Oh, What A Tangled Web We Weave...

 

https://www.forbes.com/sites/danalexander/2020/08/25/trump-has-now-moved-23-million-of-campaign-donor-money-into-his-private-business/?sh=50177223773c

https://abcnews.go.com/Politics/trumps-pac-fundraising-off-georgia-runoffs-spending-candidates/story?id=74809718

https://www.businessinsider.com/trump-pocketing-georgia-senate-runoff-donations-report-pac-money-2020-12

Happy Birthday, John.

This is a very difficult post to write.  But, I feel, a necessary one.  Bear with me, it's bound to be emotional.

I have been at the crossroads of several heavy conversations lately.  At an intentional community I am involved with, we have been talking about many issues that faced America this year, including racism and race relations.  These discussions caused us to recall some experiences with some racists in our lives.  One of the biggest racists in my life was my stepfather, John.

I recall an incident when I was just seven.  We went down to John's parents' house for lunch.  My stepbrothers were visiting, and were playing on Grandma and Pap's swing set with some black children who lived up the street.  I will never forget my stepfather's fury as, regardless that he didn't own the house or swing set, with a few curt words, he ordered the children away.  Nor will I ever forget their slumped posture and hung heads as they walked from the yard.

And the day I discovered blues music.  What very few people know about me is I love blues music, the older and scratchier-sounding, the better.  My love for blues came because of a visit to a friend of Big Grandma's.  Big Grandma was my stepfather's maternal grandmother, and my babysitter before I started school.  One day, she took me along on a visit to a black lady who lived up the street.  Alas, I don't remember the lady's name, only that when we arrived, she was listening to a scratchy old blues LP (remember LPs?  They were long-playing records, millenials!) out on her front porch.  She offered us the tastiest peach iced tea I've ever had, and after awhile, she and Big Grandma suggested I stretch out for a nap on her glider on the other side of the porch while they shared some adult girl talk.  As usual, I didn't really nap, but daydreamed, the taste of the sweet peach tea on my lips, and listened to the rise and fall of the two ladies' voices, while a summer breeze caressed me.  And the scratchy blues music was the soundtrack wrapped around it all.

We left after an hour or so, and as we walked down the street, I asked Big Grandma if we could go back sometime.  She was non-committal, but one thing she was very emphatic about:

"Don't tell Johnny." 

No matter what, my stepfather was never to know about our visit.  I gave my word.  And no one ever knew about it until more than ten years later, after my mother's divorce from him.  And I never really began to indulge my love for blues music until around age 30.  I am lucky in my friendship with Melissa Pedersen, because she has introduced me to some internet stations who play the finest Americana and Roots music I've ever heard.

I can remember a drunken conversation, if you could call it that, maybe more of a lecture, from John.  I don't remember what precipitated it.  All I remember clearly is him gripping me by the lapels of my pajama top, shaking me, and telling me, "...you can have a n----- for a friend if you want to, but don't you ever let me catch you kissing a n-----, or fucking a n-----, or I will fuck you up.  I will beat you to within an inch of your miserable life, and then I will cut up your face and make you ugly so no man will ever want you."  No, I'm not kidding.  He made the same threat later, if I ever tried "dope".

Of course, my stepfather was quick to assure you, he was not "prejudiced", and as evidence, went to great pains to introduce me to his black "good friend" Jimmy.  I only saw Jimmy but twice in my whole childhood, but I will never forget their collaboration on the lecture, "Keep The Races Separate, Because Neither Race Will Ever Accept Biracial Children", complete with disgusting beer breath.  Beer on anybody's breath makes me nauseous to this day.

There have been a couple talks around the bonfire at The Community about different types of sexual abuse/assault.  Virtually every one of us women has a story -- stranger rape, date/acquaintance rape, marital rape, sexual abuse/molestation, sexual harassment at work, cat-calls, etc.  Many of us reported multiple types of sexual abuse.  I told my story here and here.  No need to repeat them except to say they do connect back to my stepfather, who molested me from at least age 5 (probably earlier) till age 15, when I unceremoniously ended the abuse by threatening his life.  And meaning it.

My mother and I have been having, during these Covid times, a series of conversations as well.  With my mother near the end of her years, I have been diligently making time for these impromptu klatches.  Subject matter has run the gamut, but almost always at least touches on my stepfather, how difficult life with him was, how he still influences our lives, not much in a good way.  And what forces made him how he was.

One of these talks took place in the car this summer.  I asked my mum if she ever knew what a hardass John's mother was, and related to her how one time I came down from the bathroom in their house, and Grandma went up right after me and came down immediately to berate me about -- TOILET PAPER!  I had committed the grave sin of not ripping the toilet paper cleanly on the perforation, leaving a ragged edge that evidently Grandma thought gave her the right to rip into me.  I didn't see why this was such a big deal, as no one in my life had ever been that anal, but being still a relatively tractable child, I apologized and protested I hadn't committed this apparently grave sin on purpose.  "Yes, but you did do it, didn't you?" snapped Grandma, as if to drive home the notion of my guilt.

"Imagine being raised by THAT!" sniffed my mother.  "If I had known she did that, I'd've ripped it ragged off the perforation every goddamn time!"

"Yeah, well I know how I felt after that one incident.  Wonder if she did that to John?  That kind of raising could really screw a person up.  Maybe it explains a few things."

But the kicker was when my mother explained how Grandma tied my stepfather to a tree.

It seems, Pap being off in the US Navy during World War II, and my stepfather being a normal rambunctious little boy, that Grandma had a hard time keeping track of him, and would sometimes tie him to a tree, apparently for long periods of time.  The irony is that Grandma was never the parent John reported being afraid of.

Oddly, John was terrified of Pap, kicking my mother under the table when she teased him, and directing the nastiest looks my way when I debated Pap on the merits of soccer-style vs. straight-on kickers in the late 70's NFL and NCAA.  My mother told me John confided in her that as a teenager he had slept with a knife under his pillow to protect himself from Pap.  But neither my mother nor I could ever imagine Pap doing anything to harm anyone.  And most abusers are quick to tell you how bad are the children they are raising, and abusing, I guess to rationalize/excuse their abuse.  I had many conversations with Pap as a teenager.  He told me he never understood Grandma having a hard time with John, he never gave Pap any trouble.  It's a mystery.

And where did John learn to molest children?  Was he molested in Catholic school in the 40's and 50's?  Or somewhere else?  God, I'd love to have the answer to that!  It makes me sadder than I thought I'd ever be to think that someone did to John what he did to me.

The clincher was the conversation I had last week with Melissa Pedersen about John.  Because this was where I put everything together and the desire to write this post was born.  Melissa too was sexually abused as a youngster; the difference between her experience and mine was that she was older when her abuse began and her abuser was not a family member, thus she told her parents, was believed, and removed immediately from the situation, whereas my abuse lasted 10 or more years.  Ironically, at one point well into the conversation Melissa made a comment indicating she thought John didn't sound too intellectual.

"Oh, I think he was plenty smart.  He just didn't read well.  My mother and I both remember notes he wrote with letters switched around that make us think he had dyslexia.  I don't think schools were on the ball about dyslexia back then.  John always described himself as a 'dummy'.  That was why he was always all over me about my grades.  He always said he got passed from one grade to the next because they were glad to get rid of him.  But if you talked to him, he had great ideas and opinions that were intelligent and well thought out, even if I didn't agree with most of them.  But he had a lot of trouble expressing himself because he didn't read well or have a good vocabulary."

