The Missouri #%&*#

Now for those of you who don't recall the Missouri Compromise (and don't feel bad if you don't; I had to go to WikiPedia and look it up to refresh my memory), it "was an agreement passed in 1820 between the pro-slavery and anti-slavery factions in the United States Congress, involving primarily the regulation of slavery in the western territories."

An agreement.

My copy of the Webster's New World Dictionary Of The American Language (not to be confused with English, I suppose), gives the following definition of the word "compromise":

1) a settlement in which each side gives up some demands or makes concessions; or

2) an adjustment of opposing principles, systems, etc., in which part of each is given up.

There were other definitions as well, mostly dealing with "laying open to danger", but these didn't have any relevance to today's topic; indeed, the total length of the entry for the word "compromise" was almost two inches long in very small print.

And nowhere in that lengthy explanation of this very common word was there any indication that it could be, in certain usages, considered to be a smutty, dirty or in any way offensive or vulgar word.

(There is a scene in one of my all-time favorite movies, "To Kill A Mockingbird", where the character of Scout, the 6-year old daughter of the protagonist in the film, Atticus Finch, played to the winning of the Best Actor award in 1962 by Gregory Peck, is asked by Atticus if she knows what a "compromise" is; expressing a lack of knowledge, her father explains that it is an agreement by mutual consent, to which Scout basically responds with a look of, hey, I'm a 6-year old, do you really expect me to understand that?)

As your Pope (see top of page for the explanation of how I became Pope John The Tall of the All John All The Time World Church) I have always tried, in my short career as a "blogger", to avoid writing about politics; given how partisan we have become as a nation in our political expressions these days, the topic, for me anyway, is just too toxic. I feel more at home writing about other important issues, such as 900-pound tuna fish, my atomic-powered rocket ship, the Royal Unionship Kidding (or the RU Kidding, for short), giant statues of Marilyn Monroe and the '85 Chicago Bears.

I believe in having priorities.

But with the recent Presidential election still reverberating throughout the landscape of today's social media world, to say nothing of the "regular" media, and seeing that the debate is still ongoing between "them and us" (pick your side, it's comes out the same), and mostly influenced by a series of interesting, and quite enlightening, Facebook exchanges between myself and two "friends", I decided to throw my two cents worth of opinion into the ring (sorry, I badly mixed my metaphors there) and write about using dirty words in public forums.

Smut.

Apparently, at some juncture when I was otherwise preoccupied, the word "compromise" came to be equated with the s-word, the f-word, the fuysob phrase and other vulgar, inappropriate expressions of distaste, anger and disgust whose usage is commonly frowned upon in polite company. At least it was when I was growing up; nowadays, maybe not so much.

But the c-word, boy, now there's one you had better be very particular about where you speak or write it, because people will take immediate umbrage with you for your vulgarity.

Think I'm being facetious?

The following are quotes from my aforementioned two friends, and full disclaimer here, I make no comment as to the right/wrong of either of them. Both of these statements were made to me in response to my suggestion that, maybe, just maybe, its time for a, sorry, bad word here, compromise, a move to the center if you will:

From the "liberal":

"Obama compromised WAY too much last year; he almost gave away the store. The "left" felt (and was betrayed.) The problem is that our "center" has shifted WAY TOO FAR to the right over the last 10 years. Our center itself neeeds to shift left. And Obama has done well to stand firm; did you see what the GOP offered as a so-called "compromise?" Running the country on the backs of the poor and the middle class and they won't give an inch. Cutting services for those who truly need them.....but NOT willing to pay any more taxes themselves. When THEY're ready to compromise - TRULY compromise - maybe THEN we can talk."

From the "conservative":

"I would have to disagree with that John. I dont believe we need a Dem lite party. I believe at this point the Republicans should vote present like Obama did with the caveat that they totally disagree with the policies being promoted. I say let them Dems pass all the legislation they want as long as it can be un-done in the next cycle. Let them own it lock stock and barrel. Then when their policies fail they will not be able to blame anyone but themselves."

(FYI, as you can see, I have presented both these quotes just as they were written on Facebook, errors and all.)

I don't know, gee, shame on me for my presumptuousness, but maybe couldn't BOTH sides step back, take a big, cleansing breath, and give some consideration to what I believe is the damage that's being done to this country by their unyielding positions and complete unwillingness to, sorry, please excuse my language again, compromise.

This unbelievable partisanship is strangling any ability to reach an agreement on the matters that lie before us as a nation.

