"You talkin' to me?"

"You talkin' to me?"

Travis Bickle, played by Robert DeNiro in Taxi Driver, asked that iconic question.

Well, I'm not talking to Travis Bickle, or Robert DeNiro, but I am talking to several other people.

Hey, you.

Yeah, you.

I'm talking to you:

Ted Cruz
Mark Levin
Sarah Palin
Rush Limbaugh
Sean Hannity
Bill O'Reilly
Ann Coulter
Newt Gingrich
Franklin Graham

And anyone else who calls themselves "conservative" but who's been willing to sell out their principles for the sake of not putting someone in the White House but for the sake of keeping someone out of the White House.

Hey, you.

Yeah, you.

I'm talking to you.

You have sown the wind.

You will reap the whirlwind.

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.

I heard it through the CPAP . . .

(This is probably THE most bizarre blog entry I have ever written.  Maybe it will serve as a distraction in these days leading up to the election.)

I just turned 53.  Those of you that are of my generation probably remember the Partridge Family, a series about the comedic adventures of a singing family.  In one episode, Laurie, the second-oldest child and oldest daughter, gets braces . . . and during rehearsals, the metal in her mouth starts picking up signals from her boyfriend's transistor radio.

I'm having the same experience with my CPAP.

I have sleep apnea, and for the past several years, I've been sleeping with a CPAP mask.  In fact, I'm so used to it that when I recently tried to sleep without it for a night, I couldn't do it.

But also, for the past several years, I've been hearing noises through my CPAP that I'm convinced are from a radio station.  I just can't figure out which one.

It started when I was hearing, "It's the radio show / WAYB / WAYB / it's the radio show," sung to the tune of the song, "Turn the Radio On".  It sounded like a jingle for a broadcast segment.

Before you ask, yes, I have searched on the Internet, and yes, I did find a WAYB, 95.7 FM, in Graysville, TN.  I live in Atlanta, about 150 miles away.  It's possible that my CPAP could be picking up the signals from this station.  However, this WAYB doesn't broadcast on the Internet, so I can't compare what I'm hearing on my CPAP with the radio station.

But more recently, I haven't been hearing the jingle.  Instead, I've been hearing letters and odd sentences coming through my CPAP.

I hear someone saying the letters, "W-A-Y-A, W-A-Y-C, W-A-Y-D, W-A-Y-E . . ." and on. Sometimes they start at the end of the alphabet, "W-A-Y-Z, W-A-Y-Y, W-A-Y-X, W-A-Y-V . . ." and so on.

Within the last couple of weeks, I've started to hear, "W-A-Y-B, W-C-K-G." Or, possibly, W-Z-K-G, or W-C-K-Z, or something similar sounding . . .  and then, W-O-I-See, W-O-I-Hear, W-O-I-Smell, W-O-I-Taste.

I don't know what I am hearing.  I don't know if it's a station identification, or someone just playing games, or what.

So tell me, am I legitimately hearing something through my CPAP?

Or am I, like Marvin Gaye sang in the song, just about to lose my mind, honey, honey?

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.

Barbecued in the name of democracy . . .

Yesterday, I was barbecued in the name of democracy.

Yesterday was the very first day of early voting in my county.  There is only one place where people can go to vote (until more satellite stations open up in about a week or so), and it's at the Department of Elections in the county seat.

I am tired of this election, and a while back, I decided that I would go on the first day of early voting and get it over with.

Time of arrival:  about 11 a.m.

Time of departure:  about 3:45 p.m.

Yep.  I spent FOUR AND A HALF HOURS in line waiting to vote.  And as a result, I have a sunburn on my face.

During those four and a half hours, I stood outside in a line reminiscent of that you would find at Disney.  Complete with movable portable separators.

I had no hat, no sunscreen, one bottle of water, and two electronic devices unable to be charged.

I did have a small notebook, so I took a few notes about what was going on around me.

I also had a nice chat with the women waiting with me.

The weather was unseasonably warm for this time of the year.  Two people had to be treated by the EMTs for heat exhaustion.  Several left the line to go sit down.

But despite the heat, people didn't get angry with each other.  They grew impatient, but no riots or fights broke out.

Once we FINALLY got inside, I showed my ID, got my voting card, was shown to where the voting machines were, and pulled up my ballot.

First, I voted down ballot.  There was a US Senate race and a US Representative race I voted for; four amendments, several local races, and a SPLOST initiative (special local sales tax.)

Then, I moved back up to the top of the ballot and touched "write-in", trying to figure out what the procedure was.

