Here are a pair of articles (unrelated to each other) that I’ve written recently: One link is to an article I wrote for NapeNaSi.com, the website/blog of a mission group I’m part of, and the other is an article for theodysseyonline about zombie movies, us, and social media. I hope you’ll take the time to read them, that you enjoy them, and that they at least make you think. Cheers, and, as always, thanks for reading!
Hey all, I’m posting a link to my latest article in the Odyssey. It’s the third (and final) part of my “On Lost Friends and Heroes” series. I hope you’ll take the time to check it out. If you like it, or it makes you think, please think about sharing it. As always, thanks for reading!
Here’s the link: On Lost Friends and Heroes Part Three
Hey all, part two of my series on what our military personnel go through is on the Odyssey Online Magazine. I hope you’ll take the time to read it. As always, if you like it, please feel free to share. Here’s the link: On Lost Friends and Heroes – Part Two
Again, I hope it makes you think. Thanks for reading!
Hey all, here’s a link to my latest article for the Odyssey. It’s about a tragedy that occurred during my time in a rescue squadron. This was the hardest thing I’ve ever written, and may be the most important, as well (not that anything I’ve ever written has ever been important, really). Anyway, I won’t say I hope you like it, but I hope it makes you think about what’s important when it comes to supporting our troops, and what we require of them everyday.
Anyway, here’s the link: On Lost Friends and Heroes
If it affects you, please feel free to share it. These guys and their families deserve better than to be forgotten, or to become just footnotes in history.
Thanks,
Moon.
In case you’ve missed me (and why wouldn’t you?), or have been wondering why I haven’t posted anything lately, I’ve recently started writing for theodysseyonline.com. I’m still going to be writing exclusively for this blog too, I’ve just been really busy. Anyway, if you’re just needing a little dose of moonsthoughts in a slightly different format, here are links to my last couple of articles for the Odyssey:
Here’s one on finding happiness in a troubled world: https://www.theodysseyonline.com/key-to-finding-happiness
Here’s one on what I think may be the key to fixing America: https://www.theodysseyonline.com/prescription-ails-america
And finally, one on the Anti-Political Correctness craze: https://www.theodysseyonline.com/offend-all-let-god-sort-out
I hope you’ll enjoy them, or that they’ll at least make you think.
One final note: If you do like ’em, please share them with your friends (or enemies, if that’s more fun) on the Facebook, Twitter, or whatever. Apparently the Odyssey people track that stuff, and it’ll make me look good.
Anyway, enjoy, and thanks for reading!
First, I just want to say thanks to all of you who were gracious enough to read and share my latest post. When I looked a few minutes ago, that post had gotten over 5,000 views, and total views for the entire blog were well over 6,000. That’s just since last night, and, I believe more views than the blog has gotten, cumulatively, since I started it 2 years ago, so frankly, it’s a little overwhelming, and I just want to say thanks for reading!
I’m also going to take this golden opportunity, this bully pulpit, as it were (although those of you who know me know the last place I should ever be allowed is behind any kind of pulpit), to plug Nape Na Si Ministries. (pronounced Naw-pay Naw See. It means “Hands and Feet” in the Lakota language)
Nape Na Si is a mission organization that started in my home church, Whitewater Christian Church, by Ray Vance, the minister at that time, and my niece, Sarah Roberts (now Hartlieb). Ray wanted to get our church involved in missions personally, as opposed to just sending money to missionaries. Sarah had some connections of Pine Ridge Indian Reservation, so they and several others from our church went out there on a mission trip, where they all died (okay, not really, but from the stories they tell, I’m pretty sure they thought they were going to). They survived camping rough, tent-eating horses, and what sounds a lot like dysentery. They also made some deep connections on the Rez. This was in 2003, and some iteration of that group has gone back every year since.
We do a daily VBS/Street Ministry for the kids, a basket ministry for the adults, mow playgrounds and parks, and do construction work as funds and personnel allow. Our goal is to eventually acquire land out there and establish a full-time presence out there. However, for the time being, we’re just plugging along the best we can.
