BLOGuercio

I attended the Memorial Day service on Monday at the Winters Cemetery, as I have ever since I started working at the Express. We’ve had a long tradition of recognizing and honoring our servicemen and women, and I wasn’t about to drop the ball. What started out as coverage of an annual reminder about the sacrifice given by those in the armed forces took on extra meaning when my father died in 2003. Although he was never a Winters resident, he is buried at the Winters Cemetery, and despite the fact that none of the local Veterans of Foreign Wars members ever met him, they gave him a proper military burial, with a rifle  salute and flag-draped coffin. His bronze headstone was provided by the Veterans Administration, and it notes that he was a 2nd Lieutenant in World War II. Now when I’m covering the Memorial Day service for the Express, there’s added meaning to it, because my father’s grave is adorned with a little American flag, along with all the other veterans buried there. Although he found little camaraderie in life, he has found it in death. I’ll never forget how willingly the local veterans honored him, and I appreciate how he is now included among the honored dead. I was astounded when our state senator Lois Wolk entered a proclamation on my father’s behalf at the state capitol after he died, noting his service on the beaches at Normandy. Some people watch “Saving Private Ryan.” My dad experienced it. From the local veterans to the cemetery district to our state senator, their kindness is meaningful and precious to me because my father had a tragic, painful, pitiful existence, and a line for all that misery can be drawn directly back to his service in World War II. He never recovered from that experience emotionally, and suffered what was then known as “Shell Shock” and now called Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, or PTSD. My heart goes out to all veterans with PTSD who don’t have a visible wound to point to, but who suffer mightily every day. My father rarely spoke of his experience in the war, but he did share with me that it still gave him chills whenever he heard “Taps” played on the bugle. I sensed his emotion, and absorbed it, and get a chill myself –— and a bit of a choke in my throat — when I hear it now. That last line in the song, “All is well, safely rest… God is nigh,” does it to me every time. I think of God being nigh as all those veterans rest in the Winters Cemetery, and thousands of other cemeteries, and all those who were never laid to rest in any cemetery, but were lost at sea or blown to bits, or are still listed as Missing In Action. I wonder if they still play “Taps” at the end of the day when our servicemen and women are stuck in some hellhole in Iraq or Afghanistan, and I wonder if they are able to believe that God is nigh. I hope so. I just don’t think so. At the service on Monday, Pastor Al Calderone noted in his opening address that Memorial Day has “become nothing more than a day off” to most people. If you judged by the small sliver of people at the service, you’d have to agree. But I don’t want to judge. If people quietly, in their own hearts, just took a moment to ponder the sacrifice so many have given for our country, many returning home with life-altering injuries and psychological torture, or who had their lives cut short entirely, that would be okay too. And for any who didn’t – it’s not too late to take a moment now and think about that. You wouldn’t be here if all of them hadn’t been over there. We have young men and women from our own community serving our country right now. I put the announcements of their military graduations and their photos in the Express, and I think to myself, “My God, they’re only babies.” Some of them, I’ve literally known since they were babies. It sends a shiver down my spine. I’m so very grateful that I’ve never had to put their names and faces on Page 2, and remember them along with their eternal comrades on Memorial Day. Given the somber nature of Memorial Day, it is truly disgusting that many folks use this holiday intended to honor our dead as an opportunity to sell everything from barbecues to blue jeans. It’s grotesquely inappropriate and insensitive, as far as I’m concerned. I make a point of never, ever buying anything that is pushed as a Memorial Day special. I’m sorry, but a great deal on some beach towels just doesn’t seem like a respectful way to remember Those Who Gave All. Some folks choose to celebrate Memorial Day with family and friends, and that’s okay — as long as they remember what the holiday is for. In fact, what better way to honor and cherish the loss of a loved one than to enjoy and cherish the company of those who are still alive? What else gives you more perspective on the fragile value of every person’s life than to have buried a loved one of your own? This was the takeaway lesson from losing both my father, and mother, far too early — love the ones you’re with. Often, and a lot.

