isn't a great day or even just a good one. We were reminded of how fast things can change for everyone in 2016, and for the first time in 2017 many of us were again when we lost our power and were left shivering in our homes in the middle of the night.<br />
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The temperature outside was plunging into single digits when the lights went out and the furnace stopped but there wasn't anything many of us could do about that except to hope the electric company could resolve the issue quickly. When power was restored a few hours later it was another reminder of something else we sometimes take for granted; for me it was simply an inconvenience that I hoped would not linger for very long, but for people that cannot pay their utility bills and do not have enough friends or someone in their family to help them out in times of need, or for all of those that have lost their homes because of disaster or another reason my temporary problem was one of annoyance, not dire emergency, and for that I am eternally grateful!<br />
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None of us are immune from unpleasant detours when all is well in life and everything we have and enjoy is working in our favor. That great job or the best people we could hope to surround ourselves with could all become disappointments one day or gone altogether, and all it might take is one bad decision on our part or something we cannot explain at all. It has happened more times to me than I care to divulge here and I am sure it will a few more before I have the chance to know why.<br />
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But I have learned to pick myself up and not rely on anyone to comfort me or suggest ways to avoid being disappointed further, or left to feel sorry for myself when I am having a bad day or when others are doing something that disappoints me. Someday everything I have will be gone so I cherish what is left of my stuff but not as much as I covet the fact that I am still able to protect my home and those who count on me and keep giving me reasons to want to.<br />
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I suspect there are people whose lives rarely get inconvenienced and many who might be reluctant to admit that everything isn't rosy for them all the time but I am more comfortable in my own surroundings when I am not joined there by them. It isn't that I resent people that seem to be born into immunity from ever being let down or anyone that has earned it, I just don't have the time nor patience to waste marveling at them or wondering why my own life was one of more challenges than theirs. But they too will know moments when everything was going well until it stopped; it might be a health concern that becomes out of anyone's ability to correct or the loss of a loved one but none of us finish life as happy as we were before <i>something </i>changed.<br />
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In the moments before the power went off the other night I was looking in the medicine cabinet for a bottle of Excedrin hoping to relieve a headache that had been lingering all day and I blurted out <i>oh shit! </i>There were a few last-minute routines I needed to undertake before going to bed and suddenly I was not only in the dark but so was my 13 year-old disabled dog that needed to get outside one more time for the evening; a chore that requires lifting her to steady her (95 pounds) and carefully guiding her through 3 rooms and down 4 steps to the yard which was not only freezing but now pitch-black.<br />
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Normally on a frigid night such as this one I would know it was time for her and I would be completely dressed for the elements including a coat, cloves and suitable shoes, but I was in my boxer-shorts, a t-shirt and only socks when the lights went out and my other gear was in two other rooms! After successfully helping her and my other dog get out and back inside it was feeding time for them and for the cat that was howling for her late-night snack also. However, before I could address any of that I needed to find candles to see what I was doing and to light a few paths in the house and to do that I needed matches, which I had forgotten where I put them.<br />
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Once those routines were accomplished there was the matter of rigging up suitable warmth and the garage was where I needed to go to search for a kerosene heater I keep for such emergencies. After another 10 or 15 minutes it was inside and fired-up and with the warmth came the stench of burning petroleum in my living room that quickly mingled with the stench of scented candles. They were all we had because my wife believes candles should emit aromas whereas I cannot stomach the smell of pumpkin spice, vanilla or raspberries if it only resembles the real thing.<br />
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It must be a woman thing, or only something feminine men can appreciate; flavored candles? Please. That might be one of the worst ideas ever come up with but at this crucial time I had no other choice but to light several as I still needed to find that pill bottle and put into play a few more indoor and outdoor routines before sitting up through the night to make sure we stayed warm without inviting disaster by being careless with the flames now needed for light and comfort. It was then I wished I hadn't switched from a gas stove to an electric one when those words came to me; everything goes well until it doesn't...and how good a cup of hot coffee would be right now!<br />
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So I returned to the garage to find my portable propane stove to heat water. (What's a few more fumes when one has a splitting headache?) As I was setting it up on the back porch I received an alert on my cell phone from the electric company advising that power would likely be off for 4 hours, and then a second one came warning that it might be 12 hours and the only good in any of that was that at least I could snuff out those stinking candles when the sun came up. But then, 20 minutes later, like an answer to a silent prayer that nothing else would go wrong and that no more delays would be advised the sound of the furnace and the lights coming on at the same time once again served as a reminder that God hears us and once again everything was going well.<br />
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If there is a point to be made here it is only that I experienced another episode of temporary set-back and that I need to work a little harder on taking fewer things (like electricity) for granted. In recent years I have been working harder and harder on doing that while encouraging others not to take life or themselves too seriously when everything isn't going the way we hope it will. Like the 2016 election cycle; where out of nowhere our political system was turned inside out to reveal how different we all are and how much unalike our expectations are.<br />
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For liberals everything was going their way, and the future looked nearly guaranteed that it would for years to come until shock waves were sent on election day, and now for everyone (like me) that believes liberalism is barely different than a dangerous cult it is even more important as we look ahead to remember, <i>everything goes well until it doesn't. </i>If we can keep the power we need on, and if we never take for granted what it means to have it (or be without it) we should be fine. On the other hand; if we get cocky or don't prepare for emergencies or steady our emotions when something unexpected comes along we will be in far worse trouble than I was when the lights went out.Rick Minerdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06025545276541014862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1327075683756226573.post-73989813307078663162017-01-03T09:30:00.000-08:002017-01-03T12:39:16.679-08:00Walking in High Cotton beats being poor<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Something I rarely talk or write about is my personal wealth, which by the way, and to my own surprise continues to grow substantially. I no longer have to wake up and go among the masses each day to compete for my own cotton patch or hope that it will one day be bigger than my neighbor's or even just enough to live above what might be regarded by anyone as a financially secure or only safe comfort zone. </div>
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What I do have I already worked many years for and I believe I have earned all that brings me joy. I won't discuss with anyone but the Internal Revenue Service my personal holdings or bank statements because quite frankly that area of my life is no one's business, and as far as I am concerned it is none of theirs either but the law being what it is I am compelled to go along with it and the idea of ever being audited is something that I would prefer never to be bogged down with.</div>
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Nevertheless I do from time-to-time share anecdotes within the pages of stories I write that reveal experiences and the paths I have taken en route to where I hoped I would be before I die. They may not leap from the pages but they are there, outlined and explained the best I know how for anyone that might be curious as to how it came about that a kid from a broken down neighborhood who some believed was plagued with a learning disability, coupled with an attention deficit in the early years of schooling somehow overcame both and unlocked enough mysteries to climb over what used to be obstacles.</div>
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Whether it sounds like I am lamenting about previous hardships or on a boasting spree for the comfort and riches I have managed to cobble together from all of that would be up to the reader to decide, but I hope an open mind will prevail before that call is made. Keeping an open mind is in large part the secret to all of my successes in life; believing in things even when they seemed out of my reach, believing in other people when common sense said it was a toss-up and in myself when I was more hopeful than sure has played the biggest role in my becoming a wealthy man.</div>
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Of course being in the right place at the right time didn't hold me back either because when I found myself there I seized as many opportunities as I knew how! That old saying <i>it's not who you know, it's who you blow </i>may be true for many, but I never had to blow anyone to get where I wanted to be. Those who <i>truly </i>know me or anyone familiar with my work might argue that I am not a <i>kisser-upper </i>as much as I am probably a defiant and rebellious sort when kissing up might better work to my advantage. I am not beneath blowing a little friendly smoke in someones direction when I see an opportunity to gain their attention to something I want them to know about me, but never have I been accused of holding back what I really think or expressing my opinion even when it might be perceived as impolite. </div>
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In fact, it is no secret to anyone that I might have been invited into more lucrative circles or encouraged to remain in a few impressive jobs longer than I chose to if I had been a little friendlier or more neighborly than I was when I spoke my piece instead of what someone else wanted to hear or expected. When it comes to politics, liberals would describe me as a train wreck, and when it comes to social graces among politicians I might be the last person to be invited to deliver the keynote address at a banquet or a fund-raiser although I do speak well and have what I believe is an above average command of the English language.</div>
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But given the other things I do have, or some of the things others might only dream of or are still trying to get, being the way I am has proven to me that I have been approaching life in a manner that has resulted in being successful if not understood by some. In that manner of rationale I believe you have <i>to be rich </i> to fully understand and appreciate riches. I think that because there was a time my life could have been described as that of a poor man, or at the very least one who struggled often I am in a position to now draw comparisons to us who have a lot and those still scrambling to get theirs! </div>
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And before I can be labeled a pompous ass I hope it will be known that I take nothing and no one for granted, and that I fully realize that everything I have could be swept away with one careless decision or one catastrophic event. We all teeter on that balance and all of us hope we will never step on a crack and be swallowed up by it.</div>
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It is why when I dreamed of someday becoming a rich man I vowed philanthropy, and becoming a philanthropist is my immediate goal. My intention is not to rival or compare myself to someone like Percy Ross who discovered joy and personal satisfaction in giving away money; I aim to hold onto mine for as long as I need it. But what I do want to share and spread around to others is a mindset that leaves me believing that I am wealthy and that so are many others who don't even know they are!</div>
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The home that shelters and keeps my family safe from the lions at the gate isn't particularly impressive to anyone but me but it is the one I want and wouldn't trade for anyone else's. My family is an eclectic passel of people that are as different from one another as people I have known all my life but they are all extraordinarily gifted people. The bosses and co-workers I have known through the years all taught me something that became valuable in some way, and the friends I have known, especially the ones that hung around were and still are people worthy of being admired and cherished.</div>
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I treat friendship and loyalty to one another as precious gifts that we exchange.</div>
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I never received an abundance of education but I was educated well enough to land in some exciting and rewarding workplaces where I was surrounded by brilliant people that taught me to be brilliant when I needed to be. However, just as important as all of that is the peace of mind I have obtained as well as my awareness of how well my life has turned out even when there were many times I was left wondering whether I was doing things the right way or if anything I was doing really mattered. I have had amazing pets all my life that were more than adequate stand-ins when people failed to show up to remind me of what I was seeking all along, and compared to some that are as old as I am now my health, although not perfect is reasonably good considering the abuses and neglect I have shown my body through the years.</div>
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I never bought expensive toys but managed to have toys I wanted and they included vehicles I dreamed of owning or only wanted during moments of impulsive buying, and the joy of owning them wasn't anymore complicated to me than it was working on them when something broke or tinkering with them to give them each my own personal touches. There is a term for people with obsessions for these pleasures; we are called <i>car guys </i>and the value of our cars can be as high for an old rusty Chevrolet as it would be for a shiny new Ferrari. Many of mine could have been called rust-buckets but I enjoyed all of them.</div>
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None of them were expensive and collectively they mirrored the rest of my life! It has been one of riches in every way but how someone with different ideas might describe personal wealth. Like I said, I will keep the bulk of my money and only give away some of it to hold onto what I have and need. If I had more and could spare more I <i>would </i> be someone like Percy Ross and other wealthy philanthropists that are more generous and practice more benevolence than me, but my riches are defined in a different category than theirs. </div>
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My life has never been about a fatter bank account than I need to keep going and remain satisfied along the trail; it is defined in two amazing bulldogs that keep me smiling every day and knowing that we will remain dry on this cloudy and dreary day, in a comfortable place where neither they nor I will see it end unable to satisfy our hunger. It will be on further display when my phone rings and I don't like the number displayed on caller-I.D enough to answer it.</div>
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I walk in that high cotton every time I visit the garage where there is a seven-year old Mustang parked; where I can climb in it and go somewhere if I need to or just gaze at it knowing it is the car I want and can afford. The cotton in my life turned out to be a healthy crop but not so high that I am ever likely to get lost in it and because it is just high enough I am truly a man of great wealth. Having revealed that, please don't ask to borrow any money as I have none to lend. But there may come a day when my pockets are fuller and when I have more than would be fair for any one person to hoard. </div>
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If that day does come I might just be the guy more people would enjoy having around, and it could arrive sooner than later if enough people liked and believed what I shared here, and if they are willing to explore even more pearls of wisdom that explain how I became a rich man.</div>
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<a href="http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/rickminerd">http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/rickminerd</a></div>
Rick Minerdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06025545276541014862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1327075683756226573.post-36933786906380140312016-12-29T17:08:00.000-08:002016-12-29T18:58:05.018-08:00A Legacy of Division... How I will remember the Obamas<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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There is no photo to accompany this post because quite frankly the image of Barack Obama will forever haunt me as a once loyal Democrat that voted for his presidency twice and lived to regret it.<br />
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Seeing him now only reminds me of how easy it was to be duped into believing he would have all of America's best interest at heart and that somehow he would find a way to more unite our country after the bad taste that was left in so many mouths following the George W. Bush era. What we got on return for our investment of trust in him was a more divided nation than at any time since the American Civil War! Sadly, after all of the hope, this is how he will be remembered by many that trusted him to do better than he was clearly capable of doing.<br />
