Friday Firesmith – Kelly

I remember when I found out. News has been a part of my life since I was a little kid, and I learned at an early age the more sources for news the better informed a person could be. But this was a tsunami of photos, videos, of people talking about what had happened, and the horror grew with each passing moment. Gunmen had entered a school in Colorado and began shooting. There were bodies. There would be a death toll. There was even a music video of the crime, with Sarah McLaughlin’s “I will remember you,” playing as background to students jumping out of windows and running for their lives.

When I sat down to write this, I turned to what I knew, what I know, and it was my impulse to recite to you the news; the number of shootings since that day, this day, in 1999. I had the statistics and the numbers. But thus far, those numbers haven’t made one ounce of difference to anyone, anywhere. I realized they wouldn’t here, now, with you.

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Kelly was a shy girl from Arizona, whose family had recently moved to Colorado. Her parents looked for a school, a neighborhood, a small town, where their daughters would be safe. Creative and intelligent, Kelly began to write her autobiography, because she planned to have adventures in life worth writing about. She also wrote very dark stories, but the stories usually had happy endings. At age sixteen, she hoped one day to have a Mustang or maybe a Corvette, a fast car, to make the trip back to see her best friend in Arizona at a good speed.

But writing was Kelly’s real passion. Poems and short stories were what Kelly loved to create, and she wanted to be published.

Kelly was hiding under a table when the murderers came in and started shooting. At age sixteen, Kelly was shot in the back, in the library, and she crawled into the hallway before she died.

Her voice will forever be silent now. There will be no adventures in life for Kelly. There will be no more happy endings. The novel that might have been will never be. The inspiration she would have been to other writers ended.

Twenty years later, Kelly Fleming would now be thirty-six. Maybe a mom, certainly a writer, maybe a teacher, but no. Think about this for a moment; how many more writers, artists, moms, dads, brothers, sisters, sons, daughters, firemen, policemen, soldiers, musicians, and all around average and decent people, have we lost? How many survivors will carry permanent damage, scars, physically and emotionally, that will stunt their lives forever? How many children will live with fear and guilt for the rest of their lives, having survived watching people they loved gunned down in the halls of our schools?

Pick one. Choose a child that has been murdered and do some research. Read what her parents said after she was put in a body bag on national television. Read what her siblings said about her life. Listen to her friends speak of someone they haven’t let go of yet and maybe they never will because I certainly cannot.

We haven’t done anything to protect our kids since 1999.

It’s been twenty years, when are we going to start?

Take Care,
Mike

Mike writes regularly at his site:  The Hickory Head Hermit. Opinions expressed in this article are not necessarily those of the management of this site.

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Friday Firesmith – Mom and Me

I’ll leave it to history to judge what happened between my oldest sister and my mother. Mom moved in with her after Mom’s husband of thirty-seven years died. Mom and sis lasted about a year or so, and then suddenly, right about the time Michael hit, they parted ways and Mom moved into an apartment. Well, I can’t image someone who has lived in a house with someone for most of her life suddenly moving into an apartment alone. It wasn’t working out, and Mom started talking about moving into an assisted living home. It’s been since 2001 since I lived with another human being, and there hasn’t been anyone in my spare bedroom since I had a party and someone tripped over the stuff in there and fell. Long story, nevermind.

So, March 16th,  we moved Mom in with the Mutts and me. She had come to visit a couple of times, to see what had to be done before she could get all her stuff in, and okay, it was a lot. But of all things, I saw coming, and all those I feared I might have missed, Budlore Amadeus, The Dog Life Hanging, adopted my mother.

No seriously.

From the first time she sat down on the sofa, Bud decided this was his human.

There was a lot of work to do to get the place ready for Mom to live in, and we had her stuff and my stuff, all of it, crammed into the house. There was hardly room to move around. It didn’t matter. The Pack rallied around the new person. Bud refused to share her. The first night here, he slept at the end of my Mama’s bed and guarded her.

We’re getting used to living in the same house again. That hasn’t happened since the 70’s, and at eighty-two, you can bet this woman was tossing the dice, big time, moving in with a Hermit who hasn’t shared a kitchen with anyone since Taylor Swift was in diapers. Yet here we are, with one of my most reactive and odd acting dogs, who suddenly decided that he was going to be a pillar of the community or pillar of the pack, and act right.

I took Mom to church last Sunday (Blogged it) and she didn’t like that one so we’re going to try again next Sunday. Mom wants to go to church and until she finds one she likes, I’m pulling escort duty.