Here is a link to the Nape Na Si blog/website: http://www.napenasi.com
Anyway, as I said before, we are not asking for money. We’re asking you to get involved yourselves. Not even necessarily with us. Just get out there and help someone. However, if you’re not sure how to get started, check out NapeNaSi.com, and if you want to, give us a holler.
Okay, shameless plug over. Thanks again for reading!
Merry Christmas everybody! Right now, I’m sitting here feeling sorry for anybody who isn’t me. Last night, in an effort to minimize the cooking over the next couple of days, I whipped up another huge batch of Slopbucket; arguably the greatest and deadliest meal known to man (the recipe is in another post entitled “Adventures of a House-Husband: Home Cooking Edition”). It was, in a word, AWESOME!!!!! That knocking you heard last night? That was the sound of my arteries (and possibly my colon as well: there’s a LOT of Velveeta in this stuff), slamming shut and reverberating around the world. That weird and ominous thundery yet kinda gurgly noise you heard this morning? It was probably just weird and ominous gurgly thunder (but there are a LOT of peppers and chili seasoning in this stuff too).
Even more awesome is the fact that there’s enough left over for supper tonight, and it just gets better with age, like wine, whisky, and my wife, the lovely and gustatorily adventurous Jess (although she’s still just 27, as far as I’m concerned). I haven’t looked forward to supper this much since . . . well, last night, I guess. Still, I’m really looking forward to it. A lot. You might want to sleep with your earplugs in though. But enough about that.
I decided to try something different this year; cooking dessert stuff. Every year, my wife, the ever-more-awesome and eternally lovely Jess, makes Christmas candy, primarily Buckeyes, Peanut Clusters, and what she calls Moose Balls (don’t knock ’em ’til you try ’em). They’re basically Buckeyes, only instead of peanut butter, it’s cream cheese and crushed Oreo cookies rolled into balls and dipped in chocolate. They’re awesome, and I love ’em, but I got to thinking that she might enjoy something new. Plus people keep posting videos of how to make all this stuff on the Facebook, and it looks so simple. Seriously, watch the videos: it’s almost like the stuff makes itself.
I mean it combines two of my favorite meals; Chocolate and Lasagna. What could go wrong?
And then there was this: Cinnamon Roll French Toast Bake. The sweet-toothed and just plain sweet Jess loves her some Cinnamon Rolls. I figured she’d enjoy this for breakfast Christmas morning (Sorry, I can’t figure out how to link the video, but here’s one to the recipe).
The Chocolate Lasagna looked to be the most complex, so this morning, I started with that. It went pretty well, although the first step was to mix some stuff up and set it aside. I did that, but then it was really kind of unclear as to what to do with it. I also learned that using a mixer is a skill. A skill I do not possess, apparently. Those little whirligigs can really fling the heavy whipping cream. You’d think that something like that would come with some kind of cover, or they’d make mixing bowls with deeper sides, or something.
Fortunately, I had Dude, Mattie, and Molly, a highly efficient and enthusiastic cleanup crew. They had my back. And my chest and legs, as well as the walls, countertops, etc (yeah, it got a little freaky in the ol’ kitchen this morning). Anyway, I got everything mixed up and ready. I put down the first layer of Graham crackers, and started smearing the cream cheese mixture over it. Now in the video, it smeared right along, with no problem at all. Not in my kitchen though. In my kitchen, it was like trying to get rid of snot. That stuff stuck to everything, and wouldn’t spread out at all. I ended up with the Graham crackers piling up and shattering into pieces which I then had to try to put back into something resembling a layer, like a frustrating (but delicious) jigsaw puzzle.
Finally, I referred to the recipe. Yep, I was doing just what it said. Oh wait . . . remember that bowl of stuff I’d mixed up and then set aside? Yeah, neither did I. There was a sentence in the middle of a paragraph that said to “fold” it into the cream cheese mixture. Now, I don’t have any idea how to fold a liquid, so I “dumped” it in, mixed it up, and everything went fine after that. It really makes me wonder about who wrote that recipe though. I mean, you just don’t stick something like that in the middle of a paragraph. There should have been a separate step in there. Were they pressed for space? Were they limited to a certain number of steps? Or, were they just expecting the people who used that recipe to know what they were doing? If that was the case, then they were wrong. Very, very wrong.