Melissa replied quietly, "Doesn't sound like he had a great childhood, either."  She didn't amplify the remark, but it made me think.

Here we have a kid whose father is absent for the first few years of his life.  His mother is clearly overwhelmed, and doesn't seem to possess the best parenting skills, and maybe has OCD, among other things.  His father comes home from the military.  They don't seem to bond well, and are never close.  John, for whatever reason, is afraid of him.  He loves his mother, but as my mother has observed, John's mother is rather cold and strict.  And his father is an alcoholic.

He goes to school, where he probably has an undiagnosed learning disability, so of course has no success there.  He is probably therefore made to feel inadequate by either the nuns, his schoolmates or both.  Neither his parents nor his school seem to teach him empathy, social graces or how to relate to people.  He enjoys a few sports, but seems to have no particular talent for any of them. He's not particularly good looking, and if he has any skills or talents, nobody, especially John himself, seems to notice or cultivate them.  Although there is evidence that his parents did put in no small amount of effort to teach him a work ethic, it doesn't seem to "take".  And although he could affect a superficial charm upon occasion, it was nothing he could maintain over a long haul.

And quite possibly, somewhere along the line, somebody molested him.

So he grows up, a big boy who acquires a bit of a swagger, a "macho" attitude that usually doesn't admit vulnerability or deficiency.  (Although I can remember seeing him cry on three occasions -- when my mum and I forgot Father's Day one year; when my mum and I watched Love Boat and Fantasy Island after he went to bed, laughing and talking together, and he felt left out; and the fact that he envied that [he felt] my mother and I were so exponentially better at making friends than he.  Kind of comes across as a sad and lonely man).  Well, if one can't admit he needs help, he's not likely to ask for and receive any, is he?  

He also emulates his father's alcohol addiction.

He does himself no favors, either.  He marries right out of high school, has three children in five years, which is a helluva lot of supporting for a common laborer to do.  Of course, that marriage falls apart after less than eight years.  He moves back home with his parents.  Soon after, he meets my mother, and marries her after a six month engagement, never having lived on his own and taken care of himself.

With Melissa functioning as my sounding board and explicator, we put together a portrait of a guy who probably never had a chance, because very little good, positive effort seems to have been put into him.  Not even when he apparently molested children before me.  Of course, part of this can be attributed to the fact that there was little effective treatment available for most of his conditions at that time -- not alcoholism, dyslexia nor pedophilia.  It's a shame.  He deserves a lot of sympathy because otherwise, he could've been somebody.  Or at very least done a lot less damage.

If he were still alive, John would be 78 years old today.  He passed in 2007.  Not surprising, as his drinking had already begun taking a toll on his health by his early 40's.  He was married to his third wife, Patty, for more than 20 years, perhaps more of a testimony to her than him.  Maybe a case of water seeking, and finding, its own level.  I don't miss him, in all honesty.  I didn't love him.  For my mother's sake, I tolerated him as best as possible, and when they divorced, I was relieved.  And when he died, I told myself, he can't hurt anyone anymore.  For that, I was glad.  For John, I am sorry.  He could've been so much more.  He could have been, and had the right to be, a whole lot happier.  And it's not all his fault he wasn't.  It's not his fault he slipped through so many cracks.

There are a lot of folks just like John out there.  I hope if some of you know one, you'll help them.  If you do, you'll in turn be helping other folks like me, which I would appreciate.

I forgive you, John.  I'm sorry it's taken me this long to look at it all from your perspective.  Happy Birthday.

Happy Thanksgiving 2020

Like many of you, I have complained about 2020.  I'm sure most of us agree, not one of our better years, complete with Covid, unemployment, recession, continued murder/harassment of POC, civil unrest, etc.

Well, I am not complaining today.  I am grateful.  Very grateful.  And I want to tell you why.

I am grateful for my health.  Oh, I weigh (alot) more than I should.  I have arthritis, and autoimmunity.  There are a few things I can no longer do.  But so much more I can do.  It's not as easy as it used to be.  But still doable, thank God.

I am grateful that I live in a first-world country that, at least early in this pandemic, looked after its citizens.  No question, most of us would like to see Congress do more.  Not just regular folks, but basically every major economic mind, not the least of which, Federal Reserve Chair Jerome Powell, agree on that point.  But the $1200 individual payments, the unemployment, the PEUC, and the unemployment enhancements were as crucial to individuals as broad stimulus outreach was for industries, and the leading reason our country is not in much worse economic shape.  Now that the election is over, let us hope Congress has more moves in its repertoire than finger-pointing, and will continue to find ways to assist those who need it, and offer first aid to our economy during this latest Covid wave.

I am grateful for this time.  Yes, even though I'm unemployed.  A small sabbatical was welcome after all these years, and an opportunity to take care of several matters around my house, long neglected, is a blessing.  Some landscaping, painting, remodeling.  I will REALLY be grateful when it comes time to sell my house, and there will be much less to do than there otherwise would have been.

Not to mention the time I get to spend with a certain gorgeous hunk of man with green eyes, and the most amazing moustache.  Check him out:

I'm grateful for good neighbors.  Right after I was laid off in March, my bathroom faucet and pipe of course decided to spring a leak.  We asked our neighbor, Dan, to help us shut off our water.  He wound up coming over with "some parts that were laying around", and fixed the leaks, refusing the money I offered him.  Then a few weeks ago, he and his wife, Debbie, rented a trailer to clean up a brush pile in their yard, and came over, and we cleaned up a brush pile of mine, too, left over from all my yard trimming this spring.  There is no way to express enough gratitude for neighbors like these.  Dan said to pay it forward.  I'm doing my best.

I am grateful for friends, and with everything we are dealing with this year, I believe we must really prioritize our friendships, take care of and nurture them.  Unfortunately, it does seem that the political and social polarization of America has taken a toll on some of our friendships.  Some of us have, sadly, had to distance ourselves, or even prune some people from our lives.  In some cases it has felt like an emotional amputation.  I can empathize.  Hopefully other friends are willing to sometimes literally drop everything and come up big for us, and us for them.  I have experienced this, as well, as I hope you have.

I am VERY grateful that the US chose new leadership, and shall not have to continue to endure this puerile, chaotic and exhausting administration much longer.  (55 days, but who's counting?!)

Most of all I am grateful to still have my mother.  I almost lost her this spring, not for the first time.  Every holiday could be her last.  I am grateful I was able to afford Thanksgiving Day dinner with all the trimmings, and that I'm going to be able to make it, and enjoy it with my mother at our leisure this year, a rather unlikely prospect most of the years I worked at The Plaza.

I have a handful of movies that I reserve to watch at Thanksgiving.  I just finished watching one of them, a movie called Latter Days.  A character in that movie described reading comics in the newspaper when he was young.  One day, he held the newspaper really close to his eyes and noticed that, close up, the images were comprised of very small, seemingly random colorful dots, and only when looking at them from far away, kind of a God's-eye, not-trees-but-forest view, did all the images make sense, and look like comics.  He said stepping back and looking at life from the forest view made him feel like we are all connected, and that is beautiful, and funny, and good.  I hope that some day soon, 2020 will look like that to us, and that we can all begin to feel a release from this trying time, and for those who are so inclined, maybe even a trust in Something Higher.