There was an interesting quote in today's edition of the L.A. Times, in an article on the various plans being put forth by the White House and the Republicans in Congress on the impending "fiscal cliff" from Erskine Bowles, the Democratic Co-chair of President Obama's National Commission on Fiscal Responsibility and Reform:

"Every offer put forward brings us closer to a deal, but to reach an agreement, it will be necessary for both sides to move beyond their opening positions."

In other words, sorry, smut time again, to compromise.

You see, folks, despite both sides screaming at the top of their lungs that they will NEVER give in, never sacrifice their principles, never agree with those Liberal/Conservative (choose your team) *#%(@'s, the only way America is ever going to move forward off the stall position we have been perched on for some time now is, well, you know.

Maybe we could harken back to the days of our Founding Fathers, a group of men who, in the words of historian Arthur M. Schlesinger, were "the most remarkable generation of public men in the history of the United States or perhaps of any other nation." Those guys did not view the word compromise as dirty or insulting to their principles; they got things done.

Can you imagine applying Schlessinger's words to our current crop of political leaders? No, me neither. (Schlesinger goes on to say that these men were also "convinced of man's power to improve his condition through the use of intelligence."

The irony was intentional.

In other words, my friends, let's return to the days of civil discourse, in the true meaning of the phrase, find a middle ground, get done what must be done and get on with our lives. Truly, our time on this Earth is short and better-used.

Despite what people seem to believe these days, "compromise" isn't dirty and doesn't mean to give up your beliefs; it just means to give a little and reach an agreement.

Words to, indeed, live by.

Love and "cusswords",

PJTT

copyright 2012 Krissongs Inc.

Gone (Underwater In 2010): A 3-D Painting

Gone (Underwater In 2010)-A 3-Dimensional Painting

It isn't everyday that an "artist" gets to create a new art form; at least, I think that's what I have done. If someone out there has beaten me to this, my apologies to that person.

The piece above is entitled "Gone (Underwater in 2010)", and I refer to it as a "three-dimensional painting".

Allow me a few moments of your time for an explanation.

I have lived in the same apartment in the San Fernando Valley area of Los Angeles since January 2001; I love my place, can tolerate the Valley and mostly ignore the rest of L.A., as either banal, boring or disgustingly self-indulgent.

Over the years an enclave, as it were, has been established by a number of long-term neighbors staying in the area, and a "community" has taken root. People know each other, wave when we see each other out walking our dogs, or going to our cars on our way to our various pursuits, stop to chat when we encounter each other on the sidewalks and, in general, mostly seem to like each other.

I met Sue and Pete (not their real names) not long after I first moved in; they owned the small place immediately to the west of my building. I saw them outside one afternoon and stopped to introduce myself and inquire about possibly renting their garage to house my car. They said they were glad to meet me, declined to rent me the space and we became, in the purest sense of the word, "neighbors".

Not best of friends necessarily, but neighbors.

To keep this as short as possible, suffice to say that, we did all the "neighborly" things I described above over the passing years; we waved, we stopped to chat when the occasion presented itself (they loved Harley, the OCOTP, and eventually went out and got a dog of their own, so taken by HD that they were. Oh, yeah, I forgot, I am Pope John The Tall of the All John All The Time World Church; read the "disclaimer" at the top of the page for an explanation of that phenomena.)

Anyway, P and S were my neighbors, and the years passed.

Then came the Great Recession of 2010, and my story turns to how "Gone" came to be.

Pete and Sue were both middle-school teachers, employed by private academies here in the Valley. And when the fallout from the recession finally came home to all of us, they both were let go from their positions in the fall of 2010, within a week of each other. To put it mildly, this was a disaster for them.

Unable to find other work, as so many of us were during those dark days, they were barely able to keep afloat financially, and of course, like so many unfortunate victims of Mr. Bush's downturn, made the coin-toss between keeping food on the table or paying the mortgage; the mortgage lost.

A plastic bag, blown into the bushes, an overturned flower pot and uncollected newspapers

They, and their home, were "underwater", and they lost it. I was devastated, for them. Good people, done in by forces well outside their control.

I saw them moving out one day in the late summer of 2011; I knew, from the few brief conversations that we had had previously that things weren't well, but I had no idea how bad they had gotten. On advise from an attorney, they were abandoning their home, to default on the mortgage.