At any rate, I got that done and put in the fridge, and tackled the Cinnamon Roll French Toast Bake. Now that one really looked easy. Twenty minutes later, I was still trying to get that first can of cinnamon rolls open. Poppin’ fresh, my ass. They might be fresh, but there was very little poppin’ going on. I’ll admit, I was a little worried. The instructions warned me to make sure I pointed the ends of the can away from myself to prevent injury. Apparently those things are under a lot of pressure. I could not get that thing open to save my life. I even read the instructions. They said, “Push spoon against seam. Unroll tube.” I tried a spoon. No luck. I tried a butter knife. Still no luck. Finally, I resorted to a steak knife. That did the trick. Apparently (happily) the Pillsbury people are laboring under an extreme misunderstanding about how much pressure that cardboard tube contains. There was no pop, not even when I stabbed it with the steak knife. A little oozing maybe, but certainly not the explosive blast I was led to expect. I’ve got to say, I felt a little silly (and kind of disappointed, too).
Anyway, I got it done, and both dishes turned out great. Well, at least they look great. We have yet to try them. Still, I’m feeling pretty optimistic about it.
Of course, Christmas isn’t just about food. It’s also about presents.
Now I don’t know about you, but in my family, traditionally, it’s the grandparents who give the worst gifts. Don’t get me wrong, when I was a kid, I always looked forward to going to my grandparent’s houses for Christmas, but it was because I looked forward to seeing them and all my cousins (plus, my Dad’s folks lived in Florida, and Pa had a huge collection of Louis L’amour and Max Brand westerns). It was not for the gifts, which were normally underwear and socks, or their equivalent.
Now my wife, the cool and generous Jess, and I have always tried to get the grandkids something pretty cool for Christmas, but this year, I decided it was time to go traditional. I do, of course, remember the expected disappointment of opening deceptively festively wrapped packages of underwear and socks, so I decided to go a different route. We got them books. Now, when I was a kid, I would have been thrilled to get books (yes, I was a weird kid), but I’m not sure my grandkids will be equally excited. Still, they’re good books, and they’re smart kids, so who knows?
I got the oldest boy Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee. It’s a great book, and full of stuff that he’s almost certainly not going to learn about in school. Plus, he’s gone with me to the Rez a few times now, and I feel like to understand the present situation out there, you have to have some understanding of the history.
I got the oldest girl My Name is Malala, the story of an Afghan girl, Malala Yousafzai, who was shot in the head for insisting on going to school, survived that to face her attackers, and won the Nobel Peace Prize by the age of 16. I figure in a world full of Kardashians, Britney Spears’es (she’s still a thing, right?), Miley Ray Cyrus’es and various other assorted females who seem to be mostly famous to for their ability to vibrate their posteriors faster than the speed of sound, as well as the scarcity of their clothes, she could do worse than learn about a girl only slightly older than herself who stands for something good, does it fearlessly (or maybe in spite of fear), and is trying to make the world a better place. I also figure that if nothing else, it would be good for her to learn that not all Muslims are psychopathically religious headcases who want to kill her.
Jess got the younger boy The Indian in the Cupboard. Hopefully, it will induce a love of reading like Jess and I have. I don’t think it’s particularly heavy or inspirational, but we both started out reading fantastic adventures, and we figure it’s a good way to get him started.
At the very least, it should be less disappointing than socks and underwear.
Of course, gifts aren’t even what Christmas is really about, they’re just symbolic.
If you really want to know what Christmas is all about, you’re looking in the wrong place. This is a silly place (mostly), for silly ramblings. The real meaning of Christmas is beautiful, and deadly serious. Look around you. All those people of different races, creeds, colors, lifestyles, etc.? They’re what Christmas is all about. They’re why He came. Well, them, and you, and me (that’s what I believe. You, of course, are welcome to believe what you believe as well). If you need more information than that, go to church tonight.
At any rate, Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, Happy Hanukkah, and Happy Kwanzaa to all.
I turned 50 years old today, and, in keeping with the philosophy that you should never stop learning, I learned that there’s actually a word for it: Quinquagenarian. So I got that going for me. Which is nice.
