What's A Few Loose Screws As Long As The Magazine Is Secure..."

Here's the only absolutely sure thing about any discussion of guns in this country.

At some point, discussion of guns simply becomes too exhausting to continue.

It's a lot like divorce.

If you're the one divorcing, then you know how the argument or arguments get to the point where it's an exercise in futility to continue. Every time you say up , they say down, every time they say white, you say black, every time either one of you says anything, the other one of you says the other thing and it goes back and forth and back and forth and back and forth....until you simply just don't fucking care anymore.

And if you're the one growing up in the midst of a divorce, you simply, and much more quickly, get to the point where you simply want mommy and daddy to shut the fuck up and stop fighting.

The key difference, of course, is that when the dust settles on the bickering, there are no school kids lying dead on cold tile floors in hallways and classrooms. No blood slowly trickling under desks and lockers. No sounds of screams and sirens and weeping and moaning in a space where the only sounds obvious should be the ringing of bells signaling the end of class or a chorus of voices talking about homework or after school events or what's for lunch or teenage love affairs in a mixture of sound that almost reminds one of a symphony warming up before a concert. No particular melody obvious to the naked ear, a cacophony that seemingly makes no sense at all, yet, is interesting, even comforting.

In recent weeks, both in print, here on this podcast and on air as I've guest hosted on talk radio, I've quoted, a number of times and in a number of contexts, a line of dialogue cleverly delivered by the late John Mahoney, who played Martin Crane, the down to earth dad of Niles and Frasier Crane in the popular sitcom "Frasier". At some point or another, in one of Frasier's trademark erudite, verbose rants about this social injustice or that etiquette faux pas, Marty Crane, with the wisdom of the ages, lovingly, but almost wearily offers to his son, "life isn't complicated, Frasier...you just make it that way."

For all of the emotional, psychological, physiological, rhetorical, political, sociological, philosophical, even spiritual shades of gray that find their way into the swirl of 2nd Amendment soup, Marty Crane's observation seems both trenchant and on target. So to speak.

The issue of guns in this country isn't complicated. Americans just make it that way.

Because the issue of guns in this country is the mother of all things guaranteed to send mommy and daddy into full blown bitch and bicker, fuck me, no, fuck you, Katy, bar the door back and forth and back and forth and back and forth and back...and forth....until exhaustion arrives, almost like a rescuer. Ending the circular madness of the confrontation.

But ending only the madness of the confrontation. Not the madness itself.

The first dictionary I consulted offered up three definitions of the word madness.

A state of frenzied or chaotic activity.

Extremely foolish behavior.

The state of being mentally ill, especially severely.

And as regards the madness America sloppily, even embarrassingly tries to disguise as "debate" about the right to bear arms?

Check, check and check on those three definitions.

Frenzied or chaotic activity?

Log on to any social media site. Turn on any news station. Tune in, call in, join in the galactic sized gathering of Rhodes Scholars, legal and constitutional experts and love it or leave it patriotic defenders of the red, white and blue that make up talk radio these days.

We got yer frenzied or chaotic activity.

Extremely foolish behavior?

Uh, yeah. Again, log on, turn on, tune in.

"I can have any goddamn gun I want, as many goddamn guns as I want, any and every goddamn time I want because the goddamn 2nd Amendment says so........"

"...alrighty, then. Let's go to our next caller."

 And then, there's that little matter of the state of being mentally ill, especially severely.

17 dead kids lying on the cold tile floors of hallways and classrooms in Parkland, Florida. Shot to death by a teenager who got the key to daddy's obviously useless gun safe and pulled out the trusty AR-15 to take out his misery and frustration on 17 dead kids lying on the cold tile.....

...well, you get the idea.

Stop me if you've heard this one before.

It's not a gun issue. It's a mental health issue.

You know what?

Goddamn right it's a mental health issue.

How crazy do you have to be to think that your "right" to have access to or own whatever weapon you want, as many as you want, whenever you want is more important, EVER, for a single goddamn second that the "right" of a kid to go to school and not end up lying dead on the cold tile floor of a hallway or classroom?

Goddamn right it's a mental health issue.

How crazy do you have to be to not only say, but actually believe, mindlessly moronic things like "well, some guy in China knifed 33 people to death so let's ban knives, too. In fact, I could stab you with a salad fork, so let's ban salad forks too." Love of God, man, do you actually hear yourself when you say staggeringly stupid shit like that?

And if one more person even begins the sentence that starts with "drunk drivers" and ends with "let's ban cars", swear to God, I'm coming after you and your family with a salad fork.