OK, it’s time for the Come To Jesus talk about the Gulf oil spill.

Now, I love Barack Obama, really and truly, but let’s be honest: If this disaster occurred on George W. Bush’s watch, the Liberal Left would be demanding his head on a platter. Keith Olbermann would self-combust from indignation and angst-ridden Rachel Maddow would wring her hands clean off. (And be clear, I love Keith and Rachel too. But you know I’m right.)

When Hurricane Katrina devastated New Orleans, Bush & Co were viciously – and deservedly — criticized for their impotent response while thousands of people were suffering and even dying. As the country watched in horror, the government responded in slow motion.

To call the current administration’s response to the oil spill “slow motion” would be a gross understatement. So far, the government hasn’t done much but assign blame and threaten criminal action. And while BP deserves to be drawn and quartered in court for the environmental disaster they’ve caused, that does nothing to solve the problem at hand.

While Congress prepares to spank BP, even more oil is gushing into the Gulf than BP estimated and the spill is devastating everything it touches. According to the Associated Press, a siphon inserted into the leak is capturing 210,000 gallons of oil per day, which was the totality of BP’s original estimation. The AP story, posted online on May 20, said a live video feed of the leak shows “a large plume of oil and gas still spewing next to the tube.”

U.S. Rep. Edward J. Markey (D-Mass) pretty much summed it all up: “What you see are real-time images of a real-world disaster unfolding 5,000 feet below the surface of the Gulf. These videos stand as a scalding, blistering indictment of BP’s inattention to the scope and size of the greatest environmental catastrophe in the history of the United States.”

Oh, hell yeah! Take THAT BP!

But. (There’s always a “but.”) Dial this back a bit, and consider that the federal government is responsible for monitoring oil drilling in U.S. waters. Just like it’s responsible for monitoring the banking system. Clearly, the government has done an equally crappy job of both. Obama isn’t responsible for letting either the Big Banks or Big Oil burgeon beyond control. He inherited that. But dammit, he’s the President now, and he has to be held accountable for the government’s response henceforth.

Just as he was when Wall Street collapsed, Obama is calm, cool and collected about these oil spills. He says he’s angry, but I don’t see it. I want Obama looking fire and brimstone furious, not merely mildly disappointed. I want him to go all Lewis Black over this oil spill, but all he’s done is point the finger at BP and tell them it’s their problem to solve.

That was fine for a day or two. But when the leak kept gushing, and BP clearly had no clue about what to do – cap it, siphon it, throw shredded tires down the pipe or click your heels three times and say “There’s no place like home” – the government should have stepped in, taken control and sent the bill to BP later.

Let’s examine this spill with a forest fire template. Imagine the Mother of all forest fires is raging out of control. It’s a hot, dry summer, and all of Colorado is in flames and the wind-whipped blaze is threatening the entire Rocky Mountain Range. What if all Obama had to say was, “Let the guy who started the fire with his cigarette butt figure out how to put out the fire.” Come on! We’d be self-combusting right along with Keith!

And let’s say weeks go by, and all that’s left of Colorado is scorched earth, and half of Wyoming is now ablaze as the inferno devours everything in its path, and not one firefighter has been summoned, not a single load of fire retardant dropped – nothing. And Obama’s only response is that he’s really, really angry about all this, yesiree. Rachel herself would be shrieking “impeachment!”

Yet here we have an environmental catastrophe of similar proportion and the government’s only response is to say they’re angry and blame Somebody Else? We wouldn’t have accepted this from Bush, and we shouldn’t accept it from Obama either.

Barack Obama, I love you. I love you more than chocolate covered cherries and cabernet. But you need to step up and deal with this oil spill. Now. Gather up the best scientists and engineers on the planet, and get them on board. Pronto. ‘Round the clock until that leak is stopped. Don’t wait for BP to solve the problem. The primary focus of any solution BP concocts will be to protect their profit margin.

