A Chicken Is Not Pillage

Privilege

When the concluding stanza of your argument for not voting is that things wouldn't have gotten better or worse for you under Hillary Clinton, then you've just made an argument with three conclusions:

1)  Despite the sad challenges you have to face personally, you are privileged by the very system you wish to burn down.  It ultimately is all about you.

2)  You really don't have progressive ideals.  You care about what you get for minimum effort, and that supports the status quo of blaming others for your lack of involvement.

3)  Caterwaul about foreign people in foreign lands is a smoke screen, to convince others that you care about what you've just shown you don't care about.  It ultimately is all about you, and what the rest of us do is judged by you according to that selfish dictate.

Here's the thing Mr. and Ms. I Burned My Ballot.  Your kids are screwed.  While some of us who you think little of were fighting against the idea that the US President should have unlimited war powers, Congress gave it to them with the MCA.  You weep for American citizen terrorists blown up by drone strikes because of that Obummer.  You should.  You should also pull your head out of your butt and realize that Donald Trump now has that same power.  Thanks to you, not me.  Good job.  You can gesticulate, prevaricate, pontificate that Hillary Clinton would have abused the power just as much as Obama.  Enjoy that, because that's all your privileged bullshit leaves you.  The reality of the next four years will likely be much much worse, but you've covered your ass with a fantasy of what would have happened under the corrupt Clinton.  My, what power you have dictating the pain the rest of us will feel because you were too fricking special to cast a ballot.  Trump will open gas, coal and oil leases right here in the US of A.  You could have voted to stop him from doing that, but you relied on the stupid fantasy that Hillary was worse.  So, you doom others and excuse yourself from any responsibility with a dream.  Hey, wake up, jackass.  This is the new reality.  I won't accept it any more than someone in rural America accepts you calling them Sheeple, or racist or stupid.  Rail against the DNC all you want.  Wail against establishment all you want, though you just served the Republican establishment just as they told you to do.  Here's the point, non-voting jerkoff.   You just sucked FAUX New's dick and loved every second of it.  The proof is that you blame me for the assault that will now be done to you, and your children.

Anthropogenic climate change will continue and accelerate.   Wealth distribution upward will continue.  The US remains an empire in decline.  We have well entered stage 4, flailing and grasping for silver bullets to save our stature.  We are one click away from capitulation and resignation.  That would be moral, social, and economic bankruptcy.  You, non-voter, have already capitulated.  So don't even think you have half of my resolute will.  You don't.

 

Radio Silence, Injury, Dogs, Blogs and Guitars

When I was much younger, my second wife engaged in a campaign whereby I gave up all vestiges of any former life without her.  That included my beloved Shetland Sheepdogs, one of the most painful experiences of my life.  I didn't realize that was her effort at the time; I seriously doubt that she did either.  I don't blame her.  I did a great deal of 'shedding' all on my own, including getting rid of a football signed by many of the 1971 Denver Broncos.  That includes Hall of Famer, Franchise Floyd Little.  I miss that football, but I still have the memories of the night I got those signatures.  Things come and things go, and that's just the story of my life and most others.  Each tale of gain and loss is unique, and mine has its moments.  Though a great deal could be written about this personal phenomenon, there is only one thing that apparently I couldn't get out of my head.  When I was in high school, I got a second hand acoustic guitar.  It was cheap, dirt cheap, the kind of beginner's guitar you'd get at Wally-Mart for about 35 bucks.  I hauled that damned thing around with me for years.  I could play a couple of chords, even performed in front of real humans with it once, along with two other well accomplished guitar players.  My only real musical asset at the time was my voice, and it likely still is.  That guitar got sold at a garage sale, for probably $5, I don't clearly remember.  I do remember that I had to run the garage sale because the ex was hung over.  That is the way things were, then.

