Beware the red herring, waved in front of your faces by mass media, distracting you from the real issues at hand.

Oh, they’re attractive and everyone’s talking about them.    They seem important, even ground-breaking, until you really break them down and look beyond the hype.    If you share and talk and rant about them, passing the news on Facebook and Twitter and getting in heated discussions on this aspect or that around the water cooler, you’ll feel a part of the action — the here & now — taking an active role in current events and shaping the opinions of the people around you.

Except — you’re not really making a difference, and that issue you spent all day raving about?   A fart in the wind of noteworthiness.

OMG!   A mosque at Ground Zero!?  How despicable!   How revolting!   Have they no respect, no sense?  Desecration, abomination, unlawfulness!   The entire Muslim world thumbing their noses at us and crapping on our national treasure!

Until you look at what’s really going on — a community center; yes, Islamic-based, but not Islam-centered, built in an abandoned eyesore so far from Ground Zero that you can’t even see it, while the strip bars and porn shops and other questionable stores are right across the street from where the towers were.   Holy ground?  Hardly.   The ground’s no more holy than my garden; the lives spent there are the real power of the place and they have no ties to the ground itself.   If that was the case, every speck of concrete should have been kept in a shrine and yet it’s most likely at the bottom of a trash heap by now.   Surely a little community center isn’t…that big of a deal?

A girl chucking puppies into a river!   EVIL!!!

Well, yes, it was rather disturbing that she actually appeared to be enjoying the act, and nobody wants to see animals being treated like that, although there are thousands of kittens and puppies that receive similar treatment every week due to being born and euthanized to avoid the hassles of raising them.   Oh, and let’s not forget the “kill” shelters that put down millions every year.

And I get it that the animal people are all up in arms about this, but…has anyone ever heard of Darfur?   No?

Paris Hilton’s on crack!

And she’s a spoiled brat, a skank, and a poor choice for a role model and celebrity.   Next?

How dare they burn the Qu’ran!   This is terrible and disrespectful!

Look — you’d never catch me burning a Qu’ran or a Bible or any other so-called “holy” book or, for that matter, any book at all, but at the same time — it’s just a book.   The fact that it has some words printed on it that are precious to some and bollocks to others has zero impact on the fact that’s it’s still just made of wood fibre and ink.  I realize what the meaning was that the “church” was trying to convey and distribute, and that’s disturbing and hateful and horrid, but these are not the first people to do so.   They won’t be the last.

There’s all sorts of crazy bastards out there, burning flags, burning books, burning effigies of the President, stepping on crosses, holding “White Power” meetings, and the like.   They’re all crazy as loons and terrible people, but on the large scale of things — they’re pretty minuscule.    To take one of these nutty groups and put them out on a line for everyone to see and go nutty about is nice and all — obviously they’ve been shamed into oblivion — but it’s a huge distraction.

Anyone care to notice that the economy is dipping downwards again?   That housing prices haven’t gone down much but jobless rates haven’t climbed?   That growth is slowing despite all the efforts to the contrary?   That there are all sorts of folks without insurance, unemployment, or other benefits, daily suffering trying to stay afloat, feed their kids, and keep up hope?   And that’s just in our own country!

Besides that, it’s perfectly legal.    The price of freedom, folks, is that people get to burn Qu’rans if they like, hold signs saying, “GOD HATES FAGS’, and churches get to be discriminatory towards THE GAY and the like.   I don’t like it one bit, I hate it all, but I have to stomach it if I believe in freedom, and I do.

Avoid the Distractions

I love wrapping myself up in politics and current events from time to time but it disturbs me to no end that the national consciousness has become a spoiled, ADHD-addled child who is quick to forget, move on, and regularly burst out, “OOOOH — SHINY!”   When you look through the stories in the papers, news sources, Facebook, Twitter, and other sources, it’s so easy to see what trivial matters 99.98% of it all is and how the media and the people feeding on them like lampreys have taken it and put it front-and-center when it barely deserves the last page, if any mention at all.

Where’s our trending tweets about the families who have lost their pensions to the financial crisis and now are retired and dirt poor?  Where’s the celebrities coming out to lead huge marches and protests and pleas to the government to stop the genocides?   Why aren’t there Facebook groups entitled, “I’m tired of the homeless!  Let’s save them all!” or “1 Million Strong to Save Our Education System”?

It smells like fish in here and everything’s turned so pink I can’t see what I should.   What I must.   Before it’s too late to care.

We can put a man on the moon but we can’t figure out a foolproof way to contain backsplash?

You can now buy spray cheese in a can and strawberry edible underwear but if you’re not a graduate student in fluid dynamics you end up with sprinkled shoes?