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When I look back on his tenure as the most powerful person in the world I can only come up with one thing that has happened under his watch that had a positive effect on the majority of us; the cost of gasoline tumbled to an affordable price for everyone that needed it. As far as many of us are concerned the only benefactors of his presidency has been foreign governments, the lobbyists that delivered wealthy investors who funded his campaigns, attention seekers and anyone bumming a free ride or demanding clemency from being held accountable for anything.<br />
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I saw a popular sway in American values and expectations under the Obama regime by people who identified themselves as <i>Democrats</i> and it was as if they were all holding matches to fuses with intentions of burning down most of the traditions that were struggled for, bled for, and have lasted more than 200 years that identified us as the strongest nation in the world. Not a perfect nation, and certainly one (like all others) that could stand a tune-up from time-to-time, but not one in dire need of turning us all against one another until we either fix everything at once or go to war with ourselves.<br />
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That is what happened in the 2016 election; we went to civil war against those that saw our country differently than we did or wanted it to become something we didn't want. The fuses were lit to pit everyone that stood for ideals that were traditional America values against everyone that either never respected them at all, or felt strongly they were no longer good enough. In our zeal to rise above prejudices and protect democracy for all we found ourselves wallowing in the gutters of hate-filled rhetoric, pointing fingers of blame and sacrificing decency and civility to one another for believing what we believed.<br />
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For us Democrats that felt disenfranchised by the failures and lack of concern for the whole country at the national level as well as by other Democrats within state and local party ranks it was not a difficult decision to break away and cross the lines that divided so many. We looked at and listened to who the Democrats had in mind to succeed him when it came time for Obama and his flock to vacate the White House and we heard loud and clear the other side. For me it was a first: never before did I ever consider trusting the Republicans with my vote and making it count for anything that would be in my best interest, but this time it was the Democrats not them that convinced me that I should. <br />
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In the end it came down to a handful of choices; two major party candidates that didn't seem to even belong in the same country (let alone be trusted by half of it to lead it back to grace and prosperity) and a few power-hungry renegades who identified themselves as neither Democrat nor Republican; none of whom seemed smarter than a fifth grader, and each of whom could have caused nothing but chaos and further discombobulation within our already fragile and vulnerable borders.<br />
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The Democrat's choice to assume responsibility for leading us in the post-Obama era was a woman that sported what amounted to a hateful chip growing from both shoulder blades. Her rhetoric against traditional America was as condescending and laced with as much racial divide and content for men and women that longed for being treated with respect for their sacrifices as Mr. Obama fostered and cultivated during his two terms. In many ways she came off as sounding evil and certainly more dangerous to the whole of the country than he.<br />
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In the final debate between her and the Republican nominee she railed against and questioned his patriotism when he suggested a wait and see attitude when asked if he would accept and support the process we have always used to select our presidents, and when it was over it was her and her followers that wouldn't go away quietly. Instead they protested vigorously and called for others to protest; they promised (and are still promising) total disruption of the results. They spent and wasted tens of millions of dollars on futile recounts, hoping for a miracle that would further change how we choose our leaders from a fair process to only something fair for them. In short, the entire world saw the new Democratic Party that I and apparently many others warned was festering before our very eyes during the Obama era.<br />
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I will remember President Obama not only for his many failures and weaknesses, but equally important for what he <i>was </i>able to accomplish; disruption of the old Democratic Party and how he led a national movement to redefine what it stands for, a wider racial divide since the 1960s, his promise for affordable health care for all Americans that left me spending more than a third of my income for insurance premiums and oh yes...lower gas prices. The idea that choosing the first African American president would unite us more and break down racial barriers that existed before him proved just the opposite and if he is an honest man he will claim the lion's share of responsibility for that.<br />
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When he said he wanted to be the president for all Americans he must have changed his mind sometime near the end of his first term when his focus shifted from all to only those making the most noise. His <i>"squeaky wheel gets the grease"</i> policies were carried out and paid for with higher taxes for businesses and working Americans that supported him and received nothing in return but made to feel double-crossed. And in the end, at this time for him to go, he has shown only low-class surrender of his powers by mocking and criticizing the man selected through due-process to replace him, while promising nothing to aid in facilitating changes that have potential to be positive for more people than he was able to deliver.<br />
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Even the First Lady refuses to leave quietly or with any resemblance to grace or dignity. Saying that because her preferred candidate lost the election she now knows what it feels like to not have any hope is a back-handed slap in the faces of people everywhere that really have known hopelessness. It is a punch in the gut to hungry and homeless people that never found a way out of despair under her husband's presidency; it is a kick in the groin to everyone forced to work two or three jobs just to make ends meet, and to sick people who cannot afford to see a doctor or anyone that was forced to file bankruptcy because they went when they needed to.<br />
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Her comments about knowing what hopelessness feels like when the servants that have served her for eight years are gone and when there are no highly trained Secret Service agents there to protect her and her children any longer is salt into the wounds of every family that lost someone who was murdered in some ghetto in America that she and her husband all but ignored and were left to become dirtier and more dangerous. It probably tightened the tourniquets and heightened the mental anguish of every wounded veteran now struggling for decent medical care for what they went through to keep our country safe, and for every college kid drowning in tuition debt it probably left them wondering why they even went to school in the first place.<br />
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Michelle Obama leaves her perch in high society a woman as defiant and stained by arrogance as her husband, and it is fair to attack her; the long honored tradition of keeping First Ladies immune from verbal prosecution for the failures of their husbands went by the wayside when she inserted herself as a voice and believing she spoke for the majority of the country. The immunity from scorn left her as it did when it no longer applied to Mrs. Clinton when she too insulted half the country.<br />
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When Mrs. Obama took the low road to mock the newly elected president and everyone that supported him she stood like a soldier defending what she believed was the good that came from her husband's time in office and she believed she was echoing popular sentiment. But sometimes soldiers lose the fight even when they believe it is the good one and they get knocked down. If she is truly a brave soldier (as she has poised herself to be for the past eight years) she should have expected all the cannon fodder coming her way since she invited it with bold remarks, but if she can't it only proves how alike she and her husband really are.<br />
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Many of us see him now as only a bitter man that was so caught up in his own ego and protecting what he believed was a proud legacy that he tarnished it with a patina that should never be removed; to be left for all to look back on as a lesson in the principles of democracy. His idea of democracy and that of what remains of the Democratic Party has shifted from what many of us knew it to be before they turned truth into prejudices against what they call being politically correct.<br />
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There can be nothing politically correct about anything they accomplished or hope to accomplish when it leaves tens of millions of people feeling frustrated and hopeless but it seems that was their goal all along. The evidence showed up when America kicked him and his hand-picked would-be successor to the curb and finally said <i>enough is enough.</i><br />
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<i> </i>Many of my fellow Democrats took back any respect they once held for me when they discovered that I supported a promise to restore America to something that will once again resemble what made it great in the first place but I am okay with that. The <i>friends </i>I lost through all of this can and will be replaced, and all of us will keep believing in what we choose to believe in. What didn't completely destroy us will be our only hope to endure with any chance of ever coming back together.<br />
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I extended faith and trust in Barack Obama and I will remember him as a president who let me down. Walking away from the party he led, that of my parents and grandparents before them was made easy by those that have done all they could to cast out the old faithful and replace us with people that never believed in what we did. In his wake will be two very different countries, both pretending to be united but still divisive, and they will be represented by more than two political parties. The Democrats that shifted their support to Republicans are already proving that it needed us to keep alive and protect all that we hold dear, and we needed them. In this, the aftermath of eight years of division, Democrats working with Republicans are on course to becoming the only truly democratic party we have.<br />
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The old Democratic Party will keep trying to reinvent itself to become more and more attractive to younger generations and to various minority groups and millions of immigrants regardless of where they come from or whether or not they have our country's best interest at heart or their own agendas to weaken it. It is an act of clever awareness and resourcefulness on their part to keep fielding candidates that can hopefully restore their power and effectiveness over the masses.<br />
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For them it is only about numbers and they have done the math. However, what they were willing to sacrifice came at a cost just as unaffordable to them as Barack Obama's health care plan that was successfully shoved down everyone's throats. In the end the math was right, but the sum of it all was not in their favor and it left them even angrier at America than they were when they launched their revolt against traditional American values.<br />
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That to me is this president's legacy.<br />
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Our parent's Democratic Party was dismantled and sold off sometime between 2009 and 2016, but those of us with strong traditional Democratic roots are replanting in a new political garden now; forced to re-seed but finding more space to grow within the Republican Party. <br />
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Maybe what we really need now, instead of a third party is new names for both major parties. Rick Minerdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06025545276541014862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1327075683756226573.post-48315139885368418342016-12-28T08:46:00.000-08:002016-12-31T09:39:29.299-08:00Write On<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Before there was social networking where now anyone can be expressive and tell the world just who they are and how they think only those we saw and who saw us in the flesh on a regular basis really knew much about us. What they might have been curious about they would have needed to either observe or learn through conversation. I think back to the people that were in various ways special to me, and especially all that made my own life richer or fuller by <i>really</i> knowing them and it occurs to me they would have just been <i>other people</i> had it not been for the time and effort we invested in one another to accomplish what has mattered so much.</div>
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As for the ways people come to know each other on social networking sites; it is only through watching a few sentences or images on a daily basis that one or the other posts, but at best it is only a glimpse into who they truly are. Nevertheless, it is a thread for many that tethers them to people they admire and some they hope will admire them for what they believe either sets them apart from others or makes them similar in ways perceived admirable. </div>
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In that regard we can all become authors of personal stories that tell a world of strangers who we are and tales of adventures we have taken or will take, that without social networking few outside our inner-circles would know or care to know.</div>
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Most of the folks I interact with in Cyberland are people I really don't know and very few that know me. As for what they know <i>about </i>me...well, like them, it is only those selective sentences and images of a much more complex person that I am willing to share that describes who I want them to believe I am, and almost always only what I think are my best qualities. The darker and less appealing aspects of me isn't often on display for others to judge; only what I can easily defend or anything not so important that it should matter one way or the other to anyone.</div>
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In various incarnations of what I want others to know about me I have been a radio announcer, a cop and most recently a writer. If I am skilled at this craft or if I was in the other two has always been for someone else to decide but whatever anyone's conclusions may be it really doesn't matter because I have always chosen paths that were personally satisfying and that tested me in ways I was curious enough to experiment with.</div>
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This blog and the books I have written are the true medium for expression for me.</div>
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In the old days, before the internet and other venues that allow us to speak out or simply empty what is in our heads for others to see about all that was available were newspaper or magazine forums such as <i>letters to the editor </i>or<i> </i>talk-formats on radio that allowed listeners to call in and vent or just weigh-in on a particular topic. But shortly after we entered the 21st Century that all changed and so did many's willingness to expose who they truly are. It went from a willingness to a desire or an obsession for a lot of people until eventually too many learned too much about them!</div>
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So whether it is places like <i>Facebook, Twitter </i>or any other method available to dole out words that convey what is on our minds, the cyber world has created an abundance of <i>writers </i>who have discovered like I have just how easy it is to impart short stories or share personal abbreviated biographies that tell others who we are, what we think and what our goals and hopes are.</div>
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There is no bottom line to this post beyond pointing out what should be obvious; most of what we all write is meaningless to anyone besides the people who already know us! That is unless we take those first few words or sentences to a full paragraph and then another and then another until it all comes together to tell more complete stories and really exposes who we are.</div>
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Every time someone writes a blog, sends a text message, or a<i> tweet</i> or only responds in writing to something someone else says they launch new experiments that test their own writing skills even when the may not be doing it on purpose and even if they don't know they are doing it. What is important is it feels right at the time, and it leaves us with a feeling of confidence that we could tell someone something whether it matters to them or not, or only because we feel a burning desire to get something off our chest.</div>
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<a href="http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/rickminerd">http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/rickminerd</a></div>
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<br />Rick Minerdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06025545276541014862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1327075683756226573.post-35816979062162493962016-12-16T11:43:00.000-08:002016-12-16T13:02:29.397-08:00Journey to Christmas<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Another's faith or what Christmas means to them isn't anything I dwell on beyond what this time of year represents for me. When it comes to my personal belief and the coming of Christmas each year I guard that very closely and never do I feel any urgency to explain it or <i>all </i> the reasons I celebrate the season.</div>
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I have had the good fortune my entire life to enjoy all that Christmas brings while being surrounded by people who understand that; and when I watch or listen to debates over why some celebrate it as I do or why others do not, nothing has ever changed my interpretation of seeing religious images depicting the first one, nor what commercialism and capitalism has turned it into and continues to profit from. For them it is <i>Black Friday's </i>that can linger for a month or more<i> </i>and other clever marketing schemes to restore bottom lines that didn't perform as well as they might have hoped from January through October. </div>
