Just returned from the national cemetery. Four people there to pay homage to. I don't drive to Corpus Christi anymore, so I let this visit cover the family there. Going out to dinner later. Then back to my normal retired guy routine.
There are people that think being an asshole makes them a winner/hero. They select a target and rough the chosen target either directly or indirectly, physically and/or mentally. We all know of the school bully. We know of the little dictator on the job. I know personally of neighborhood bullies who seek ways to frustrate and humiliate their neighbors. Some in fact who spend seven days out of every week looking for angles to carry out cruel attentions. I've watched drivers take joy in owning other drivers. I can't guess what percentage of the population fits the description. Only that there is no shortage. Carried to the next level, we can note that Rush Limbaugh and Donald Trump were met with a huge rush of adulation when they openly bullied and persecuted.
The wealthy classes are full of individuals who were born into wealth. That means there was no test of character, knowledge or strength making it so. That means they are no different than the blue-collar and working poor. The percentage of natural bullies is likely the same among the wealthy as among the rest of us anyway. These bullying traits are what make the wealthy who rise to the top take and take and laugh about it. They think being an asshole makes them a winner/hero. At likely the same ratio as bullying among the poor.
Will the common folk who are not bullies ever quit being nice and enforce rules that protect everyone from the scourge? It's not too late, but to me it seems the window of opportunity is closing.
He sits in your room, his tomb with a fist full of tacks
Preoccupied with his vengeance
Cursing the dead that can't answer him back
You know that he has no intentions
Of looking your way, unless it's to say
That he needs you to test his inventions
Hey, crawl out your window
Come on, Don't say he will ruin you
Don't say he will haunt you?
You can go back to him any time you want to
He looks so truthful, is this how he feels?
Trying to peel the moon and expose it
With his business-like anger and bloodhounds that kneel
If he needs a third eye he just grows it
He just needs you to talk or to hand him his chalk
Or pick it up after he throws it
Hey, please crawl out your window
Oh, use your hands and legs, it won't ruin you
How can you say he will haunt you?
You can go back to him any time you want to
He looks so righteous while your face is so changed
As you sit on the box you keep him in
While his genocide fools and his friends rearrange
Their religion of the little ten women
That backs up their views but your face is so bruised
Come on out the dark is just beginning
Hey, please come out your window
Oh, use your hands and legs, it won't ruin you
How can you say he will haunt you?
When you can go back to him any time that you want to
You've got a lot of nerve to say you are my friend
If you won't come out your window
Yes, come out your window
B. Dylan
Everyone knows I don't love the Democratic Party, despite the fact I despise the Republican Party. But if they actually succeed in securing fair elections I will give them one, no, two, kudos.
The Yearling. Never watched the full movie. A few weeks ago I caught most of the last half. That's an awful story. They let the boy raise that deer with never a word about what would happen at the end. If he knew it would get shot he could have had months to adjust or come up with a miracle plan. Sorry I tuned in.
Saw a headline bemoaning the probable unfixable nature of the Hubble telescope's woes. Dead in space.
Several years ago I bought a gooseneck lamp to use over my keyboard. The other day it went kaput. The new one I replaced it with was different to the extent I could have rendered it useless. I pulled off what I assumed to be a protective cover, which proved in the end to be a necessary lense. Next where the socket should be was a circle of yellow dots. Trying to figure how to set it up so I could screw in the new bulb I had, I began to disassemble it. Came close to damaging one of the dots. Savvy people will know those dots were the actual lights and that no bulb was necessary. But it's working fine now.
As a summer treat I bought Rocky some dog ice cream. Made the mistake of giving it at the tail end of dinner. Now he plants himself in front of me and tells me you ain't leaving the kitchen until I get my dog ice cream. This after every dinner. A dog's life is short. Why not indulge him?
RESEARCHERS CLAIM COLLAPSING OCEAN ECOSYSTEM WILL DEVASTATE HUMANITY WITHIN 25 YEARS
Contemplating why some persons prefer to die in secrecy.
My sister in law was not going to let me know she was losing against cancer until I chanced to ask her on facebook messenger how she was. Then she relented and told me, about a month before passing. She died in her sleep.
A few years before that, one of my half brothers paid me a visit. It was a short, subdued session and he was quiet and he left. Found out a year or so later that he had been fighting cancer and had died several months before I found out.
It's not sparing loved ones of grief to be secretive about it. I can't characterize it as rudeness. But to find out after the fact feels like a kick in the teeth.
@edgarblythe,
Maybe they were schooled to keep private things private. Or maybe they did tell someone, just not you. Or maybe they didn't want any pity or compassion. Who knows? I'm sorry if it hurt you, but it's their life or death and, therefore, it's all about
them, not you. Sorry if that sounds harsh.
@Mame,
You don't know the dynamics of our relationship, so you are right only to an extent, not all the way.
@edgarblythe,
No, I certainly don't - how could I? Just pointing out other reasons why they might not have shared. And that maybe it had nothing to do with you.
Sure, they had their personal reasons. I actually didn't mean to argue against that. Just expressed my feelings when I learned about it.
When we walk in the park we often meet a retired school teacher or coach or whatever. He is an excellent photographer, but why wouldn't he be when he has some of the most sophisticated equipment available and uses it to take thousands of shots. The best of which he posts in a couple of places. When we first became acquainted he was very cordial. He took our Facebook information. Shortly after, he sent my wife a friend request, but not me. I wasn't paying much attention because it's not like we adopted the guy.
Next time we saw him, he had a brief but friendly exchange with my wife. He walked past me, still doing something beside my truck. I spoke as he was passing, something about how I admire his photos. He looked at me like I might be a snake. I told him the ones that showed a stop motion were my favorites. He looked to be near to exploding or even imploding with disgust and walked away.
After that, every time I see him, he speaks briefly with my wife while I busy myself tossing peanuts for the birds and squirrels. I am certain he was disgusted by my Facebook, in which I am openly a loud-mouthed leftist and in my bio mention I am an atheist. So it goes in the rough and tumble world of park walkers.
Picture if you will a comfortable little house on a very deep lot. Behind the comfortable little house is a one room cabin, with a bathroom. Behind the one room cabin is an outhouse. Behind the outhouse is another home every bit as large as the home in front. The property line abruptly ends at a barbwire fence and a vineyard.
Picture next a boy inside the outhouse who, after fixing his jeans, fumbles with the lid and it slips out of his grasp into the poop below. The boy has no alternative but to go about his day, since the lid is beyond reach.
This was the situation when my Mom asked about the lid later the same day. Feeling no guilt, since it was an accident, I owned up to it.
Now, picture an asshole of a stepfather, who prized that lid, which was no more than the top off a five gallon paint can, more than his stepson's health and dignity.
Lastly, picture the stepson dangling from a rope following the path of the wayward lid, until his feet ease into the squishy stinky content at the bottom of the hole. Picking up the lid and slipping it to the bastard at the top.
I had intended looking him up once I grew up, but he died before I got the chance.
@edgarblythe,
Why didn’t he just improvise and get another lid about that same size?
@Ragman,
Because he was an asshole. Assholes never miss an opportunity to make somebody miserable.