Most anyone reading this will know that in January I lost half of my left thumb to injury and amputation.  If you think this a non-sequitur, then please bear with me.  A good friend described this event in a way I understand but couldn't imagine.  We go through our lives finding comfort in similarity.  We take our things and place them on the shelves of our lives, sometimes just so and sometimes in ways we can at least live with.  Over time, the dust settles in familiar ways and all is 'normal'.  We join yoga classes, eat at exotic restaurants, go on cruises and exciting vacations to pretend that everything back home isn't exactly where we put it, collecting a finer layer of dust  by the time we get back to the familiar.  Then something happens.  A death, a loss of ability or sense, a loss of a digit, perhaps.  It's like someone slammed the bottom of the shelf and everything comes back down, slightly misplaced (including the dust.)  Something is gone, not coming back.  The familiarity is shaken to the point where questions long left unanswered demand a response.  For myself, that became an obsession.  I had to get a guitar.  Growing up the way I did, I tried harder than most can imagine to talk myself out of this 'foolishness'.  Often, 'economic hardship' (a term rather insultingly stupid on its face) instills a will to self-denial.  One buys what one needs, nothing more.  And need can be bartered down to last resort.  The day I went to buy my guitar, I tortured myself for hours and hours in an attempt to talk myself out of it.

About 4 weeks ago, I bought a Fender Squire and a decent Blackstar amp.  Starting at ground zero, the beginning knowing nothing.  I love this.  I am fortunate to have a friend who has been playing for over 40 years, and teaches others to play guitar.  He's a classical guitarist by trade and helped me more than I can ever express my gratitude for.  I can't play enough.  I don't call it 'practice' because for me it's sheer joy.  I make noises that please me, and am slowly learning the Jethro Tull songs that I most want to be proficient at.  There is no mystery.  It will likely take me 4 years to become even passable at playing, but damned if my obsession isn't sated.  I usually play 1 to 2 hours a day, and even writing this post somewhat annoys me because it's taking time away from playing the guitar.  I doubt that I'll ever be able to explain how enormously this has impacted my life, and will well into whatever future I have left.  I did have a bit of a clue, however. Less than 2 years ago, my beloved lost sight in her left eye.  She has been obsessed with her dogs ever since.  She works, she trains, she holds hope for a thing she never explored until now.  Her before me, our shelves got slammed, our certainty shaken.  Since we're getting a bit up there in years, it's probably time to explore and engage in the things we find unique and passionate.  My next purchase, if I can talk myself into it, is a fishing kayak,  I love being on the water.  That's the point when we trade pain and loss for hope and exploration.  We must love what we do, and hold to what we are, what we think we are.  We keep smacking the bottom of the shelf because the dust shouldn't settle until it settles over us.

I likely won't be blogging much, not that I ever have this time of year.  Radio silence in favor of an amp.  The Montana blogs don''t need me anyway.  Reptile Discordance will continue to pick petty fights concerning stuff they can't control any more and vastly less than the Intelligent discontented they pick fights with.  The grand comic book shitheel Conspiro (Toke) will continue to posit the extreme and degrade any site he visits.  Cowgirl will be what it was meant to be, a site to hold the line in a game it doesn't understand and likely never will.  I'm gonna play guitar and continue to blog about football.  I hope you all enjoy.  If'n you don't, okay.

We're Not Even Human To These F**ers Any more

I graduated from Montana State University in 1992 with a BS in Philosophy, Honors Highest Distinction.  This should not be an issue. 

Four times in the last three years I have been called a liar, a phony, because certainly a white trash rural product couldn't be that smart.  Three out of those four are Baby-Boomers, so much more intelligent than the rest of us that they can read the abilities of all around them.  Why not, it was those same people who couldn't understand that a Nigra could become President of these United States.

I'm tired of having my abilities questioned, so here it is.  I graduated college in 1992, the first of my surname to do so.  That's my diploma, and all you doubters can go fuck yourselves.  For four years I worked for a despicable alcoholic to pay for that schooling.  It cost me that respect of family and two wives.  That may not have been the greatest of life choices, but I still did it.  Listening to assholes online tell me I couldn't accomplish such a feat is so very infuriating, not because of anything I've done, but rather because the privileged think that a degree is philosophy is only the domain of their effort. 