Here’s what I’d have done (about three weeks ago, mind you): In the days just after the explosion, when it became clear that BP was incapable of stopping the spill, I’d have sent a submarine down there, aimed a missile right at the base of that drill, blown that bad boy up, and let the sea floor collapse and crush the drilling line flat. Maybe you still can. Ask the scientists and engineers.

Next, I’d yank every single offshore drilling permit along our shores and scrutinize every nut and bolt on every rig before they sucked out one more drop of oil. And the folks at BP? I’d let them work off their prison time cleaning up the mess they made. Judging from the magnitude of this disaster, they’ll have a lifetime to finish, and then some.

Well, I’m syndicated again. Sorta, kinda. That’s the goal anyway. First things first: a product. Fueled entirely by youthful enthusiasm, high hopes and probably angel kisses, starlight and babies’ breath, my former Davis Enterprise colleague David Lacy has launched iPinion, a rather impressive little group of writers and photographers, and we are slowly shaping both the group and the website into a product. Once we have that product together, we can take this show on the road or, more accurately, the internet highway. The goal: Financial freedom. Or a few fans at least.

This is the future, kids. Online media and hand held media are the future. Hell, maybe not even the future. They’re the present. I predict that I will see the end of print journalism in my lifetime. The preferences of society demand it, the pocketbook demands it and trees demand it. Paper is no longer an efficient way to communicate or provide news. But dang, I will miss printed newspapers. I cringe to imagine a Sunday morning with no newspaper to spread across the couch and floor, lazily sipping coffee with Italian sweet cream, not noticing or caring that time is sliding by… It’s just not the same, sipping coffee in front of a glaring keyboard.

Sadly, what I’d like and what is are having irreconcilable differences. I would like it if we all had winged ponies and could fly wherever we wanted, but that ain’t gonna happen either. It’s nice to muse and dream about what we wish, but in the meantime, reality awaits and she’s not very patient. She’s tapping her toe as we speak, nagging me to get on with it. Deal with the online/downloadable world or be left in the dust.

OK, OK. I’m dealing, I’m dealing. But thankfully I’ve had some help from a friend who hasn’t yet been on the planet long enough to get beaten and chiseled into “Ah, screw it, I’ll just go drink a nice glass of Cabernet in the back yard and watch the hummingbirds battle it out for the best albizia blossoms.” No, David thinks we’re gonna make this thing happen. And today, I’m choosing to believe in his enthusiasm more than my sense of “reality.”

Yes, I’m choosing to wish and dream, and if there is a winged pony in there for me somewhere, all the better.

Check our our collective venture at www.ipinion.me

“Mom, did Jesus get a chocolate bunny in his Easter basket too?”

Ermmm…. Uhhh…. There were no Easter baskets back then, sweetie.

“Then how come I get an Easter basket when we go to church on Easter??

Ermmm…. Uhhh… Hey, let’s go get an ice cream cone!

“Okay!!!”

Nice sidestep, Mom. Or Dad. Thing is.. the question will arise again. And you have to come up with a better answer before it does. But that’s really difficult if you’ve been conditioned into believing that everything pagan is evil and you must never even THINK about thinking about it. It doesn’t have to be that scary. Jesus won’t hate you for thinking, questioning, learning, finding truth. He was all about that. He might hate you if you hate others, though. But, in the end, he’ll forgive you. So, let’s start working on that answer.

Easter. What’s up with the colored eggs and the Easter bunnies anyway, and how did these joyful things get mixed up with the cruelty and carnage of the crucifixion and the miracle of the resurrection? What could they possibly have in common? Plenty.

Long before Jesus stood atop the Mount and encouraged people to just stop being so cruel to each other, there was a thriving pagan culture that embraced the seasons, environment, stars,  plants, animals… the inhale and exhale life. The ancients recognized that some things sprang to life at certain times of the year, and other things withered and died.