Help me to help you. What is it you don't get about how one has nothing to do with the other? That saying staggeringly stupid shit like "well, if they didn't have a gun, they'd just use a knife" is exactly the same thing as saying "well, if he didn't beat his wife with a baseball bat, he's just beat his wife with his fists" instead of saying "for the ever loving love of Christ, we have got to do whatever it takes....whatever it takes......to keep this guy from beating his wife."

How crazy do you have to be not to see that?

Goddamn right it's a mental health issue.

How crazy do you have to be to be saying anything...anything....other than "what can I do, how I can I help, what's reasonable and practical and, simply, do-able to, at the very least, lessen the chances that even one more kid will end up dead on the cold tile floor of a hallway or classroom, blood slowly trickling under desks and lockers...the sounds of screams and sirens and weeping and moaning in a space where the only sounds obvious should be the ringing of bells signaling the end of class or a chorus of voices talking about homework or after school events or what's for lunch or teenage love affairs...?"

All kinds of mental illness in life, you know.

Here's a top ten list compiled by mental health professionals.

1) Major Depressive Disorder (include dysthymia, seasonal affective disorders)
2) Generalized Anxiety/Panic disorder (include other anxiety disorders such as social anxiety)
3) Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder
4) Bipolar disorder (include cyclothymia and bipolar I and II
5) Schizophrenia and Schizoaffective disorders
6) Dissociation and Multiple Personality disorders
7) Other personality disorders such as Borderline Personality
8) ADD/ADHD
9) Insomnia
10) Addiction
11) Eating Disorders (include Anorexia, Bulimia, and not otherwise specified)
12) Post Traumatic Stress Disorder
13) Dementia
14) Autism


Let's take a quick look at those through the red, white and blue colored glasses of those laser focused loyal to the 2nd Amendment patriots.

Major depressive disorder....what? I can't have as many of whatever whenever I want? bummer, man...and, oh, yeah, no fucking way, snowflake.

Generalized anxiety...I gotta have guns...I gotta have more guns....I gotta have all guns....they're gonna take my guns....they're gonna keep me from having guns, more guns, all guns.....this is so nerve wracking....and, oh, yeah, no fucking way, snowflake.

Obsessive-compulsive disorder...gotta have, gotta have more, gotta have all....

Bi polar disorder....guns make me feel ten feet tall, twelve inches long and eight miles high....the thought of no guns makes me feel like life isn't worth living...

Schizophrenia...I keep hearing voices....telling me they're coming to take my guns....oh...wait....I was watching Will and Grace....who put on Fox News?

Multiple personality disorders...having all these guns makes me feel like Jesse James and Lucas McCain and Patton and Leroy Jethro Gibbs and ...and.....

ADD/ADHD...so, you're saying that we can still own guns and, at the same time, make it less likely that kids will be shot to de....wait.....is that Hannity?.....make it less likely that kids will be....wait?....is that an ATF truck pulling up outside?

Insomnia....they're going to take my guns, can't sleep, they're going to take my guns, can't sleep...

PTSD...I still get all clammy and shaky when I think how my dad gave me that BB gun but made me give up the AR-15....

Dementia....I'm crazy about guns.....guns are my friend.....guns will protect me and my family, uh, yeah, that, too, sure....but it's just good to have them....they make me feel manly....and safe....and....wait...what is that? is that firecrackers?........wait.....is there a fire....where are those sirens going......where is that weeping sound coming from................why.........are things......so quiet all of a sudden.

Yeah.

It's not a gun issue.

It's a mental health issue.

Goddamn right it is.

Can't Stand Much More Of America Being Made Great Again

Let's see…a 71 year old white man from Selma, Alabama named Jefferson Beauregard Sessions seems to imply, in a speech, that law enforcement should be primarily white and there's shock and disbelief. Up next: a nation stunned as a leopard reveals its spots..

Coal workers still not being provided the jobs that were promised, take heart.... starting to look like each and every one of you will have a shot at being either WH Chief of Staff or director of the FBI sooner or later......

#whatthehellmaybeevenfirstlady

…interesting insight in a JFK bio I'm going through researching another book.....

".... Kennedy understood that it was the people in a country that mattered. Governments come and go, but the people of a country are its heart and soul and mind and showing them dignity and respect and concern makes all the difference when it comes to being respected in return. It was that wisdom that made him globally appreciated and respected and accounts for the massive outpouring of both affection and grief that occurred all over the world when he was assassinated."

Donald could benefit from taking a few minutes to read this particular bio......you know, if he ever read anything......or, you know, if he could actually read......

66 programs to be eliminated in the proposed Trump budget...trimming waste is one thing...arbitrarily shutting down beneficial programs out of pettiness and/or spite is another....and....since Trump doesn't read anything that's not on a teleprompter or the Fox News Chiron, one wonders who put this list together.....President Bannon or President Kelly...wait, President Kushner.....no.....President Kellyanne.......pick a prez, any prez.....