I didn't have announcements made, so I can't scan those.  This is the graduation booklet proclaiming the graduating class of 1992.  Notice please right there.  That's my name.  Robert Lynn Kailey.  I have a few symbols after my name.  Here's what they mean:

University Honors, Honors Program highest distinction.  I wore the gold brocade as one of the happiest moments of my life.  When you grow up blue color, told by your father that "Our family doesn't go to college" and realize that you've done something special?  You feel a sense of pride.  You feel that you've done something well.

But no.  A couple of privileged assholes who don't have any idea what struggles you worked through are more than welcome to tell the world how you've lied about that accomplishment, so small and yet so important.  Fine.  I think that's the nature of the Intertubes anymore.  Anything that can be writ will be writ.  Of course it's true because people read it on the Internet.  What shocks me and saddens me the most is how so many 'good' liberal and progressive' folk are willing to attack with class bias such that if you don't agree with them you must be 'low brow', a 'mouth breather', a loser and a liar.  They will happily tell you how much we need to raise the minimum wage such that their waitress makes a living wage, but spew nothing but venom and lie at that waitress should she actually disagree with them on any particular point.  How dare someone of working background actually think themselves a human equal?  There is no competition for intellect.  You either have it or you don't, and neither is a moral failing.  The only fail is to think there is such a standard, a willful stupidity.  And sadly, it's on the left that this most prevalent.

 

I'm Not Feeling It At All

By now, I haven't a doubt that y'all have seen the picture all over the media (social and otherwise) of the good citizens of Baltimore in a line "defending" a line of police officers. I quote that word because it's used in every single presentation of that image. That snapshot is supposed to make us all feel 'good' about the fine people of Baltimore, or the nobility and resilience of the human spirit or some such crap. Blame it on my curmudgeonly bad attitude, but all that picture does is confuse me. Every time I see it, it reminds of the picture from Ferguson of a young black man, arms raised in capitulation, facing off against what could pass for a military special forces strike unit, complete with machine guns and armored tactical vehicle.

I have too many questions. It's broad daylight, so who exactly are these unseen forces that the citizens are defending armored and heavily armed police from? Al qaeda? Since the point of the protests, which EVERYBODY sympathizes with, is that institutional racism and authoritarian thuggery has led to the explosive situation between communities and the cops paid to 'protect' people, how is it "good" in this country of free people that we have to stand in defense of those police? Yes, I know, most cops are good, blah blah blah. I also know, as everyone else should, that those *good* cops stand silently and let the bad ones that the good certainly know about violate public trust at every turn, leading to death and destruction. I'm not saying that it should be open season on police. But for Dogs sake, they should at least be fired for not doing the job. Instead, I'm being told that it's 'heartwarming' when a betrayed citizenry stands in defense of the betrayers? You see my confusion, yes?

Indulge me here. To me, this photo is a desperate plea from a desperate people to not be judged harshly. 'See, the rioters aren't US, they are them. WE are on the good side. See how non-violent we are protecting the violent who have made no effort at reconciliation or even effort to fulfill the oaths they took to us?' It strikes me that the very goddamned problem is that any of them are being judged at all in the media, or on Facilebook, or on blogs talking 'bout 'Murika the Great. The officers who murdered Freddie Grey haven't been exposed, much less subjected to a public hearing. The National Guard now protects significant authority structures in Baltimore and is 'assisting' in enforcing a curfew. Not one effort appears to have been made to address the grievances of the citizens of Baltimore, but Facebook is being told that we should have renewed faith in the human spirit because a bunch of people stood in a line and said backhandedly, 'we don't want to be dead at the hands of public opinion which supports the thugs behind us'.

Nope. Pundits and posters can keep on telling me how proud, supportive, and warm I'm supposed to feel because these 'persons guilty of living in Baltimore' are doing the right thing, and passifying the judgment of all us right-thinking (white) folk. Sorry, I'm not feeling it.

Guilty

Color me surprised.  Aaron Hernandez was found guilty of First Degree Murder  and sentenced to life in prison without parole.  I and many other fans of the sport of Football (and fans of justice) have waited two years to read that verdict.  I didn't think it would ever come.