Anyway, I felt that this would be an auspicious occasion to take a few moments to pass on a few priceless words of wisdom to you all. So I sat here and thought . . . and thought . . . and thought . . . and finally realized that I really don’t know squat. Now I know what you’re all thinking: “Wow, I never realized how much he had in common with Socrates,” and thank you. So kind of you to notice. Anyway, I thought about it, and realized that I wouldn’t really be telling most of you anything new (after all, you have the good taste and common sense to read this blog in the first place), so a post like that would really just be a waste of time and effort on all of our parts.
Next, I thought of writing a reflective post, contemplating the various triumphs I’ve experienced over the first half of my life (now that I’ve officially reached the half-way point), but my overwhelming humility rebelled at the thought. I just couldn’t bear the thought of the feelings of inadequacy that would surely overwhelm my beloved readership. I’m afraid such a post would just be bringing my throng of fans too close to the sun, so to speak (by the way, 32 1/2 is a throng isn’t it?). Also, since I was naked (calm down girls) for most of my greatest triumphs, telling you about them might be kind of uncomfortable.
Then, I realized that most of the important lessons I’ve learned in my life came, not from my dazzling array of deeply, deeply important, and monumental accomplishments, but rather, from the “slings and arrows of outrageous fortune” as the bard put it, or, as I myself have expressed it on numerous occasions, “the phenomenally stupid things I’ve done in my life”. Besides, who doesn’t like a good disaster story?
So here they are, a few tales of moronic adventure from various areas of my life, and the lessons learned therefrom:
Football:
In high school, I played football for Northeastern High School. My freshman year, I was 4′ 11″ and weighed 99 lbs. The coach was embarrassed that someone my size would try to play football, so he decided it was funny to put me in the tackling drills with the Seniors. I got the living crap beaten out of me, but I always got back up (not always quickly, but I always got up and got back in line). Every time I did, he just got angrier and angrier. This was the first inkling I had of my natural talent for infuriating and frustrating authority figures (a talent I refined during my 20 years in the Air Force). I also learned that I am not a quitter. Just think, if I had quit, I would never have risen to be Captain of the team my senior year (our third consecutive winless season).
Lessons learned: Any putz can be a winner. To keep being a loser and still go back year after year takes grit, determination, and character. Also, sports are over-rated.
Softball:
After my high school football experience and some unpleasant experiences with squadron softball leagues, I resolved never to participate in organized sports again, or even play a sport that I couldn’t play while drinking. This resolution led to a game of Beerball while deployed to Turkey. A bunch of us got a bunch of beer and had a softball game in a gravel field. Not being a beer drinker, I was playing 3rd base, and keeping the pitcher and myself supplied with Jack & Cokes. I smoothed a spot in the gravel just outside the base line for my drink, and after each pitch, would step out and have a sip. All was going well, until some smartass hit a line shot down the 3rd base line. This was several innings in, so my reaction time was a little slow, but I was still with it enough to realize my drink was in danger. Now, even in my heyday, I couldn’t have caught that ball, even Pete Rose couldn’t have caught it (at least not if he was in the condition I was in), but I felt it incumbent upon me to at least try to save my drink, so I leaned over that way a little bit. At that point, gravity kicked in, and I just kept going, sliding to a stop, facedown in the gravel. However, all’s well that ends well. Although my face took a pretty severe scraping, my drink was saved, and everyone was amazed that I dove for that ball. I saw no reason to disabuse them of that notion, and thus added another chapter to my legend.
Lesson learned: Sometimes bad stuff works out for the best. Also, gravity is not my friend, and the only safe place for a drink on a baseball diamond in inside you.
Shortly after my divorce, I was feeling kind of insecure and unsure of myself. I was spending my off-duty time delivering pizza, and there was a very nice, very pretty girl named Kelsey who worked there as a cook. I was pretty taken with her, but it took me weeks to get up the nerve to ask her out. Finally, my chance came. I was working in the prep area, chopping onions, and she walked in. We made small talk for a couple minutes, and I had finally screwed my courage to the sticking point. My next words were going to be “Hey, would you like to go out sometime?” (Okay, so I was not always the silver-tongued devil I am now), when she said, “Have you heard my news?”
“No,” I replied, “what news?”
