A lot of things rolling down the pike, but probably no more than usual. It's always a challenge, keeping up with news events and giving them the attention I feel they deserve in this blog. Supreme Court delivers historic rulings on DOMA (Defense of Marriage Act) and Prop 8. I was happy, especially after feeling apprehensive, following the insane ruling they'd leveled a day earlier on the Voting Rights Act.
Nelson Mandella's on his deathbed. There's stuff I've been trying to write about him, but there may not be enough time while he's still for this world. The cord has been severed.
Paranoia strikes deep. The IRS, under Obama's watch, was exerting undue pressure on progressive as well as conservative groups. This news goes full circle to where the Big Brother stuff started when the news was nothing but the IRS putting it stiffly to the Tea Party. Then it was Obama's attorney general Eric Holder and the seizure of AP reporters phone records. First and Fourth Amendments jeopardized. When government, the military or business starts strongarming the press, it's (as I've been telling you since the '90s) hitting me where I live.
Bradley Manning. Edward Snowden. Julian Assange.
I wanna have a party for the '70s. Bring back the ditchweed and freshly freed sex. Paranoia like Tricky Dick eating laced brownies at an ABM sumit with Leonid. Sesame Street and America for all of us. Daniel Ellsberg facing the rest of his life in the Big House.
do you remember...your president nixon?
"So you gonna wave a rainbow flag?" Paul asks every new customer at the bar. TV's above the jukebox. Turned on to MSNBC. Occasionally, I look up from my laptop and share some intellectual exchange with Kal. He's been coming here for years, probably longer than he's worked in the antrhopology department of Wichita State University.
I never felt pressure, nor a compulsion to announce to anybody: "I like pussy."
People just let you be what you wanna be here anyway. This is good because there's so damn much pressure.
What's the stupid blog going to do? Put my wife and kids into the poorhouse? You're ruining my life, here. Brother calls up. "You're always in a bad mood after he calls," Maria tells me. Can I watch Mom? Can you? My daughter has a game in Briarwood (big ol' southern suburb of Wichita). My son has a Boy Scout campout. "I'm about ready to put her in a home," I almost say of Mom, but figure, not now. Not now. Let's just get all this shit over with.
I tell my friend Lele that a college student wants to interview me about my blog and use of social media. Don't think I'm the best person to talk to on the subject, but not telling her that. Maybe it'll help bring in some traffic.
"Your blog doesn't have a niche," Lele tells me.
"You don't promote it enough," Jackson tells me by secret untapped phone from far away in Wyoming.
I know I need to write something comprehensive about the civil liberties threats from within the House of Obama. With work and kids and Mom and stuff, there hasn't been time to sit at the computer and gather facts like a reporter.
"If it happened under a Republican president, you would've written something the first day," Lele tells me.
She had to go there, but I concede it's a fair assessment. Hope it's not true.
Fingertips slappin' keys. (Pause) Posting resumes for jobs. Admissions counselor at a small Methodist college. A similar position at a Quaker college. Security guards. They're always hiring for security guards. I hear the ol' guy, a retired detective, likes to help people. Farmhand, rock n' roll band, Target sales team.
Three instructors from the local community college
(home base in Skelly, nearby in Brewster County). Someone says she doesn't have her master's.
"A good buddy of mine teaches English there and doesn't have his master's," I say.
"For certain things you can get by with that," the gal with tatoos tells me and adds something about needing to have 18 extra credit hours in the area beyond your bachelor's.
I get ideas, but not too many.
I talk to Kal about about how much I loved working in the pasture all morning when I did that. Cleaning up all the horseshit. By myself with only my thoughts and the sky. I'd slip my
Staples notepad from my pocket and jot down a few ideas, clean more horse manure.
"That's a lot of shit, Jeff," the man tells me.