The property sat empty for months; I walked by it every day on my morning walk, and it didn't take long for the neglect to begin to show. There were never the broken windows, the damaged siding and shingles or graffiti that so often plague empty houses; this is still a very nice neighborhood, and the damage was not as overt.

But the front yard became a knee-deep prairie of un-mown grass, weeds sprouted up through the cracks in the driveway, the flowers all died and were left to turn brown and ugly and garbage began to accumulate against the corners of the house, dropped there by uncaring jerks and blown there by the wind. I, and some of the other neighbors, did what we could to keep the handbills and fast food containers picked up, but the house took on that neglected, empty look that houses seem to get after sitting unoccupied for long periods of time.

And it haunted me, both the house, and the situation of it's emptiness.

A discarded cardboard box and a towel draped over the kitchen island, left by their owners

Certainly my feelings were exacerbated by knowing the story of how it came to be abandoned in the first place, but it was still a blemish on my neighborhood, and a constant reminder of how cruelly the greed and indifference of the people who run our country and populate our business sector often effects the average person in America.

I'll skip the sermon; this is meant to be an explanation of how "Gone" came to be, not a lecture on the evil assholes in our government and in so many of our large corporations today. Besides, it's become such a cliche to talk about "them vs. us" and I tire of it.

Since I can barely draw stick figures with any degree of accuracy, much less paint, I needed a medium to express my feelings about "the house next store". I'd like to say that the idea for making "Gone" came to me in a sudden flash of creativity, but the truth is that I just decided to try my hand at building something like a scale model, as much to occupy my leisure time as opposed to being an attempt at a great statement of purpose.

Truth is, I was a month or so into the project before I realized the theme I wanted to convey. (This is not the first time in the history of my "creativity" that I have moved, unconsciously, towards expressing an idea before I knew consciously what that idea was.)

I started on "Gone" (which I plan to be #1 in a series of several similar projects) in mid-March, 2012; I had no prior experience with building scale models, no power tools of any sort and no idea about what materials should be used. Other than a rudimentary knowledge of carpentry, I was clueless.

So I turned my kitchen into a modest wood-working shop, drew up the floor plan with the Paint software on my computer (I had two years of drafting/mechanical drawing in shop in high-school, so that part was relatively easy), and the rest, as they say, is geography.

A broken fence-gate, and weeds growing up through the shrubbery

There are a GAZILLION mistakes in this piece; my inexperience was manifest, and to my eye, it shows. (Yes, the left-hand window of the bay is WAY crooked; don't even ask how that happened. And no, the angles of the chimney are not crooked, it was my intention to offset them slightly, so that wasn't a goof.) But I learned as I went on, and I think I got better at the process.

Eight months later, in mid-November, "Gone (Underwater In 2010)" was complete, the first of a series of scale models I'm planning, each with a different theme. (FYI, the scale was one half inch equals one foot, and just for the record, "Gone" looks nothing like my-ex-neighbors house next door; the design was artistic license on my part.)

I'm sorry I've rambled on so long in giving you this explanation of my "new" art form, three-dimensional painting; thank you for taking the time to read what I've written.

"Gone", like most art, is for sale; you can contact me at krissongs@hotmail.com if you're interested or know someone who might be.

I've also posted a video that shows the step-by-step process of how I created "Gone on YouTube: if you haven't already seen it, the address is:

http://youtu.be/X4IVP92xuhA

I thank God daily for the gift of creativity He has blessed me with, and His blessings be on all of you as well.

Love and Picasso (I wish), yours in Christ,

PJTT

copyright 2012 Krissongs Inc.

 

A Sense Of Betrayal

Sitting here on this morning after the 2012 Presidential election, feeling mostly deflated more than anything else, I would like to extend my congratulations to President Barack Obama, on his reelection. Although I didn't vote for Mr. Obama, either time as a matter of fact (I'll get to that in a moment), I will point out that, as our duly elected President and leader of our nation, he is deserving of our respect and support.

We don't have to agree with him, and certainly it is our right, indeed our duty, to disagree strenuously at times with whatever proposals and agenda he sees fit to put forth before the citizens of our nation.

But always, always, it is incumbent upon us to do so with respect and dignity, for his office, and for ourselves.

The 2012 Presidential race seems like the longest I have ever witnessed, and the most distressing. (The most expensive as well.) While politics, especially Presidential politics, is not for the faint of heart, this election has to have been one of the most gut-wrenching, unpleasant contests in the history of our country.

How long has Mitt Romney been running? It seems like forever.