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But I am also okay with that because we all have to make a living somehow and most of us enjoy believing we are getting bargains and great deals even if common sense tells us differently. Buying and selling more commerce during the weeks leading up to Christmas is how we celebrate what has been depicted in Nativity displays longer than any of us have been alive; we only honor the tradition by keeping it going year-after-year. </div>
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We buy it, wrap it and then hope the recipient believes as we do that we did good! Some of us worry that we haven't done enough and when that happens we offer condolences to ourselves that it was the thought that counted and we hope the other person shares that sentiment if they were disappointed! It happens to me every year but I don't dwell much on that either.</div>
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The merry wishes for everyone we care about to have a happy Christmas and to be able to celebrate in ways that bring them joy and comfort not only at this time but throughout the coming new year is wrapped in garland, tinsel, bright lights and song regardless of what is beneath the tree or donated to people we don't know, and if we mean it when we say it that should suffice when the other things we do or say don't.</div>
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For me the journey from Thanksgiving to Christmas is all of the above with a few side-bars; they include the approach of winter, which for all of the challenges and hardships it can create is still my favorite season. I enjoy seeing snow and walking in it and I am reminded of the joys of sleds and ice-skates when I was young and unbreakable if I crashed on a hill or lost my balance on a frozen pond. </div>
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The older I get the more frequently I am reminded that either of those mishaps would likely be a death sentence for me now, and why I have enough sense to no longer own skates or a sled! But I wish I could and if I did I would probably risk come-what-may at least one more time in my life because that is another side-bar to my own joys of the season. The memories that refuse to ever fade of a world that somehow didn't seem as cold in winter as it does now. </div>
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This is when I miss everything and everyone that is gone more than at any time of the year, but it is also when things happen or people show up that remind me of them. The Saturday evening before Christmas I and others around me wait on our porches (regardless of the weather) for total strangers that make up an impromptu choir accompanied by a horn player to <i>come-a-caroling</i>; it is a tradition that started years ago and for those few songs they sing in front of one house to the next we all seem to know each other.</div>
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Glad tidings of musical joy that only happens once a year but well worth the wait!</div>
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The other homes and businesses around me are decorated for the occasion and the area becomes the images we see in our mind's eye when we hear those sentimental and time honored melodies, and when the week ahead comes and goes we will wait another year, and when it comes we will complain about some who jump the gun and begin preparations too early. I do that too; I might see a Christmas tree in a window before Thanksgiving and wonder about it myself even when my own tree may already be up by then. But then a few days or a week passes until once again everyone is back in the spirit!</div>
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In a sentence, that is what the season is about for me, spirit, and our personal reasons for feeling it.</div>
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I won't be in church on Christmas Day, but I will watch with hope and enthusiasm the Pope's message on television on Christmas Eve just as I have in years past. For me that is what will be left of a season full of anticipation, culminating when the last one leaves our 59th consecutive traditional family gathering (in the same house) that night. I watch them put on their coats and we hug, wish one another Merry Christmas and one by one they go and I wonder if we will all be able to do it again next year.</div>
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Then it is only me, seeing and hearing what the crowd that has gathered in St. Peter's Basilica came there for. The family will be gone and I'll be in a room where hours before they all took time from their busy schedules to journey home for awhile. The tree will be still be lit and the outside lights will stay on until morning when the 11 month wait will once again commence for the next one.</div>
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It is within these pauses in the journey to Christmas Day that I try to take in and savor as much as I possibly can, more this year than last year, and more then than the year before because as life goes and age will have it no one can be sure how many more we will be allowed to take. Too many of my peers won't have another one and all of us could be trudging through our last. </div>
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That first journey to Christmas shown in the photo above might have been something like that for Mary and Joseph; anxious and needing to get where they were going, but perhaps uncertain of what lie ahead.</div>
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Safe travels, and Merry Christmas!</div>
<br />Rick Minerdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06025545276541014862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1327075683756226573.post-12031125298898582812016-12-14T10:26:00.000-08:002016-12-14T10:26:01.544-08:00Moving the Clock Forward...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This post will certainly disappoint my narrow minded liberal friends, but as most of them have known for a very long time disappointing others has never been a problem for me when first they disappoint me! That is what they have been doing in recent years with their soft on crime attitudes, their zeal for attention getting and all of those guilt trips they have been inviting me go on with them that I refused to book. </div>
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It is no secret (if anyone was paying attention) that our teachers in the middle 20th century were liberal minded people that encouraged their young flocks to listen to them, to our parents, and to abide by the golden rule. Those liberals also led us to believe that it was wrong to either burn or otherwise desecrate the American flag but instead led us to pledge allegiance to it every morning with one hand held against our heart. They encouraged if not insisted that we love and honor our country instead of speaking out against it or flat trashing what it stands for every time our government becomes new people that don't always hold with the same truths as the one it replaces in each election cycle or when it isn't focusing only on us.</div>
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My teachers even led us in morning prayer before the start of class although that too ended before I finished elementary school. But I know they were all mostly liberals because education in America seems to attract mostly liberal thinkers especially in public schools systems. If you know a teacher or someone that sits on a school board I would wager heavily that person uses mostly the left side of their brain when they speak. </div>
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(More now than ever before!) </div>
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Liberal thinking in the 21st century has totally redefined an entire national political party and changed how it defines democracy. I hold to what I was taught and what made sense to me when I was learning from them a half century ago and I reject most if not all of their redesigned platforms that only make life easier for boxes of people instead of everyone.</div>
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My liberal friends that don't understand how I stayed in the middle when they kept tilting further and further to the left do understand something they and I can agree on; a population in America that has more than doubled in size since then, thus twice as many <i>hineys </i>to kiss to remain popular and that many more to persuade if that is what you want. It is what liberals do; it doesn't make them bad people, it only makes them an angry and rarely satisfied lot. So they take out their frustrations on people that don't understand them or anyone that refuses to allow them to be the only voice in a room by orchestrating and participating in demonstrations and heaving insults at everyone who doesn't subscribe to the literature they read. </div>
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It is the central reason they failed so poorly in the 2016 national elections; they simply misjudged too many by labeling them incorrectly and believing no one would put up a fuss like they were doing. Words like homophobes, sexists, racists, misogynists and other unflattering names for anyone that doesn't share their thinking became their cadence; their candidates repeated them in every media interview and public rally before their adorers until it became normal to add them to their own lexicon because it made them feel smarter or part of something bigger than them. </div>
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Name-calling became their pass, or code words to belong to what they believed was a majority; a place they believed they would be surrounded by people that would coddle them when things weren't going their way and make them feel safe if someone that could do it were to come along and hold them responsible for something. </div>
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They staged loud rallies and the media cheered them on with guarantees that if they stayed loud enough there was no possible way they wouldn't win. They came to rely on surrogates operating away from schools and classrooms acting as TV teachers; people like Rachel Maddow, Anderson Cooper, Whoopie Goldberg and an endless faculty of famous others fed them more and more reasons to believe it until calling someone on the other side deplorable morphed from just being trendy to a full blown battle cry! </div>
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But then, like a bolt of lightening from the Heavens realty slapped them across the face with such great force many were sent reeling or just to their knees sobbing, some so in disbelief they threatened to disrupt everything the new president had in mind; to disrupt the country itself if necessary and draw deeper lines of division in the sands that separate them from other Americans whose biggest faults were not agreeing with them.</div>
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He is not my president! They continue to shout it as if believing those of us that are eager for a new direction in America will join them in their protest and discard our own concerns and give up our own hopes to accommodate them. None of us will of course and about all we can really do for them from here forward is tell them where they can buy Play Doh, or where they can go to get some donated to them and who serves free hot chocolate.</div>
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All that can be promised to them for the next few years is what they already received as a payoff for their other demonstrations; more blow back in their faces as the result of what they caused to happen; a new president that stands for everything they were against and will likely never understand.</div>
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We move the clocks forward again on January 20th. My liberal friends who are disappointed and unwilling to adjust theirs can stay behind and think up new demands or more clever ways to insult people, or they could just pinch their noses and drink the Castor Oil. </div>
Rick Minerdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06025545276541014862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1327075683756226573.post-38038489230539766572016-12-12T09:49:00.000-08:002016-12-12T10:05:29.768-08:00Did You Receive My Text?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It isn't often that someone will ask that question of me but it has happened a few times over the course of the past decade or longer. I am not sure when <i>texting </i>became something others came to rely on as mainstream communication but it hasn't yet happened to me. When it comes to that unseen silver umbilical cord that prevents them from ever being out of reach of anyone that knows their phone number I am simply not interested in that connection of being found or finding others. </div>
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When fingering <i>smart </i>phones became the obsession it has for nearly everyone I know or see walking, sitting and even driving I was already a year or more in the rear-view mirror of the rest of the population who quickly embraced the ease of allowing one another to send all of those important messages they share to reach them in an instant. So I have missed out on being able to tell anyone that might be curious where I am, what I am doing, what I plan to do or simply, <i>what's up?</i></div>
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<i> </i>Now, I am not mocking anyone that has made texting as much a part of their lives as breathing, eating or taking in water, and it isn't my intention to heckle anyone for adopting that strategy to accommodate the needs of someone else, or to communicate their own needs and interests to make easier their busy lifestyles or to remain busy when it is required for them to be; I am merely sharing another example of why I am happy to be left out of something I don't need.</div>
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Rarely is it important for anyone to know where I am or what I am up to but there was a time that wasn't so. It was before I retired in 2005 when I was actually expected to be accessible to more people at more times than I really wanted to be. Retirement gave me the freedom to play cat-and-mouse with anyone I chose until most people grew tired of that game and eventually gave up wondering or even caring. Were I to focus my skills on being an ardent texter that might change and I would have less time to myself and probably more to worry about than I want as I see that as one of the possible consequences.</div>
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But in those years I frequently write about as the best time of my life; a half century before smart phones and feeling like shit more often than I would prefer because of aging and all that comes with it to worry about there was a simpler form of <i>texting </i>our mothers used when they needed us for something or had something very important they felt we should know right away. If we were someplace where there was a telephone they simply called us; if we were home with them-same thing! They didn't need to send us a message if we were in another part of the house, all they needed to do was raise their voices to a decibel loud enough to be heard.</div>
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If we were somewhere close by in the neighborhood; same thing.</div>
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But the argument is still good for anyone that wants to put it forth, that back in those days neither our parents, nor anyone else could reach us 24/7 minute-by-minute if they needed or only desired to. It's enough to make some wonder today how we ever managed to get anything done or even survive! But somehow we did and there are more like me than those people might want to believe that has never texted someone or received one. Most are probably much older than me or too young to be able to understand a keypad, or have stayed too poor to ever afford the technology, but there are millions out there who manage to get by and are okay without it.</div>
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I have lived to see the future, and here waiting for me was <i>"Big Brother!" </i> </div>
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Had texting existed when I was a lad my mother would have been able to keep tabs on me at all times and she probably would have! I wouldn't have been able to experiment with life as much as I did during those impressionable years when there was so much out there to learn about and sample. Had texting been available to her I would have had to lie to her more than I did, and everything I did that I enjoyed doing but probably shouldn't have would have been cut short or changed somehow, and had that happened I wouldn't have grown to become the man I did. </div>
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Whether or not that would have been good or not could be kindling for a great debate!</div>
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That photo that accompanies this piece is yet another form of middle 20th Century messaging and anyone that lived through that time gets it. It didn't matter where we were or how far away from shouting distance or if there was no phone around to call us; we knew what it meant! For anyone too young to understand it there is the ease of texting someone that might know; that is, if you know someone from my generation who has and enjoys the means of doing that.</div>
Rick Minerdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06025545276541014862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1327075683756226573.post-88454008823781700662016-12-10T08:42:00.000-08:002016-12-10T08:42:03.276-08:00I Am The Real Santa Claus<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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After years of leaving them wondering I guess it is about time for me to come clean; but for more than four decades I really had them going! That first Christmas with my son when I became a rookie dad back in 1971 was pretty easy to fool him because he was just 4 days shy of being three months old. I don't recall what he received from the old man that year but I am sure it was as inexpensive as it was special. Probably more so for me than him but what matters here is it was the beginning of a legacy I have rarely spoken of until now. </div>
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Another dozen years would pass and more kids would arrive until I had a gaggle of them by 1983 and it wasn't long after that I decided to talk to my doctor about a procedure that would halt my reproduction capability because quite frankly, those kids were becoming more and more expensive day-by-day and when Christmas rolled around each year I struggled to stay out of the poor house! He suggested the equivalent of what women call having their tubes tied. It sounded like the right thing to do so I consented to have mine <i>tied!</i></div>