The ancients yearned to understand these mysteries, and more important, be in sync with them. It meant survival. They had to know when the snows would come and it was time to move to warmer territory, or when the ground would warm and it would be time to plant seeds to grow food.

To track the seasonal cycles, the ancients watched the heavenly bodies. The passing constellations and phases of the moon allowed them to track the turning of the seasonal wheel. They knew when the longest day of the year would come, and the shortest, and when the halfway points between each would occur. Today, we just flip open the calendar to find that out. But we’re really doing the same thing the ancients did – watching the seasons, noting the time of year.

In the course of the year, there’s a halfway point after the shortest day of the year and before the longest. What we now call the first day of spring or the vernal equinox – a day of equal light and dark —  the ancients called “Ostara.” Ostara. Easter. Say the words out loud, and it’s not hard to imagine how one sprung from the other.

So, all was well with the ancients, observing the wheel of the year, decade after decade, century after century, until a new power appeared in the world: Christianity. And I say power, because from its humble and pure beginnings, Christianity was eventually hijacked by the Roman Empire and used as a weapon against the ancient pagan world. The Roman Empire and its Church attempted to crush anything and everything associated with the old ways. I say “attempted” because the onslaught wasn’t completely successful.

Some things, particularly the pagan holidays, could simply not be crushed. Ostara was one. Samhain and Yule were others. Samhain, a sacred time for honoring deceased ancestors, was adapted by the Church into All Saint’s Day, with our hairy, scary modern Halloween evolving from All Hallow’s Eve. Yule, with its log blazing in the hearth, holly, and decorated pine trees, became Christmas – not just a rebirth of the sun, but the birth of The Son.

The pagan holidays were so beloved, so stubbornly engrained amongst the pagan populace, that the Church couldn’t obliterate them, so it reframed them in Christian terms and looked the other way when it came to the pagan symbolism. Like bunnies and eggs at Ostara. As long as worshipping Jesus was mixed in there somewhere, the Church let it go. It kept the peace. And besides, you can’t kill all the pagans, or there’s nobody left to oppress.

                So. What about those bunnies and eggs.

Both are symbols of fertility and new life – the essence of spring. The mysterious appearance of animals from underground and hatching from eggs, and fresh green leaves springing from trees that looked dead only days before… It means we’ve survived another long, harsh winter! There’s life! There’s hope! It’s cause for celebration! Think about Jesus’ resurrection – see the parallel?

                The Christian honoring of Jesus’ resurrection of Jesus and the pagan celebration of spring’s fertility and rebirth is serendipitously harmonious. Jesus died on the cross, then miraculously sprang to life, offering hope that we may yet survive this mess if we could just stop being so cruel to each other… Mother Earth, reviving, rejuvenating herself, offering hope that no matter how dark it gets, the wheel of the year keeps turning. For both Jesus and Mother Earth, life springs eternal at Easter/Ostara.

                So, on Easter Sunday, children will joyfully wear their frilly Easter dresses and little suits to church and then smear chocolate bunnies all over them later at the Easter egg hunt, and sing “Jesus Loves Me” in one breath and “Here Comes Peter Cottontail” in the other, and never question or fret over the conundrum of the whole thing. It all works for them. It’s a happy day, when life is colorful and parties are aplenty. Never mind if it doesn’t make a lot of sense (even though it kinda does). It’s just good. Enjoy it. And… if the seemingly opposing beliefs of Easter and Ostara can coexist happily in a child’s heart… couldn’t they also in our world?

                Jesus said, “Be as little children.”

                Amen to that.

White House Chief of Staff Rahm Emanuel really stepped in it this week, after it was discovered (six months later) that he called some liberal Democrats who wanted to run ads blasting moderate Democrats “f—— retarded.”

Oh, the uproar that ensued over that R-word. The F-word? Oh, that’s so yesterday’s indignation.