A New Role For The Donald

Let us not be too gleeful, though.  It is important to remember that the abusive relationship partner is always the most dangerous right when we are acting to break up with him.
 

RIP, Alex Trebek

The answer is: This 1989 R&B hit became Natalie Cole's fifth Billboard Top 10 hit; it must've been "Good To Be Back".

What is "Miss You Like Crazy?"

Alex, we're gonna miss you like crazy.  What do game show hosts do when they reach the Elysian Fields?

The handsome and genial King Of The Game Show Hosts, circa 1977, when Your Crusading Blogger crushed on him so fiercely I would play sick to try to stay home and watch him.

https://www.aol.com/article/entertainment/2020/11/08/jeopardy-host-alex-trebek-dead-at-80/24681534/

Hamberders And Covfefe For Everyone? No, Champagne!

Wouldn't you love to see the masses of these voters, when the president disrespects our veterans, our rule of law, and our Constitution, to say, "Get that son of a bitch out of office right now, out, he's fired. He's fired!" You know, the voters are gonna do that. They're gonna say, "That guy disrespects our sense of decency, he's fired."

And that president, he doesn't know it. His supporters don't know it. They're friends of mine, a couple of them. They don't know it. That president, he'll be the most popular person in this country, for a week. His cabinet will be the most popular people in this country. 

Till midterm Election Day, 2018. Till November 3, 2020. Biden/Harris 2020! And beyond...

 

This Week In Donald Trump -- Election Edition

Election Night, Tuesday, November 3rd:

Wednesday, November 4th:

Thursday, November 5th:

Friday-Saturday, November 6-7:

Ultimately:

#MyNameIs

 Guest Post By Melissa Pedersen

Trending today is #MyNameIs, because of this incident:

 My name is Melissa.  "Melissa" is from the Greek, and it means "honeybee", which is appropriate, because as I always tell people when I first meet them, with me sometimes you get the honey, and sometimes you get the bee.  

"When someone tells you who they are, believe them the first time." - Maya Angelou

That definitely includes the YouTube video above.  And the one below from 2016:

By their fruits you will know them...

Addendum, Saturday, November 7, 2020:  Hello, Your Crusading Blogger here. I want to first of all say thank you to Melissa Pedersen for her contributions to this blog while I was temporarily occupied elsewhere. What a fine job she did, and I sure do appreciate! 

As to names, my name is Claudia, which does not mean "the lame one", as is usually assumed, but is from the Latin "claudere", which means "enclosure". This is the root for many words, such as "closet", "cloister", and "clause". It implies putting something inside that you want to protect or set aside as sacred or separate. Perhaps the name was originally intended to indicate the person with that name was protected, but so often in my life I have been the protector. It's a role I'm comfortable with, so I'm cool with my name. 

Now as to Senator Perdue and his problems pronouncing Kamala Harris' name (sucky articulation, sexism, racism, xenophobia, ethnocentrism, which? Any or all of the above?), I can make it very simple for you, Senator (you won re-election, acting like this?), here you go: Kamala Harris -- (vīs prĕz′ĭ-dint-ĭ-lĕkt′) -- from the Latin "Assistant To The One Chosen By The People To Preside Over The People." See? Real simple. Happy to have cleared that up for you! And anyone else who might be having trouble!

A Little Light Reading

 Guest Post By Melissa Pedersen

The Masque of the Red Death by Edgar Allan Poe, 1842

The red death had long devastated the country. No pestilence had ever been so fatal, or so hideous. Blood was its Avatar and its seal -- the madness and the horror of blood. There were sharp pains, and sudden dizziness, and then profuse bleeding at the pores, with dissolution. The scarlet stains upon the body and especially upon the face of the victim, were the pest ban which shut him out from the aid and from the sympathy of his fellow-men. And the whole seizure, progress, and termination of the disease, were incidents of half an hour.

But Prince Prospero was happy and dauntless and sagacious. When his dominions were half depopulated, he summoned to his presence a thousand hale and light-hearted friends from among the knights and dames of his court, and with these retired to the deep seclusion of one of his crenellated abbeys. This was an extensive and magnificent structure, the creation of the prince's own eccentric yet august taste. A strong and lofty wall girdled it in. This wall had gates of iron. The courtiers, having entered, brought furnaces and massy hammers and welded the bolts.

They resolved to leave means neither of ingress nor egress to the sudden impulses of despair or of frenzy from within. The abbey was amply provisioned. With such precautions the courtiers might bid defiance to contagion. The external world could take care of itself. In the meantime it was folly to grieve or to think. The prince had provided all the appliances of pleasure. There were buffoons, there were improvisatori, there were ballet-dancers, there were musicians, there was Beauty, there was wine. All these and security were within. Without was the "Red Death."

It was toward the close of the fifth or sixth month of his seclusion that the Prince Prospero entertained his thousand friends at a masked ball of the most unusual magnificence.

It was a voluptuous scene, that masquerade. But first let me tell of the rooms in which it was held. There were seven -- an imperial suite, In many palaces, however, such suites form a long and straight vista, while the folding doors slide back nearly to the walls on either hand, so that the view of the whole extant is scarcely impeded. Here the case was very different; as might have been expected from the duke's love of the "bizarre." The apartments were so irregularly disposed that the vision embraced but little more than one at a time. There was a sharp turn at the right and left, in the middle of each wall, a tall and narrow Gothic window looked out upon a closed corridor of which pursued the windings of the suite. These windows were of stained glass whose color varied in accordance with the prevailing hue of the decorations of the chamber into which it opened. That at the eastern extremity was hung, for example, in blue -- and vividly blue were its windows. The second chamber was purple in its ornaments and tapestries, and here the panes were purple. The third was green throughout, and so were the casements. The fourth was furnished and lighted with orange -- the fifth with white -- the sixth with violet. The seventh apartment was closely shrouded in black velvet tapestries that hung all over the ceiling and down the walls, falling in heavy folds upon a carpet of the same material and hue. But in this chamber only, the color of the windows failed to correspond with the decorations. The panes were scarlet -- a deep blood color. Now in no one of any of the seven apartments was there any lamp or candelabrum, amid the profusion of golden ornaments that lay scattered to and fro and depended from the roof. There was no light of any kind emanating from lamp or candle within the suite of chambers. But in the corridors that followed the suite, there stood, opposite each window, a heavy tripod, bearing a brazier of fire, that projected its rays through the tinted glass and so glaringly lit the room. And thus were produced a multitude of gaudy and fantastic appearances. But in the western or back chamber the effect of the fire-light that streamed upon the dark hangings through the blood-tinted panes was ghastly in the extreme, and produced so wild a look upon the countenances of those who entered, that there were few of the company bold enough to set foot within its precincts at all.

It was within this apartment, also, that there stood against the western wall, a gigantic clock of ebony. It pendulum swung to and fro with a dull, heavy, monotonous clang; and when the minute-hand made the circuit of the face, and the hour was to be stricken, there came from the brazen lungs of the clock a sound which was clear and loud and deep and exceedingly musical, but of so peculiar a note and emphasis that, at each lapse of an hour, the musicians of the orchestra were constrained to pause, momentarily, in their performance, to hearken to the sound; and thus the waltzers perforce ceased their evolutions; and there was a brief disconcert of the whole gay company; and while the chimes of the clock yet rang. it was observed that the giddiest grew pale, and the more aged and sedate passed their hands over their brows as if in confused revery or meditation. But when the echoes had fully ceased, a light laughter at once pervaded the assembly; the musicians looked at each other and smiled as if at their own nervousness and folly, and made whispering vows, each to the other, that the next chiming of the clock should produce in them no similar emotion; and then, after the lapse of sixty minutes (which embrace three thousand and six hundred seconds of Time that flies), there came yet another chiming of the clock, and then were the same disconcert and tremulousness and meditation as before.