In all of the divisive things I have ever written, and there have been times I’ve gone looking for a fight, this is something I bet we can all relate to this in some way. Mom has come home. Decades ago she brought me into this world and took care of me. Now, I have a chance to make sure my Mom spends her Golden Years in comfort and safety, and happy. We’re setting up a paint studio soon so she can paint and draw, and she spends time out on the deck, in the shade listening to the birds and watching the dogs play.

There’s a television my in the house now. That takes some getting used to, certainly.

All I know is an odd and troubled dog now has a mission. How he knew Mom was Mom and not just a guest, I cannot say. But the transition into moving into this house has been softened by the dog at her side.

How she slept her first night in the apartment, I cannot say, but this was her first night here.

My Mama is home. And my pack as risen to protect her and to love her.

This is the most awesome thing that has happened here in many years!

Take Care of your own,

Mike

Mike writes regularly at his site:  The Hickory Head Hermit.
 
Opinions expressed in this article are not necessarily those of the management of this site.
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Friday Firesmith – Why Does Government Exist?

Why does government exist? Could we live without it? As seen in the recent shutdown, when Park Services are abandoned people loot and destroy the parks. If the military were to be treated in this manner, imagine what would happen. If we depended on the goodwill of very large companies to support our interests, we wouldn’t need government at all. We would all bask in the warm glow of our corporate masters and they would share with us the bounty of our labor. Look at how businesses did business a century ago and tell me you wish to return to that.

We know from past experiences that greed isn’t good. Before government regulation, the Cuyahoga River in Ohio caught fire. Polluted air and water were common, DDT nearly wiped out the Bald Eagle, and without government regulation, banks could loan or borrow at will, with no recourse if they repaid loans. Oops, that was in 2008. The regulations that went into effect to prevent another such incident have been removed.

So, if we can agree that the government needs to protect us from companies more than willing to sacrifice the greater good for the profit of a few, why is it that when people speak of controlling these entities, which have proven themselves to be untrustworthy, there are those who rush to defend these companies?

Drug companies control the prices of life-saving drugs, and they raise these prices to the point where people are dying. Is this right? Is this just? Is this America?

Once upon a time, the people who created cars for a living produced machines that killed people even in minor crashes. The government regulations put into place made for safer cars and fewer injuries, and cars are still sold by the thousands each day. Is this wrong? Is this unjust? Is this un-American?

If a foreign government decides to invade American soil, should we call some big company for help? Should we hire mercenaries to prevent our destruction?

When Pearl Harbor was attacked Americans rushed to defend this nation. The draft was enacted. Men from all walks of life put on the uniform and did their duty to preserve our way of life. Now, it’s no longer required. There isn’t a need, some say, or a compulsion, for those who can afford some other life, to serve.
Is this right? Should service to this country be mandatory?
If we cannot or will not, expect the individual, whose freedom is preserved by the nation, to feel honored to serve this country, can we with any credibility of intellect, expect a CEO of a large corporation to act in the best interest of a country whose regulations will cost him millions?

We’ve been sold the idea that this nation must be defended by tanks, jets, ships, and men-at-arms, but increasingly, the threat from other powers is that of an electronic kind. Yet the defense industry uses the tax money it gets from selling these obsolete, and sometimes useless, weapons to lobby Congress to buy more and to further the myth that more hardware means more safety.  Did Eisenhower not warn us of this very thing?

At the end of the day, we must examine the needs of the nation before the needs of one person, or the needs of one class of people, or the needs of business. The citizens must come before profit. The environment must be given thought before shareholders. And the strong and sturdy education of each child must be a priority over making the rich even richer.
If you cannot agree that the government must serve the interest of the people over people in power, we are lost, and this country is done for.

Take Care,
Mike

Mike writes regularly at his site:  The Hickory Head Hermit.
 
Opinions expressed in this article are not necessarily those of the management of this site.
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Friday Firesmith – Crime and Punishment

In one of the oddest Good Versus Evil tales I’ve heard in a while, this one only gets stranger. Seems as if there were quite a few homes getting broken into around here, and the crooks always struck while no one was home, and always hit the houses in broad daylight. Oddly, nothing really big was stolen; no widescreen televisions, no heavy stuff, and nothing that had an engine on it of any sort. Yet guns, game systems, jewelry, and things like that were always missing.