Was Emanuel really that far out of line? Given that Republicans spend 98 percent of their waking hours bashing Democrats (which leaves precious little time for tackling such picayune issues as the national debt or healthcare or unemployment), if Democrats decide to chime in and cannibalize their own, doesn’t the R-word pretty much sum it up?

Advocacy groups for the developmentally disabled objected to Emanuel’s outburst and Sarah Palin, who can spot a publicity opportunity faster than a moose through a rifle scope, immediately decried Emanuel’s “slur” on Facebook. (It takes all the self-control I can muster to keep the steering wheel of this column from veering off into the woods on that note.)

Emanuel, of course, apologized to the head of the Special Olympics, which has a campaign against usage of the R-word called Spread the Word to End the Word because it’s hurtful to the developmentally disabled.

Hmmm. On one hand, I don’t like slurs. But I’ve been known to throw the R-word around from time to time, because it’s a spectacularly descriptive word for someone who has done or said something grotesquely stupid. In fact, I’ve even used Emanuel’s exact quote on many an occasion. But “grotesquely stupid” and “developmentally disabled” are not interchangeable terms.

I can remember from my own childhood when the developmentally disabled were referred to as retarded simply as a matter of fact. It wasn’t derogatory. “Retarded” was just the word we used before we came up with “developmentally disabled.” Yet, I also remember playground meanies calling developmentally disabled classmates “Retard!” and taunting and tormenting them.

Thing is, the English language is fluid, and words evolve into different meanings over time. Gay doesn’t just mean happy anymore, lame doesn’t mean limping and sick doesn’t mean go to the doctor. While I appreciate what Spread the Word to End the Word is trying to communicate, might we just reconsider what the word “retard” has evolved into.

In my mind, retarderie is measured by an aptitude-performance ratio. The higher that ratio, the more the retarderie — like when you say or do something that’s vastly beneath your apparent intellectual ability. Like bashing members of your own party when that’s the only thing your opposition lives and breathes for. Yes, pretty f—— retarded, if you ask me. But that’s merely one tiny drop in a vast sea of f—— retarderie taking place every day. Two recent cases in point:

~ Fourth grader Patrick Timothy of New Dorp, New York, faced suspension last week for bringing to school a two-inch gun, which was an accessory for his LEGO policeman figure. Because the New York Department of Education decreed “all imitation weapons are prohibited because they are regarded as harmful to the school community,” school principal Evelyn Matroianni, “deemed the pinky-sized toy suspension-worthy.” It must be noted that the boy’s playmate had a LEGO figure with an ax. He was only chastised.

Now, a school principal surely has, at the minimum, a bachelor’s degree, and more than likely a master’s degree as well. It isn’t unreasonable to expect that Ms. Matroianni would have the intellectual capacity to recognize that a two-inch LEGO piece could hardly be construed as an imitation weapon and to also recognize that axes are weapons too (hello – ever hear of Lizzie Borden?) and if she really insists on going down that ridiculous anal-retentive path, both boys should be suspended. But she didn’t. Or wouldn’t. Evelyn Matroianni — Verdict: F—— retarded.

~  The Meniffee Union School District, located just south of Riverside, pulled all its Merriam Webster’s Collegiate Dictionaries off the shelves because it contained “age-inappropriate” words: oral sex. Yet the words “rape,” “incest” and “infanticide” were happily within the grasp of babes for years without even a peep of protest. As I understand it, rape, incest and infanticide are somewhat more heinous than oral sex, and therefore more psychologically damaging to children. Furthermore, if school board members are educated enough to understand what “age-inappropriate” means, one might also conjecture that they’d recognize that a dictionary clearly labeled as “collegiate” might not be intended for elementary school students.

Peter Scheer, executive director of the California First Amendment Coalition, commented, “I think common sense seems to be lacking in this school.” Which is a nice way of saying: “Menifee School Board — Verdict: F—— retarded.”