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<i> </i>Thank God the procedure worked because over the decades that would follow I never again had an <i>oops, not again </i>moment. I will turn 65 midway through the next summer and to this day I remain firm that I don't want to ever have another one and I have made it clear to my wife that if she wants to have more kids the best old Santa can do for her is get her a boy-toy for Christmas. So far she hasn't gotten back to me on that and it is probably best for us both that she hasn't.</div>
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But back to the kids we do have; when they were very young I would put on an outfit every year that I knew they would instantly recognize as their very favorite person when Christmas was near and they fell for it the first few years. Nevertheless, as they got older I could tell they suspected it was really me behind that beard but still they went along with the charade. (Perhaps just to humor me.) </div>
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Eventually I would hear it from all of them that they always believed it was me in the red suit but until now I never came close to admitting it, because for whatever the reason, we parents want our kids to believe in Santa Claus for as long as possible. It is why I put on the suit; to reinforce that belief that contrary to what others might tell them someday Santa is a real guy and they saw him in their home, they spoke to him and gave him a list of Christmas wishes and he usually came through. </div>
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I don't know if they ever <i>really</i> knew the truth because like I said, I am pretty sure I had them going well into their adult lives, and I wouldn't be at all surprised if they told their own children of those Christmases long ago when they would see the real Santa Claus and how mysterious it was that he knew so much about them when he showed up to prove he was real.</div>
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An old man once told me that we eventually reach an age when clearing our conscience of deep secrets can be like a heavy load we can finally set down;<i> "leave us feeling cleansed and liberated" </i>he promised. That was several years ago and now I am the age that old man was when he said it. The kids were right all along, but if I was right all of this time that I had them fooled until now it doesn't mean my kids are slow; it only means they resisted letting go of memories that were as fond for them as they are priceless to me.</div>
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<br />Rick Minerdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06025545276541014862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1327075683756226573.post-28713241169612994352016-12-09T09:39:00.000-08:002016-12-09T09:49:24.963-08:00My First Mustang<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Okay, it wasn't a car and it was only <i>mine</i> for the few minutes it probably took for the photographer to lift me into the saddle and then aim his camera. But for that brief moment in the saddle I was riding high even though my butt couldn't have been more than a few feet off the ground; as you can see, the horse was pretty little! </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> But then again, I wasn't the tallest cowboy on the block either but thank God I was that age when being one and allowed to play with toy guns was not only okay, but also encouraged by parents! It must have been, for why else did my mother and every mom of every boy I knew buy us so many for Christmases and birthdays? We got pistols that fired caps and because nothing was projected through the barrels no one got hurt when we aimed them at one another and pulled the triggers!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> If a kid of any age were to do that now a police SWAT team would arrive and the entire neighborhood would go on lock-down.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Somewhere along the time-line between then and after I grew into adulthood playing cowboy stopped being acceptable behavior and photographers with pony's stopped showing up in front of people's houses. It happened when </span><span style="font-size: large;">toy manufactures were pressured by the politicians who were pressured by a new generation of moms to outlaw the making of toy guns without a red tip on the barrel to identify it as not real. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Personally I would have hated having to play with something like that because I wanted every piece in my make-believe arsenal to look real, otherwise the other cowboys on the block wouldn't have taken me seriously when I aimed one at them and barked a command to either surrender or fall down and play dead if it was there turn to lose. Hard to imagine now, but back then kids took turns losing and we were okay with that! Toy guns with red tips?</span><span style="font-size: large;"> That Mustang in the photo might as well have been the broomstick I rode before the photographer showed up! </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> But back to the moms that raised boys who either weren't taught properly or simply couldn't develop common sense, or were just born with violent tendencies and desires to pick up real guns to get what they wanted or to get revenge for something; maybe it wasn't the mom's fault as much as it was the whole of society for making them believe that kids of any age needed coddling and more parental guidance for everything they do. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I believe that is what happened and why a world that expects and demands we all be politically correct has become as dangerous and irresponsible as it has. Too many parents stopped teaching responsibility and too many encouraged kids to only be kind to one another and never mutter offensive words even if their only intent is to re-enact their heroes. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> In our case it was guys like Hoppy, Gene and Roy. Television and movie actors that we wanted to grow up and be like and none of them were bad guys. T</span><span style="font-size: large;">o us they were on the right side of everything and they shot the bad guys, and at the end of every show a cool theme song played that identified their characters. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Maybe that's what we wanted, our own theme song, or only allowed to form our opinions and be allowed to think for ourselves and use our imaginations.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> We wanted to be like those guys and it was okay. But when that new generation of moms replaced the old ones that saw things differently they may have secretly wished their sons were daughters instead. They began raising boys they didn't trust to make good decisions or comprehend right from wrong and they picked out different toys for them to play with.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Toys like soft-cuddly purple dinosaurs and sponge balls; toys that both boys and girls can play with together; they encouraged them to only laugh and be happy because they wanted them to believe that is how it will be someday out there in the real world if everyone could just form a circle and sing Kumbaya instead Paladin. They handed them Fruit Roll-Ups instead of allowing them to eat what they really wanted or be allowed to chew on a piece of grass that some dog might have peed on.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> They monitored everything they ate and everything they watched on TV and </span><span style="font-size: large;">they encouraged their sons to watch </span><span style="font-size: large;">the Disney Channel because it was pure wholesome family fun and no one there was ever mean, and they forbid them from turning on the Western Channel because it promoted meanness and violence and surely would turn them into bank robbers or serial killers.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Those kids eventually grew up, and after being denied a chance to let their imaginations wander into any territory that may be dangerous many of them bought or stole real guns because they were too old to play with toys; they slipped off the leash their parents tried to keep them on and by then they were too screwed up to comprehend the difference between playing and acting out years of suppressed aggression. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> The world was a better and safer place to grow up in when we weren't such an uptight society and before we stopped allowing kids to be kids; before we brainwashed so many of them to keep believing in the Easter Bunny until they get married. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> That pony was just a prop on that day and millions of kids all over America sat on one just like it during that era. We played with cap-guns for the same reasons our parents bought them for us, because we could be trusted to know they were merely playthings and because there were fewer reasons to want to really kill our friends. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> We played cowboys and Indians and we never thought of it as an insult to an entire race of people even though in reality it was. But we didn't do it for that reason because it was never drummed into our heads that it might be. We did it because we weren't taught to believe everything we did probably offends someone somewhere. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Those moms that bought into believing toy guns would certainly lead to wanting to play with real ones make it nearly impossible for some my age to talk about how much we enjoyed life when we were small, but I do, and I do with less remorse or guilt than many believe I should feel and I am not ashamed of that either.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> It's not that I am a harsh or uncaring man, although I wouldn't need to wander very far to find many that would judge me otherwise. </span><span style="font-size: large;">No, I am neither of those things; I am just a guy that grew up when boys could be boys and toys were just toys, and maybe a little ahead of my time if we only focus on this time. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> As for those toy guns with red tips to indicate they are only toys; I wonder if I paint the tips of my Glock .40 caliber, or my Smith & Wesson 9MM red it would make them look harmless. The thought of that should scare everyone! How many of those red-tipped guns are really only make-believe replicas? </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> How would anyone really know for sure? Maybe those are the guns that should be restricted or outlawed, or maybe we could ban everything that looks like a gun and replace them with whistles.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Somewhere on Capital Hill surely a liberal law maker is drafting legislation. </span><span style="font-size: large;">God help us, and forgive me Lord for my sins of youth when I pretended to be a cowboy and</span><span style="font-size: large;"> left a few friends lying in the grass for the buzzards in my backyard... even though they all got up and walked away when I wasn't looking. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> As far as I know all of them somehow managed as I did to turn out okay. In spite of what some now regard as faulty behavior or poor upbringing most of us became law abiding, good, and productive people; albeit our stubborn resistance to changes we think helped make the world a crazy place sometimes and us a more dangerous society. </span>Rick Minerdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06025545276541014862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1327075683756226573.post-15926144228832032002016-12-08T08:40:00.000-08:002016-12-08T11:57:08.068-08:00No Glitz, No Glory<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">Nearly 60 years ago my family settled into a home on the south side of Columbus, Ohio in a typical blue-collar neighborhood. Back then there weren't many upscale houses around, only some that looked a little nicer than ours and very few that presented better curb appeal than them!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Throughout the years the neighborhood and those close by progressed into one of the nicest in the city; many of the properties that could be bought in the 1950s for around $10,000.00 and some less than that are now fetching anywhere from a quarter million dollars to beyond a million is some cases. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> My parents who passed away in the late 1990s would gasp in disbelief if they knew that the house next door to ours recently went on the market for $649,000.00, but there has been a steady stream of potential buyers showing up to check it out each time the owners host an open house so I am guessing that it will sell for something near their asking price.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Five years ago that home was purchased for under $150,000.00 but since then it has been transformed into something that looks like it was built yesterday in a posh neighborhood somewhere other than the south end of Columbus. It has become the norm around here; homes that 25 years ago could be had for 40 or 50 thousand dollars that were built before or shortly after the turn of the century and still looking very much like they did in the mid 1900's being gobbled up by investors and remodeled from basements to attics, and in so doing updating and changing everything the original builders hammered in place.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I suppose it makes sense (to them) to want to live in one of the oldest and most historic neighborhoods around, but only if they can be comfortable and impress their peers, even if the cost is removing and replacing a lot of its originality and original charm.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> These old houses that surround ours now would not be recognizable to our old neighbors that have since died or moved away, albeit the shape on the outside and where they sit. Gone are all of the old rusty chain-link fences that separated yards; instead now high privacy barriers with electronic gates, and even most of the grass has been replaced by decorative rocks, gravel and meticulously laid patio pavers intertwined with mulch surrounding fancy ponds with gentle waterfalls. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Signs identifying the alarm companies that protect these properties are as abundant as door-bell buttons and it is all lit-up with security lighting strategically placed that functions to illuminate anyone with nefarious intentions while allowing everyone else to be able to gaze at the beauty even at night!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Home owners park their BMW's, Infinity's and Lexus vehicles on the same well-lit brick streets where my dad parked his 1956 Ford in the dark and where horse's and buggies and Model-T Fords before that once sat, and they come and go with absolutely no idea of how this area looked fifty or so years ago. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> That is, unless they look closely at our house!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> After my parents passed away I came home and purchased the house I grew up in with every intention to live out what is left of my own life in the one structure that feels more like "home" than any other, anywhere on the planet! I did not want a fancy house or one in a neighborhood unfamiliar, I wanted this one; the only place on earth that could remind me daily of the best years of my own life and the people I can no longer see, talk to or touch.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I wanted to be able to hold onto something that others allowed to slip away when they left home and found themselves in places and in circumstances that made it impossible for them to ever really go back.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> In the twenty years that I was able to do this I have resisted the temptation or any faux pressure to try to <i>keep up with the Joneses </i>by also renovating or simply changing everything about my little patch of ground or the wood-frame house that has comforted and protected my family since the Eisenhower era, and for that reason it probably looks like something of a sore thumb to the people that never knew us or the others that were here before them.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Don't get me wrong; I don't live in a run-down shack, and through the years everything has been kept clean and what needed repaired has been, but there is nothing fancy or otherwise impressive here; just a typical old house that was built in 1904 that has been treated with appreciation and pride of ownership as a classic original automobile would be! There is an old saying <i>"things are only original once."</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I have resisted knocking down interior walls to transform it into an open-floor plan as the trend has become around me; it is still an old house with small rooms shaped like boxes and there is still only one bathroom in it. Every room in it could become a better and more functional living area with modern updates but I like them the way they are and I still need a lawn mower!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> In other words, I have kept Mom and Dad's old house the way they preferred it and were comfortable in for decades. I treat my house as they did; fixing things when they break, keeping it as original and as neat and tidy as they did, and with respect for the labors of the builders and what they accomplished (without power-tools) more than a century ago. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> In this regard mine is one of the very few left around that can boast of something those costing hundreds of thousands more cannot; it is one of the last virtually unmolested original properties still close by and given its occupant is now the longest residing person on the block its character is fitting.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> When my friend and neighbor whose family occupied a house three-doors from mine since 1917 passed away a few months ago it left my family as the only one still here that was when we were the new kids on the block and only their house and one across the street still looks like it did back then. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> No, my home is not very impressive to anyone seeking a palace or a mansion in this old south end and visitors wouldn't be nearly as impressed by it as they would be in the home next door; but it might be someday. When I am gone, and the last family member leaves, and when someone that wants to reside in a historic location with the means to spend what it would cost to erase a century of pride and nostalgia comes along I am sure it too will will depreciate in character.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> </span>Rick Minerdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06025545276541014862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1327075683756226573.post-60211613714794371602016-09-22T06:21:00.001-07:002016-09-22T06:21:46.397-07:00<br />