But, in spite of these things, it was a gay and magnificent revel. The tastes of the duke were peculiar. He had a fine eye for color and effects. He disregarded the "decora" of mere fashion. His plans were bold and fiery, and his conceptions glowed with barbaric lustre. There are some who would have thought him mad. His followers felt that he was not. It was necessary to hear and see and touch him to be sure he was not.

He had directed, in great part, the movable embellishments of the seven chambers, upon occasion of this great fete; and it was his own guiding taste which had given character to the masqueraders. Be sure they were grotesque. There were much glare and glitter and piquancy and phantasm -- much of what has been seen in "Hernani." There were arabesque figures with unsuited limbs and appointments. There were delirious fancies such as the madman fashions. There were much of the beautiful, much of the wanton, much of the bizarre, something of the terrible, and not a little of that which might have excited disgust. To and fro in the seven chambers stalked, in fact, a multitude of dreams. And these the dreams -- writhed in and about, taking hue from the rooms, and causing the wild music of the orchestra to seem as the echo of their steps. And, anon, there strikes the ebony clock which stands in the hall of the velvet. And then, for a moment, all is still, and all is silent save the voice of the clock. The dreams are stiff-frozen as they stand. But the echoes of the chime die away -- they have endured but an instant -- and a light half-subdued laughter floats after them as they depart. And now the music swells, and the dreams live, and writhe to and fro more merrily than ever, taking hue from the many-tinted windows through which stream the rays of the tripods. But to the chamber which lies most westwardly of the seven there are now none of the maskers who venture, for the night is waning away; and there flows a ruddier light through the blood-colored panes; and the blackness of the sable drapery appalls; and to him whose foot falls on the sable carpet, there comes from the near clock of ebony a muffled peal more solemnly emphatic than any which reaches their ears who indulge in the more remote gaieties of the other apartments.

But these other apartments were densely crowded, and in them beat feverishly the heart of life. And the revel went whirlingly on, until at length there commenced the sounding of midnight upon the clock. And then the music ceased, as I have told; and the evolutions of the waltzers were quieted; and there was an uneasy cessation of all things as before. But now there were twelve strokes to be sounded by the bell of the clock; and thus it happened, perhaps that more of thought crept, with more of time into the meditations of the thoughtful among those who revelled. And thus too, it happened, that before the last echoes of the last chime had utterly sunk into silence, there were many individuals in the crowd who had found leisure to become aware of the presence of a masked figure which had arrested the attention of no single individual before. And the rumor of this new presence having spread itself whisperingly around, there arose at length from the whole company a buzz, or murmur, of horror, and of disgust.

In an assembly of phantasms such as I have painted, it may well be supposed that no ordinary appearance could have excited such sensation. In truth the masquerade license of the night was nearly unlimited; but the figure in question had out-Heroded Herod, and gone beyond the bounds of even the prince's indefinite decorum. There are chords in the hearts of the most reckless which cannot be touched without emotion. Even with the utterly lost, to whom life and death are equally jests, there are matters of which no jest can be made. The whole company, indeed, seemed now deeply to feel that in the costume and bearing of the stranger neither wit nor propriety existed. The figure was tall and gaunt, and shrouded from head to foot in the habiliments of the grave. The mask which concealed the visage was made so nearly to resemble the countenance of a stiffened corpse that the closest scrutiny must have difficulty in detecting the cheat. And yet all this might have been endured, if not approved, by the mad revellers around. But the mummer had gone so far as to assume the type of the Red Death. His vesture was dabbled in blood -- and his broad brow, with all the features of his face, was besprinkled with the scarlet horror.

When the eyes of Prince Prospero fell on this spectral image (which, with a slow and solemn movement, as if more fully to sustain its role, stalked to and fro among the waltzers) he was seen to be convulsed, in the first moment with a strong shudder either of terror or distaste; but in the next, his brow reddened with rage.

"Who dares" -- he demanded hoarsely of the courtiers who stood near him -- "who dares insult us with this blasphemous mockery? Seize him and unmask him -- that we may know whom we have to hang, at sunrise, from the battlements!"

It was in the eastern or blue chamber in which stood Prince Prospero as he uttered these words. They rang throughout the seven rooms loudly and clearly, for the prince was a bold and robust man, and the music had become hushed at the waving of his hand.

It was in the blue room where stood the prince, with a group of pale courtiers by his side. At first, as he spoke, there was a slight rushing movement of this group in the direction of the intruder, who, at the moment was also near at hand, and now, with deliberate and stately step, made closer approach to the speaker. But from a certain nameless awe with which the mad assumptions of the mummer had inspired the whole party, there were found none who put forth a hand to seize him; so that, unimpeded, he passed within a yard of the prince's person; and while the vast assembly, as with one impulse, shrank from the centers of the rooms to the walls, he made his way uninterruptedly, but with the same solemn and measured step which had distinguished him from the first, through the blue chamber to the purple -- to the purple to the green -- through the green to the orange -- through this again to the white -- and even thence to the violet, ere a decided movement had been made to arrest him. It was then, however, that the Prince Prospero, maddened with rage and the shame of his own momentary cowardice, rushed hurriedly through the six chambers, while none followed him on account of a deadly terror that had seized upon all. He bore aloft a drawn dagger, and had approached, in rapid impetuosity, to within three or four feet of the retreating figure, when the latter, having attained the extremity of the velvet apartment, turned suddenly and confronted his pursuer. There was a sharp cry -- and the dagger dropped gleaming upon the sable carpet, upon which most instantly afterward, fell prostrate in death the Prince Prospero. Then summoning the wild courage of despair, a throng of the revellers at once threw themselves into the black apartment, and seizing the mummer whose tall figure stood erect and motionless within the shadow of the ebony clock, gasped in unutterable horror at finding the grave cerements and corpse- like mask, which they handled with so violent a rudeness, untenanted by any tangible form.

And now was acknowledged the presence of the Red Death. He had come like a thief in the night. And one by one dropped the revellers in the blood-bedewed halls of their revel, and died each in the despairing posture of his fall. And the life of the ebony clock went out with that of the last of the gay. And the flames of the tripods expired. And Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all.

***

There is no schadenfreude, neither at Caelum Interra Community, nor at Call-Outs And Shout-Outs over recent happenings in Washington, D. C.  But some of us were pondering this Halloween month over a bonfire last night, talking about our favorite authors and this story came up.  And the irony did strike all of us silent...

The Year Of Batshit

So, go ahead and name the most creative storyteller you can think of, and tell me, could (s)he, in their wildest dreams, have conceived of a year like this one?  Because I couldn't have.

And now the latest:  Donald Trump is in Walter Reed Hospital with Covid.