So a friend of mine has a relative who is, to say the least, armed. We will call this armed guy Matt Dillon.

Matt is ready for the Zombie Apocalypse, the Sharknado, the Walking Dead, the Dead Can Dance, the EMP Bomb, and the return of Disco. He pulls into his driveway Tuesday and discovers that the side door on his house is open. Matt gives his girlfriend a .357, twenty rounds of ammo, and goes forth to investigate the house, armed with a 12 gauge shotgun, loaded with 7 and a half shot, 2 and three-quarters inches, and Matt packs a Mossberg pump with an eighteen-inch barrel.

If that means nothing to you, don’t worry about it. I only provided that information because I know there are gun people here who would ask for that information.

There are four guys inside the house who are waiting for their wheel man to pick them up. They’re smart enough not to be armed because getting into a shoot out with either cops or homeowners means Murder One and a very long time in prison. Getting caught stealing means you can be back on the job by late afternoon if you find the right judge. Their method of stealing is an odd thing, however. They set up a game camera near a house, watch to see who comes and goes, when they come and go, and then break in while the homeowners are gone to work.
What they didn’t foresee is Matt Dillon coming home to set up a game camera, to catch people breaking into his home.

Fate, it seems, is not without a sense of irony.

Three of the guys head out the back door and go into the woods. This is actually Plan A. They’ll make their way to the hard road a mile away, turn on a cell phone, and get their guy to pick them up at a pre-agreed location. Yet there’s the fourth guy. He breaks around the house and looks to steal Matt’s truck while Matt is inside the house, but our man Matt is paranoid and wily, and he is armed.

Matt sees the guys running, and instead of giving chase, goes back out the front to see the robber running towards his truck. Matt, who is about fifty feet away, throws down on the robber and blasts a round towards him, knocking him down, rolling him, but the dude gets up and runs again. At this point, the girlfriend exits the truck, both hands on the cannon, but there’s traffic on the road so she can’t shoot. Her man can’t shoot again because she’s too close, and our ventilated robber gets into the woods across the road.

Game cameras. Who’d a thunk it?

The debate now is how injured is our Holey Robber, and do you think he’s going to need some serious medical attention?

Yes, says I.

Thoughts?

Take Care,
Mike

Mike writes regularly at his site:  The Hickory Head Hermit. Opinions expressed in this article are not necessarily those of the management of this site.

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Friday Firesmith – Rich People

There’s a video out there where tennis great Steffi Graf is about to serve at a match when a man shouts, “Steffi! Marry me!” Graf is nonplussed and replies, “How much money do you have?” And the audience laughs. It’s funny, damn funny, but it also highlights the human species focus on money as the defining attribute for living, and respect from other humans. We laugh at the Bower Birds, a species of bird who decorate their nest with shiny shells and stones to attract a mate, yet we are dead serious about billionaires.

And it has gotten a lot worse in the last few years.

We’re living in an age where it is nearly impossible to be invisible. There are cameras everywhere now, and everything that is recorded on a device can be streamed live for all the world to see, instantly. We beginning to understand the depths of human depravity because right now, no one, not even rich people, can hide.

Sports figures, who once could and did prey on women with impunity and public immunity, are now being caught on video hitting and abusing women, and they’re losing money because of it; the ultimate punishment. Moreover, there are many rich people who recently were caught bribing officials at high-end universities, paying smart people to take tests for their rich kids, and more or less paying their way through what normal people have to work years to achieve.
Robert Kraft, a billionaire sports team owner, was snagged paying low-cost sex workers in a low-end brothel.

Hardly a day goes by without someone who has enough money to buy a small New England state is caught on camera behaving worse than a drunken frat boy who knows daddy will bail him out of anything and everything.

So, my question to you is this one: why is it we keep electing rich people to office?

The obvious, and false answer, is that only those who have money can afford to buy the advertising it takes to get their names out there. But we know this isn’t true. We know that the tech-savvy and walk-weary Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez used social media and a staggering amount of legwork, to upend an opponent entrenched in Congress for many years.
Historically, the rich have enthralled the American public. We believe their tales that they did it all through hard work, even though we know that over 95% of all wealth is inherited. We believe them when they tell us they’re supplying us with good jobs even though the average American CEO makes over 700% more than the workers who produce his wealth for him. We believe that Zuck will protect our data even after learning he’s been selling it to the highest bidder before FB took over the world.