“I can’t believe you haven’t heard.”
“Oh, you know, nobody ever tells me anything,” you know, playing it cool.
“I’m getting married!” She was practically bursting with excitement.
I, on the other hand, was standing there, with tears of frustration and disappointment streaming down my face as I stammered, “Congratulations!” I was so glad that I was cutting onions, so that at least I could play off the tears. She left, completely oblivious to my devastation.
Lesson learned: Onions are your friend in emotional situations. Also, don’t get too wound up about things.
While stationed in England, I became friends with a number of young, attractive female troops. We’d go out drinking and partying, and they knew that I could be trusted to keep the wolves off of them, walk them home, tuck them in, and leave. We always had a good time, but it did lead to a good friend asking me if I was gay, because I was running around with all these good-looking young girls, but wasn’t scoring with any of them. Lest anyone think that I was being virtuous or anything, it wasn’t that I wasn’t so inclined, but there’s something about a sweet, drunk, beautiful, young girl looking up at you with adoring eyes from the bed that you’ve just tucked her into, after puking her guts up into the trash can that you got for her, and hearing her say, “You’re the best guy, Moon. You remind me so much of my dad,” that tends to dampen any latent amorous intentions you might be harboring. Drunk girls can be so cruel. On the other hand, one evening, one of them brought the ultimate target of my affection (at least that’s what I’m calling it) up to meet me because I was so cool. That’s right. Thanks to my propensity for at least a minimum of decency, I met the love of my life, the lovely and in-all-ways-awesome Jess. You can bet that I made damn sure she didn’t compare me to her dad. I pursued her overtly, and unrelentingly until I wore her down enough to marry me.
Lesson learned: Decency can be disappointing in the short term, but always pays off in the end. Also, when you find a good thing, hang on tight.
When I graduated high school, I, like all kids, knew everything. So, when I took a couple of classes at the local college, I put about as much effort into it as I had put into high school. Until, of course, I remembered that I didn’t even have to go. I quit going to one class (English Comp), due to, much as it pains me to admit it, teenage arrogance and overconfidence. I stuck with American History, and, with the minimal effort, got a C. Flash forward 30 years. I go back to school, and, having realized years ago, that not only did I not know everything, I didn’t even know which questions to ask, I decided to apply myself. I’ve worked damned hard to do the best I can, and I’ve gotten nothing less than an A in every class (of course, I’m not too proud to admit that in some classes it’s more due to extra credit and a forgiving teacher), so far anyway. I’m pretty proud of it. The frustrating thing is that, thanks to screwing around in that history class, I’ll never manage to have a 4.0 GPA. Now, I know that seems like no big deal (and I realize that they don’t put GPA’s on the diploma), but still, it’s aggravating to work this hard and to know that if this were a race, I’ve basically shot my big toes off 30 years ago.
Lesson learned: Always do your best. Not doing your best will always bite you in the ass. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but eventually, it will get it’s teeth into you. Also, it’s never too late to pull your head out of your ass.
To finish this off, I’ll cease regaling you with tales of my life, and just list a few things that I’ve come to believe are true:
Salad is not food. Salad is food for the food. Eating salad circumvents the food chain and screws up the circle of life.
Nobody ever quits smoking. They may stop doing it, but they never stop wanting it.
Don’t wait until you do something stupid to do something nice for your spouse. A preemptive floral or chocolate strike can lessen the impact of your next (inevitable) screw-up.
If you don’t feel at least a little bit dirty after having sex, you’re probably doing it wrong.
Finally Finally
I’ll let Randy Newman (one of my heroes) have the last word: I’m Different.
Thanks to all the friends and family who’ve loved/liked/tolerated me, or at the very least, not beat my ass when I had it coming over the years. Thanks to you for reading this. I hope it gave you a laugh. Most of all thanks to my wife, the long-suffering and much-beloved Jess.
As much as I hesitate to do it, I’m going to weigh in on the current Indiana Religious Freedom Restoration Act controversy. I can’t help myself. I’ve wracked my brain, and can’t think of anything else to do to help me continue avoiding doing my homework. Besides, everyone else has, and it’s lonely out here. And kind of creepy, really. I feel like everybody’s looking at me, which is weird, because normally I’m pretty sure nobody cares at all what I think (which is probably the case here as well, but my inner narcissist is feeling saucy).