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<br />Rick Minerdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06025545276541014862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1327075683756226573.post-50501441459049894232016-04-13T10:41:00.000-07:002016-04-13T16:53:34.309-07:00Hoarding Memories and Selling Them<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The chapters of a writer's autobiography are more than just a personal history book or written accounting of their life; if published in book form, they are memories the author cannot let go of that rest forever on written pages bounded together on three sides. We all have memories that we hold onto for as long as we can but when we publish them they can live on and be refreshed long after our minds can no longer recall them and even after we are dead!<br />
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They live again anytime someone reads the words we leave behind, and if we are skilled enough to write clear and concise accounting's the reader might even feel our joys or our pains just as we did when everything we wrote about was happening.<br />
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That is my goal when I am writing about the things and people that were around me as my stories were unfolding; what was happening and how I felt, and the impact if any that each chapter might have had and what came next for me. If we don't document what we believe was special or in some way interesting then all of those memories die with us and become entombed in a brain that either gets buried or burned to ashes. The books are our legacy and legacies are built on what we remember and how others interpret how we explain them.<br />
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It is a gift when we can recall something we did or something someone said to us that was worth remembering, and when we play them back in our heads and turn them into short stories that explain something about us or about someone we want remembered we excuse ourselves for thinking any of it was worth retelling over and over. We are able to do that when we hoard our memories and keep believing they are worth holding onto even if they are only special to us. But the downside to being a memory hoarder is that we keep things up there that we wish we could forget but never will.<br />
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In that regard there is no such thing as<i> "just a bad memory" </i>whether it involved an event or some other person. Good biography writers do not omit the failures and disappointments that may be within a story, they include them and do their best to hope for forgiveness or understanding. If you think about it, it is our collective memories (good and bad) that best describe who we are.<br />
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Sometimes only shards of what is buried deep in our subconscious ooze far enough out to trigger what we hope will never be forgotten and when that happens the best we can do is doctor them up a little or embellish them with words that tell a better story; but even if something gets left out, whether it is important or not, at least part of it wasn't lost.<br />
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When that happens it is like finding an old family treasure or something that was special to you in youth that you refuse to part with; it could be a coffee mug your dad always drank from with a crack in it or missing a handle, or maybe it's an old broken toy that you have grown too old to play with but still cannot live without. For me it might be a radio I forgot I had but no longer works, or one that does but there are no good radio stations left to listen to but I keep it anyway, if only because it reminds me of something I want to remember.<br />
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When I wrote a book about my life as a radio announcer I relied on what I believe is still a healthy memory and what is stored up there to tell stories about a very special period (1971-1993) and why decades later I was determined to relive it by building an Internet radio station that would allow me to keep a good thing going even if no one else wanted to, and to have a forum to keep sharing what is in my head. I have written similar books about broadcasting as well as many others outlining what I believe has been a life well lived; one that wasn't always traveled on smooth roads surrounded by pretty scenery, but on roads that were interesting to me; it is replayed over and over again in my head and in print.<br />
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That's the thing about memories; without them we only have what is happening now or what did recently to share, and as anyone my age can attest our stories might be pretty boring by comparison to everything else we saw or endured. Regardless of what happened yesterday or last month, none of it is anything I particularly hope stays with me forever. But that's another thing about memories, they get stored in a crowded place whether we want them there or not. If there is such a thing as <i>"memory almost full" </i>mine may be getting close to it but I hope there is room enough still to hoard what's already there even though I have been selling off as many as possible in my books; these blogs are merely free samples and reminders of a product that has been years in the making.<br />
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Interested buyers can find them here-<br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_0_11/176-8132627-0221526?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=rick+minerd&sprefix=rick+minerd%2Caps%2C193">http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_0_11/176-8132627-0221526?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=rick+minerd&sprefix=rick+minerd%2Caps%2C193</a>Rick Minerdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06025545276541014862noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1327075683756226573.post-15684161967361066332016-03-18T11:45:00.000-07:002016-03-18T12:42:54.193-07:00"Dear Richard"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Dear Richard;<br />
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I never thought I would be saying this after all of the chaos and uncertainty you left behind, but you were right! I'll never forget my own skepticism when you probably said to yourself <i> "Someday everyone will understand what they have done to me and they will miss me." </i>It was August 8, 1974 and you must have pleaded with yourself over and over to reconsider the decision you were planning to make the following day.<br />
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Since then all of us have had to acquire a taste for Humble Pie because if we weren't right about anything else we were right that we were the victims in all of that mess the Democrats caused by enlisting the media to help run you off. (My God! Did they treat you unfairly!)<br />
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Nevertheless, what we didn't know then, but now do is we were victims of our <i>own</i> recklessness by not paying attention to what you were trying to tell us for our own good; a case of shortsightedness on our part of epic proportions! Some celebrated when you said goodbye and I must confess that I did too but since then I have run out of words and excuses to explain why. If only we had the Internet back then. Maybe if we had we wouldn't have been so quick to trust people like Howard K. Smith, Dan Rather, Tom Brokaw and the rest of that pack of media trouble makers to tell us the truth.<br />
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You should have listened to your heart and trusted your instincts Richard because you were right all along. I don't know enough words to say it, but what this country wouldn't give to have you back and back in control! We were wrong about about you, Dick. We have nearly self-destructed since everyone made such a big fuss about that harmless little scavenger hunt your friends went on in the middle of the night over there at the <i>Watergate Hotel, </i>when all it was proven to be was an attempt to thoroughly vet someone who wanted to take your place. Now we bitch when candidates are NOT vetted properly!<br />
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You knew the Democrats were hiding something that might someday destroy all of us, and you only did what any responsible sitting president should do by wanting to make sure we didn't make a disastrous mistake by voting for another candidate we didn't know much about. I think I can speak for at least half of the country now when I say we are sorry we so grossly underestimated your benevolent intentions and that you were only thinking of what was best for everyone that had a stake in America.<br />
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If only you could come back from wherever you are and once again throw your hat into the ring in 2016 to lead us through these dark and dangerous times, because our pickings have never been slimmer and those damn Democrats are at it again! This latest crop of them looks like the most dangerous band of malcontents this country ever had to choose from.<br />
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There is an old gal named Hillary Clinton who lies so much, that any you were ever accused of now seem like little white fibs. Yours only embarrassed us a little but hers could get us all killed! You have probably never heard of her but she is the matriarch of what has come to be known as <i>The Clinton Dynasty. </i>They are a family that came out of Arkansas to amass an obscene fortune that is being spent to build an oligarchy that they can control and benefit most from. Many believe that if they succeed it will leave the rest of us jobless, homeless and fighting in the streets over the food scraps they and their supporters throw out.<br />
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Then there is another loudmouthed old Hippie like her that can't be trusted either because he keeps picking the scabs of old wounds and reigniting the volatile rhetoric that caused all of those poor race relations that you and LBJ had to confront back in the 1960s! I think your people probably kept him under surveillance because of his anti-everything civil disobedience when he was just an angry college kid that no one ever heard of. He is like a false prophet taking advantage of millions of lost and confused minions; someone who will build them all houses made of bricks instead of sticks and straw, and stock their pantries daily with free food!<br />
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His name is Bernie Sanders; a longtime Washington freeloader from Vermont that looks and behaves like Professor Irwin Corey but sounds like George McGovern! He has vowed to spend seventy-million dollars or more if he has to between now and the convention just to stay in the limelight even though he knows he can't possibly win this thing.<br />
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Think about that Mr. President; he is willing to piss away $70,000.000.00 of other people's money to keep telling everyone else that WE need to care more about the disadvantaged and the poorest people. He speaks of wasteful spending and how the rest of us need to be more responsible if there is money that can be channeled to neighborhoods that need it most! Can you even imagine such pompous arrogance? I am sure that if you were still in charge you would have a man like him jailed! Things are getting worse, not only because they are worse or ever were, but because these two knuckleheads seem to be missing the '60s and want to push the progress we made back 50 years by encouraging only more economic and social divide!<br />
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What these people are threatening to do (and have done) makes your policies look like a curriculum for successful innovation through higher education, everyone living healthier and longer, expanding the opportunities for more people to achieve the American Dream and the safest world the planet ever saw! I am dumbfounded that I and so many others didn't see that when we had the chance.<br />
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I am telling you Richard, things are a real mess right now, and more than half of us are afraid that we may never again see the country you led and wanted us to be during your tenure as Commander and Chief, while the other half doesn't even want it! As for the Grand Old Party, there is ONE man that is willing to step up and take a shot at fixing everything we have broken in the years since you left. He isn't exactly like you but he is the nearest we have to anyone with balls as big as yours must have been. His name is Donald Trump; perhaps you knew his dad, and he wants to make America Great again just as you tried to make it.<br />
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There hasn't been a leader since you left that could do it and make it last for any more than 8 years or so and this could be our last chance to ever get there. Because now we are engaged in a new Civil War that this Sanders dude and this Clinton dame started, and this one is as hate-filled and bloody in rhetoric as the first war between the states was with rifles and cannons. America doesn't like itself much anymore and fewer and fewer countries around the world even respect us, and I think you predicted it would come to this someday if we turned our backs on people like you.<br />
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You were right, Richard. We must have been wearing blinders when we allowed you to return the keys to the White House before you were finished back in '74. We should have listened to you and tried to understand you better. Someone should have crawled to that podium on their hands and knees that day and thrown them self at your mercy and begged shamelessly for you to reconsider your decision to just quit and leave us dangling with little hope for the future. I have survived to see it all unfold just as you predicted it would; the future is here and it is a mess!<br />
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Please share this letter with Pat and tell her we miss her too.<br />
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Neither of you would believe some of the First Lady's that have hung curtains in your old home since you moved out of it. We know because we have had to endure their husbands and some of them were so pussy-whipped and meek that some of us have forgotten what it was like to have a classy and powerful first couple to look up to. I hope you can forgive us for our reckless acceptance to let you go, because as it all unfolded you were right along.<br />
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Oh, and if you see Spiro tell him all is forgiven also; even he would be better than most of the choices we have now!<br />
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Sincerely,<br />
Richard. Rick Minerdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06025545276541014862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1327075683756226573.post-42538630054393541022016-03-17T16:33:00.000-07:002016-03-18T07:43:54.445-07:00"I didn't get a Green Beer" <i><b><span style="color: #6aa84f;"></span></b></i><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f3f3f3;"><span style="color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span> <i><b><span style="color: #6aa84f;">"I'll bring back a green beer for you later"</span></b></i></span><br />
<span style="color: #141823;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #141823;"><span style="line-height: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px;"> </span> I think that's what he said before he left the WMNI Radio studios for the last time in his long and storied broadcasting career, but he he never came back. Jim Eldridge lived in a suite one floor below the station in The Great Southern Hotel at the corner of S. High Street and E. Main Street in downtown Columbus. If I ever knew a <i>downtown guy </i>it was he.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #f3f3f3;"><span style="color: #141823; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Think about it, you are one of the city's top radio announcers in an era when the radio industry had more listeners overall than television had viewers, and your home is on the 6th floor of a famous hotel that is located at the intersection heading into a thriving downtown in one of the 20th largest cities in America. Almost everywhere you go people know who you are even if they really don't know anything else about you. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #f3f3f3;"><span style="color: #141823; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #f3f3f3;"><span style="color: #141823; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> All I knew about Jim aside from his personalty persona is what I have shared here, and my radio show was bookends to his; it started an hour before he came on, and re-started 3 hours later after his program ended. Mine began as sort of a buffer between our afternoon-drive DJ and his nightly talk-show called <i>"Columbus Feedback"</i> and the second segment of mine which finished at midnight. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #f3f3f3;"><span style="color: #141823; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #f3f3f3;"><span style="color: #141823; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> That odd sounding schedule made me the evening DJ as well as producer for his show; I know, it all sounds complicated and it was! I would just get warmed up for my show and in the same hour have to say goodbye to my listeners and welcome his and hope mine would come back for me later!</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #f3f3f3;"><span style="color: #141823; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></span>