Trump's budget includes a plan for privatizing the space station...good news is that shuttle flights will resume...it will take five, at least, to haul the giant T R U M P letters up there for the install....

Today's Fun American Street Riddle....

...how do you get to the high road via Pennsylvania Ave?

...bwahahaha.... trick question......there's no high road anywhere near Pennsylvania Ave.

The plan is to get rid of food stamps and replace it with food “kits”…once again....a system designed by geniuses...being "improved" by idiots......the point, that there are abuses of the food stamp program, is valid....

instead of closing loopholes and increasing accountability via high tech methods currently available, though, the "solution" is to

1) deny those with a genuine need, as in punishing the innocent because it's easier (and less profitable) than shutting off the guilty.....

2) ask people to rely on a delivery system created and to be coordinated by an administration that is both globally known and admired for its efficiency..#sarcasm .what about misshipments? what about delayed shipments? what about lost shipments? what about spoiled food? what about a returns policy..(Ivanka, Jared and Tweedle Eric and Tweedle Junior have to do six months, minimum, on the customer service hotline) ...oh, yeah, this is marvelous....what could possibly go wrong? #sarcasm

3) guarantee that every person involved in the assembly and distribution of these "kits" will make a fortune.....starting with the corner grocer whose first new location is 1600 Pennsylvania Ave...#trumpsteaksineverykitbetthefarm

4) dick around and spend God knows how much for days, weeks or months trying to get a program doomed to fail from the get go up and running that has less of a chance of lifting off than a space shuttle filled with contestants from The Biggest Loser.

5) NEW RULE: any new program or adjustment to an existing program that affects people's material or physical needs must be "beta tested" for 90 days by, at least, ten members of each party in the Senate, the House of Reps and the corner grocer at 1600 Pennsylvania Ave.

yo, Herman....and your buddy, there......you guys think the women's marches filled the streets with pissed off people? wait till you get a load of tens of thousands of hungry people.......

stop pandering to the "base".
fix the goddamn existing system.

And now…Parkland, Florida…

OBVIOUS SOLUTION #54....insist that your Congressperson and Senator vote to make the NRA a Federal Agency......Trump will cut off funding and dismantle the damn thing in 48 hours or less.....

…if it was 17 dead bodies lying on the floor of the United States Senate or the House of Representatives, the "Comprehensive Legislation to Insure Protection" (C.L.I.P) would be created, presented, voted on, passed and on Trump's desk for signature by EOB today......

PARTING THOUGHT…Those who immediately respond that guns are not the problem in this country are absolutely correct…

The problem in this country is the attitude about guns…

All you want as many as you want whenever you want for whatever you want…

That selfishness, not the gun, is what is killing our children…

Continue that selfishness.

Protect the children.

Pick one.

You can’t have both.

Yes, There's Black And There's White...But I'll Be The One Telling You Which One Is Which...

Too many of the major news outlets and almost all talk radio is, at best, missing a valuable opportunity and, at worst, just adding fuel to an already raging fire

Little thing called “preaching to the choir”.

Nobody is always right or always wrong about everything all the time. Not the left. And not the right. And not the moderates, Libertarians, Rotarians, Vegetarians, or magna cum laude graduates of Hogwarts…… And without the informed, reasonable, articulate dissenting opinion, this country would have driven off the cliff and exploded into a billion fiery pieces decades and decades ago.

The only reason that hasn’t happened yet is we go through this yank to the left yank to the right yank to the left yank to the right Benny Hill Driving School comedy routine on an every four or eight-year basis and because we back and forth we can’t quite MAKE it to the edge…but …guess what?

We don’t get anywhere, either…we just yank and bicker and bitch and argue and either weave around like idiots or we travel in circles.

First, there’s “confirmation bias”…the phenomenon that dictates our refusal to even hear, let alone consider, ANY opinion, point of view l let alone fact, that doesn’t merely back up whatever we believe or want to believe in the first place…..then, there’s arrogance…the attitude that, we’re America, fuck you…..what do you mean we need to improve….fuck you….what do you mean we aren’t perfect, fuck you…we’re America….….then, of course, pride…the garden variety that goes before the fall…..add selfishness, the character kink that says we want what we want as much as we want of whatever we want any and every damn time we want it because, fuck you, we’re America….and you know what? Those destructive and defeating parts of our humanness have been around since the Garden…….the only reason they’re suddenly more obvious than usual these days is the “flamboyance” of someone like Donald Trump who, set aside any and all policy disagreements we might have with him, has made rudeness and crudeness and arrogance and selfishness not only acceptable, but pretty much fashionable….Make America Great Again…..scratch just a little under that mantra and you’ll read the real message….fuck you, we’re America……

Earlier this week, I guest hosted on talk radio…. on the morning after the State of the Union speech, I opened both the phone lines and the can of worms that comes with any “so what are your thoughts” when it comes to any and all things Trump these days.  I personally sat out of the back and forth, offering no personal opinion, merely moderating or, more accurately, acting as the goalie…when the puck flew too close to the fire, I kicked it back into play…did it on purpose…so that I could concentrate on hearing and reading the texts that were also a part of the conversation….and with allowances for a few comments about “well, I liked the speech” or “he sounded good, hope he lives up to the promises”, most of what was said and what was heard on this very air was bashing the Democrats for not applauding, for wearing black, for having red hair and drooling and on and on and on…….