It’s also kind of weird because as a White, heterosexual, middle-aged, middle-class, male christian, whose only first-hand experience with religious persecution has been the waiting-for-the-punchline looks I frequently get from people when I say that I’m a Christian (you’ll note that I didn’t say I’m a good one. Honestly, I’m not sure there even is such a thing), I am undoubtedly one of the people who has the least to fear from this law. Seriously, I’m safely part of the demographic power majority in pretty much every category (and it’s pretty sweet, I can tell you). At any rate, I kind of feel like, since I’m safe, maybe I should just keep my mouth shut and ride it out (and if you’ve read this far, you’re probably thinking the same thing).
But enough about me. And I think that’s the problem. I think there is a very strong possibility that this is an intentionally planned nontroversy to keep everyone’s eyes off the shell that actually has the bean under it.
Let’s face it. Everybody thinks this bill is about them. Thanks to this law, religious bakers, florists, photographers, and other purveyors of wedding support services (because those are the only types I’ve heard held up as examples) can now feel safe from being forced to bake a gay wedding cake, make gay bouquets, take gay pictures*, or anything else that goes against their strongly held religious beliefs. They no longer have to worry about the hordes of litigious gays lining up to force them to ruin their gay wedding, although honestly, that just sounds like a way to spend a lot of money on lawyers to end up with spit cake, dead flowers, and bad pictures on your gay wedding day. I’m not saying it doesn’t happen, I’m just saying it doesn’t happen very often.
From the gay side of things, I can totally understand the concern. Right wing whack-a-do’s like Ted Cruz and Rick Santorum are coming out in support of the law, and that fact alone is enough to convince me that it’s a bad thing. Reading the law, it seems like businesses now have, at the very least, a legally protected way to discriminate against, and screw their employees (like they even need that in a “right to work state”). I also have no doubt that there are some few business owners out there who will use this law to discriminate against the LGBT community. I’ve never understood what religion has to do with civil rights. As I understand the constitution, we all have the same civil rights, in spite of our personal beliefs, not because of them.
I am kind of saddened though by the number of friends of mine, both gay and straight, who seem to be coming down very firmly on the “Fuck Indiana” side, because, just like the hordes of litigious gays, I’m pretty sure the number of religious business owners who can’t wait to refuse service to a gay person is largely imaginary. And, if it’s not, then that company will pretty much be signing its own death warrant, especially a small company.
I’ve been seeing a lot of stuff about how Mike Pence, the legislature, and the GOP didn’t expect this much backlash. I think that’s wrong. I think that not only did they expect it, they counted on it. I mean, for cryin’ out loud, the day after Pence signed the bill, the Indianapolis Star had a story on him signing the bill in a secret session. Some secret. Apparently, that’s one more word we need to add to the list of words that lawmakers don’t understand.**
I think this is an example of legislation at its best, from a public relations point of view. Everybody wins! The conservatives get to pander to the conservative Christians. The liberals get to pander to the LGBT community. Businesses and organizations as disparate as Apple, the NCAA, Gen Con, and others get to look like heroes for loudly and proudly opposing the bill. People like me (see paragraph 2 above) get to choose; we can feel persecuted for our beliefs (Just like Jesus!), or we can take door number two and feel good about ourselves for being so loving and understanding of gays (Just like Jesus!). And the best part is, we get to pick in what way we’re Just like Jesus! (Seriously, it’s good to be us.)
The LGBT community gets to feel good about themselves because of the tremendous outpouring of support they’ve received from people, businesses, and organizations, and that’s got to feel extra good after being genuinely persecuted, ostracized, and frequently killed right here in the Good Ol’ U.S. of A,*** although really, that’s more of a consolation prize, kind of like receiving the home version after finishing 2nd on a game show (I never said everybody wins big).
The media get something to cry and/or scream about in their on-going 24/7 quest to completely polarize the nation for fun and profit, and the Internet comment trolls get lots of ammo for their ridiculous little flame wars. Like I said, everybody wins (sort of).