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<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> It was the wee hours of the morning after St. Patrick's Day, 1978 and Jim had wandered into a production studio where I was producing commercials that would air the next day following my live on-air program. </span></span></span><span style="background-color: #f3f3f3; color: #141823; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;">He had been across the street celebrating in an adult-themed nightclub called </span><i style="background-color: #f3f3f3; color: #141823; font-family: times, 'times new roman', serif; line-height: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;">"40 Carots" </i><span style="background-color: #f3f3f3; color: #141823; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;">and from his demeanor and general attitude I could tell he had a good time. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f3f3f3; color: #141823; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> That strip along S. High Street was normally populated by </span><i style="background-color: #f3f3f3; color: #141823; font-family: times, 'times new roman', serif; line-height: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;">good times </i><span style="background-color: #f3f3f3; color: #141823; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;">on any given night because of the hotel and various taverns nearby and a usually busy pornography emporium called </span><i style="background-color: #f3f3f3; color: #141823; font-family: times, 'times new roman', serif; line-height: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;">"The Gentlemen's Bookstore" </i><span style="background-color: #f3f3f3; color: #141823; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;">where lonely men could hang out, purchase naughty books, tapes and magazines, or just get to know one another in various ways.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #f3f3f3;"><span style="color: #141823; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Sometimes late at night when I would be walking to my car after work I would hear a cat-call from someone standing on the corner shouting <i>"Hey Baby!" </i>Usually it was a prostitute pretending to be attracted to me but really only wanting to earn a few bucks for special services; while other times it was strange men testing my sexual preference. None of it was anything I wasn't used to or something I worried about. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #f3f3f3;"><span style="color: #141823; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #f3f3f3;"><span style="color: #141823; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Being a local celebrity in my mid-20s and thinking I was kind of special I was rarely desperate for attention, and believing I was ten-feet tall and bullet proof not much that happened <i>anywhere </i>was cause for alarm unless I felt threatened in some way. The cat-calls were all about the same thing and never anything I wanted to venture into, just stuff that goes on in an environment like that.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #f3f3f3;"><span style="color: #141823; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Like I said, Jim on the other hand was a real<i> downtown guy,</i> he was single and he knew his way through fast and loose crowds more than I wanted to, and because he was older and had no one at home waiting for him he had more time and probably more desire for a risque atmosphere like that than I did. So the night began and ended like any other; he left the building after finishing a lively and spirited St. Patrick's Day show at 9:30 and after the bars closed he returned and stopped by the studio to say goodnight. I had no idea that it would be the last time I would ever see him. </span></span></span><span style="background-color: #f3f3f3; color: #141823; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;">What awaited him in his suite was someone that would take his life before the sun came up. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: #f3f3f3;"><span style="color: #141823; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> I don't know if any of us ever got the entire story surrounding the circumstances of that murder, but the general consensus was that he had met someone (probably in the bar or on the corner) who either followed him home or was invited to join him there and something went terribly wrong. His beaten and bloody body was discovered the next day by our company president and hotel owner, William R. Mnich when attempts to call him failed and knocks on the door went unanswered. </span></span></span><span style="background-color: #f3f3f3; color: #141823; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;">We were told that when he went inside it was like stepping into a scene in horror movie! </span><span style="background-color: #f3f3f3; color: #141823; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;">The room had been ransacked and the walls, the ceiling and the furniture were blood spattered as he lay dead in a pool of bloody broken glass from a lamp that was used to beat him and stab him dozens of times. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f3f3f3; color: #141823; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> (More than 60 we were told.) </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f3f3f3; color: #141823; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Every St. Patrick's Day since then I think of that night, of him and the rest of the radio staff at WMNI, and as stoic as it may sound, I remember that time as the good old days, and of 1978 as my single best and favorite year in radio; a career that lasted until the early 90s! </span><br />
<span style="background-color: #f3f3f3; color: #141823; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: #f3f3f3; color: #141823; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> From March 17th, and for weeks after it things were unsettling all through the hotel because no one knew who the murderer was and the police would need nearly a full year to finally identify a suspect and bring him to justice. But still it was a very rewarding year for me, both in my personal and professional life. </span><span style="background-color: #f3f3f3; color: #141823; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Before it ended I would settle into the air-shift I wanted and a second son would be born. It was when being a radio personalty really added up to good things for those who had a passion for it and worked in good environments that were as good as ours. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: #f3f3f3; color: #141823; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: #f3f3f3; color: #141823; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> It was also a turning point for the country music format; the brand was becoming enormously popular not only in Columbus, but across America, and as it stock continued to grow so did ours! Nothing I had ever accomplished in broadcasting before or since that time was more gratifying or rewarding. I had the best job in Columbus! So tonight, </span><span style="background-color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Erin </span>Go Bragh<span style="background-color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;">, and if beer or alcohol of any color will be in your celebration between now and sunrise, please drink responsibly, and be careful! </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Oh, and one more thing, it</span><span style="background-color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> might also be a good idea to resist any temptation to pick up strangers or be picked up by one. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> <span style="color: #6aa84f;"> Happy St. Patrick's Day!</span></span>Rick Minerdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06025545276541014862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1327075683756226573.post-7280364944940673312016-03-16T07:18:00.001-07:002016-03-16T14:38:25.663-07:00Pick Yourself Up, Dust Yourself Off... In the wake of another election cycle, and after the winners run out of breath from bragging about their victories and the non-winners reflect on what they might have done differently for a better personal result, there is one bright spot for everyone; at least for a few months we won't be bombarded by all of those sickening and vile political ads! In them we are all played for fools expected to believe that candidates really are who they say they are and that their opponents cannot now and never should be trusted.<br />
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The truth is, everyone that runs for public office is the same in more ways than anyone would have time to count. When incumbents win it means they still have a job whether they are worthy of it or not and when challengers unseat someone and take their place it means they can finally stop looking for work and settle in somewhere behind a desk knowing the rest of us will be paying them a salary for at least a few years. Holding public office is good work if you can get it and every candidate, regardless of the office they seek knows it or they wouldn't bother to try.<span style="color: blue;"> </span><br />
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<span style="color: blue;"> (Just ask any that have made politics their life's work.)</span><br />
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Congratulations to all of the winners, and to all who fell short of their latest ambition, remember, we do this in relatively short cycles and another election is always right around the corner. For them I suggest taking a deep breath, lick the wounds and regroup with smarter people and a better plan next time.<span style="color: blue;"> </span><br />
<span style="color: blue;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: blue;"> (Just ask any that have made politics their life's work and keep running for other offices even when they have already lost a few contests but keep coming back for more.)</span><br />
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<span style="color: blue;"> </span>It is easier to be angry at the winners when they weren't the people we had hoped would come out on top than it would be to simply congratulate them and wish them well, but in the long run no one wins when we hold grudges and hope they fail. Most of the candidates I have been supporting in recent years haven't won but I have been around long enough to know that being bitter about it only prolongs the disappointment until the next time we are disappointed.<br />
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So I always congratulate the winners, wish them well and remind the rest that I will be here for them the next time if they need me. After the shock wears off of being on the end of a short stick after all of the votes are counted whatever just happened is only temporary anyway; that is if we stick to our values and what we stand for instead of only feeling defeated.<br />
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Politics is like sports; when the title is clinched the victors remind everyone that they are the best and they pop the corks of champagne bottles and douse one another with more accolades about how hard they worked to get there while the runner-ups begin planning for next season. The best of the latter group doesn't waste much time preparing and getting back in shape for another run. They simply pick themselves up, dust themselves off and go to work more determined than ever.<br />
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Like I said, I have been disappointed over election results for the past few years because my horses haven't fared too well but I still want the same things out of life for me and for my family. My hopes for having the best people in the right places hasn't changed and I will continue to support the platforms and issues I believe are best. The winners this time around will have 3 years to show me what they are all about and then we will begin a new primary season. At that time they will have to raise more money for more ads and circulars and they will again be on the hot seat as they approach another election.<br />
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For anyone who woke up disappointed today because they or their candidate didn't win this time please don't waste this day. Instead get busy with a new plan even if it means supporting all who did win until they disappointment you or until you figure out how to beat them the next time. Usually all that takes whether in politics or anything else is the willingness and determination to put the disappointments behind us and start anew with a clear head, because remember, everything in life is temporary.<br />
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All that is really important now is where do we go from here and what is the best way to get there? I know, because I have been knocked down a few times also but I always get back up, and I think I have been able to do that because I don't burn bridges, instead I shore the ones up that broke behind me and then look for ones that are more sturdy when I need to get over something. In the case of political expectations it has meant switching party affiliations for me because as a lifelong Democrat my Democrats are headed into directions where I see a lot of weak and crumbling bridges caused by incindearies that keep exploding beneath them.<br />
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It will take a lot of coming back and working together for the good of everyone by a lot of important people before I ever return to the fold. But until then Ill take the high road and stay focused my own way. Oh, and for what it's worth,..Trump in 2016!Rick Minerdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06025545276541014862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1327075683756226573.post-60721680804960308102016-03-15T18:05:00.000-07:002016-03-15T18:20:50.817-07:000 to 120 MPH in 63 Years (Still Cruising Along)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The speedometers of the first car I ever owned and the last one that I will probably ever buy are shown here, one on top of the other; they are reminders of my fascination with automobiles for as far back as I can remember and examples of what still revs my inner motor. <br />
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Let me explain; it all began with Tonka trucks and toy cars I could push around on the floor or outside in the dirt until I got a little older and graduated to assembling plastic model car kits that I would display on window ledges and shelves in my bedroom. They were usually the cars I dreamed of owning someday and the aroma of Testor's model cement and paint wafting from my room and filling other rooms were usually cause for someone to pound on the door and complain that I was stinking up the entire house with my hobby, and sometimes my mother worried that I would inhale too much of it and eventually kill off a lot of brain cells that would be needed someday for more important projects. But that never happened as far as I can tell, even though some might wage an entirley different debate about that.<br />
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I couldn't begin to remember how many kits I put together during those formidable years, but I think I probably ended up buying even more real ones. All in all I have owned more than 60 (mostly Ford's) since I got my first set of wheels and that one was a 1960 Ford Falcon that I have bragged about since the day I got it when I was still too young to get my temporary driving permit. It was May, 1968 and all of my experience from building 1/24 scale replicas before that summer helped when it came to understanding where parts were supposed to be whenever I needed to replace one or work on something to keep it running.<br />
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What began as a child's hobby in my bedroom in the early 1960s eventually escalated into a similar one in a bigger workshop near the end of the decade, and over the years I viewed them all as giant metal versions of all of those plastic kits I used to buy for a buck and a half. (It seemed I was always wanting, or needing new parts to either glue together or bolt on to get one finished.) If any of this sounds weird to the reader then consider that I grew up surrounded by weirdos because nearly all of my friends were a lot like me! (At least in that regard.)<br />
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Almost every kid I knew (except for the girls) blew a lot of their allowances and money they earned from mowing lawns or delivering newspapers on model cars, and then when we were old enough to get real ones it went to title transfers, insurance and things like baby moon hubcaps, pinstripes and after-market dash gauges.<br />
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For many of us something that needed spark plugs to fire gasoline to make engines and transmissions spin to get us humming down the road was as important as almost anything else! And for rabid car guys it was sometimes what mattered most! As curious as it may sound, even what girls may have had on their minds for me to do may have finished a close second; even though there were times when that could have been a toss-up!<br />
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However, none came before my car if it wasn't running as it should or if I had an idea to make it look better. There were times when I would even back away from asking one for a date if I only had enough extra money to buy a can of Turtle Wax and a few polishing cloths.<br />
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I would like to believe that Falcon was most of the reason my first serious girlfriend was always dating other guys and maybe why she eventually walked away from our high school romance for good; because if that's what it was about then I am fine with how everything turned out because I can look back on it without feeling like I either failed her or simply wasn't good enough for her. I mean after all, I wasn't a horribly looking kid and if it was because she thought I usually smelled bad or always looked dirty then so be it! I may have smelled like gasoline and oil and maybe my fingernails were caked with dirty grease at times, but if she found any of that repugnant then I could have argued the same about her perfume and make-up, but I rarely did. </div>
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In the end she married someone else and had several babies and I married someone else and had a lot of cars. I also had a few kids to play with when I wasn't busy in the garage so it all worked out best for us both. But eventually the kids grew and went on to pursue their own dreams and here I am still reflecting on my own by writing about them and sharing them in books and blogs.<br />
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Sometimes I look up and down both sides of my street, and for 2 blocks in either direction I think about all of the cars I have owned and if I still had them all there would be no place for anyone else to park. When I think of all of the speedometers I kept watch on through the years none of them ever said more about my passion for cars as the one in that first 1960 Falcon.<br />
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I miss that little compact car, and I think many of us feel that way about our first cars. But now when I climb behind the wheel of what I have in the garage and think of all of the years that have passed I smile because this one is more to me than just what it might look to someone else; this isn't just a car, in some ways it is the glass, the sheet-metal, the rubber and the plastic of what little boys dream of when all of those fantasies are about where we hope to go in life, how we will arrive and what we can build along the way. </div>
Rick Minerdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06025545276541014862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1327075683756226573.post-27304533971414713452016-03-14T11:32:00.000-07:002016-03-14T12:03:03.547-07:00BEING A PORN STAR ON THE RADIO<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Perhaps to some that is all I was, but if so being a radio porn star was more than just an easy way to earn a living; daring to play with adult broadcasting toys in a place where thousands of people could witness my nightly live performances sometimes offered unexpected opportunities that I rarely speak of, but they were experiences that I believe made me a better man for having lived them.<br />