Our water will continue to be poisoned. The air will become dirtier. Our food will become less safe. The streets will crumble and prescription drug prices will skyrocket. Education will be allowed only for those who can afford it, and women will be a tradeable commodity. As long as the laws are made by those with money, they will be made in deference of those who pay for them.

You voted for this.

Take Care,
Mike

Mike writes regularly at his site:  The Hickory Head Hermit. Opinions expressed in this article are not necessarily those of the management of this site.

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Friday Firesmith – The Sins of Michael Jackson

I can remember being a little kid and listening to “The Jackson 5” on the radio. Top Forty music didn’t impress me much then and it never has. But then there was the movie about a rat, “Ben” and Michael Jackson did the title song of the soundtrack. My sister listened to that song on her 45 player until she wore the grooves off of the single. I was scarred for life.

Years later, just as Disco was dying a slow and painful death, Jackson put out an album, I think it was 1979 or so, “Off The Wall”, which pretty much started the ball rolling for Jackson to be one of the more serious players on Top Forty.

In 1982, when Jackson released “Thriller”, there were signs that things were getting big, and signs that things were getting weird. I was in the Army and there were men who listened to that cassette tape until I was ready to scream. A friend of mine scored four tickets to the concert and blew practically every dime he owned (he was a Private in the Army, we aren’t talking really big bucks except locally) and could not shut up about the show.

Five years later, in 1987, the descent into madness began. Jackson released the album, “Bad” and the rumors about his offstage behavior began to bubble up past his fame. He bought a chimp, reportedly tried to buy the bones of the Elephant Man (untrue by the way) and his skin began to change color. Jackson wore a surgical mask and sunglasses most of the time, and his voice began to sound more like a woman’s than a man when he spoke. He bought “Neverland Ranch” and shortly afterward released a truly bizarre statement to the press saying he “bled for the children of the world”. Rumors of sleepovers with ten-year-old boys began to surface, which Jackson called the sleepovers “really quite charming”.

In1993, he married Lisa Marie Presley, daughter of Elvis, and there was a truly bizarre video released of the two of them making out, where Lisa Marie looked like she was in the small bed with a large spider. The wheels had come off the cart. Lawsuits were settled, more allegations popped up, and Jackson’s drug use became not only common knowledge, but it clearly affected his ability to perform.

In 2009, I was at the Y when news of Jackson’s death came on television. Another overrated singer and dancer had died, leaving a trail of wasted money and wasted talent. Excess and a pathetic need to be the most famous pop star of all time, drove this man to spend his wealth and his life in reckless disregard to the damage he did to many children.

The ability to entertain has zero moral worth. If that wasn’t true, television would have made saints of us a long time ago. Entertainment is a distraction, not a virtue. Entertainment is fun, and it is exciting, but it isn’t the same as ethical behavior.

Jackson did great works for charities. He gave a lot of money away for the right reasons. Yet both his generosity and his music will forever be tainted by the deprivation of his personal life. There’s no way to balance or ignore, there’s no way to explain away or mitigate his sexual predation upon young boys.

We are the sins of Michael Jackson, because we keep forgetting that entertainment is not the same as ethical behavior.

Take Care,
Mike

Mike writes regularly at his site:  The Hickory Head Hermit.Opinions expressed in this article are not necessarily those of the management of this site.

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Friday Firesmith – Leaping Leopards

If you have never written, or painted, or drawn, or done anything creative, I must ask you: Why? There are cave paintings, and drawings, that date back before we were making arrowheads and cutting tools. If human beings who were near the middle of the food chain can create art that endures for thousands of years, what exactly are you using for an excuse? You have a computer. (Or you wouldn’t be reading this) You have the comfort of knowing you aren’t going to be dragged out of your home by a leopard. (For those of you who are, I apologize, I really didn’t think it would happen) And clearly, if you are reading this, you have time on your hands.

I recently joined a Writer’s Group, and of the ten or so people in the room, there are about five that couldn’t write comprehensively enough to get recused from a phone booth in Manhattan if they sent ten pages of text to 911. Of those who can write well, and clearly, they all have jobs and lives, and dogs, and things, that keep them from writing as they would like. It’s an odd thing, really, to read something that seems to be going somewhere, and is really well written, yet the person writing it has to stop for two weeks because her sister left her husband and moved in with the kids and the author doesn’t have time to write for a while.