The urinal has some serious issues, people.

The good old design that has carried us forward from the days of cavemen shooting it down a cracked rock is just not cutting the mustard anymore.   I realize that tradition says a lot — who doesn’t love those adorable porcelain hairwashers all hanging in a row, looking like so many faceless golems with their mouths agape, awaiting the spring rains?   In middle school they were our targets as we frogstepped backwards and attempted to best our pals’ records.  The college gals living on a previously-men’s floor found them to be great planters and grew some mighty philodendrons.   They’ve certainly seen their days of glory.

I am not suggesting, mind you, that we revert; even if you’ve never lined up at the 20′ Stainless-Steel Trough of Hell in a sports stadium, you can just imagine how pleasant that experience is to the participants.    Let’s keep in mind that function is king but form is definitely a close second.

I mean, good lord — a TUBE would be a better choice, eh?   A funnel?   Something that gently cradles the stream in and gradually alters the course towards the drain?   Anything better than that sharp, harsh backdrop.   Approaching this and attempting not to get anything on you is akin to trying to fire a gun at a brick wall and dodging the rebound.     This is not good technology, people.

Technology has provided us with toilet seats that pre-warm themselves, low-flush solutions, and if you’re really daring, self-mulching bogs for those of you who like to self-fertilize your own roses.

How has the urinal been left behind in development?

Who did we piss off?

Or on?

Apparently, my timing really stinks.

Lately it seems that I can’t get anything right when it comes to being in the right place, with the right answer, resources, or presence and instead of events going off without a hitch they go off with a stutter and a choking sound.    I am the woodwind with two left feet in an army marching band.   I’m the drummer that can’t find a beat.   I’m the clock with a tooth missing on the main cog.

So much of life is a matter of timing — that innate sense that some people to push when you need a push, pull when situations require a pull, and to back the hell off when you’re best to leave a circumstance alone.     I’ve always been envious of the folks that always seem to make the right step, follow the correct path, and construct the perfect plans.   You know the type — he’s the one that always dodges the bullet despite the gung-ho attitude, and she’s the one that you are sure will falter and yet comes out smelling like a rose AND with a gift certificate.

Maybe I get too passionate in one direction or another and I should mellow out and float rather than fight the current; or, maybe I should be bolder than I am.   People make great strides by being complete and utter dicks — maybe that’s my calling?   It was always the “bad boy” that got the bombshell girl, maybe taking the same approach with life has its benefits?

Most of the time, I’m not sure if I’m striking out because I missed the ball or I simply missed the fact that there was a pitch thrown at all.

It’s probably all in the timing.

The Associated Press and others have amply covered the recent jabs that McCain has given Obama regarding how he sees Barack’s view of the progression of the Iraq war, stating that, “…given the opportunity to choose between failure and success, he chooses failure.”  Obviously, our dear doddling Senator has forgotten his Geritol once again.   Nurse!

Senator McCain, failure is a part of life, and in some times and in some situations, far more preferable to the alternatives in hand which only start with embarrassment and humiliation and can extend anywhere as far as grave injury and writing a death sentence.   Surely you have learned from some of your failures in your life and become a better person because of them?

Maybe not.   One has to wonder how yourself, Bush, and the entire neocon movement continues to support such a farcical operation, founded on some outright lies and many half-truths and partial facts; a quest which continues to flounder about like so many chickens in chamber pot, its mission to bring democracy and peace to a nation that cannot yet fathom a dictatorless society let alone true unadulterated freedom.  Meanwhile, a great many hardworking men and women simply doing their job in the armed forces and following orders are putting themselves and their family futures on the line for a war never declared around a reason that never existed.

Stunningly, amazingly, dense.

And yet, regardless of all these stark pieces of reality, if we even partially accept that invading Iraq was necessary, moral, and justified, this does not change the fact that one option for getting out of there and returning to a life of normality is, indeed, the F-word:   Failure.

Why must it be such a frightening thing?

The most successful of businessmen will no doubt regale any listener kind enough to bend an ear in their direction with countless stories of the most spectacular and horrific moments in their lives that darned near ruined them completely and shot their dreams and hopes to hell.   You’ll probably even find a few that strongly regret some of these transgressions, no matter what the outcome was.    Failure is, and always has been, one of the best ways for life to grab the nearest sand shovel and bean us over the head in teaching us a lesson.

Sure, it can be a painful experience, but so is giving birth, from what I understand, and yet folks seem inclined to keep doing that, don’t they?   Mind you, sometimes babies happen because someone didn’t pull out in time, but….wait.   That relates rather nicely here, don’t you think?   I digress, and I think there’s a law against saying the word, “Touché,” to yourself, especially during inner monologue.