And don’t think for a second that the Republicans are always the bad guys….if Hillary had taken the oath in Jan and the GOP had given Hillary the symbolic finger last night, the phones would have been burning with Democrats up in arms about why their girl wasn’t being praised and adored and respected….and…and….it’s ENOUGH ALREADY…..a pox on both your houses….but better yet, how about a pox on neither house?

Even better yet, how about no damn poxes at all? How about you try to, at the very least, stop throwing out the good with the bath water and find something the party you oppose has to offer that isn’t demonic or Satanic and destined to take us all into the fiery depths of extinction….no matter which party you belong to and which party that party you oppose.

Because NOBODY is ALL WRONG OR ALL RIGHT ALL THE TIME……Now, if you can’t do that because you truly believe the other guys have nothing to offer but the fiery depths of extinction, then we can all just stop worrying….because if that’s true, we got bigger problems than we can every hope to overcome, so we may as well just kick back, enjoy the Super Bowl this weekend and hug our kids while we wait for the end to come.

And THAT’S what you should be hearing from most of the major news outlets and almost ALL of talk radio……. but you’re not…and you won’t…. because that’s not what preaching to the choir sounds like….

Real, honest, god given true leadership is really hard…because sometimes it means going against the grain…against the flow…against the current…it means knowing exactly what it is you want to hear and knowing that if I tell you that, you’re gonna love me and praise me and vote for me no matter what kind of a scum ball human being I might be…..but instead of telling you what you want to hear, inciting you and lowering the bar of behavior, I try instead to inspire you…..tricky business knowing the difference between being inspired and being incited……not a lot of people know how to tell…and NONE of us can really tell ALL the time whether it’s one or the other……

But when a news show host or a talk radio host tells you, yeah, those Democrats are a bunch of losers because they didn’t show Donald Trump the respect he deserves, that’s not trying to get you to see things from both sides and make an honest evaluation….that’s trying to stir the pot that’s already boilin’…so that you’ll feel like talk radio has your back, baby…..and it makes for good ratings….at least it makes for people who already feel that way to tune in…..but it’s not really doing much good or making things any better or even beginning to be a part of looking for solutions…..it’s just preaching to the choir…..and I’m pretty sure that not a lot is accomplished by getting people who are already in the pews all worked up about being in the pews…..when there’s so many people wandering around outside who might think at least a little about coming in and having a seat….if only someone would take the time and make the effort to inspire them…instead of inciting them.

But that’s what gets you elected to the Presidency now…. inciting the voters as opposed to inspiring them….and stirring hearts and minds has been harshly replaced with stirring up the shit pot of anger and resentment and hatred and bigotry….

TV news talk….and talk radio? Well they’re mostly just worm can opening and shit pot stirring and feeding the fire that already burns too hot…. flames so high that sometimes you think they might reach all the way to heaven….but then, you already know that don’t you….and my telling you all of this…is just preaching to the choir….

Three Words... For The Win.....

Over the course of the last twelve months, one simple three word phrase has made its way to the top ten of the American lexicon.

You may actually, though, not be aware of its prominence.

Which is simultaneously paradoxical, humorous and more than just a smidge ironic because you have almost certainly heard the phrase used, if not used the phrase yourself, at some time at least once a day.

Minimum.

And, if not the phrase itself, then most assuredly you have heard, or used, some variation, euphemism and/or expression that more than covers the primary spirit intended by use of the original.

Ladies and gentlemen, racing its way up the charts and soon to over take such three word chestnuts as OMG, what the fuck?, who's on first, you da man, never look back and even I love you, we offer the soon to be number one three word phrase of the era history will both hilariously and tragically revisit some day as the age of Donald....

"But...what about...?"

This trilogy of testimony on behalf of a particular attitude or point of view or even behavior has come into fashion primarily on the same tsunami of passion and emotion that swept the Donald into his temporary tenure as America's director of temper tantrum.