I first voted for a candidate for President in 1972; I was just 21, and armed with a brand-new voter card from my home state of Illinois. I voted for Richard Nixon, because even at that tender age, being possessed of little political savvy and, like so many then, the "liberalness" of the times, something about George McGovern's candidacy just didn't ring true with me.

Thus started my lengthy history of voting for Republican candidates for the highest office in America.

Nixon in '72, Ford in '76, Reagan both in '80 and '84, Bush I in '88 and '92, Dole in '96, Bush II in 2000 and John McCain in 2008. Yes, I skipped '04, which was the only break in that long history of GOP loyalty; I could not abide with another four years of that horror George W. Bush again, went off into a major revolt and voted for John Kerry.

The above momentary glitch of '04 notwithstanding, I think you could safely say I have been a loyal Republican all my adult life. Even in most local and state races, typically I voted for the GOP candidate as the person who most embodied the principles of small government, fiscal responsibility and a strong military presence in an increasingly unstable world.

These were all things I believed in deeply. And still do.

Several days before this most recent election, one of my Facebook friends posted a wonderful essay written by, interestingly, Charlie Daniels of the rock/country group The Charlie Daniels Band (clever name, what?). In it, Mr. Daniels espoused voting for a candidate that supported all those values I mentioned above, those of keeping government out of our lives, one that spends our tax dollars wisely and not profligately, a government that believes in having the best equipped, best trained and most capable armed services in the world and that believes in a moral fiber that often times seems lacking in our 21st century society. Although Mr. Daniels didn't endorse a specific candidate, it was clear of whom, on both sides, he was speaking.

Right on, Charlie, you nailed it, buddy, and I couldn't agree with you more. America, now more than ever it would seem, needs that kind of leader.

The problem was, for all Americans, that kind of leader wasn't running for President this year, from either party.

I did not vote for Mr. Obama, although I was tempted to do so; I still don't believe he has been an effective President nor that he has kept a number of the promises he made when elected back in '08, and I just could not support the man, although in truth, he should be credited for a number of his accomplishments, certainly in the area of foreign policy, where I believe he has been a creditable leader.

I again broke my long history of GOP fealty, reluctantly, and voted for Gary Johnson, the Libertarian candidate; Mr. Johnson had a number of views that I agreed with, many of them similar to the positions that Republicans used to take, not the least of which were fiscal responsibility, immigration reform and the legalization of marijuana.

Those were the minor did/did not vote for's for this election; the MAJOR "I did not vote for..." was my non-support of the Republican candidate, Mitt Romney.

I wouldn't have voted for Mitt Romney if you had placed a gun to my head.

I sincerely believe that Mr. Romney is a good and decent man, just a lousy politician.

Mitt is a Mormon, a flip-flopper, unsympathetic to the working-man and, if his lack of ability to articulate his programs was any indication, clueless about Washington, D.C. governance. Further, I suspect, given his toadying to the Tea Party element in his party, he would have been utterly incapable of "reaching across the aisle" to govern from the middle, as is so desperately needed in this country today. This is all redundant and irrelevant now.

But therein lies the betrayal I feel that comes from the Republican Party towards so many of us "moderate Republicans"; sadly, he was the best the GOP had to offer.

The party of Abraham Lincoln, Teddy Roosevelt and Ronald Reagan could field no more competent representative than Mitt Romney, who frankly, looked utterly Presidential when compared to his primary opponents.

To wit:

Rick Santorum, who could not understand the separation of church and state; I admire him for his faith, but reject his stiff-necked, unyielding approach to so many of our social issues.

Michelle Bachmann, crazy. Period.

Rick Perry, almost as crazy as Bachmann, and totally clueless, even to being unable to name the several Federal agencies that he wanted to eliminate.

Newt Gingrich, all of the above, with arrogance on the side, which was particularly galling from a man who had been married and divorced what, fifteen or twenty times?

Herman Cain, also crazy.

Jon Huntsman, the only one of the bunch with any good sense and decent credentials, who got buried in the hue and outcry of the Tea Party geniuses.

This, this is the best my party had to offer me as candidates for the leader of the free world? The GOP couldn't come up with ANYONE else with a better pedigree and resume than these clowns?

And you wonder why I feel betrayed by my party? To say I'm disappointed would be the understatement of the decade.

I considered leaving the space for my vote for President blank, and just voting in the various other races and for/against the multitude of Propositions California voters have to wend their way through each election cycle. But I couldn't.