Now, if you asked a developmentally disabled person if a tiny LEGO gun is dangerous, s/he’d say, “No.” And if you asked her/him if a book that says it’s for college students is supposed to be given to a first grader, s/he’d say, “No.” That’s because developmentally disabled people aren’t stupid, let alone retarded. In fact, in these two instances, the developmentally disabled’s cognitive abilities shoot past an entire school board and a principal with an advanced college degree.

The developmentally disabled are capable of amazing accomplishments and overcome obstacles on a daily basis that’d make most of us cry and wee our panties. So, when someone calls a developmentally disabled person a retard, the appropriate response must therefore be, “Dude, you are f—— retarded.”

All that said… If “retarded” truly causes pain for the developmentally disabled, I’ll respect that. I won’t call the grotesquely stupid “retards” anymore. I’ll call them “arrwerds.” Because “sensitive” is my middle name.

Over the past week, social networking sites like Facebook and Twitter have shown that they’re more than just hug, sucking time dumps. Sure, we waste a lot of time tweeting what we had for breakfast and harvesting soybeans on Farmville, but in the midst of all this hanging around in cyberland, a couple very cool things transpired over the last week or so.

On Dec. 29, the “Move Your Money” campaign exploded across the internet via the Huffington Post. It has ignited and people are indeed withdrawing their money from the Big Banks and depositing it at locally owned community banks. Thousands of people are refusing to feed the machine that swallowed our economy any longer. Find out how to join them at www.moveyourmoney.info.

Next, there was a silly little game on Facebook that began as a secret joke amongst women - post your bra color as your status as a means to raise awareness about breast cancer. Some took offense, some thought it was ridiculous, but the fact is that a lot of women took note about whether their mammograms are current and did a self-exam because of this. The silly little game did exactly what it set out to do: Got women talking about breast cancer and taking responsibility for their own health.

Right now, money is pouring in for relief for the earthquake victims in Haiti largely through internet sites, and also because of the many people who posted that you can easily donate $10 to Haiti relief simply by texting the word Haiti to the number 90999. Over $1 million was raised in one day with this texting donation campaign. Two days later, the amount was over $5 million. Between Twitter, Facebook and cell phone texts, people all over the world were able to connect and work together, literally within seconds.

Besides the ease of receiving and sending information through social networking sites and cell phones, the Move Your Money and Haitian relief have something in common that made both of the efforts instantly successful: Simplicity. People read the stories and realized that no matter what their economic situation was, they were capable of simply withdrawing and redepositing their money. Anyone can do that. As for Haitian relief, most people can pitch in $10 (and Goddess bless the ones who can’t) and the fact that it could be done in seconds without using a credit card made altruism and generosity possible for nearly everyone.

I don’t know if this is what the Twitter, Facebook and cell-texting creators had in mind, but it’s fabulous. I love when serendipity happens.

A friend sent me this article by Arianna Huffington. It is inspired by a new movement to move your money out of the Big Banks and into small community banks. It is BRILLIANT!! Let me say that again… it is BRILLIANT!!!

Read the article: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/arianna-huffington/move-your-money-a-new-yea_b_406022.html

Watch the video and find your community bank by your zip code: http://moveyourmoney.info/

There IS a way for average citizens to fight back! I am happy and proud to say that I have banked at our community bank, First Northern Bank of Dixon, exclusively for more than 20 years. I have nothing but positive things to say about banking at a small bank. You are valued as a customer and treated like a human being. I am already part of the solution! You can be too! MOVE YOUR MONEY!!!

This from the Morning Scoop newsletter from the Daily Beast…
GOP senators blocked funding for troops in Iraq and Afghanistan as a way to force the vote on healthcare past Christmas, which is the current Democrat goal to pass the (so-called) healthcare reform bill. Playing politics with soldiers’ safety. Disgusting. In fact, the entire healthcare reform debate is disgusting - nothing but a sham… a ball to kick back and forth between the sides to see who wins. I’m disgusted with the whole damn lot of them, Republicans and Liberals alike, and a special place in hell for Joe Lieberman, the king of shameless self-interest and self-preservation.