I'm not surprised by the verification of Hernandez' guilt.  It was fairly obvious from the limited amount of pre-trial information released that he was guilty as hell.  He is a thug, a talented parasite, a murderer.  What surprises me is that a jury had the conviction and courage to judge a "big man" and find him guilty.  Just as the 'Important people' have convinced many that our votes don't matter and that we are too ignorant to comprehend weighty matters of governance, high priced lawyers have done a terrific job of convincing people that we are not worthy to judge the actions of another, especially if that other is rich.  With alarming frequency, high profile cases have been deemed too difficult for the hoi-poloi to make comment on, and vile people have gone without punishment.  Hernandez entered this saga with a substantial war-chest , a $12 million signing bonus from Robert Kraft.  Kraft handed Hernandez a giant check, calling him an exemplar of the model NFL player.  No.  He's a murderer, and will spend the rest of his life in prison.

Kraft isn't the only dupe, just more imbecilic that most.  Urban Meyer, coach of the newly crowned first college champion team Ohio State, knew of Hernandez's troubled psyche when he was at Florida.  That's why he tried to form a bond between the tight-end and Touchdown Jesus, Tim Tebow.  Bill Belichick knew that Hernandez was trouble, but like all 'good' NFL coaches, he didn't care as long as Aaron performed on Sundays.  Even Roger Goodell was made aware of Aaron's off field issues, but as long as the viewing public wasn't concerned he wasn't going to come down with an unfair and ham-handed edict.  All were concerned that Hernandez was going to be a STAR.  Odin Lloyd was picked up from his home, driven to an empty lot, made to kneel on asphalt and shot in the back of the head by a 'star'.

As I pointed out in my post about Super Bowl 49, Kraft asked for 20 seconds to spew patriotic self-worship should his team win.  If they had lost, according to Kraft, would we all be terrist-sympathizers who hate Patriotism?  Would he have had the balls to take 20 seconds and say that?  No.  He cut Hernandez loose at the first hint of public outcry against a vile crime.  I suppose I should commend him for doing so, him having already paid for the rich man defense fund.  Ultimately, though, what I and most fans want is justice from a just league supporting an honest game.  I'd didn't think we'd see it.  But I'm happier today that we have.

A Post About Rob Kailey, What Rob Kailey Did, How Rob Kailey Did It and Why Rob Kailey Did It.

And yet my life goes on ...

Update

A quick update to let any who care know that I'm still alive.

1)  I'm still alive.

2)  If any y'all haven't voted yet, the day is tomorrow, SO VOTE!

3)  If you are voting the Democratic primary, I urge you to vote for Dirk Adams for Senate.  Yes, I know that's an unfortunatly cartoonish name.  Yes, I am quite well aware that I should have spent the last month campaigning for him and sharing his policy posts on Facilebook.  Still, what do you expect when I post here for the first time in months just to let people know that I'm still around, Hummm?  Yes, I am aware that some of the dim think that he is a 'fake' Democrat.  Bullocks, pun intended.

I got to meet Adams less than 2 months ago in Dillon.  He struck me as angry, and I was disappointed that he didn't have more to say about policy, and instead focused on what's wrong wth his establishment opponent.  You know what's funny about his anger though?  He's pissed over the same things that piss me off, the dark influence of money in political choice, the weak desperation of the Montana Democratic establishment, the political inaction that has led us to the edge of ruin, and the lack of concern for an entire gender that permeates our 'policy'.  It's easy to be fed up with posturing anger in our so-called leadership.  But think on this:  If we elect representatives to be our voice, and we're all pissed off about the above listed things, who better to represent us than a person who shares that anger, chosen to give voice where we have little?  I haven't had the time to share these noodlins' online, but that's where I'm coming from.  I will vote for Dirk Adams, and I hope you will (have) too.

4)  It looks like the city of Bozeman is doing the right thing, recognizing equal protection under the law to all folks.   Please forgive me if I sound pompous, but I knew this was coming.  Time can't heal all wounds, but it does correct injustice given enough understanding that we are really all in this together.