The thing of it is, I just don’t think that the bill’s intent really has anything to do with legalizing discrimination on religious grounds (although I’m pretty sure that the GOP would see that as a side benefit). I’m guessing that nobody in the legislature cares which side of the wedding cake you’re on, whether you’re the one spitting in the cake mix, or the one forcing someone to make your cake. I feel pretty confident that you don’t matter much to them at all.****
I look at it this way. We’ve already got that Bill of Rights, First Amendment, Freedom of Religion thing, right there in the Constitution, right? So what does this new law do that the first amendment doesn’t do? It specifically protects BUSINESSES from Government and Individuals. I think that the main point of this bill is to make sure that businesses, and particularly big businesses (like Hobby Lobby for example) have another legal basis for . . . well really, doing any damned thing they want, or avoiding having to do something they don’t want. Sort of a legal loophole, like a tax code loophole, only with lawyers instead of accountants. It also prevents individuals, specifically applicants, employees and former employees from being able to sue employers.
Mike Pence is already calling for an amendment to the bill to make sure it’s clear that business owners can’t discriminate in providing services, so how serious could he really have been about your cake? He doesn’t care about your cake, and neither does anybody else but you. What lawmakers care about is business, and businesses certainly care about the law. They have to. They’re the only ones who can afford it these days.
One bit of supportive evidence for this is from Gen Con.’s open letter protesting this stupid and pointless law. They, just like Mike Pence, ask for an amendment to the new law. If the new law is so offensive, why not demand it’s repeal? That would seem to be the sensible thing to do. You can’t abuse a law that doesn’t exist.
Ultimately, I think it’ll all come out in the wash. They’ll come out with some vaguely worded amendment that won’t satisfy detractors, but damp the fires enough to get the media to move on. Pence, Cruz, Bush, etc. will use it to garner support for Presidential runs, as will Clinton and Warren. Christians will still be left uneasy enough to fear persecution, gays will feel slightly mollified that people stood up for them. People won’t be forced to bake gay wedding cakes against their will, not because of government persecution, but because gays (at least most of them) aren’t stupid enough to go to a homophobic baker. There won’t be unusually large amounts of spit in the gay wedding cake, not because of an amendment prohibiting it, but because Indiana bakers (at least most of them) aren’t homophobic assholes in the first place. And businesses will walk away with a smile on their faces from being elevated one more step above the individual (gay or straight), at least legally, without any of the fuss that accompanied Citizen’s United.
The real question, for me anyway, is why, after so many years of being lied to and manipulated by government, business, and church, are we all still such easy marks?
One final note. This is all just my opinion. I have not meant to offend, belittle or demean anyone (well, except politicians, business, and what I believe to be an actually very small portion of Christian believers). If I did offend you, and you fall outside the parenthetical parameters previously stated, I apologize. Also, the very strong possibility exists that I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about. I feel no particular shame about this, as I’m pretty sure that keeps me in the majority (always go with the numbers). But, just in case you care enough to prove that I’m full of crap, here’s a link to the actual law: https://iga.in.gov/legislative/2015/bills/senate/101#
There is every possibility that you will be much better at deciphering the legaleze than I am. Please feel free to let me know if I’m wrong.
* Warning: unlike the other examples of both purveyors and products, that last one is a real thing. Trust me, Don’t Google it.
** Where it will be in good company with words, concepts, and phrases like: integrity, decency, cooperation, ethics, honesty, and put your dick away
*** As opposed to American Christians who have to travel to some really unpleasant places overseas in order to be properly persecuted, and let’s face it, who has that kind of time? We’re all too busy thinking of ways to avoid accidentally endorsing somebody else’s lifestyle.
**** If it’s any consolation, I’m pretty sure I don’t matter to them either, and as a member of the power demographic, that really kind of hurts.