So I gave my vote to a man that, while what I read about Mr. Johnson led me to believe in his basic sincerity and honesty, had about as much chance of winning the election as an ice cube in Hell. Granted, a candidate's chances of winning really shouldn't be a factor in someone supporting them, but come on, we weren't talking Ross Perot or John Anderson here. (Bet you hadn't even heard of Gary Johnson until you read this, had you?)

I make it a point not to write about politics on my blog; it's often too polarizing, and I would rather not offend my readers (all three of them). But I had to talk about this.

Because the betrayal I feel this morning, November 7th, 2012, isn't as much political as it is personal; the Republicans owe me better than this. After all these years of loyalty, yeah, they owe me better.

Okay, I'm done, it's off my chest. I will make one last comment here, and thank you for allowing me the opportunity to vent.

If the GOP doesn't find a way to move to more moderate positions over the course of the next few years, without sacrificing their core beliefs, if they can't find a leader to head up a national reevaluation of Party positions, such as Bill Clinton did for the Democrats back in '92, if they can't find a way to reject the ultra-right, over-the-top Tea Partiers, then all loyal Republicans, like myself, can look forward to election after election of under-qualified, conservative wingnuts that have little or no chance of being elected President.

Thanks a lot, GOP, for nothing; Ron Reagan has to be spinning in his grave.

Love and ballots,

PJTT

copyright 2012 Krissongs Inc.

I Just Hope Mine's Bigger Than Yours

Yeah, and you should see the holster you need for that sucker...

Well, your old Pope hasn't written a post in lo, these many months, for various and sundry reasons, some of them dealing with sloth and lack of motivation, but just this evening, predicated on a Facebook post by my friend and ex-brother-in-law, Eric, I now have both determination and motivation. (Although neither in great quantity.)

(FYI, I am Pope John The Tall, leader and CEO of the All John All The Time World Church and Pizza Parlor; an explanation of my meteoric rise to prominence is featured above. See up.)

As I was saying, my friend Eric posted several pictures of himself and his lovely better half, Kim, on FB, showing them at a shooting range firing a weapon that I had never seen the likes of previously. Admittedly, based on my limited knowledge of guns, anything other than a simple shotgun, rifle or basic handgun is outside of my experience.

It was, frankly, an evil-looking thing, in one sense, and yet oddly, in another, quite beautiful. (Kim's a cutie, too.)

Being the type of person that enjoys learning strictly for it's own sake and no other, I queried my ex-BIL as to what type of weapon it was they were shooting.

(Full disclosure here: Eric and I have had some previous discussions on the 2nd Amendment; since he's the shooter and I'm the ignoramus, you can assume who took what side of the debate.)

After replying that the weapon in question was an AR-15, and that it was .223 caliber, I replied back, asking Eric what usage, other than target-shooting, one would have for a weapon of this type. Truly, my intent was merely to obtain information, and nothing else. (Although I have to tell you, to me, this thing looked like something you would use to overrun an enemy position.)

This was my erstwhile friend's reply, verbatim:

"Hopefully that is all I will have to use it for but it makes women hot to! Is this just a precursor to a debate on the second amendment John?"

Now I freely admit, from Eric's point of view, the question was warranted, although I had given him no indication I was looking for such debate. I replied that, no, I had nothing of the sort in mind, that it was merely idle curiosity, and as I said, my penchant for learning.

Shortly thereafter, I logged off and turned to other things, but I couldn't get Eric's question out of mind. (I believe he thinks I'm a closet liberal, which I'm not, but I am quite a good deal more moderate in my politics and ways of thinking than he is; he's also a good deal better looking, and has more money to boot, but I'm smarter. More humble too.)

I kept thinking about the 2nd Amendment and gun-ownership, a subject on which I have done a fairly extensive study. No, for the most part, I don't believe that the Founding Fathers, when writing the Second, had in mind that everyone in America should have the right to arm themselves as if they're going to repel an enemy invasion next week; what they had in mind was to ensure that, since we had no standing armed services at the time the Constitution was written, that all male citizens of that era be free from the various states interference with their responsibility to the Federal government to be members of "a well regulated militia", should the necessity for said militia arise.

In fact, that's how the Amendment is worded: "A well regulated militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear arms, shall not be infringed."

Given what sounds to our 21st ears as rather archaic English, according to all the legislative history I've been able to find, what the FFs were saying was this: because we have no standing army, and because we might need to kick the snot out of the English or the French at some undetermined time in the future, no state can keep a citizen from having a firearm; in fact, we're going to do all we can to ENSURE EVERYONE has a gun. And knows how to shoot Redcoats with it.