5)  I have spent the last several months correcting a few bad habits.  One is this: never engage in online conversation where Larry Kralj has commented more than three times.  The second, never engage in any online conversation where Mark Tokarski has been responded to even once.  The third is to click immediately away from any thread in which JC shares a self-indulgent anectdote.  The result of doing any of those is illfated, cursed ... or put less dramatically, a colossal waste of time.  Not a one of them has anything fresh to say, or anything helpful to offer.  Just like too many of those they rail against, they haven't accepted the fact that we are all in this together.  So it's no use dealing with what they've polluted.  I have and will continue to read the blogs, but the comments are a waste anymore.  (Food for thought, Pogie.)

In case I don't post again until Football season begins (chorus of angels providing background vocals), y'all have yourself a terrific Summer.

The Argument of the Ring!

One ring to rule them all,

Two Rings to find them,

Three rings to bring them all,

And four or more to bind them;

In the Land Of SuperBowl, where the GREATNESS lies!

My beloved and I used to playfully argue all the time about who the greatest quarterback was, Montana or Elway.  Elway had more wins, and was more fun to watch.  Montana won 'when it mattered', had a better passer rating and the accompanying stats, and he had 4 football championships.  At which point I would bring up that John Elway had 7 Championships, 5 Lamar Hunt trophies and 2 Super Bowl wins, (which of course means that Montana had 8).  (For the record, I agreed with her but wouldn't admit it.)  And so it would go.  We no longer have those discussions, because we both agree; Peyton Manning is the best quarterback of all time.  And as soon as that is uttered, out comes the Argument of the Ring.  Peyton Manning has only 1, and Tom Brady has 3, and "you can't argue with the rings".

Yes, yes I can.  I hate the 'ring' argument and I always have.  Here we are, with Manning and the Broncos headed to the Super Bowl, and the refrain has already begun:  if Manning doesn't win then all his accomplishments, his records, his awards and accolades won't mean a thing because he lost a game.  One game.  Bullshit.

If I were to have a pop quiz and ask 'who is the greatest team in Super Bowl era history' what would you, gentle reader, answer?  The Packers?  The Steelers?  The Cowboys?  The Niners?  The Steelers and Cowboys have been to the show 8 times.  The Steelers have 6 rings.  The Packers have been 5 times and have 4 rings.  The 'Niners have been 6 times and have 5 rings.  Using the 'ring' argument, it would be the Ravens.  These teams are 100% for getting 'rings':  the Ravens (2 of them), the Jets, the Saints, The Buccaneers.  They are all 'the best' for getting 'rings'.  The ' Niners would take it, except they lost to the Ravens last year, making them a woeful 5 for 6.  There are too many quarterbacks for me to list that are 100% for garnering that all important bling.  The likes of Trent Dilfor, Brad Johnson, Mark Rypen, and Doug Williams all join Joe Theismann, Drew Brees, Joe Hollywood (Namath, another 1 time winner), Eli Manning and Joe Montana as the best at getting 'rings'.

Take a look at the Hall of Fame.  You won't find Trent Dilfor or Doug Williams.  You will find Dan Fouts, who never even went to the Super Bowl.  You will find Dan Marino, who was 0-1 in 'The Game".  You will find Fran Tarkington and the only man who ever made the Super Bowl 4 times in a row, Jim Kelly.  Those two are 0-4.   You also won't find  Jim Plunkett, a travesty if ever there was one.  He won two Super Dooper Bowls, both of them coming into the season as a backup quarterback.  You know who else you will find?  Steve Young, a man with ONE, and only one ring.

Only two men have ever lead their teams to the SB 5 times, John Elway and Tom Brady.  Elway is 2-3, Brady is 3-2.  In the 2007, Brady went undefeated until the 'big game', and was defeated by Eli Manning and the Giants.    4 Years later, Brady and the Patriots were again defeated by Eli Manning and the Giants.  Eli is 100% for winning 'rings'.  Does anyone really care to argue that Eli Manning is better than Tom Brady?  Or his brother who is 50% for the ring argument?