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Those nights when I would sit on a stool in a dimly lit studio wearing nothing more beneath my headset than a shirt, blue jeans and a pair of <i>sneakers </i>were a little unsettling for a 19 year-old kid when I first started, but in time I grew more and more comfortable in my surroundings by imagining the audience listening in their underwear or sometimes while they were naked!<br />
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Announcing to the family my desire to push the envelope of decency and take up something like that just to earn money wasn't as bold as some might think it was because mine usually kept an open mind anytime they discovered something about me they might not have understood. I'll never forget the expression on my mother's sweet face when I told her I got that first radio job! At first she pretended to be surprised but then she smiled and simply said <i>"That's nice." </i>My dad's reaction wasn't quite as subtle; he, like many other father's wondered if I might be biting off more than I could chew.<br />
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I remember something of a father-son talk when he reminded me that I would be surrounded by people from all walks of life, many of them strangers and all of them expecting something different coming from their radio speakers, and maybe some that might try to take advantage of me after misinterpreting my intentions. <i>"Some,</i> he said, <i>may offer to walk you home or take you to places you shouldn't go." </i>Then he asked,<i> "Are you really up for what you're getting yourself into?"</i><br />
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<i> </i>After assuring him that I could get myself up for anything if there was money to be made he hugged me and then cautioned me that it might be best to keep some of my experiences to myself and not share all of them with my mother. It wasn't long after I took that first job before I learned exactly what he meant!<br />
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Going into radio and performing as I was expected to was easy for me because I believed I had the right tools and the energy it took to get done what needed to be done. At the risk of sounding full of myself I think I had a face for radio and to the listeners that might have wondered what I would look like naked I thought I had a voice that could leave the worst of them with any image they wanted to conjure up! I discovered that I was right anytime I answered the request line and some devious sounding voice on the other end would ask what I was wearing. I could tell by their tone that they wanted me to paint a picture that was already being seen in their own mind. So when they asked what I had on I would catch my breath, hold it for a moment and then blurt... "<i>Headphones!" </i>and then I would hang up knowing they got from me what they hoped they would.<br />
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Now, I never professed to be the Monk of the Month or someone like that by claiming to have morals above anyone else, but there were times when even I could be deeply offended by some of the language us radio porn stars had to contend with, and it did happen more frequently than anyone might think. Sometimes it would be a disgruntled advertiser that wasn't exactly pleased with how I read his commercial or how I pronounced the name of his business, but more often it would be a very upset program director or station manager using language I will refrain from sharing here; shouting words so vile and despicable at me for doing or saying things I thought were innocent or no big deal; such as playing the wrong record or talking too much over the intro of a song or not reading the cue-cards that were carefully laid before me.<br />
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This was a lifestyle that was not always conducive for personal relationships and on at least two occasions it brought some of the reasons I ended up in divorce court. It can be a load on a man's mind when his significant other looks at how much he is paid and then describes him as something of a radio prostitute. But I never denied it; I took the money, at least twice a month, even when at times times it seemed like it wasn't enough for the things I was willing to do for it.<br />
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<i> "Every night you leave me to go downtown to talk to strange women and even MEN for crying out loud, and you don't even care who knows it! I know you do because I hear it on the radio! You must like it better than you like talking to me!"</i><br />
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I never denied it or tried to defend what I was doing and when I was younger and more in demand I would take just $3.00 an hour to do whatever any other disc jockey was doing in a radio station. They would tell me what they expected from me and what pleased them and I would do the best I could, and usually they were satisfied even if all I got from it was a few bucks. In other words, everyone got what they wanted and I got paid!<br />
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Eventually that money became $5.00 and then $11.00 an hour and because I was able to hone my skills and techniques and get better and better at it I began meeting more and more important men and women in the community; people that were interested in what other skills I possessed and how I might be able to give them what they wanted or needed also.<br />
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Better jobs that I would find away from radio were the result of working night after night as an unabashed DJ; one that tossed aside inhibitions that others might not be willing to, many that may have otherwise prevented me from saying the things I did or even playing songs I didn't personally care for, all for the enjoyment of people I never knew and many I probably wouldn't have wanted to know.<br />
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Of course it was a form of porn, but I prefer to remember it all as soft porn; something that even prudes might have found easy to not only embrace but even like enough to share it with their families! I know that many must have because my ratings reflected that! Some might find it a little unsettling to know that my <i>customers </i>could have been living next door to them; perhaps their doctor or their children's teachers...maybe even their Pastor!<br />
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But I enjoyed my work and I would do it again and I would take money for it again if someone offered it! These days I do it for free hoping that it brings a new audience a few pleasures they cannot find anywhere else. I perform on a Internet station called <i>"Heartlites"</i> where once again I strip down to nothing but my shoes, a skimpy cheap little headset, a pair of pants and a shirt, and every now and then I will say something risque between the songs.<br />
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If only there was a larger market for old radio porn stars besides the few that still long for the days when we were everywhere and easier to connect with. <i style="font-size: x-large;"> </i>Rick Minerdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06025545276541014862noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1327075683756226573.post-24971986709288468692016-03-10T13:38:00.002-08:002016-03-10T13:38:48.107-08:00Black & White Lives Matter<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
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This is a tale about a story that swept across the small town of Obetz, Ohio in 2003 when a racist group of men and women took it upon themselves to write and "publish" their own daily editions of something they called <i>"The Odisville Gazette"</i>. The photo above appeared on the front page of a REAL newspaper in town and it shows two men (me on the left) sifting through a pile of pages of hate-filled rhetoric that had been circulating on the streets during the days and weeks leading up to an election.<br />
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The faux <i>"newspaper" </i> was named for the man on the right; his name is Odis Jones. Odis was the village administrator and the only African American to ever hold that position in the history of Obetz, and I was the Police Chief. We held coveted positions<i> </i>that neither of us were worthy of, according to the publisher and <i>(guest writers) </i>of the<i> "Gazette" </i> for one basic reason, according to them. Odis, because he wasn't white and me because I wasn't white enough. For those folks that meant embracing their long held prejudices and standing with them to oust the town's first African American to ever hold a position of authority and me because I supported him and liked him.<br />
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The Village of Obetz had a population with a demographic that was slightly above 95% white at the time and it had a tradition of doing business pretty much the same as it had since the late 1800s when it was just a tiny railroad stop known as Obetz Junction. By 2003 it had grown to just under 5000 residents and was rich with industry due to its proximity to Rickenbacker Air Base to the south, which by then had become a massive industrial complex that employed thousands of people. Marry those equations into the rail yards that crisscrossed in every direction we boasted of a daytime population of more than 20,000.<br />
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Traffic through the main corridor was as busy and as congested as anywhere else in Central Ohio during some hours but in the older sections of town a few long-time residents weren't as enthused as the village planners were to see us growing as fast as we were and they did all they could any chance they had to slow the progress. Odis was a visionary, something not everyone endorsed, but more importantly to them he was the wrong color to be holding such a threatening position against their hopes of staying just a small hamlet on the southeast edge of Columbus. Columbus had problems they wanted no part of and to a certain group those problems were mostly caused by people of color.<br />
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When I was named Village Marshal and Chief of the the police department I wasn't the guy that many residents wanted to have that position and some scrambled to "vet" me in ways no one should have reasons to; all the way to showing up at my house to dig through my trash to practically tracing my roots, with hopes of finding any reason they could to nullify my appointment. What they discovered was my mother's maiden name of Jewish origins, and when they found that, the "Gazette" went into high speed print mode asking why residents should be expected to accept not only a black administrator, but a Jew wearing the top badge when other "more qualified" officers on the force had been there longer and were more "in tune" with their normal traditions than I ever would be.<br />
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Now, of course none of us believed that just anyone with only access to a computer and a printer could possibly be taken seriously enough to have an effect on an election, but these people weren't just <i>someone. </i>In their small circle of collaborators was a few members of city council and even a couple of cops under my command who had their eyes on the job I was chosen for. They had a lot of support, because remember, they had been in town for years before Odis or I got there and a few of those career politicians didn't become political lifers by sitting around; they were masters at campaigning and telling their constituencies what they wanted to support. That is precisely what they did best! It is the formula used by most politicians everywhere whose names show up on ballots, year after year, after year.<br />
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Like I said, it was an election year and up for grabs was the mayor's office that could change all of that and get everything back to <i>normal </i>Obetz business. Their preferred candidate was hoping to unseat the current mayor and promised them that among his first acts if elected would be to remove Odis and find a more suitable Village Administrator and we all knew he meant it. I probably read between those lines as well as anyone else because in a private conversation I had with him when he came to introduce himself I asked why, if he were to be elected would he be so quick to remove Odis when he was growing the town as well as he was and he stated that Obetz is a <i>"white bread town" </i>steeped in certain traditions. This candidate knew that whoever holds that position does so at the pleasure of the mayor and can be easily replaced but not so for changing the guard in the division of police. He was trolling for what he probably hoped would be an ally and someone who could see things his way.<br />
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He also knew that cops have to be brought up on charges that can be proven, either criminal or administrative before the process of removing them can commence, so I was safe in my position. But Odis knew that if on election day the votes didn't count in the favor of the mayor who hired him that his days would be numbered. The "Gazette" was doing all it could to slander two reputations by using racists remarks that left many townspeople laughing in the barber shop and in the beauty parlor, and they were used as place mats in a local restaurant and hung on every pole around the town's busiest market. Printed under the "Odisville Gazette" banner at the top of the paper was <i>"A Watermelon Publication."</i> One edition even showed hand-drawn monkey's playing with one.<br />
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<i> </i> Dialect and quotes used in the stories contained phrases like<i> "All-a-Y'all" </i>and if the word <i>"asked" </i>was in a sentence it might read <i>"axed". Jews </i>and<i> Black Folk </i>weren't the only targets; one editorial wondered how a woman became mayor and why she didn't stay home more <i>where she belonged </i>and it asked readers what they thought of a police chief that lives in a community known to attract gay people; <i>"Where men walk and talk like women and bounce around all day humming songs by The Village People."</i> It was true that I lived in the south end of Columbus in an area called German Village and it has long had a reputation of being a gay-friendly community, so according to the <i>"Gazette" </i>I too must be assumed to be gay if I chose to live there. Never mind that I grew up on those streets and it has been my home most of my life: to them I must certainly be gay because I chose to be surrounded by gay people!<br />
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Elections can brutal, and that one was. The mayor was ousted and victory was declared by <i>The Odisville Gazette.</i> The mayor's last day in office came a few days after Odis Jones' last day. He didn't wait around to be replaced and Obetz would get the<i> right guy</i> to man the administrator's office and the <i>right man </i>to be my boss just as it was promised. But still they were stuck with me; a police chief that not only endorsed people of color to hold important jobs, but also someone that lived virtually next door to gay people and whose mother was Jewish! The day after the votes were counted I received a voice mail calling me a nigger loving Jew fag. The voice sounded like a former Obetz City Councilman that I had run-ins with for numerous years; he was one of my biggest detractors of them all and someone that was suspected of having ties with a small pocket of Ku Klux Klan wannabes. Whether any in that group were actually a part of the Klan remained a mystery.<br />
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My job for the next year wasn't easy! Before I finally retired in 2005 I could look back on a stay in that town where I experienced the air being let out of my tires, lug nuts on my wheels loosened, hate letters mailed to my wife accusing me of infidelity, my kids being harassed and being followed and video-taped almost everywhere I went. But in the end I left on my own terms and when I look back on those ten years as an Obetz lawman I smile. Not because any of it was easy, but to paraphrase an old JFK speech, because it wasn't.<br />
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You may have noticed a Chess Board on that conference table in my office; Odis and I never played against one another and it was never used in any contest by anyone. I set it up on the day I took over the police department to remind myself that I had entered an environment where I would have to use my brain to its full potential and and my wits to avoid being checkmated by some very diabolic forces that surrounded me. Those "pawns" never moved and my Queen was never in jeopardy, and when it was all packed away and I left the building for the last time I went home feeling like a Chess champ because I knew we had made the best moves for the overall good of the community while we had the chance.<br />
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In the years that have passed since I retired, Obetz grew in spite of itself and today it is regarded as one of the fastest growing communities in Franklin County and is an ideal spot to set up camp for families of any diversity. It has a good reputation for putting behind it many prejudices and most of the scars from decades of narrow mindedness by too many who refused to go down without a fight. I came out on the other side just fine and so did Odis so in that regard this story has a happy ending. I am enjoying retirement and Odis found a high position in the City of Detroit where he has accomplished remarkable things in a town tougher than Obetz could ever imagine.<br />
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And like I said, when I reflect on all of that I really do smile because of what I learned from the experience and because most of those people were good people; they must have been, because how else can it be explained when we look at them now and see the progress that has been made; progress that will see a village become a city in about 4 years when the next census is taken and where so many people today outnumber the narrow minds that once ran in large numbers and held powerful posistions but now are hard to find? Much of the steps taken forward to beyond that era were in the footprints we left behind.<br />
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Those new residential neighborhoods that have sprung up since then were the blueprints on Odis' desk, as were many of the infrastructure projects that were finally completed. The job growth there can be largely attributed to what that administration had been planning for years and the police department has grown bigger and better than it ever was under the direction of a chief that I hired and trained back when he was a young rookie.<br />