I was confronted with a QWERTY keyboard.

So I took my index finger, and very slowly, and very deliberately, I pecked out the letters S-N-O-O-P-Y.

Then I hit "cast ballot".

My duty was done.

Yes.  I voted for Snoopy for president.  THAT is how disgusted I am with the slate we are being offered this year.  We had three candidates on the ballot, and I picked none of them.

Because, you see, for me it all came down to this:

I don't trust one candidate, I don't think one candidate is qualified, and I don't think one candidate knows what they are talking about.  Therefore, my conscience won't let me vote for either of them.

Why, you may ask, did I cast a protest vote for Snoopy instead of just leaving it blank?

And why not vote for any of the above?

I cast a protest vote to make a statement.

And I didn't vote for any of the above because . . . ?

In this election, it was not that I wouldn't vote for any of them.

It was that I couldn't vote for any of them.

I hope it was worth getting barbecued for the sake of democracy.

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.

Losing Mom

September 11th was the 15th anniversary of 9/11.
September 11th was also the 23rd anniversary of my father's death.
September 11th was the day I lost my mother.

My mother has been in assisted living since July a year ago.  She developed a blood clot in her leg, resulting in three surgeries and rehab.  But as a result, she couldn't go back home because she wasn't able to live on her own.  So she went to assisted living.  My sister had to make that decision, and while I'm sure it was not easy for her, she did the right thing.  She found a comfortable place for my mother to live.  I've visited there, and it's very nice.  My sister checks on my mother regularly, takes her to doctor's appointments, does her laundry, and takes her shopping and out to eat.  The personnel also check on her regularly.

Last Labor Day, I went to visit her and noticed her memory starting to slip a bit.  I chalked it up partially to age (she's now 78) but also wondered if there was something else going on.

When her Christmas card came that year, she signed it with her first name, not, "Mom."

I saw her again this past July, and it was difficult for her to hold a conversation.  She resorted to the phrase, "That one," when she couldn't think of what to say.  About ten minutes after I got there, she said, are we going?   It wasn't until we'd gone out to the car and driven a few minutes that I realized that she wanted to go to Walmart.  I went along.

She, my sister, her husband, and my family went out to dinner on the Sunday that I was there.  My mother had a hard time explaining what she wanted to eat and fixated on the amount of water that Matthew was drinking.  We kept telling her, it's okay, he can go to the restroom.

This past Sunday--September 11th--I called her.  Our conversation lasted about five minutes, and I'm not sure if she realized I was calling because it was the anniversary of Daddy's death.

After I hung up, I realized that I'd lost my mother, and she's not even dead yet.

Tuesday she had a brain scan.  I don't know the results of it yet, and also, the doctor will need to see her as well.  But I will not be surprised if the doctor's conclusion is that she's dealing with some sort of disorder.  My grandmother--her mother--died of dementia as well.

Since telling people about my mother, I've heard so many say, this has happened to my parent as well. There are too many people who have lost loved ones to brain disorders.

T.S. Eliot was wrong.
April is not the cruelest month.
September is the cruelest month.
Especially September 11th.

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.

Leave the girls alone!

You never do anything right

You never put anything in its place

No wonder everyone calls you

Failure Face.

From "Failure Face", from "A Boy Named Charlie Brown". 

Gymnast Simone Biles is predicted to win five--yes, five--gold medals in this Olympics.  As I write this, she's competing in the all-around event of women's gymnastics.  

She is 19 years old and considered the best female gymnast of all time.

But predicting five gold medals for her is setting her up to be a failure face.

Because, no matter what she does, no matter how many gold medals she wins, no matter how many Olympic medals she wins, the story is not going to be what she won.  The story will be, why didn't she win the five gold medals she was predicted to win?  

Gabby Douglas is having a similar problem.

Four years ago, in London, she became the first African-American gymnast to win the all-around gold medal.  

Within 24 hours, the Internet was abuzz about. . . . Her hair.  

Apparently, something was wrong with Gabby because she was using hair gel on her hair.  

Tuesday night, the American girls became the first American team to win back-to-back Olympic gold medals in team gymnastics.  Because this is Martha Karolyi's final Olympics, they have named their team the "Final Five".  

The Internet is now abuzz about not only Gabby's hair, but the fact that she didn't put her hand over her heart during the National Anthem.   

I did check the US Flag Code, and the code does say that non-military people, during the playing of the National Anthem, should face the flag and put their right hand over their heart.  