Frankly, you do not speak for me when you state that failure is not a good option.   It is a very plausible option, given the fact that we not only continue to create and/or maintain chaos in that state by our very presence, and the fact that the Iraqi government has specifically requested that we get the hell out in a timely fashion, thankyouverymuch, but most importantly because by staying in the Middle East and exerting such a bullying influence on the region will only come back to chomp us on the southward cheeks in the end.    If this is a key strategy in the War On Terrorâ„¢, please don’t play Risk anytime soon for any great amount of cash.

In addition, I do not believe that having a leader that sometimes accepts failure or defeat is a bad or unworthy trait.   Rather, I am convinced that is is the character of the person’s response to such a situation that determines their ability to lead and gain respect.    Avoiding failure altogether is simply a sign of a coward, an idiot, or both.

Another very important question everyone should be asking is this:   If the U.S. pulls out of Iraq in a timely fashion, and the country collapses upon itself in howevermany months afterwards, is it truly a failed operation?   Are we artificially placing blame and responsibility on our shoulders for the entire welfare of a nation’s stability?   That is not a situation that I am comfortable with nor one that I wish to start setting a trend for around the world.   The fact remains that, despite the fact that we were the aggressors and we were the ones that shot their entire society and way of life to hell and back does not mean that we are now the permanent caretakers of their society and future to the end of perpetuity.   If they were incapable, perhaps, but they’re not — the Iraqi people are a strong and productive folk, and perhaps it’s time we let them prove it as such.  They certainly feel ready for the challenge.

So, Senator McCain — I am not afraid of failure, either in the case of Iraq, or Afghanistan, or any other failed mission.   I am far more impressed and far more respectful of an admittance of wrongdoing, a pledge to correct wrongs and prevent a reoccurrence, and a skillful and tactful withdrawal from the fray.   This is the mark of true character, success, and leadership, and you sir are simply afraid of it.

It is a mistake to suppose that men succeed through success; they much oftener succeed through failures. Precept, study, advice, and example could never have taught them so well as failure has done. — Samuel Smiles

SHEFFIELD, IA, June 16, 2008 – A local resident was seen today taking a crowbar and beating the living tar out of most passing motorcyclists.  When approached and asked what he was doing, he calmly replied, “I’m tired of these posturing pricks gunning their throttles every damned time they go around the corner.”

Nathan Pralle, 30, hefted the 4-foot implement onto his shoulder in a casual pose as he waited on the curb for his next target.  “You see, I’m a guy — I appreciate the macho things in life as much as anyone else; football, hotties, and the roar of loud engines,” he explains languidly, “but these bikers are really square-dancing on my last very last nerve in stock.”

The curve of the road that passes by his house, Pralle explained, has a fairly high traffic load for this small 900-odd person burb in central Iowa, especially on the sunny days of summer when everyone and their dog is out enjoying the few brief moments of gleeful warmth.  But such giddiness is not to be found in Pralle who has clearly had enough of the noise.

“They turn the corner and then hit the throttle as hard as they can.  Doing it once just to hear that roar is fine, ” he says as he shakes his head, “but what the fuck are they trying to prove by doing it EVERY SINGLE TIME???  ARGH!!!  And god help them if they ever wake up my baby son from his nap.  Do they have kids?  No, they have a chrome dick extension and it’s having size issues.  Time to change that stinky diaper, and I am not handling out Huggies,” he growls.

An approaching two-wheeler from the east halted our interview and the vigilante lined up to see what would happen.  True to his predictions, the Harley, complete with leather-bejeweled rider, turned the corner and started to lay on the typically loud YAP! YAP! YAP! from the straightpipes.  Pralle suddenly sprung into action, sprinting into the street, yelling like a banshee on a bender and waving the crowbar wildly over his head in a war cry.  The biker barely got turned around to inspect the commotion behind him when he was promptly beaned senseless and the bike’s exhaust was flatted into linguine before Pralle placekicked the muffler and yelled at the fleeing motorist, “Let’s hear the sound of those pipes NOW, fucker!”

Puffing heavily, he returned to his post, setting his “justice stick” down and against a maple tree, but not before he added a small notch to a growing list on the trunk.  “Looks like today might be a great day to be me, a really crappy-ass day to be a biker,” he grinned with a smile that would send sane men scampering into the foliage.

So, if you like to surf the pavement on a crotchmobile in this lovely weather of summer, enjoying the beauty of the season before plunging back into the freezing cold of winter, a simple word of warning goes out to you — avoid main street Sheffield at all costs or at least, for heaven’s sake, don’t forget your helmet.