Before we go any further, Call-Outs And Shout-Outs hopes and prays for the speedy and full recovery of Donald and Melania Trump, and all of the newly afflicted.  For all that we find Mr. Trump and most of what he stands for detestable, no one here wants to see him ill ever, or at anything less than 100% for the days and weeks ahead.  Let us hope that he is better than some reports we have lately received:

https://www.bbc.com/news/live/world-54382914?ns_mchannel=social&ns_source=twitter&ns_campaign=bbc_live&ns_linkname=5f78cf98c4548e02bf3ca0fe%26More%20on%20Trump%20receiving%20oxygen%262020-10-03T19%3A54%3A10.469Z&ns_fee=0&pinned_post_locator=urn:asset:7cf191c8-1fb7-459e-b0c2-74322b64935b&pinned_post_asset_id=5f78cf98c4548e02bf3ca0fe&pinned_post_type=share

There are those who say that the timeline that has been made public is suspect, that Trump was sick longer than we have been told, and therefore callously and needlessly exposed any number of people to Covid-19.  If that is true, then there is no better or more appropriate word for that kind of conduct than criminal.

We here at Call-Outs And Shout-Outs have heard all kinds of casting about for the genesis of Trump's illness going on in the MAGAsphere, everything from the Democrats to the "deep state", from Clinton to QAnon.  We beg you, oh MAGAs, please get a hold of yourselves.  Though it is tempting, as in days of old, when a person might slap another one afflicted with hysterics, we will stand with wounded patience and speak the truth, avoiding science, which some of you seem to have an allergy to, and instead we will place it in terms of law and order, which many of you seem to have more of an affinity for, and to keep it fun, we will use pictures:

Now, if everyone walks around all the time with no masks on, and some are infected already, the Law Of Averages says that more people will become infected at any given time, and eventually just about everybody will be, given that Covid-19 is a novel virus.  So, from there you apply the Law Of Occam's Razor, which states that the most likely and simplest explanation is the one most apt to be true.  Hence, Mr. And Mrs. Trump, and the folks listed below, are not the victims of some conspiracy theory, they are simply reaping Cause And Effect, a law from which no one escapes.

Who Has Tested Positive In The Last Few Days:

President Donald Trump

First Lady Melania Trump

Hope Hicks, senior advisor to the president

Bill Stepien, Trump’s campaign manager

Republican National Committee Chairwoman Ronna McDaniel

Sen. Mike Lee, R-Utah

Sen. Thom Tillis, R-North Carolina

Sen. Ron Johnson, R-Wisconsin

Three White House reporters

One White House staffer

Kellyanne Conway, former White House senior advisor 

The Rev. John Jenkins, president of Notre Dame University. 

It has been theorized that a super-spreader event, namely September 26's announcement of Trump's Supreme Court nominee, Amy Coney Barrett, in the White House Rose Garden, may be the common source of infection for many listed above.  If so, perhaps some more Cause And Effect, originating from the Republican haste to confirm Barrett, juxtaposed with the eight-month foot-dragging to (not) confirm Merrick Garland in 2016?

(And while I have been writing this post, I was informed Chris Christie, who also attended last Saturday's ceremony, has turned up Covid-positive as well.)

How many of you, no matter your political affiliation, agree with the following statement:

Stop 2020, I want to get off.

Happy Labor Day!

Call-Outs And Shout-Outs would like to take this opportunity today to say thank you to all the fine working people of America.  

To all of you who kept our workplaces together and running during this exceedingly challenging year, to all of you who might be the only reason there are jobs for the rest of us to come back to, our sincere thanks and appreciation.  

To all of our essential workers, many of whom may have felt forgotten, until a tiny and silent enemy began stalking us this past winter.   Whether you think so or not, you are our true heroes, doing your jobs in these dangerous times.  Humblest gratitude to you.  

And some folks gave the ultimate sacrifice in order to feed their families and keep warm and dry roofs over their heads, and show loyalty to their employers.  You are missed, and we honor you this day.

Thank you to all!

You Make The Call

So, did Donald Trump diss the military, referring to slain soldiers as "suckers" and "losers", as has been reported?

"The best predictor of future behavior is past behavior."  --  Dr. Phil McGraw (among others).

Now, let's delve into past behavior, shall we?  Here is Candidate Trump, from 2015:

Of course, that wasn't the first time Trump insulted John McCain.  And Candidate Trump wasn't finished.  Nope, not done by a long shot.

And once Candidate Trump became President, even though a reported 60% of veterans voted for him, Trump just didn't return the love.

And in 2018, ombrophobic Trump didn't attend a ceremony near Paris honoring soldiers who died in World War I.  Funny, German Chancellor Angela Merkel, French President Emmanuel Macron, and Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau didn't have any trouble attending.  Maybe the rain bothered Trump's bone spurs.

Trump dismissed the highly respected Admiral William McRaven, the Navy SEAL commander who oversaw the raid against Osama bin Laden as a "Hillary Clinton fan" and backer of former President Barack Obama in an interview.*

He's directed 5% cuts at Veterans Affairs, which for some time he left in the control of non-veterans who happened to be members of his Mar-a-Lago club.*

He's neglected to visit combat zones, unlike other presidents, suggested troops' midterm election ballots not be counted, passed up Veterans Day ceremonies other leaders made time to attend and repeatedly said he knows more about military issues than generals do.*

Readers, this blogger loves and respects our veterans and active duty soldiers very much, as I'm sure you do.  I am very proud to say that I can pull up my tree on Ancestry.com and show you soldiers from my family who served in every war from the American Revolution through the Vietnam War, excepting only the Spanish-American War.  I have ancestors named Somerled, William The Conqueror, Robert The Bruce, Brian Boru, and Charlemagne.  A prominent surname in my family is Wilhelm, and that surname is so synonymous with knighthood that one chronicle mentions a knight's feast in Bayeux around 1171 A.D. in which 117 Wilhelms were listed as taking part.  (The name "Wilhelm" literally means "I will don the helmet of battle for you", a vow to a feudal king).  So around Your Crusading Blogger, we do not diss soldiers.  It is a very grave offense to me.  If you agree with me, I hope you'll remember on November 3rd.

* https://www.cnn.com/2018/11/19/politics/trump-military-insults-compliments/index.html

Addendum, later 9/5:  Today, Trump dubbed the original reporter of this story, the Atlantic's Editor-In-Chief Jeffrey Goldberg, as a "slimeball", and called for the firing of Fox News National Security Correspondent Jennifer Griffin, who corroborated some of Goldberg's allegations.  This blogger is surprised Trump didn't call her "nasty", his usual sobriquet for women who have the audacity to disagree with Trump, or act counter to his demands.  Maybe he's slipping ;).

Mark This Day On Your Calender

Normally, when I talk about Donald Trump, it is to criticize or make fun of him.  I have something different to say today, and it is more rare than a 75° February day in Da Burgh, so you'll want to pay attention!

Today, Donald Trump signed executive orders that extended eviction moratoriums and payroll tax cuts, expanded veterans' benefits, and reinstated unemployment enhancement benefits, at the reduced rate of $400 a week.  Thank you, Mr. Trump, this citizen is grateful.*

Yes, I know what some of you are going to say.  "He did it to help himself because it's an election year."  Well, maybe he did, but it helps citizens like me, and I am grateful.  "Well, Claudia, the executive orders will never survive a legal challenge."  Yeah, you're probably right.  I'm still grateful enough that I will let pass without retort several comments he made that I would ordinarily take huge exception to.  Because I'm hoping Trump has started something that might move these talks along without all this finger-pointing, leading Congress, who are the only ones that can legally open the purse strings, to bust a move and get this done.

So let's talk obstructions.