And, of course, is used prolifically and unfailingly by those who still, one year into the Dante meets Benny Hill meets Chrisley Knows Best sitcom/reality show mutant that is this presidency, feel the need, desire and/or intention of defending the pretty much daily output of surreal nonsense issued from a roundish sort of office on Pennsylvania Ave. that used to be good for at least the occasional sprinkling of inspiration, motivation or...wait for it....good old fashioned American savvy and know how.

Yeah. America has totally hit the pause button on that shit, to be sure.

But, what about..."but, what about...?"

The most recent display, at this writing, of course, because, again, usage is now measured on a daily, if not hourly, basis, came as the result of Donald's reassurances to that portion of the electorate that isn't still having family portraits done at Olan Mills wearing their red MAGA caps, that he is in full possession of his faculties. A concern that said portion of the electorate, let's round down and say 80 million Americans, give or take, have had all along, most recently with the publishing of the first of what will be more tell all books than you can shake your Dewey Decimal at, Fire and Fury.

Donald's tweet du jour apparently meant to reassure went something like this:


...actually, throughout my life, my two greatest assets have been mental stability and being, like, really smart. Crooked Hillary Clinton also played these cards very hard and, as everyone knows, went down in flames. I went from VERY successful businessman to top TV star to President of the United States (on my first try). I think that would qualify as not smart, but genius...and a very stable genius at that.


Okay.

Let's skip the armchair Freudian interpretations and amateur attempts at psychobabble in dissecting what is to any first year psych student a textbook example of infantile narcissism and cut to the three word chase.

But...what about?.

Upon enjoying a chortle or two at Donald's latest "see me, feel me, need me, love me" twittering there, I, in a newly committed spirit of looking for the humor in all of this, posted this observation on Facebook.

"...here's the thing...when you vote for a cartoon character...and it gets elected...you can't blame the rest of us for laughing at the cartoon..."

The responses, for the most part, were commiserating, grammatical nods of the head in one form or another.

The key phrase in that sentence, of course, being "for the most part".

Because it took almost no time at all before a meme was posted taking a predictable, and, frankly, pretty unoriginal pot shot at Barack Obama.

Qualifying it, of course, as usage of the three word oration that's sweeping the nation.

In this case, mapped out for those who need a little mapping out of these kinds of things, it would read like this:

Donald Trump tweeted, once again, like a five year old about how smart and stable he is, giving those who are concerned about his intelligence and stability all the proof that they need that he is neither smart nor stable.....but what about when Barack Obama messed up on that healthcare thing, huh? what about that? Huh?

Uh, yeah.

You know what?

The temptation from this side of the ideology line would be to take a swing at sending that bombastic birdie back over the net.

But, truth be told, those of us with a relatively functioning oblongata are pretty much tired of playing.

And, yes, its only been a year of what is theoretically going to be four years, but, again, you know what?

We're just tired of playing.

So, let's try this approach in this new year.

First, if all you've got when your boy is critiqued for his flamboyant flaws and failings is a candy ass attempt to fill in the blank at the end of the phrase "but...what about...", then do us both, and all, a favor and save your breath. Or your typing fingers. Or whatever you use to peck out your pointless prattle.

Because we don't want to play anymore.

Time for the grown ups to get back to work finding and supporting someone who will restore the office of the Presidency of the United States to its rightful owner.

Another grown up.

But, by way of helping out our fellow grown ups who are tired of your silly "but what about-ing", here's a 128 word phrase that they are free to use, cut and paste, post as audio, do whatever you like to save them the time and trouble, and freeing them of the temptation, of taking a swipe at that birdie the next time you send it over the net.

Cause we all know there will be a next time. And a next. And a next.

Here you go.....

"But what about? But WHAT about?.....you know what? YES, Bill Clinton got blowjobs from Monica Lewinsky...YES, Ronald Reagan funded the Contras...YES, Richard Nixon tried to cover up Watergate...YES, Lyndon Johnson fucked up spectacularly when it came to Vietnam policy...YES, JFK totally blew it with the Bay Of Pigs....YES,  Warren G Harding's presidency was filled with kickbacks and scandals...YES, Grover Cleveland fathered an illegitimate child...YES, Andrew Jackson supported an adulterer in his Cabinet...YES, Thomas Jefferson fathered children with one of his own slaves....but NONE of that....absolutely NONE of that has ANYTHING to do with or ALTERS, for a second, THE FACT that Donald Trump is an incompetent, infantile narcissistic sociopathic man child, unfit, incapable and unqualified to be President of the United States....NONE of it. NOTHING. Zip. Zero. Nada."

We got yer birdie.

Set.

Game.

Match.

             

I'm a word guy.

Never made any apologies for that. Not likely I'm going to start now.

First, because, for as along as I can remember, I've been of the school that there is really is no such thing as too much knowledge or too much ability.