My ex-BIL is not, to my knowledge, a member of "a well regulated militia", hence, other than for his own enjoyment, or to potentially blow the bejesus out of some miscreant who takes it upon him or herself to enter his home some early AM with nefarious deeds in mind, he has no more need for a weapon than a horse has for a can opener.

Yes, children, I would love to see ALL guns outlawed, and not because I'm some bleeding-heart liberal.

Guns, in the wrong hands, kill people, and that's wrong.

Honestly, I don't mind that Eric, or my son-in-law, Dennis, or some of my other friends, own guns; I know they're responsible owners, and that the weapons they have are handled properly and safely. (Okay, I admit I cringe knowing my son-in-law is introducing my grandsons to guns, but if they have to come to have this knowledge, better at the hands of someone who will teach them proper gun etiquette.)

Over the past year or so, however, my position on gun-ownership has evolved; I still don't like the damn things, and I hate their violent potential, but if we're going to have to live with them, and let's face it, with the NRA and the gun manufacturer's lobby and the Supreme Court, etc., like it or not, we're going to have them, then here's my new position:

Ready?

Since I believe it's all or nothing with guns, I think the 2nd Amendment should be rewritten to not only protect the "right of the people to keep and bear arms", but I think it should require EVERYONE to be armed, all the time.

That's right, race fans, just like in the Old West: EVERYBODY should pack.

Because if I have to worry when I'm out for my morning walk at 6:00am, late in October when it's still dark out, that some gang-banger asshole is going to pull up next to me, decide that he doesn't like my face and put a 9mm slug in my fat butt, then screw it, I want a Browning Hi-Power hanging on my hip, just waiting for me to quick-draw his ass into oblivion.

If you can't beat'em, shoot'em.

As a good friend of mine from the Old South would say, I'm as serious as a hog on ice. If we can't outlaw all guns, and good luck with that, then everybody should have a piece.

Think that wouldn't reduce random shootings and violence? Bet your ass. During the Cold War, when the Soviet Union and the United States were going about the nuclear arms race, it was called MAD: Mutual Assured Destruction. When both parties have equal firepower, typically it makes both parties stand down just a little quicker.

Hopefully.

So no, Eric, I don't want to debate the Second with you; these days, I'm on your side. I realize the futility in believing that this country will ever outlaw gun ownership, so I want to be protected. Yes, I have seriously considered purchasing a handgun to keep here at home, for protection against invaders.

And I can easily take that consideration the next logical step and say, hey, if I should be able to ensure my safety in my home, I should be able to ensure my safety on the streets as well.

Don't screw with me, pardner, I'm packing heat.

OR NOT. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? (Isn't that the name of my atomic-powered rocketship?)

Love and grenade-launchers,

PJTT

P.S. Oh, that monster up there at the beginning? Here's the link to the article that explains it:

http://www.popularmechanics.com/technology/military/weapons/1280861 

Go ahead, make my day.

copyright 2012, Krissongs Inc.

The More Things Change, The More They Stay The Same

The above photo was taken by the Martian rover Curiosity, shortly after landing on the planet Mars; how astounding that this isn't science fiction, but a real picture taken and transmitted from another planet in our solar system.

Your Pope (that would be me, Pope John The Tall, of the All John All The Time World Church and Currency Exchange; if you're interested in how I came to aspire to and achieve such a lofty position in life, see the explanation at the top of the page), thinks this is absolutely amazing.

I have always liked science fiction; in many instances, it's not only the flight of fancy of an author with, typically, a very active imagination, but a way of addressing social and topical issues from an unusual perspective.

My favorite science fiction author, hands-down, was Robert Heinlein, who wrote such giants of the genre as "Stranger In A Strange Land", "The Moon Is A Harsh Mistress", "Starship Troopers", "Double Star", "The Cat Who Walked Through Walls", and one of my favorites, "The Puppet Masters", which, by the way, was made into a pretty good movie back in 1994 starring Donald Sutherland, Eric Thal and Julie Warner.

Heinlein was, in many ways, a wry observer of the human condition, and had a few rather "advanced" ideas about how we residents of Planet Earth could improve our lives. I'll spare you all the details of his various "beliefs"; probably the best insight into his way of thinking is contained in his 1960 novel "Stranger In A Strange Land", so if you're interested, and haven't ever read his works, that's an excellent place to start.