I'm sick of hearing that "you can't argue with the rings".  It's an appeal to false authority that makes no sense.  By any other metric, Peyton Manning is the greatest of all time.  I work at a bookstore, and back around 2002? We carried a book put out by SI that chronicled the 10 best quarterbacks of all time, as of that time.  Number one was Otto Graham, a player many may never have heard of.  The strongest argument in his favor was that he was the only man ever unanimously voted as All-Pro seven times.  That is, until this year, when Peyton now shares that distinction.  No one in the history of the NFL has more than three MVP awards except Peyton Manning with 4, and this year he will win his fifth.  The league season passing yardage record runs:  Peyton Manning, Drew Brees, Peyton Manning.   The league season touchdown record: Peyton Manning, and no, Tom Brady will not break it next year.  The number of rings this guy has have nothing to do with his greatness.  He's earned everything, and deserves everthing regardless of the outcome in Jersey come February.  Dan Graziano says it as well as I ever could.  Peyton stands alone.

Rings are won by teams.  Peyton Manning is the ultimate team player, like Dan Fouts before him (no rings.)   He isn't just a 'future Hall of Famer'.  He is the best there's ever been, and if the Devil wants to travel down to Louisiana and challenge on that, the Devil better bring his A game.   The ring argument doen't mean shit.  Manning is the best.

Work Week

I took this week off work to accomplish the usual Autumn chores as well as some of the tasks left from perpetual home rebuild.  Yesterday was a wash, because I had to spend the day near the phone in support of my young Padawan doing her first solo computer reconstruction.  She did brilliantly.  Today, on the other hand, I think I over-compensated. 

One of my autumn projects is clearing leaves.  In addition to loading my truck with a quarter ton of destruction materials to go to the dump tomorrow, my project for today was leaf duty.  To any who are unfamiliar with our house, in our front yard is one of the oldest and largest Ash trees on the northside, which has the oldest and largest Ash trees in the city.  Ash trees are conservative; they leaf out late and drop early.  Because of the early snow storm, however, our Ash didn't so much drop as completely dump it's leaves.  I could have just raked them into the street for the city to deal with, creating a pile at least 6 feet long, 5 feet wide and 3 feet tall.  But Chris and I garden, and we compost everything we can including leaves.  So I clear the leaves with the bagging mower, putting all the chop in the compost system.

My beloved thought clearing the front yard would take me all week.  I told her it would take two days.  I did it all this afternoon.  I'm not trying to whine here, but I am one tired puppy dog.

Not Happy

My beloved and I have lived in this house for 17 years.  But we live across from the Bozeman Brewing Company, an establishment that has been here maybe a decade (I don't clearly remember.)  It's a bar.  No bullshit.  It's a bar.  I have come to some resolution that dumbass bar patrons will be rude to my life.  But I still have a problem when bar patrons block the driveway.  Imagine yourself in that sad position.  When my wife ghets home and finds the driveway blocked, she will unleash hell on the bar and its patrons.  I don't blame her.  Yet still, when I call the cops on those who act foolishly, I am somehow the bad guy.

Most problems are resolved without any conflict.  I went to the bartenders, when it is not their job to keep people from being stupid, and it seemed to help.  I'm done.  When someone does the stupid, I act the role of calling the cops and take pictures of their car.  Mostly, that works to get them moving their ass.  Lately it hasn't.  Most times anymore, neither effort has worked.  The priveleged get to do whatever they want and fuck the area ... BEER!   So, I call the cops.

When folk are from out-of-town, I am willing to cut them some slack.  But the last several folk are from Bozeman, and they don't care ... until the police show up.  Suddenly, they are apologetic and willing to admit thier wrong doing.  I don't buy a word of it.  All they've done is put my life at odds with the bar, the bar patrons.  I hope that they have a moral center, but I'm pessimistic that my tires are safe or that my beloved's car won't be fussed with.

I really really hate living across from a bar.