While researching the Flag Code, I came upon a mention of Barack Obama's failure to put his hand over his heart during the National Anthem in a now-infamous picture that has since circulated the Internet to show his supposed lack of patriotism.  He was quoted as saying, "I was taught that you put your hand over your heart during the Pledge of Allegiance, but during the National Anthem, you sing."

I'll give Gabby the benefit of the doubt.  Perhaps that was how she learned it as well.  I will say that she stood at attention and was respectful.  

As for her hair . . . I'm a white woman, and I don't completely understand the fuss over the hair.  I will say that she has to keep her hair out of her eyes when she's performing.  Her hair gets in her eyes, she can't see; she can't see, at the least, she makes a mistake on her apparatus; at worst, she gets hurt on her apparatus!

Simone Biles and Gabby Douglas are in an impossible position.  No matter what they do, someone is not going to be happy with them.

Gabby is 20.  Simone is 19.  They are at the pinnacle of their gymnastics careers.  They have achieved what only five women in the United States can achieve every four years.

Give them a break.

Leave the girls alone!

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.

The beginning of the end . . .

This week marked the beginning of the end.

Matthew got on a bus for his senior year in high school.

Next year at this time, he'll be getting on a bus to go to a different program, for life skills and job skills, run by the Gwinnett County Public Schools, called STRIVE.

So on Monday, when he got on that bus, it was the last "first day of school" for him.

In just a few weeks, it'll be the last open house.

Then it'll be the last Thanksgiving break.

Then the last Christmas break.

The last Special Olympics stuff he'll do this year.

In May, he'll be one of the ones honored at our church's Senior Honors Night.  And on May 24, 2017, it will be his last day of school.

Sometime during the first few months of 2017, I will do my last IEP meeting before he graduates.  (I will probably be doing IEPs for his time in STRIVE.)

The song "Sunrise, Sunset" has suddenly become more poignant for me this year.

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.

Underdog Olympics

One thing that Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, knows how to do is throw a party.

So when the loudspeakers blared the opening notes of the appropriately selected song "Brazil" and the audience roared its welcome, it should have come as no surprise that the flagbearer of the Brazilian Olympic team danced into Maracana Stadium.

I didn't stay up to see the entire Opening Ceremonies.  I did watch the Parade of Nations, which to me, is one of the best and most intriguing part of the Olympics. I enjoy seeing the outfits bedecking each nation's team members.  (In the case of the flagbearer from Tonga, more people enjoyed the fact that his chest was not bedecked in a national outfit.)

In the days leading up to these Games, I've seen speculation that they might be canceled, that Rio just wasn't ready for the Olympics.  I've heard about the raw sewage in the water.  I've heard about the poor Australians and their problems in the Olympic Village -- blocked toilets, a fire, and theft.  The host of this Olympics is an interim president.  The current president of Brazil is being impeached. And the budget of the Opening Ceremonies was cut.  Severely.

So, Rio resorted to what it knew how to do best:  Music, dancing, and color.  They channeled the energy that is Rio into Maracana Stadium.

People love the story of an underdog.  With an impeached president, a limited budget, and sanitation problems facing these Olympics, perhaps the city of Rio could be cast in the role of underdog.

I think that's one reason I like the Parade of Nations.  When the athletes march in, the commentators will often find a story about one or two of the athletes to humanize the representatives of that particular country.  Such as, the fact that Vietnam may have the chance to win its first Olympic gold medal, ever.  (They did.  Vinh Xuan Hoang won in the 10-meter air pistol event.)  Or, the triplets from Estonia -- Leila, Liina, and Lily Luik -- who will all compete in the marathon.  Their slogan?  "Trio to Rio."  We hear about such people, and we may think, "Nice story, but can they win?"  Thus, they become an underdog, and most people have a soft spot in their hearts for underdogs.

Before the audience roared their welcome to the Brazilian Olympic team, they paid tribute to who are, perhaps, the ultimate "underdogs" in these games.  They are ten athletes, five from South Sudan, two from Syria, and two from the Democratic Republic of the Congo, competing as members of the Refugee Olympic Team.  Their handle on social media is #teamrefugee, and they were greeted with a standing ovation.

The underdogs, more than anyone, probably appreciate the Olympic creed:  "The most important thing in the Olympic Games is not to win but to take part, just as the more important thing in life is not the triumph but the struggle.  The essential thing is not to have conquered but to have fought well."

Rio, at the moment, is in the "fighting" stage.  According to one news commentator, Rio's answer to their critics will be to put on a good show.

So, crank up your bossa nova and brush up on your samba moves.  Rio de Janeiro is throwing a party and they have invited the world.

Let the Games begin!

Ole!

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.