Second, because when the part of the brain that accesses the "fair is fair" part of my psyche kicks in, I feel a certain responsibility, even obligation, to honor the hard work and selflessness of countless English teachers in my educational history who, for very little reward other than the satisfaction of a job well done (and mail some of that into the electric company sometime and see how long the flat screen stays lit up) did their best, while I was in their academic charge, to instruct me, encourage me, even nurture me to be as articulate, expressive, even erudite as I was capable of being.

Clearly, the fact that I just used the words articulate, expressive and erudite in the same sentence is a testament to the contribution of those teachers and their ability to impart into at least a few of their students a vocabulary that runs deeper than your more commonly heard, everyday, garden variety articulations.

Bursts of brilliance like "hey, wanna catch some lunch?"......"wow, did you, like, catch what Kim said to Khloe last night?'....and a particular favorite of mine, given the depth of intelligence, articulation and erudition that it symbolizes.

"Lock her up."

Which brings me around to the specific word that sent this train of thought chugging out of the station and it's application, or lack there of, in the America of 2017.

The word, in a few moments.

The application?

Actually, not so much.

At least, not in the America of 2017.

The temptation resisted in that last sentence was to use another term that gets bandied about pretty regularly these days. A term that I use whenever, and only when, it's necessary to make a point like the point at the end of the line of this thought train.

Trump's America.

First, the term itself implies an ownership that neither technically, nor factually, correct.

Second, the term itself makes my asshole pucker.

How's that for erudition?

This past week, I had the occasion to guest host on statewide talk radio and, among other timely topics, addressed the social climate in the country in the America of 2017. I related the recollections of television host Megyn Kelly, specifically the horrific and hateful voice mail messages she received after the infamous campaign debate in which she had the gall, the temerity, to question Trump on the subject of misogyny.

"I got all these voicemails", Kelly shared, "saying you're a real cunt...and there was one", Kelly quotes," that said nobody gives a damn about misogyny....somebody actually said that to me," Kelly said.

A sexual harassment advocate and attorney on Kelly's show replied "...we are at a tipping point of a movement and America is really grapping with this, coming to terms with the fact there is a problem."

To my own listening audience last week, I added this.


I'm  going to go you one better…..Sexual harassment is rooted in an unacceptable abuse of power………….but that abuse of power has become epidemic in the culture in general…..

social media, talk radio: the “freedom” to say whatever you want whenever you want with NO REGARD WHATSOVER for civility, courtesy, respect or even simple human decency.

Megyn Kelly got voicemails calling her a cunt.

When I guest host these shows, inevitably out of the many positive or respectfully disagreeing comments or posts or texts, etc, there are crude, rude and unacceptable ones…..

AND THE attitude and tone of that type of behavior starts at THE TOP…with a man who got to the White House by belittling people, denigrating people, insulting people, behavior that continues to THIS DAY and the only thing supporters and fans, have to say is “it’s good to have a President who tells it like it is…..

Well, to those of you who like those who tell it like it is….HERE”S HOW IT IS……Life, at least on a surviving in the global world of 2017,  is NOT A grudge match in the WWE…..it is NOT a SUPER BOWL WHERE The team that kicks the other ass the hardest wins, it is NOT a reality show where the bitchiest back stabbers triumph over the less bitchy backstabbers…It is not about hold my beer...or hey, watch this...or aw, hell, I can do that…....IT IS about strategy, knowing when to move and when to not move, when to speak forcefully, or softly or know when to just shut the hell up…Every battle is won or lost before it's fought….that was written thousands of years ago by an Asian warrior and strategist named Sun Tzu……The Art of War……you should take a shot at giving it a read some time…..and you might just discover why your hero Donald’s ghostwriter named his book The Art of the Deal….

All of this circles back to something I’ve spoken on and written on and produced podcasts on for going on two years now….freedom….without…..freedom without accountability, without ability, without responsibility, without regard for anyone or anything but selfish, greedy, immature, moronic self-interest…..and if you’re a part of that group, with that mindset, don’t flatter yourself for a second thinking you’re a part of some great movement or revolution….because you’re not….what you are is a member of a lynch mob…..angry, fearful, desperate, sad, pathetic and more of an enemy to this nation and the principles this nation was bedrock founded on than any Muslim or Jew or Latino or Black that has crossed your path.  

And here’s how those of us who don’t want to be subjected to that hatred and venom and viciousness anymore  put a stop to all of this…..we’re going to delete your posts and your comments, we are going to answer NONE of what you have to say….we are going to turn our backs on you and we have no interest whatsoever in what you want or what you say or what you think…….we don’t have to change your minds……all we have to do…..is make you….irrelevant……..because that’s what you are…………..you want to weigh in? you know where to find me….but I’m a man of my word…abuse the privilege and cross the line…I’ll delete your comment….or I’ll hang up on you….because starting today, what you have to say is IRRELEVENT.