Anne Lamott, the Patron Saint of Struggling Writers tells those of us with ink in our blood to make time, to steal time, to carve out some part of a day or night to continue our lives while trying to pay bills and feed children, or dogs. Make it count, make it work, make it happen, but don’t ever put it away for things that are less important.

Everything else is less important, by the way.

Back at Chauvet Cave, 32,000 years ago, people living in the Ice Age, in a land filled with lions and rhinoceroses, and all manner of large mammals, go into a cave where cave bears frequent, and they draw on the walls there. They record their lives and thoughts in the images of the animals they see. It’s an amazing thing to do, considering that we modern humans have always thought these people were primitive and dim-witted. Though in a world where the top of the food chain was well out of reach, these people survived, and they created art.

Every game you play, every movie you watch, every moment you spend in front of a television, you’re looking at someone else’s art. And you’re neglecting your own. You’re surrendering to the leopards without a fight. You’re letting the bears have the cave. You’re leaving nothing for the humans 32,000 years from now.
I’ll make you a deal, right now, and without equivocation. If you’ll write something, five hundred words, or more, I’ll post it on my blog, or take it to the Writer’s, or find a way to get it on a cave wall, and you’ll be able to see, without anyone knowing who you are, what people think. No leopards will ever read it, I promise.

It’s important that we create. It’s important that we encourage it. It’s important that we live.

Take Care,
Mike

PS I started writing this at four in the morning. Don’t go back to sleep, Rumi warns, create your own dreams.

Mike writes regularly at his site:  The Hickory Head Hermit.
 
Opinions expressed in this article are not necessarily those of the management of this site.
 
 
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Friday Firesmith – Life Without Facebook

Three weeks or so ago I deactivated my Facebook account. There was a lot going on at the time, with Tyger Linn’s death and mom moving in, I felt as if there was a need to close down anything that cost me time with little to show for it. Oddly, it came around at almost the same time FB told me that I had been on FB for a decade. That’s longer than I’ve used any website, ever. I look back over the last ten years and I do realize that FB has been useful in many ways.
Dog Rescue doesn’t exist in its current form without FB. There is nothing out there that comes close to be as good as FB when it comes to rescue and I couldn’t begin to tell you how many lives have been saved and how many families have been reunited because of this business. And yes, FB is a business. It’s not just a free site to hang out on and chat with strangers, no, not at all. And this is one of the reasons I quit.

FB has been selling your information, for big bucks, since day one, and you’ve been giving out permission like an eighteen-year-old college freshman doing tequila shots for the first time in her life. Every quiz you have ever taken on FB asks for your permission to use your personal information, including your Friends list and your email address. This means that this business, and yes, chances are this is not a business that just wants to tell you what sort of bird you are, is mining information. If you take a dozen quizzes, and each of those extracts more and more information from you, then people can figure out how to target you with ads, and they can sell this information.

Zuck is a multi-billionaire and FB is one of the biggest companies in the history of humankind. Did you really believe all of this happened because people like to talk to strangers online?

We, as a FB Community, have already surrendered our privacy to this business, and other businesses that buy our information from FB, and we’ve given countless strangers our personal photos, information about our workplaces, photos of our children, and because we know FB messenger is being monitored, we’ve given businesses access to our personal, sometimes very personal, information and photos. What very few of us have ever considered is how this information can be used and by whom, and why they might want to use it.

Moreover, it’s been discovered that certain groups of people can use FB to produce false information, to influence large numbers of people, and even twist elections. Hot button issues become hotter in an echo chamber and there is nowhere more insulated from reality than FB, at times.
What we cannot know is how FB will be used in the future. We do know that with a billion users, Zuck could very well one day proclaim he’s going to charge one dollar a month for every account. In the space of a year, he could very well produce over ten billion dollars. That’s a very significant amount of money in a very short period of time. How one man uses this sort of power is beyond the control of anyone.

Take Care,
Mike

Mike writes regularly at his site:  The Hickory Head Hermit.
 
Opinions expressed in this article are not necessarily those of the management of this site.
 
 
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Friday Firesmith – Trump

I vowed never to write about politics here, ever again, but I’m curious about a few things. The first is this: If you voted for Trump are you getting what you wanted? Is America Great Again yet? Is what you are seeing out of this President what you were looking for in the voting booth? Is the position, the office of the President, elevated because of his election? Does the man’s character and demeanor seem presidential to you? Has he brought to the White House a sense of nobility and honor?