Periodically, I go back and tackle one of his novels, and although I've read most of them many times over (I suspect I've read "Stranger" three dozen times, easily), it's a rare occasion that I don't come away with a new perspective on some point of view he was espousing, or, at minimum, a renewal of my appreciation of his genius.

Recently, I sat down with my copy of "The Puppet Masters", a short "novella" that was written by Heinlein in 1951, which, interestingly, was the year I was born. I hadn't read it in some time, but despite some of the outdated language and the sci-fi gadgets that RH predicted would become commonplace in our 21st century world that never have, it's a wonderful story.

Basically, the book tells the story of a race of "slugs" that go about the universe, invading planets and taking over the inhabitants thereof, by attaching themselves to the host and manipulating him/her to do the alien's bidding, and their invasion of Earth. Without giving away too much of the plot, the early part of the story is a recital of how slowly officials in Washington reacted to the threat of invasion from outer space, and how woefully unprepared we are to deal with such matters.

I was struck by the following exchange that takes place between two of the main characters, the head of the ultra-secret government agency known as the Section, and one of his top agents; they're discussing the response, or more to the point, the lack thereof, of the President and Congress to the evidence that the Section has obtained about the secret invasion by the aliens from the moons of Venus.

Remember, Heinlein wrote this in 1951. To wit:

'"You mean Congress hasn't acted?"

"I have spent the past several days-ever since we stopped the attempt on the President-trying to help the President convince them. Ever been worked over by a Congressional committee, son?"

I tried to figure it out. Here we sat, as stupid as dodoes-yes, and homo sapiens would be as extinct as the dodo if we did not move. Presently the Old Man said, "It's time you learned the political facts of life. Congresses have refused to act in the face of dangers more obvious than this. This one isn't obvious. The evidence is slim and hard to believe."

"But how about the Secretary of the Treasury? They can't ignore that."

"Can't they? The Assistant Secretary had one snatched off his back, right in the East Wing, and we killed two of his Secret Service guards. And now the honorable gent is in Walter Reed with a nervous breakdown and can't recall what happened. The Treasury Department gave out that an attempt to assassinate the President had been foiled. True, but not the way they meant it."

"And the President held still for that?"

"His advisors told him to wait. His majority is uncertain-and there are men in both houses who want his head on a platter. Party politics is a rough game."

"Good lord, partisanship doesn't figure in a case like this!"

The Old Man cocked an eyebrow. "You think not, huh?'"

61 years later, isn't it amazing how some things never change?

Love and super PACs,

PJTT

copyright 2012 Krissongs Inc.

excerpt from The Puppet Masters by Robert Heinlein, copyright 1951

...And From The Totally Unintentional Irony Department...

...there...now you know how Rick Moranis' kids felt...

And absolutely apropos of nothing, I was perusing the MSN.com website yesterday afternoon, partly following the news but mostly just lookin' around...

...when I stumbled over the following headline under the Heading: SHOPPING, to wit:

"Drive Him Wild In Flirty, Fringe Bandeau Swimwear".

And God is my witness, I didn't click on the link, because a) I'm a good, decent and moral-type Pope and b) I was laughing at the next headline that caught my eye, DIRECTLY next to the Flirty, Fringe Bandeau Swimwear thingie. (Isn't "bandeau" a type of antique car?)

Anyway, in the box directly to the right of the one with the SHOPPING header, was this tantalizer; under the Heading: WHAT DO YOU THINK? was posed this question:

"Should Women Join The Infantry?
0 Yes
0 No
0 Not sure."

I suppose it makes sense that if you're going to drive him wild, you might want to be able to kick his ass, just in case things get out of hand.

This is, truly, a great country.

Love and equality,

PJTT

copyright 2012 Krissongs Inc.

Except None Of Mine Have Buck Teeth (That I Can See)

Tow Maters.

For those of you who haven't been following the ongoing drama of your Pope's garden, all one of it, I planted my Tow Mater back on April 4th of this year, which you can do if you live, as I do, in the warm climes of Southern California, specifically in the San Fernando Valley, part of the city of Greater Los Angeles, as well as the porn capital of the world, two dubious distinctions at best.

I won't bore you with a long soliloquy today on the pleasures and benefits of urban gardening, except to say that I am proud, as any father should be on this Father's Day, 2012, of my Tow Mater. Thanks, God, for blessing me with this miracle of vegetables.