This winter just keeps tightening its icy claws on the tattered remains of my dignity. Friday, I got up early to go help move some folks from our church into an assisted living facility. Since it was about -100 with the wind chill, I felt it a good idea to dress warmly, so I grabbed the Under Armour ColdGear. You know what I’m talking about. The stuff all the pro footballers wear (and everybody who gets their fashion tips from the NFL. You know who you are.). It’s been a long time since I’ve put it on, and yes, I’ve gained a little weight, but still, what are essentially very stretchy, form-fitting longjohns should not be that hard to get into. I’d forgotten what a pain in the backside (and aren’t you proud of me for saying “backside” instead of what I’m thinking?) it is to get into the Under Armour, especially if you’re a middle-aged man with a tendency toward portliness. Trying to get those pants on is just tough, especially when you’re standing up and too stiff to be able to reach your feet for any length of time without overbalancing and having to stop trying to wrestle your foot through that stretchy tube so you can grab a wall to keep from toppling over like a Weeble on a stick and cracking your head on the sink (and if you think that sentence was overly complex and difficult to read, it’s nothing compared to putting on a pair of Under Armour pants for a middle-aged fat, I mean portly, man).
It was not made any easier by the fact that my wife, the merciless and easily amused Jess, was still lying in bed, giggling her butt off watching my frantic efforts to get dressed with incurring any permanent injury. Eventually I got both feet all the way through the legs of the Under Armour, and was able to start wrestling them the rest of the way up. Now I don’t know what kind of freakishly-shaped people work for Under Armor, but their products are obviously designed for people with about 6 more inches of leg, and a much higher waist than I’m equipped with. By the time I got them pulled up, there were still excess Under Armour leg bunched up around my stumpy little legs, and the waistband was all the way up around my nipples, and so tight that the drawstring was just kind of insulting (nobody with less than a 20 inch waist would need that drawstring). Next, it was time to attempt the shirt.
Like the pants, the shirt was obviously designed for someone of a completely different shape, apparently someone with a teeny-tiny little head. Trying to get my head through the neck hole reminded me of how being born must have felt. I finally got my head and arms through, and got the rest of it stretched over my torso, listening to Jess giggling the whole time. Finally, I looked in the mirror. Standing there encased head-to-toe in black, extremely form-fitting Under Armour, I realized I looked like the cousin that the Michelin Man’s family never talks about. It was not a good look for me. Jess thought it was hilarious.
I quickly finished dressing and went down to the truck. Fortunately, thanks to Monday’s exertions (if you’re unfamiliar with that story, feel free to read my previous blog post) the truck started right up. I drove up to the barn to pick up the trailer and my son-in-law. We got the trailer hooked up and had to wait for the other guys who were going to help, our preacher and one of the other guys from church. We waited, and then we had a smoke, and then we waited some more. Finally, I called Troy (the preacher) to find out what was going on. It turned out the other guy, who shall remain nameless (you know who you are, Steve Thornburg), was running late.
They finally arrived, and we set off. I’ll spare you the mundane details of the move: suffice to say that we got everything done, and only nearly died two or three times. Eventually, I made it home. I went inside to get undressed, got my pants off, and remembered something I needed from the den. In getting to the den, I had to walk right in front of Jess, who just had to make a comment about how cute I looked in my “tights”. I pointed out to her that they were not “tights” and were, in fact, very manly cold-weather gear of a type favored by professional athletes. I also pointed out to her that she wouldn’t tell Mean Joe Green (I don’t actually watch football, ok? I prefer more “cerebral” entertainment, like Downton Abbey.) that he was wearing “tights” (although, to be honest, she probably would. She’s very much a “calls-’em-as-she-sees-’em kind of girl). She just laughed and said I could call the Under Armour anything I liked, but they were still “tights”.
It was at that point that I remembered all the fuss about Joe Namath wearing panty hose back in the ’70s, and I realized what the evil geniuses at Under Armour have done. They had figured out a way to butch up panty hose, jack up the price, and sell them to guys. Winter has made me a cross-dresser! I’m not happy about this. OK, I’ll grant you, they are warm, presumably they look good on some guys (obviously I’m not one of those select few), and I do have a newfound respect for what women go through getting into panty hose to look good for us guys, but I’m still not happy about it. At least they haven’t figured out a way to get athletes to wear spiked heels (Great for cornering and sudden stops! Gives you up to 6″ extra reach for those “just a little too high” passes!), although I’ll bet they’re working on it.
I don’t think this winter’s ever going to end. Still, I guess it could be worse. I may be running low on dignity, but my comedy reservoir seems pretty full.