The men and women Trump has employed as servants of the American public, do they seem to be the best people who could assume positions of power and policy? Does the people who speak for the President seem forthright and honest, respectful of the truth when dealing with the media,
and the citizens of America?

Are our alliances with our friends stronger? Does America enjoy the respect and admiration of other countries because of the leadership skills and diplomacy of our nation’s highest office? Do those nations historically hostile to the interest of America fear this man will create a stronger
and more unified allied force, with those nations who have always supported us in times of strife?

Are our nation’s institutions of learning, from the first grade to public Universities, better off under this administration? Is education a priority, is it respected and honored by this president, and will the children of America look back at his term as one that elevated the intellectual
prowess of this country? Is there a clear vision as to where our public education is, should be, and will be in the future?

Are we a better society? Are we more unified now? Do we have a better understanding of how to resolve difficult issues without hostility and conflict because of our President? Is there a concise and tenable process by which there is resolution between our two major parties, overseen by the leader of this country so that our needs are served by a spirit of bipartisanship? Are his communication skills with his opposition such that agreement can be reached on issues vital to this country’s survival?

Is the world a safer, cleaner, and more stable place because of this president? Globally speaking, are things better now? Has The Leader of the Free World shown expansive and stable guidance that other nations might follow in critical issues that affect all humanity? Is there a vision from America that others might yearn to emulate? Does the beacon from the Statue of Liberty still shine brightly for others to see?

Are we better people? Do we enjoy a life free from intrusion and anxiety? Are we living longer lives that are healthier lives now? Are we on the path to do so? Will our children inherit a better world for having this president? Will we be able to give them that world, and be happy for having done so?

Did you get what you voted for in the last election? Do you regret your vote?

Take Care,
Mike

Mike writes regularly at his site:  The Hickory Head Hermit.Opinions expressed in this article are not necessarily those of the management of this site.

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Friday Firesmith – Betsy Murgatroyd, I Love You!

At some point in time, you will meet someone who will become special. You’ll hold hands for the first time, and from that moment on, even if it’s seventy years later, you’ll hold hands with that person for the last time.

When I was a little kid, my vocabulary and speech patterns were littered with sayings I had picked up from cartoons and from the older people around me, and nearly everyone around was older because anyone younger couldn’t talk yet.

I remember the phrase, “God Doggit” and that was the first phrase that got me into any trouble. All the kids said, “God Doggit!” and one day, Janice Kelly, who was prim and proper, and thought that phrase was just too close to “God dammit!” decided to talk the other parents in the neighborhood into banning it. It was my first lesson in pointless and empty censorship, but as a kid, I got used to it.

Likewise, there were parents who didn’t think children ought to say, “Darn!” and some of us really did. We used phrases that sound odd now. To threaten someone, you would tell them you were going to get on them, “Like a duck on a June Bug” even though most of us had no idea what a June Bug was.

“What in tarnation?” was the great grandfather of “WTF?” We called other boys “yellow” if they didn’t accept a dare, and anyone who wouldn’t climb to the top of a tree or throw a rock at a wasp nest was “chicken”.

“I did it for a lark” meant you did something just for the fun of it. That was something our parents said often, but it was dying out.

“Groovy” was a word everyone used, and I still use it. I remember back in the early 70s when “ripped off” became popular. The police were “the pigs” to a lot of people, and I’m happy to see that one go, actually. Hearing someone say “You’re bringing me down” isn’t heard as often either.

But I remember when “Dadgumit” and “Dagnabit” ruled the world of slang. “Damn” and “Hell” were words we used in secret and not often.

There was a cartoon character named Snaglepuss who used to say, “Heavens to Murgatroyd!” which was merely a play on the phrase, “Heavens to Betsy!” even though when we were kids we thought he was saying, “Heavens to murder Troy.” The story of the Trojan Horse was well known to us, and I posited the phrase to mean the Greek Gods were being called upon to murder the city of Troy. I went decades thinking Zeus had inspired Snaglepuss. You’ve likely never read that last sentence before, ever.

Yesterday, I dropped a bottle of hot sauce on the kitchen floor at work and it ricocheted and bounced like a frog on a hot skillet. I didn’t mean to say it, but the word Fu@k! came out and half the office heard it. That’s my go-to curse word apparently. I blame Janice Kelly for banning the phrase God Dogit.

What’s your go-to or favorite cuss word?

Take Care,

Mike

Mike writes regularly at his site:  The Hickory Head Hermit. Opinions expressed in this article are not necessarily those of the management of this site.

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