The on air response to my come to Jesus moment was telling.

A few supportive, positive endorsements that, in one form of another, came down to "yeah, what you said".

And from everyone else?

Nothing.

Silence.

Exactly what one expects from blowhards and bullies and cowards who are forced to put up or shut up.

And I'll go you one better on that score, as well.

Were it not for the existence of Twitter....and the almost like clockwork, every three months or so, love me, need me, adore me, worship me, make me feel like less than a hollow shell of a sad, scared, pathetic excuse for a grown man gatherings hilariously referred to as "rallies", here's what the America of 2017 would be hearing from the, term used very, very loosely, current President of the United States.

Nothing.

Silence.

Exactly what one expects from blowhards and bullies and cowards who are forced to put up or shut up.

Like I said at the outset, I'm a word guy.

I read em', I write em', I create em', I print them, I publish them.

I broadcast them.

Here's a word I like a lot. 

That specific word I mentioned earlier I would be sharing with the America of 2017 today.

And by way of sharing it, two thoughts I'm willing to bet any amount of money you'd like to bet.

Donald Trump wouldn't know the meaning of the word if the definition were spelled out for him on a couple of those big placards held up during those almost like clockwork, every three months or so, love me, need me, adore me, worship me, make me feel like less than a hollow shell of a sad, scared, pathetic excuse for a grown man gatherings hilariously referred to as "rallies".

And...

Donald Trump has obviously never seen the classic musical "Singin' in the Rain" starring Gene Kelly.

Dignity.

Always, with dignity.

Not in the America of 2017, kids.

And most certainly, without a whisper of doubt, NOT in that mystical, delusional land of those who don't give a damn about misogyny....or have any use for the cunts who have the audacity to ask reasonable questions.

Trump's America.

"...You Can't Buy M-M-M-M-Memories Like This...."

George Harrison put it best.

He just didn't know, at the time, that he was talking about me.

 

Country music legend Mel Tillis died early Sunday morning, according to a statement from his publicist. He was 85.

Tillis died at the Munroe Regional Medical Center in Ocala, Florida, after battling intestinal issues since 2016, said spokesman Don Murry Grubbs. The suspected cause of death was respiratory failure.

Tillis was a prolific singer-songwriter who penned more than 1,000 songs and recorded more than 60 albums in a career that spanned six decades. Many of those songs were recorded by other country music stars such as Kenny Rogers, George Strait and Ricky Skaggs.

His commercial peak came in the 1970s when he had a string of top 10 hits, including "Good Woman Blues," "Heart Healer" and "Coca Cola Cowboy." In 2007, he was inducted into the Country Music Hall of Fame.

Frankly, it came as a bit of a surprise to me that Mel's passing got the kind of press that it received.

Not so much because there was any real legitimate claim to the idea that his career and his passing weren't worthy of note, but in a culture that is saturated and/or obsessed with Trump tweets and Kardashian navel gazings and "what have you done for me lately" now translates out to "what have you done for me in the last five...no, wait, make that three...no, wait, make that two seconds" , it was surprising, and gratifying, that Mel's farewell did make the box filled with the ALSO IN THE NEWS stuff online.

And that saves me the time needed to go into great detail about who he was and what he accomplished because you can now log on to dozens of places and check all that out.

While I spend a few minutes sharing what part he played in my own life.

1975. I was a former assistant gas station attendant/ grocery store manager/ ink pen salesman in New Orleans who wrote songs on the side, played in a respectable enough garage band and indulged in the fairly stereotypical dream of fame and fortune as a singer/songwriter. Said dream had brought me and my band mates to Nashville, wives and babies in tow, to work and play hard together to achieve that dream.

1979. I was a full time ink pen salesman who wrote songs on the side and whose band mates had long ago returned to New Orleans, wives and slightly older babies in tow, having myself remained behind, wife and oldest, then only, child in for a penny in for a pound, still pursuing the elusive butterfly of song writing success. 

I had, by that time, achieved only a little of that dream. Actually, very little.

Actually, nothing at all.

An inroad or two had been discovered and was being traveled. I had spent enough time knocking around the Nashville streets known, then, as Music Row, the nerve center of the country music recording industry, to have met at least a few people, gotten to know even a few well enough that they acknowledged my hello when we crossed paths, even if they still didn't know who the hell I was or have any particular reason, to their way of thinking, to know.

And I had, through fate, providence, good luck, divine intervention or any one or all of the cosmic forces that move our fates around the game board, managed to meet, and begin writing with, an already established Nashville songwriter whose back story was not at all unlike mine.