Date Democratic-controlled House Of Representatives passed the HEROES Act: May 15.      Date Republican-controlled Senate passed the HEALS Act: July 27.

2 1/2 months.  That's how long Republicans sat on their thumbs, knowing that enhancements for unemployed citizens were expiring on July 31.  "Let's wait and see if things get better" is not the way to run a country.  Is that how you run your households?  But I forget that Congress' salaries start at $174,000 a year, guaranteed, unless we run 'em off, and the ones that sat on their thumbs, employed, while so many of their citizens were unemployed through no fault of their own, deserve to be run off.  Voters, please let your memories be long.

Also, let it be said that the HEROES Act was a $3.4 trillion package; the HEALS Act, $1 trillion.  Yesterday, Nancy Pelosi offered to go down to $2 trillion, including offering to reduce UI enhancement from the $600 a week the House wanted to $400 a week, and asking the Senate to move an equal amount and meet her in the middle.  Senate Republicans gave her a flat no, saying half of their members do not believe the American people even need anything more!  They didn't want to give the American people a "disencentive to work."

Well, dear Senators, allow this blogger to tell you a thing or two!

I am a 55 year-old woman.  I have been working steadily since my early 20's.  When I was 29, my mother became disabled.  In order to keep her from losing her house, I worked as an Avon representative, a babysitter, a salesperson, and I had my own cleaning business.  ALL AT THE SAME TIME.  For 2 1/2 years I worked at least 12 hours a day.  Frequently more.  Without one day off.  My mother did not lose her house.  When that was over, and my mother won SSDI, and then began job re-training and got another job, I began working at The Plaza, where I worked from May 21, 1997 - March 11, 2020.  Do the math, and you'll find that's just short of 23 years.  I'm the only person that was still there from when The Plaza changed hands in 2005, and was one of the longest-tenured, if not the longest tenured employee since The Plaza has existed (December 26, 1951).  I was furloughed due to slow business amid the pandemic along with most of the rest of the employees.  It is likely that my job is gone for good, like a lot of folks who work in the restaurant and retail industries.  Are 10 bazillion people supposed to compete for 1 bazillion call-center jobs?  

Since my furlough, I have deep-cleaned, landscaped, purged unwanted stuff, and remodeled, preparing in case I have to move my family into a less expensive abode.  I spend my spare time watching home improvement videos to try to learn skills I do not yet have.  And that extra $600 a week ($540 after taxes)?  What I didn't save against an uncertain future, I spent largely on home improvement tools and materials.  Do these last two paragraphs sound as if I've been or could ever be disincentivized to work?  And, dear Senators, I would bet my house that I'm busting my ass to fix up, which is my entire future, that the vast majority of Americans are just like me.  To say anything else is to spit in the face of those who pay your $174,000 a year.  It's a disgrace.  Now get with the program, incentivize yourselves to work, and bust out a deal.  It's an election year, and we're watching, and voting accordingly.

Oh, and one more thing, dear Congressmen:  For anyone who only works 100 or so out of 222 days (Senate 114, House 100), and makes at least $174,000 plus perks to speculate about MY incentive to work is really freakin' rich!

More details about Congressional perks, read #2 about their "allowances" if you want to really get mad:

https://www.cheatsheet.com/money-career/perks-members-of-congress-get-for-free-at-the-taxpayers-expense.html/

* Having said that, a lengthy payroll tax cut (or permanent one, should Trump be reelected), will gut Medicare and Social Security:

https://www.aol.com/article/news/2020/08/09/trump-using-covid-19-as-a-cover-to-gut-social-security-and-medicare-critics-charge/24586780/

Note, 9/3/20: Well, I wrote this more Trump-favorable post because I believed Trump's actions portrayed herein might kick-start the recalcitrant body known as Congress, to make a deal.  No such luck!  Oh, well, sometimes Your Crusading Blogger is wrong:

https://www.aol.com/article/finance/2020/09/03/extra-unemployment-benefits-remain-stalled/24609708/

Speechless

Yes, folks, Your Crusading Blogger is indeed speechless.  And those who know me personally know that ain't an event that happens every day!

For those who are still not prepared to accept the dire nature of this pandemic, I offer the following:

Remember all the folks who said Medicare For All would come to this?  SMH.

https://www.businessinsider.com/texas-starr-county-hospital-forced-choose-who-sent-home-die-2020-7

Must-See TV!

Do y'all need a laugh?  Here is an episode of "Trackdown", a 1957-59 western from CBS television network about a Texas Ranger who tracks down all manner of evildoers.  If Sheriff Chet Farris looks or sounds familiar to you, It is because he is portrayed by Dabbs Greer, who played Reverend Alden on Little House On The Prairie.  Check it out:

Lololol!

Wheeler-Dealer?

So many people were dying to have a businessman for their president.  Your Crusading Blogger herself would have voted for Ross Perot in 1992, had he not dropped out of the presidential race.  I saw him here in Da Burgh and was very impressed with him -- fiscally conservative, but socially liberal, Ross Perot was appealing after a dozen years of "Uncle Ronnie" Reagan, and George "Read My Lips, No New Taxes" Bush.

Well, friends, we now have a businessman for a president, and what a wheeler-dealer he is!

We have learned that Trump wanted to sell Puerto Rico in 2017, after Hurricane Maria savaged the island.  Because, you know, it's always a sound principle in business to sell when your product is at its worst, right?   But, you know, maybe we're attached to Puerto Rico And Puerto Ricans, and wouldn't it be better to get them back on their feet again?  And what the hell, see if maybe they would enjoy statehood?

And we saw Trump's tremendous business acumen again just two years later in 2019 when it was announced Trump wanted to buy Greenland.  Laughable, only because, as Denmark's Prime Minister Mette Fredriksen pointed out, Greenland wasn't for sale.  And this blogger speculates that, even if it were, it is unlikely Fredriksen would have ever sold it to Trump, the self-described "bull in a china shop"!  And when Fredriksen said no, Trump displayed his famous even temper, calling her "nasty", his favorite insult for uppity women who have the nerve to deny or disagree with him, and then he dissed NATO while he was at it.  Ya gotta love him, doncha?

This blogger has no idea why Donald Trump's businesses suffered six bankruptcies, do you?

Shout-Out To Ah-nold!

Your Crusading Blogger never thought she'd live to see the day when she would agree with Arnold Schwarzenegger.  Politics makes strange bedfellows, that's for sure.  Thank you, Mr. Schwarzenegger, for giving me a much-needed boost!  And for giving me more reason to hope that the right hand side of the aisle hasn't totally lost its ever-lovin' mind.

Hate To Say...

...But I did.

https://www.npr.org/sections/coronavirus-live-updates/2020/07/04/887286322/states-shatter-coronavirus-records-as-officials-eye-holiday-weekend-with-alarm?utm_medium=RSS&utm_campaign=nprblogscoronavirusliveupdates

None Of This

They say a picture is worth a thousand words.  Here are a few for you.  Maybe you've seen it all before, but don't forget, we are documenting for the future.  We want this on record for posterity, don't we?

So, here we see Martin Gugino, 75, being pushed by Officers Aaron Torglaski and Robert McCabe of the Buffalo Police Department, as they were clearing away protesters after curfew.  As can be seen, Gugino fell backward, sustaining a head injury that caused him to bleed from his ear.  Both officers have been suspended without pay and charged with felony assault.