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What none of those knuckleheads back then ever knew was I looked forward to the challenges they laid before me day after day. I embraced the rhetoric and the slander and every attempt to derail my own intentions they could conjure up because, well, it kept life interesting for me while providing me with a priceless education. They only saw a man who showed up for work every day, wearing a clean and neatly pressed uniform, someone who was required by law to play by the rules and have skin thick enough to endure whatever came my way. I gave them that, but what none of them ever figured out was I am a pretty good Chess player and someone who is usually eager to engage anyone foolish enough to underestimate my abilities. Couple that with my own agenda to stand up to corruption within bodies of government as well as in our streets and it was easier to hold my own than any of them could ever understand.<br />
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The epilogue here is that racism and deep rooted prejudices can be difficult to navigate but we can do it better and more effectively if we stop making the same mistakes over and over by electing the same politicians that keep the embers of division smoldering by constantly reminding us of how divided we always were. We see it and hear it more from the candidates that cannot stop babbling about inequality and how they can make things better for one group while never discussing what they can accomplish for everyone. When that happens all we get is more people like those behind <i>"The Odisville Gazette".</i> The message is different only in its wording. Anytime I see the slogan <i>"Black Lives Matter" </i>at a political rally or hear some candidate say that in a debate without finishing the sentence I am compelled to wonder if they believe all lives matter. In other words, I don't have any problem with Black Lives Matter until that is all there is to the message. We all matter!<br />
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I don't buy the argument that we can't make black lives matter as much as they should for everyone if we don't focus on only on that because I believe when we do we only empower people like those Odis and I tried to silence years ago. To me it is like rattling cages and waking old prejudices and giving them new room to breathe. I saw it in Obetz and I see it again on a larger national political scale now. But what we should keep in mind is there will be as many losers as winners when this next round of elections is finally settled.<br />
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Odis and I moved on without causing a ruckus anywhere and I think he would agree with most of what I shared here. Especially the parts about leaving color issues alone when constantly stiring them up and making elections only about that can lead to what it sometimes does. Odis was the only man in town I never wanted to play chess with and he never challenged me to a game. I think that was because we both knew that game might never have ended.</div>
Rick Minerdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06025545276541014862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1327075683756226573.post-59973959612392746002016-03-09T07:40:00.000-08:002016-03-09T07:40:58.922-08:00Forever a Deputy Sheriff<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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When I became a Franklin County Deputy Sheriff more than 30 years ago I couldn't have known where that journey would take me because I was joining the ranks of law enforcement after having established myself as a broadcaster for many years in Columbus, Ohio. For the previous 15 years I had been working in radio, beginning as a yeoman and then becoming a news reporter, DJ and finishing as a talk-show host; I was probably the least likely candidate in our class of new recruits to even have a seat in it! </div>
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Prior to being appointed to the academy by then Sheriff, Earl O. Smith, some may have seen me as just another long-haired <i>Hippie </i>with a pretty cool job; my hair was a little longer than shoulder length and my mustache fell over my upper lip and draped both sides of my chin when I didn't trim it for a week or more, and on any given day my pants were probably made of either denim, ripstock or leather. </div>
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Fashion for me was more about making a statement of identity; less conventional for a white-collar environment and more in line with what might be worn by male models for biker gear or someone that only wanted to stand out in a crowd. It wasn't because I tried to appear flamboyant or quirky, it was about being seen in character. In those days radio announcers were celebrities similar to television personalities, but unlike the TV guys our faces and how we dressed could only be imagined by our listeners until they saw us, so when I was out and about I wanted them to see what I thought my on-air personality really was!</div>
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Before I became a talk-show host at WCOL I was best known around the city as something of a reckless Rock & Roll DJ, and before that a radio cowboy when I was a Country Music Disc Jockey at WMNI. So when that stage of my working life was winding down and everyone around me was trying to wrap their heads around this new voyage I was about to embark into, very few probably would have taken the bet that I was serious about it or that I could make it work. But somehow it did and I spent the next ten years as a Franklin County Deputy Sheriff and then another decade as a street cop for the Village of Obetz, Ohio, eventually retiring as Chief of Police and Village Marshal.</div>
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However, I don't think cops ever really do retire completely. That is unless one is dismissed from the ranks for bad behavior or quits because they either don't like it or because they lose the stomach for it. I believe good cops that accept the challenge for the right reasons and then dedicate themselves to serving well and with honor never really walk away completely because they can't. The badges and equipment stop being your identity but what they represented stays with you for the rest of your life.</div>
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Whenever I hear sirens off in the distance it still makes my mind race with wondering things like who is misbehaving now, or who is in trouble; I say silent prayers that the officer driving that car will be safe and his mission will have a positive outcome for everyone. </div>
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It's kind of funny, but when cops hear a siren we can tell the difference between a squad car or an emergency squad even when we can't see it, and even if it is blocks away. When we hear a car racing down the street faster than one should we know when it is a police car even if it too is somewhere out of view. Cop cars have a sound all their own and everyone that has ever driven one in a hurry knows exactly what I am talking about.</div>
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It has been more than 30 years since I ventured into the fold, and after years away from it there are still those moments when I truly miss being out there, doing something that really matters and feeling those adrenaline rushes that are constant emotions in a police officer's workday. There are just as many moments when I feel a little guilty that I walked away when I did because even in my 60s my heart is still out there and it would take a lot of convincing to make me believe I couldn't still do the job; maybe with a little less energy and strength but with no less passion or desire.</div>
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One of those recruits in the academy class with me did stay in and he is now the Franklin County Sheriff. Zach Scott is currently running for re-election to lead the greatest sheriff's office in the country and it shouldn't surprise anyone that I support him in every way I know how. He was my classmate when all of us could only hope we could make it through the rigorous training (let alone the uncertanty of what the future might hold) but when we did we both went on to have very successful careers in law enforcement.</div>
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It is a comforting reality check for me when I think about a guy that sat next to me in that classroom way back then, and who stood just a few feet down the firing line when we were learning how to shoot and know that he is the county's top cop now. Comforting because I know him and what he is made of and what he has accomplished for the good of Franklin County and the brotherhood of law enforcement. </div>
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Having played all the rolls from Deputy Sheriff to Police Chief I hope my endorsement of him will matter in a positive way to anyone reading this, because like I said, I don't think I will ever fully retire from law enforcement, and I believe my experience and knowledge can still count for positive things when it comes to public safety. </div>
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My retirement badge may read "Police Chief" but I will always be a Deputy Sheriff because that is where it all began for me. I want the best man possible to occupy the office of Sheriff and I believe we already have him in place.</div>
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Good luck, Sheriff. Never quit, and stay safe.</div>
Rick Minerdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06025545276541014862noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1327075683756226573.post-69400037422048177972016-03-03T13:15:00.002-08:002016-03-03T13:46:18.755-08:00America Needs a Good Mechanic!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj2ZN7SbrxwiQAKqanSgb-OhdMCJ5p1n-lAEEsoxor5jXmw3yM1mOCiyMFpnHRx0GvrSraovm7P6MC9St-6zCZncqDO5JFC9h39M838uEaSEGLSJ_dvCUC7nmSJjeESTScYUJ1eNoBjCxS/s1600/butstang.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj2ZN7SbrxwiQAKqanSgb-OhdMCJ5p1n-lAEEsoxor5jXmw3yM1mOCiyMFpnHRx0GvrSraovm7P6MC9St-6zCZncqDO5JFC9h39M838uEaSEGLSJ_dvCUC7nmSJjeESTScYUJ1eNoBjCxS/s320/butstang.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Click image to enlarge<br />
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America is broken and everyone knows it. After 8 years of bending over to appease the wrong groups <i><span style="color: red;">(those that contribute very little to anyone else but take more than they deserve)</span></i> we are in worse shape now (economically) as well as in our ability to function as a peaceful society. This came about when so many people tossed aside our values in favor of trying to be something called <i>politically correct. </i>That in and of itself is a gross clash of terms if you think about it. Most of us agree that politicians rarely pull off anything correctly or anything that is good for everyone.<br />
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Instead they bend over when someone pays them enough to, or when any large group raises enough Hell when they are angry and then try to convince everyone else that if they also bend over, then being screwed when they didn't want to be might not hurt as much as it would standing up and putting up a struggle.<br />
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Now, in the photo above that mechanic is bending over at about the right angle for liberal thinkers; what they see when they look at it is someone they might believe knows what she's looking for under that hood. What I see is a set of shapely legs and a nice ass, and then I see a pretty cool red Mustang convertible. I see someone that isn't showing me any reason to believe she knows much about fixing cars, only someone who is either curious or who has agreed to pose at a certain angle for a photographer. It is a very pleasing picture, even though her shoes seem a little awkward for mechanic duties.<br />
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So I am trusting my own hunch that she really isn't a mechanic at all! Maybe she is, but if so, one thing is very clear to me; she is dressed more appropriately for deception or something else that has nothing to do with getting her own hands dirty.<br />
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Right now America is more like that car than it is like that girl to me. It looks fine and so does she, however, looks can often be deceiving. But I am a mechanic and a car with its hood up can suggest one of two things; someone is either admiring what is under it or someone needs to grab a rag and a wrench. I am going on the assumption that she isn't a mechanic and if that motor isn't functioning as it should then someone who is will need to take a look to assess what needs to be done. She may be thinking only how pretty everything looks but there could be a serious problem under there! Much like America; it hasn't been functioning as well as it did before we started caring more about how it looks than we do about what works best for everyone.<br />
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I was around when the Ford Motor Company built and introduced that 1966 'Stang and I have owned one just like it. But that was back when America led the world in auto production and Mustangs like this one were common wherever anyone went; some were broken and the ones that were was someone else's problem...probably caused by them! But most of them ran well and those that were taken care of properly are worth more now than they ever were. Like life; when we work hard for something and take care of what have we keep it and don't want to give it away!<br />
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This one was made in a small town near Detroit (Dearborn) and not in some other country that has never had America's best interest at heart. In fact, the 2010 Mustang I now own was built on the other side of Lake Erie in Canada instead of in Michigan where hundreds of thousands of Americans toiled for decades to earn a living building them.<br />
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There aren't any cars with American brand names on them that are built here using parts that are manufactured here exclusively anymore and many brands assemble some of their models on some one else's shores because the labor is cheaper. But let's forget cars for a minute and not make this post about that; we don't make anything here anymore! More and more of our jobs are being shipped to other countries every day by the same career politicians that say they can fix what is broken here!<br />
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Whenever something we once took for granted as freedom is either taken away from us or becomes priced so high that many of us cannot afford it, it is pointed out to us that it never was a <span style="color: red;">"right" </span>in the first place. There is a long list of things we cannot say or do any longer, either because it offends someone else or because we haven't been able to control inflation. Basic health care comes to mind right away. Americans do not have a legal right to it but we should! People who cannot afford to go to a doctor when they should can't go because health care in America has become more about big business than about basic needs and politicians are quick to remind everyone that our bill of rights does not guarantee the right to get well or fix what is broken with us.<br />
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Like that Mustang; if something is broken or isn't functioning properly the owner has no right to have it fixed and if they cannot afford it then they have two choices; let it sit, or sell it. Like our country does with most of its problems, or when it runs short on money or sees a path to easy fixes even if they are only temporary. But if we had a good mechanic; someone that could look under the hood of anything, whether it is our economy, our health care system or everything else that keeps us all safe or keeps us ahead of the rest of the world then we would be better off than we are now.<br />
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There doesn't seem to be any good political mechanics in Washington anymore and fewer and fewer of them are coming to work every day in State Houses and City Halls. Instead we have only more and more irresponsible drivers and people getting too close to situations they shouldn't, and they break things and then ask for someone else to fix them. Our politicians are more like that girl than anyone that could fix the car if it needed attention, because like her, they dress to impress, they strike poses to entice us and pretend to know what they are doing while listening to people who don't.<br />
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Hillary Clinton could do what this girl is doing; it would look gross and it wouldn't be nearly as easy to watch what might happen next so most of us would look away. But that is precisely what Hillary would hope we would do because she knows that would be the best time to do whatever she has in mind to do, even when she doesn't know what to do. Hillary cannot fix what is wrong with America anymore than she could that Mustang!<span style="color: red;"> (Trust me, if she were a good mechanic she would have been bragging about that too by now.)</span><br />
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On the other hand, Donald Trump who isn't a career politician like the Clinton family has proven them selves to be, has shown that he is an expert when it comes to using the tools he has at his disposal to get done what he wants done! So I am thinking that if that car were his and needed fixed he would know how to fix it! And like America, it is a beautiful thing but beautiful things break and when they do we call the people we think can make them good again. When it comes to politics that too can be like the difference between a good mechanic and someone that only knows a little about working on cars or someone that only bends over to admire them.<br />
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I have known many people that have slipped into a pair of coveralls and grabbed the tools they are familiar with and tried to fix cars they couldn't fix, and I have known several that have been making the same mistakes for years. Their intentions are good but the results are usually bad. So maybe what we need to fix America is a political outsider instead of someone that keeps trading failures for more failures..someone like Hillary Clinton who looks at the country in its hour of need and blames Republicans for breaking everything while Democrats have been driving it for the past 8 years!<br />
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She hears the knocks and the pings of its engine and says things are getting worse and we need her to keep turning the same bolts that have been causing our problems for most of this past decade. She has been part of it all along by endorsing and promoting failed attempts at almost everything and by promising to do the same things that haven't worked and never will. She does a lot of bending over (like that girl in front of the Mustang) but at the end of the day all that is gained from it is whatever is in it for her. Trump, I am guessing, is a far better mechanic in this case than anyone else now seeking the high office of fixing and leading America. And I would wager that if he has any vintage Mustangs in his own car corral they all run just fine!Rick Minerdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06025545276541014862noreply@blogger.com0