Don Earl had been a homicide cop in St Louis, who wrote songs on the side, dreamed of songwriting success and visited Nashville periodically to meet and greet and pitch and hustle, getting to know even a few well enough that they acknowledged his hello when they crossed paths, even if they still didn't know who the hell he was.

In time, though, he converted a few of those who didn't know into those who did. And, in one of those moments screenwriters love to portray, he brought the right song to the right person at the right time and voila! he had written a hit country song for a then up and comer named Barbara Fairchild, said song climbed the Billboard Country Singles chart and found its way all the way to Number One.

Making Don sufficient bucks that he was able to move to Nashville, wife and four kids in two, and set up shop as a full time songwriter.  Couple more hits and voila!, he was back to writing part time, working for a living (although it was his own polygraph business) and trying to get back in to where he once belonged on Music Row.

And then, along came me.

Don showed me the ropes, taught me the tricks, showed me some stuff and we wrote songs. Pretty good songs, the occasional fair to middlin songs and, truth be told, more than a couple of "wow, that's got a smell I've never smelled" songs.

And, because Don could get calls returned and appointments made, we pitched songs. Lots of songs. Lots of places. Accomplishing what 9 out of 10 aspiring songwriters generally accomplish with hard work, perseverance and belief in the dream.

Zip. Zero. Nada.

Having come perilously close to the "who needs this shit" phase so many aspiring writers, actors, dancers, singers, talk show hosts and/or athletes inevitably reach, I found myself, one summer evening, driving to my writing appointment with Don, mumbling to myself about the injustice of writing such great, intricate, clever songs only to be rejected time after time after time after....slowly bubbling up to yet another fever pitch of "fuck em, who needs this shit?"......and, in that moment, as I drove along, my frustration peaked in the form of "you know what? we write great? they say no...we write really good? they say no....then we listen to the radio and what do we hear?....crap...and pap....and ditties....and shit....and....you know what? that's what they want? well, then, fuck em that's what they get"......and by the time I got to Don's house, I walked in, visibly steamed, sat right down without benefit of hello or how are ya, pulled out the guitar and said to Don...."listen to this".....

and I played all I had come up with in my head between mile markers 14 and 29, I 65 Nashville, Tennessee.....

without your love/ I'm Louisiana Lonely

without you here/ I'm bayou blue

I'm make believing / you're comin on home to me

I'll be Cajun crazy / till the day you do

"...wow...", Don offered..."that's really some crap........let's write the rest of it...."

And so we did.

And we did a home demo

And we pitched it.

Zip Zero Nada

Del Bryant, then head of the iconic BMI and son of the iconic songwriters Felice and Boudleaux Bryant took a meeting (because Don still had at least that much clout in his clout account), listened politely and said to us.....

"..hmmm...sounds like you tried to write a clever Cajun thing.....and just missed...."

The next day, I was in full "don't need this shit" mode.

And in one last, only to satisfy myself, blaze of glory move, pulled out my copy of Songwriters Market (a who's who of industry addresses), made a list of ten publishers in Nashville who allowed outside submissions, made ten cassette copies, filled and sealed and mailed ten envelopes with cassette enclosed.

And prepared to get about a life with no song business in it to piss me off.

And I heard nothing.

From nine of the ten publishers.

Three weeks later, I got a phone message from the tenth.

"Scott....this is Jimmy Darrell....I run Mel Tillis' publishing company on West End Avenue and would like to talk to you about his tape you sent me. Could you give me a call back?"

Well, now. I don't know. Lot of heartache under the bridge,. Gonna have to think that over.

For 1.7 seconds.

Fast forward recap: Jimmy liked the song, we liked Jimmy, we signed the song to Mel's company, they did a full blown demo, they pitched the song around to varying degrees of "maybe" and "we'll let you know."

And then, one day, Jimmy called to let me know that Mel had taken a liking to the song.

And had recorded it himself for his upcoming album.

It was part of Mel's album entitled "Southern Rain" released in 1980.

It was never a single and the album was not a huge seller, so there were no Grammys or millions in royalties.....

But I was one officially professional song fucking writer now.

The song went on to be cut a few times by a variety of folks (never a big hit) but good album cuts, etc  and we got some other things cut here and there. The whats and what happened with thems is the stuff of some other time sharing.

The tagline of this story is Mel Tillis made me an officially professional song fucking writer.

When I heard he passed today, I smiled and whispered a little "godspeed...and thanks..."

And suddenly thought about George Harrison.

And a witty line he had spoken in the movie "A Hard Day's Night" speaking to some stage hand who George was warning to stay away from Ringo's drum kit, because Ringo was very fussy about people touching his drum kit......

And I thought what George said about Ringo's drums was exactly what I thought about Mel Tillis and his gracious contribution to my life......give or take a little paraphrasing.

"He looms large in my legend...."

Thanks again, Mel.

Nice looming.