It was said in the officers' defense, that Gugino was out after curfew, disobeying the law.  Why, yes, he was.  Indeed, Gugino did not believe the law applied to protesters.  "Protests are exempt from curfews because Congress (and mayors) may make no laws that abridge the right of the people peaceably to assemble and complain to the government,” he tweeted early the day of the protest.  Yes, he did approach the officers and was attempting to speak to them.  I'm not sure how any of that earned the officers the right to shove an elderly person, perhaps causing permanent injury.  Yet, the officers may not be convicted or even indicted for the Shove Seen 'Round The World.  Lovely.

Some folks look at the above video and think that somehow Gugino was trying to jam signals on the electronic equipment of the officers.  It looked to me like he was gesturing at the steps with his phone, in lieu of his hand, since had both hands full.  Some, not to mention Donald Trump, suggest Gugino fell harder than was pushed.  Perhaps these folks haven't spent time around elderly people.  The balance is not quite what it used to be.  But then, Trump found that out over the weekend, didn't he?

As I mentioned, the pictures tell the story, so here are a few more without Your Crusading Blogger belaboring it with too many words.

Here are the police, warming up the crowds before a Presidential photo op?:

Here is another oldster being escorted by Salt Lake City police:

And an Atlanta cop showing a lady his shiny bike:

Here are a few places where so much more of this charming behavior is being documented, lest we forget or be overwhelmed:

https://slate.com/news-and-politics/2020/06/george-floyd-public-spreadsheet-police-violence-videos.html

https://www.reddit.com/r/2020PoliceBrutality/comments/h8wdyq/cops_harassing_people_for_no_reason/

And just for the hell of it, the police also let the press into the fun, starting with Omar Jiminez from CNN and his crew:

Besides Omar and his crew, here is a story, replete with videos, of the close encounters several reporters had the pleasure of having with police lately.  Here is another, and yet another.

We all give our money, our time, our hopes, and our dreams to this country.  Is this the America we're investing in?

Dateline: The Playbook Tonight

I hope my readers who are inclined will take a look at this tonight, perhaps it will be useful in informing voting decisions in November.  Dateline, NBC tonight, June 13.  8 PM Eastern Time, check your local listings.

https://www.nbcnews.com/dateline/video/dateline-preview-the-playbook-84831813670

And apparently, you can create a profile and watch for free, here.

Less Of This

I guess high school was the first time I ever heard the word "puke" used as a verb.  A certain male with a mean-girl attitude told a girl, "You puke me."  I thought it was a silly misuse of words, but I have reconsidered the last few days.

Lt. Robert Cattani, who along with three other cops took a knee in a May 30 protest in Foley Square, NY,

unfortunately repented his action (needled/threatened by some of the other good ol' boys in blue?) in this incredible document, written a scant four days later:

What a lightweight!  Frank Meyers, this weenie isn't fit to shine your shoes!

While doing research for this post, I stumbled upon this equally incredible tweet from Juanita Broaddrick:

The name Juanita Broaddrick may ring a bit of a hazy bell with you, as it did me.

 From Wikipedia:

"Juanita Broaddrick is an American former nursing home administrator. In 1999, she alleged that U.S. President Bill Clinton raped her in April 1978 when he was the Attorney General of Arkansas. Clinton's attorney, David Kendall, denied the allegations on his client's behalf, and Clinton declined to comment further on the issue.

Juanita Broaddrick
Born:
Juanita Smith

Nationality:
American

Occupation:
Nursing home administrator

Known for:
Allegedly, being raped by Bill Clinton in 1978

Home town:
Van Buren, Arkansas, U.S.

Rumors had circulated about Broaddrick's allegation for years and it had been recorded in a letter prepared by a Republican rival of Clinton's around 1991, but she refused to speak to news media until 1999. In a sworn statement in 1997 with the placeholder name "Jane Doe #5",[1] Broaddrick filed an affidavit with Paula Jones' lawyers stating there were unfounded rumors and stories circulating "that Mr. Clinton had made unwelcome sexual advances toward me in the late seventies. ... These allegations are untrue".[2] She then recanted that statement to investigators of potential misconduct by Clinton led by Kenneth Starr, while insisting at the time that Clinton had not pressured or bribed her in any way. Starr declined to further investigate the issue, and mentioned it only in a footnote of his final report..."

I can't decide whether this woman is confused, an opportunist, or just someone who decided if she couldn't beat the Good Ol' Boys Club, she'd join 'em.  Either way, the stomach rolled as I scrolled her Twitter feed, and read her put-downs of half the country.   You folks who spend copious amounts of time on social media are clearly tougher than I am.  Sigh.

Check Your Privilege

So, ten years ago, Your Crusading Blogger went away on what turned out to be my last awaycation.  I took a bus up to Niagara Falls, ON for my usual third week in July soirèe.  I found out the day before my return that my ride home from the bus station had been cancelled, necessitating the making of other plans.

I was beyond lucky that when I called a friend who I hadn't seen in a while, he was willing at the drop of a hat to change his plans and bring me home, for which trouble I promised to reward him mightily.  The next day, I found out how much trouble...

At the appointed time, Steve and his sister-in-law came to pick me up at the deserted bus station.  I was kind of down at the end of a beautiful vacation, and even more so, realizing that I would not have another opportunity to vacay in Niagara for 51 weeks.  (If I had had any idea that I would be staycationing for the next 10 years and counting, my spirits really would've nosedived, but I digress)...

About a half a mile from the bus stop, blue and red lights began to flash behind us.  Steve pulled over.  "What the hell?"  I burst out.  "You weren't speeding, so why..."

"My tags are expired," Steve explained.

"Oh my God, I am so sorry!  I would never have called you if I had known..."

"Not your fault, Claudia."

Presently a courteous police officer came to tell Steve about his expired tags, then began to run a "make" on Steve's license, etc.  I reached a hand in the inside pocket of my jacket for my cell phone so I could call home to tell them I'd be a little late.

"What the hell are you doing?!  Keep still and keep your hands in sight!"  Steve's shout startled me.

"What?  What are you talking about?"

It should go without saying that in my world, when you are stopped by the police, you should be polite, even obsequious, when you speak to the officer.  You should answer the officer's questions briefly, follow directions, apologize, say thank you, i.e., suck up.  Maybe if you suck up well enough, you won't get a ticket.

In Steve's world, you should do all of the above, plus keep very, very still, keep your hands in sight at all times.   Do not move, unless directed by the officer, and even then, indicate what you are doing, "Offcer, I am reaching in to my glove box, I'm getting my registration...", etc.  Breathe very, very carefully.

And maybe you won't be brutalized.  Maybe you get to go home alive.  It was my first real experience with my white privilege.  I was 45 years old.

How about you?  Well, just in case you are unsure, here is a Check Your Privilege Quiz, I invite you to take it.  I DARE you to take it:


The Check Your Privilege Quiz

– Put a finger down if you have been called a racial slur.

– Put a finger down if you've been followed in a store unnecessarily.

– Put a finger down if someone has crossed the street in order to avoid passing you.

– Put a finger down if you've had someone clench their purse in an elevator with you.

– Put a finger down if you've had someone step off of an elevator to keep from riding with you.

– Put a finger down if you've been accused of not being able to afford something expensive.

– Put a finger down if you've had mortal fear in your heart when being stopped by the police.

– Put a finger down if you've never been given a pass on a citation you deserved.

– Put a finger down if you have been stopped or detained by police for no valid reason.

