Have You Noticed?

This is a rant. I admit it. It’s been building for a long time.

Our political scene is so ugly. The attacks just go on and on. And the longer they go on, the more vitriolic they become.

I do not worship at Trump’s feet, but I have to admit that he’s tried very hard to keep his promises. I also don’t know if anyone else could be still standing after the beating he’s taken for over two years now, with every effort being made to remove him.

But that’s not my beef today.

My beef is the lamentable illiteracy of the general public, the ones who are always mouthing off. Whenever they get the chance, they like to yell into a camera. They have a vocabulary of about 25 words. They’re angry without having any deep understanding of why they are so angry. And they express their anger with every other word being some form of the F-Bomb.

Let me show you what I mean. Take that previous paragraph and rewrite it:

My ****beef is the******lamentable ******illiteracy of the *****general *****public!

See what I mean? The F-bomb and all its varieties are so thick that you need an interpreter to figure out what this angry, yelling, cursing person is actually saying.

What are the varieties? Well, two come to mind: Friggin’ and fricken’. I don’t even like to print them. They are not- so -polite substitutes for the F-bomb, used by people who ought to know better. People who would never dream of saying the F-bomb, but who think it’s okay to use the euphemisms, in much the same way that jeeze, golly, gosh, darn, and heck are used instead of God’s name . Somehow we think that if we don’t use the actual word, but a sound-alike substitute, then we’re okay.

The best thing I can say for those who don’t bother with the substitutes is that they are more honest about it.

I rarely watch videos on Facebook because sooner or later someone is going to let filth dribble out of his mouth. And the comments following a news article? Nope, not going there. Aside from the afore-mentioned words, those comments tend to be full of every other epithet that exists out there for expressing anger and contempt.

Every now and then I hear “what the H**l” coming out of President Trump’s mouth, and it makes me sick. He loses dignity and respect when he reverts to street language.

And by the way, I believe that Christians ought to avoid name-calling. I’ve been guilty, but I’m doing my best to avoid it even though there are plenty of people out there who stir up that kind of speech.

Colossians 4:6: Let your speech be alway with grace, seasoned with salt, that ye may know how ye ought to answer every man.

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It’s Been Awhile since I Ranted!

I just can’t hold it in any more. 

Someone posted on Facebook the audio clip of a very smug woman who called in to accuse those of us who work for a living of doing so just so we could “preach” about how morally superior we are.  Not because we take pride in our work, or maybe actually enjoy working.  No, just so we could moralize about ourselves and compare ourselves favorably to people like her, a second-generation welfare recipient who makes no bones about bragging on her lifestyle, even going so far as to ask, “If someone offered you a million dollars, wouldn’t you take it?”

Here’s the clip.

There are so many things wrong here that it’s hard to know where to start.  I am simply flabbergasted that someone who rarely, if ever, considers actually earning her money is trying to take the moral high ground.  The only thing she says that bears some truth is that the government actually makes it really hard for you to go off welfare once you’re on it. Yes, that’s true.  The whole idea is to create a society that depends on Big Brother to hand you your daily crust of bread.

Don’t people like this woman ever think about what would happen if all the saps and suckers like me would just simply refuse to pay taxes?  See, she has chosen  to be on welfare for life; I, on the other hand, have no choice about paying the taxes necessary to keep her there.  If I refuse to pay, I’ll go to jail.  If she refuses to work, she’s rewarded with $1300 per month of freebies–including her Obamaphone.

I know, I know.  “But there are people who really NEED to be on welfare and to get the help they’re entitled to!  Think of the children!”  Yes, I know.  And I am thinking of the children, who are being taught that working is just silly because the gummint will give you everything.  Exactly my concern.

In Rome it was bread and circuses to keep the idle people occupied.

What is it here in America?

Well, that’s a topic for another rant, someday.

‘Scuse Me While Rant a Little Bit

(PS. If you want to see what’s on the truck, just put your cursor on the picture and scroll down a tad.)

 

I don’t rant often. Really.  Most of the time, I’m pretty level.  Hasn’t always been that way, but as I approach my 70’s I’ve been finding myself less likely to get tied up in knots over the small stuff.  What I’m about to decribe to you may seem like small stuff, but I don’t think so.  Obviously.  There is too much behind what just happened to make me believe it’s a lot more than small stuff.

I was at the Walmart during a break between my morning clients and my afternoon batch.  Needed a couple of things.  All went well.  I found what I needed, headed up to the checkout, and happily pulled into an aisle where there were no customers ahead of me.  Chatted  comfortably with the checkout guy, who was, if memory serves, either Hispanic or Black.  I don’t remember for sure.  I don’t really care.  It makes no difference to me.

I am not a racist. I don’t see people as skin colors or facial features that are different from my own. There have been a few times when I’ve been entranced by the unique beauty of a woman of color, and it’s hard not to stare. I don’t stare, because I don’t want the gorgeous creature to think I’m racist.

From now on, I just don’t think I’m going to worry about that. I’m sick of the media tellling me I can’t be racist, have to be green, have to tolerant, can’t be conserative because conservatives are mean-spirited, and so on and on. Phooey on the media.

It seems to me that everyone else besides me and other white Americans-by-birth who claim Christianity and conservative values gets a pass to be intolerant of ME, prejudiced against all that I hold dear.  Their definition of tolerance includes everyone who is NOT a conservative white Christian who works for a living and did not vote for Obama. I’m thoroughly tired of it.

All right, back to what happened that produced the above rant.

So, I finished at the checkout, loaded up my cart, and proceeded to the exit.  It’s clearly marked both from the inside and the outside.  You can’t miss it.  EXIT in big white letters on a red background. 

I was heading there, minding my own business, waiting for an elderly couple ahead of me who were obviously very arthritic and making slow progress. “Won’t be long before that’s me,” I think to myself. Patience is a cultivated virtue for me.

From the sidewalk outside the exit door, a large group of what could be a mix of Hispanic and/or Black girls came running in through the  exit door.  They were laughing, having fun.  But the little old couple ahead of me just about got knocked off their pins, and the girls paid no attention whatsoever.

Oh dear. My sense of teacher, mom, and defender of all helpless things rose up in me so fast and so high that I never stopped to consider. I moved across their path with my cart, forcing them to either stop or go around me. Two of them stopped. They did not look pleased to say hello.

“Did you girls realize you came in through the exit?”  I asked, quiety giving them my “don’t mess with me, I’m a teacher and you can’t scare me” look.

“Yeah, so?  None of your business, old lady.”  Uproarious laughter.  They went to move around me. I pushed my cart in front of them again.

“Do you see those two really old people on the sidewalk?  Do you see that the woman is in tears because you piled into her husband and just about knocked him down?  Do you realize the damage you could have caused?”

“Hey, old white bag, you just sayin’ this ’cause we Black. Outta’ my way!”

Sometimes I lose the fairly adequate amount of intelligence with which God has gifted me. Again, I used the cart as my shield. “I don’t care if you’re purple with pink polka dots!  You came in the wrong way, you scared that poor old couple out of a year of their lives, and now you’re giving me attitude because I got up in your faces about what YOU did!”

About that time, an Hispanic man of about 35 or so, with his little boy in hand, came up beside me. He stood quite close, and he said, “This lady is right.  I saw what happened.  She would have said the same thing if you were white, and you know it. You were wrong.  You need to be more considerate.”

Then he put his hand on the handle of my cart and walked me out the door, and stood by my car while I put the bags inside.  He didn’t leave until I was in the car.  I rolled down my window to thank him, and he waved me off.

“Maybe you’ll return the favor sometime,” he said.

You betcha.