But this story is just downright stomach-turning:

3.GOP Blocks Funding Troops

In a tactical move designed to push a Senate vote on health-care legislation past Christmas, Republican lawmakers attempted to filibuster a major spending bill that funds the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. The move, which came in the early hours of Friday morning, was ironic given that Republican lawmakers often accused Democratic lawmakers of jeopardizing troops by voting against funding the wars in previous years. “They are prepared to jeopardize funding for troops at war,” Senate Majority Whip Richard J. Durbin (D-Ill.) told the Washington Post. “If Democrats did that, there would be cries of treason.” Hoping to quickly end the filibuster, Democrats secured the vote of antiwar liberal Sen. Russ Feingold (D-WI) in order to overcome the GOP’s obstructionist tactics.

It is the spooky season, and there are some really creepy characters out there to give you the heebie jeebies. They are the Super Breeders — the Dugger Clan (what is it… 26 and counting, and now the offspring are breeding too), Kate and Jon Plus 8 (or is it Kate and Jon Plus 8 Minus Jon now), and of course the Octomom. What do they all have in common? They are famous, celebrities all. With the exception of the Octomom, they’re breeding all the way to the bank, too. They have their own television series, for crying out loud (literally — there are babies involved), and even more mystifying - people are watching them!

The public appears to be fascinated with the super fertile. Or maybe it’s just that we’re force-fed the latest details of these fertility freaks because you can’t make it through a morning news program without it being sprinkled with this fluff. I resent that I know who Kate Gosselin is. I resent that I am aware of her odd little spiky hairdo, or that she isn’t wearing her wedding ring, or that her estranged hubby Jon is forcing her television show off the air as part of the divorce proceedings… I don’t want to know any of this, yet it is lodged in my subconscious and unpurge-able, much like the theme song to the Brady Bunch or the Alka Seltzer jingle. And why do I know about Kate Gosselin? Because in my efforts to find out about the latest ins and outs of the healthcare debate, or what the stock market is doing, or how high the unemployment rate is, I must endure entire “news” segments devoted to Kate and her brood.

Get them of my head! Make it stop! Make the Super Breeders go away, or at least stop rewarding them for behavior that any common alley cat is capable of. Give them all a lifetime supply of birth control pills, or a group price on tubal ligation. Give it to them for free! Just make them stop spraying babies like a Rainbird, for God’s sake!  It’s not merely disturbing, it’s irresponsible! It may seem cute and charming, but seriously - no parent can give that many children the quality attention children need. Plus, when the generations start to follow — grandchildren, great-grandchildren and on and on — these parents have left a much larger footprint on the planet that they are entitled to. But I suspect that people who just keep breeding and breeding and breeding, whether or not they can properly care for and support those children, and whether or not they are increasing their own carbon footprint by 8,000 percent couldn’t care less. It’s all about them, and having more babies… an addiction of sorts.

Wouldn’t it be a hoot if when God said “Go forth and multiply,” he was talking about math. Like most everything else in the Bible, maybe we got that wrong too.

Everything you need to know about what’s wrong with this country can be found in this video; http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lUPMjC9mq5Y  It is literally jaw dropping… the collection of raw ignorance combined with huge lungs and big mouths. I am myself dumbfounded and dumbstruck just watching it. Clearly, some children WERE left behind… way, way behind. How ironic that all these folks shouting USA! USA! USA! have little or no knowledge about American history or politics or current events?  They understand that they are angry. That’s about the sum total of it. That, and whatever pablum has been spoonfed to them by Rush Limbaugh, Bill O’Reilly, Sean Hannity, Glenn Beck, et al. The sheer volume of ignorance is probably America’s biggest threat. And these guys over at Faux News are milking them all, playing them all like puppets…. all the way to the bank.   As I said… I don’t know whether to laugh, cry or throw up. Watch the video. You’ll surely feel the same. If you don’t, you probably think they should send all those Czars back to Russia.