– Put a finger down if you have been bullied solely because of your race.

– Put a finger down if you've been denied service solely because of the color of your skin.

– Put a finger down if you've ever had to teach your children how not to get killed by the police.

https://www.buzzfeed.com/kristatorres/check-your-privilege-tiktok

More Of This

Thank you Genesee, Michigan County Sheriff Christopher Swanson.  Thank you, and a Shout-Out for helping to bring order to the chaos, sanity and understanding to the instability.  Exactly what the doctor ordered.  May your heart-attitude be mirrored until it replaces Covid-19 (and fear) as the most contagious things around.

https://www.aol.com/article/news/2020/06/01/sheriff-explains-why-he-removed-his-riot-gear-to-join-peaceful-protesters/24499937/

Inevitable?

Your Crusading Blogger would like to join the chorus of voices that call for the end of looting and destructive demonstrations in Minneapolis and elsewhere, as a result of the death of George Floyd.  But in my heart, I am divided:  while lawful, peaceable action is always the way to go, what happens when one speaks truth to power -- at first whispering, then in a normal voice, and finally, shouting -- and power ignores you?  Indeed, deliberately and methodically (sometimes violently, or using economic means) silences you?

Shame

What is the penalty in the state of Minnesota for (allegedly) passing a counterfeit $20 bill?

"(4) to imprisonment for not more than one year or to payment of a fine of not more than $3,000, or both, if the counterfeited item is used to obtain or in an attempt to obtain property or services having a value of no more than $1,000, or the aggregate face value of the counterfeited item is no more than $1,000."
https://www.revisor.mn.gov/statutes/cite/609.632.

What is the penalty in the state of Minnesota for (allegedly) resisting arrest?

"Subd. 2.Penalty. A person convicted of violating subdivision 1 may be sentenced as follows:
(1) if (i) the person knew or had reason to know that the act created a risk of death, substantial bodily harm, or serious property damage; or (ii) the act caused death, substantial bodily harm, or serious property damage; to imprisonment for not more than five years or to payment of a fine of not more than $10,000, or both;

(2) if the act was accompanied by force or violence or the threat thereof, and is not otherwise covered by clause (1), to imprisonment for not more than one year or to payment of a fine of not more than $3,000, or both; or

(3) in other cases, to imprisonment for not more than 90 days or to payment of a fine of not more than $1,000, or both."  https://www.revisor.mn.gov/statutes/2011/cite/609.50?keyword_type=all&keyword=Obstructing

Why do I say allegedly?  Because in the case of George Floyd, the justice system was not allowed to do its job of proving innocence or guilt?  Because, alas, some law enforcement officers decided to assume the roles of judge, jury and executioner?

Trayvon Martin
Breonna Taylor
Eric Garner
Antwon Rose
Ahmaud Arbery
Gotham Jean

And now George Floyd.  These are just a small, recent grouping of folks killed while living black.  Some by cops, some by vigilantes.  Not a good look, America.  But when Colin Kaepernick protested police brutality against blacks in 2016 by kneeling during the national anthem, he was the one who was wrong.  Disgusting.

https://www.nytimes.com/2020/05/27/us/george-floyd-minneapolis-death.html

Something Else

Something else I saw today that resonates.  It is certainly true that our fine soldiers are not our only warriors.  Many will be called.  How many will answer?

https://patriciademarco.com/2020/05/24/freedom-is-not-free-_-homage-to-the-citizen-soldiers-of-america/

A Salute And Ultimate Shout-Out!

Spacey's Spaced Twaddle

So, a little while ago, Your Crusading Blogger woke up from a nap to see this story on CBS Evening News, and mirrored in her AOL news feed:

Kevin Spacey Compares Career Downfall To Coronavirus Effect On Business: "I Can Relate To What It Feels Like To Have Your World Suddenly Stop."

Grrr.  If it's anything I hate, it's awakening from a nice, peaceful, restful nap and going straight into a high state of piss-off.  Very, very jolting.

You may recall that Mr. Spacey's career came to a similar jarring halt a few years ago, when several men accused him of sexually harassing and/or assaulting them.

Mr. Spacey went on to say that this interval has lent itself to introspection and gave him the opportunity to work on himself.  He suggests all of us who have lost jobs in this coronavirus emergency might do the same.

Sigh.

Am I the only one here with a bad taste in her mouth?

I will say, that as a general rule, when disasters and hard times hit, that is sound advice.  Absolutely, dwelling on the negative is pointless.  There are productive things to do.  Many people are going down that path, including Your Crusading Blogger: deep-clean the house, do yard work, get rid of junk, remodel, bake prodigiously.  This is proven by the scarcity of items such as flour, yeast, paint, primer, bamboo rakes, etc., and the abundance of ads on apps like NextDoor for all manner of free stuff people are cleaning out of their spaces.

And I see evidence in many places that people are spiritually hungry, and in most cases being offered satisfying food for the soul, and are availing themselves of it.  This is actually much more common in bad times than the opposite, no matter what the news cycle might be trying to tell you.

Heartening, too, are all the stories of people helping one another.  Again on my local NextDoor app, I see people offering to help, drive, pick up items, initiating and aiding in the distribution of food and masks, and sharing what they have, even if they have very little themselves.  I see prayers and hearts going out, and exhortations designed to bolster the spirits of others that do credit to our post-modern world.

The reason Mr. Spacey's commentary is so offensive to me is because he cites an international disaster, an act of God, if you will, complex and large in its scope, but still an incident of randomness.  A case, apparently, where everything in nature lined up just so, (which by the way, does tend to happen every so often, indeed we were overdue for a pandemic of this magnitude, long overdue), and he compares it to a series of abusive and exploitative actions of his own whereby he was the agent of his own destruction.  And he injured a lot of innocent folks along the way.

In short, Mr. Spacey,  the difference is, in your situation, there is blame, and it belongs to you.  For you to compare the results of the coronavirus with that of your abuse is narcissistic and disingenuous.  And while some of your advice was beneficial, no one will eat even the choicest, sweetest honey if it comes from the mouth of a spoiled fish.  You have a way to go, Mr. Spacey.  Please get on with your life's work.  And please do it quietly.

https://www.aol.com/article/entertainment/2020/05/08/kevin-spacey-compares-career-downfall-to-coronavirus-effect-on-business-i-can-relate-to-what-it-feels-like-to-have-your-world-suddenly-stop/24242457/

A Little Help From You, Please

So, an unusual departure here at Call-Outs And Shout-Outs.  I need your help.  You see, I work with a group of young folks.  A pair of them make music, not my style, but by God, you can tell that they are talented, professional, and passionate about their art.  They put in a lot of hours with Your Crusading Blogger, known at her workplace as That Bitch Who Makes You Clean.  They do pretty damn good work most days, especially when they work with me ;)

When I went into work yesterday, they were very concerned about a friend of theirs who is missing.  With no more ado from me, here is what the young man's mom posted on social media:

Emmanuel Davis

Height: 6'-6'2"

 Weight - 145-160 lbs.

Please folks, especially those in the Brooklyn, New York area where Emmanuel was last seen, keep an eye out, let's get this young man back with his loved ones.  I hope all those who read this will send out some prayers and positivity toward this end.  God is with you, Emmanuel.

Note, 3/10, Emmanuel has been found and is home with his family.  Thank you all for your love and prayers for him; they were indeed answered.