FYI, my daughter sent me a copy of a wonderful cookbook (I never in my wildest dreams thought I would ever see the day that I would be receiving cookbooks as gifts...and liking them) called "The Tomato Cookbook" by Roy F. Guste, Jr. It only showed up yesterday, so I haven't had a chance to really peruse the recipes, but the ones I've read so far sound delicious. I can hardly wait to get started. Thanks, sweety, it's a great gift.

Not as good as being your Dad, but very good.

(Oh, that "Pope" thing back there in the first paragraph? Yeah, that's a gig I took on a little over a year ago; you can check out the explanation at the top of this page (up) to learn about my ascent into high-stakes Popehood. Welcome to the All John All The Time World Church, which has its headquarters in the aforementioned San Fernando Valley. A third dubious distinction for the SFV, or as those of us who reside here refer to it, the 818. It's a local joke.)

Back to the Tow Maters: as you can see, my plant has one partially ripe Tow Mater hanging on its vines currently, with a veritable shitload to follow; at last count there were 20 or so incipient ripe Tow Maters. There are bacon, lettuce and Tow Mater sandwiches coming, plus gallons of Tow Mater sauce, some Tow Maters Stuffed With Chicken And Mushrooms (one of the recipes in my new cookbook, and FYI, this is only the second cookbook I've ever owned, and I have no idea where the first one is located), probably a batch or two of Tow Mater Grits (another recipe) and just oddles of Tow Mater and Jalapeno salsa.

I am so pumped...which isn't easy when you're my age.

Speaking of my age, I had a immediate reminder of my age (I recently celebrated the 29th anniversary of my 32nd birthday) a few days ago when, during the second round of the current NBA playoffs, I called a friend to inquire if he intended to view the televised game that evening between the Miami Heat and the Indiana Pacers. My question to him was thus:

"Hey, are you watching the Hate Peacers game tonight?"

Inadvertently.

It just came out like that; as my Uncle Fred used to say, my tongue got in the way of my eyeteeth and I couldn't see a thing I was saying. It reminded me of that radio announcer from back in the 20's, who, while doing an live on-air advertisement for a Hoover vacuum cleaner tells his audience, in spate of excitement, that "ladies everywhere are trying the new Heever Clooner".

Hate Peacers.

Old age, creeping in under the guise of the wisdom of years; it's insidious.

I've decided, apropos of nothing, to start another rock band; I'm calling it I Have Something On My Leg.

I just thought that would be a great name for a rock band: I Have Something On My Leg.

Or maybe Tow Mater and His Plump Romas.

(For those of you who are horticulturally challenged, a "Roma" is a type of Tow Mater.)

(My garden is not a Roma-type Tow Mater; I just liked how it sounded.)

Thank you, God, for my Tow Mater, my incredibly beautiful, and thoughtful, daughter, my grandsons, my favorite (and only, to speak of dubious distinctions) son-in-law, my friends and family, and all your blessings, and a very happy Father's Day to all of you who qualify.

Love and Tow Mater soup,

PJTT

copyright 2012 Krissongs Inc.

This, That And The Other (Its Your Choice)

That is a Porsche 914, one of the few automobiles in the world with an air-cooled engine; that's right, sports fans, no radiator, no coolant. I actually used to own one of these, a 1974; it was a great car. They only produced this model for a few years, from '69 through '76. (Mine was white; unlike the 914, I am not air-cooled, nor is my engine in the rear.)

I'm sitting here, deep in the throes of evening on a Sunday, in the headquarters of the All John All The Time World Church, located here in the benign but deeply confused San Fernando Valley, wondering what I should write about; I've often read about authors (real ones) being tormented by "writer's block" and never understood how exasperating it can be. ("Writer's block", I assume, is the equivalent of "athlete's foot" to athletes or "fireman's carry" to...; never mind.)

Anyway, as is frequently the case with your Pope (yes, I am Pope John The Tall, leader of the AJATTWC; how I came to hold such a lofty position in life is explained above) (see above), I have no particular theme for today's post, nor reason to write one, other than being afflicted with the inability to keep my mouth shut. Or my thoughts to myself.

So for lack of a better subject, this will be another essay on "This, That And The Other".

Rather than a treatise, say, on quantum mechanics, a subject of which I know absolutely nothing; my knowledge of quantum mechanics is equal to my understanding of women.

*** The legislature of the great state of Tennessee recently passed a law making it legal for school-teachers to beat their students profusely with a large stick any time they so choose; wait, that's incorrect, that was the Mississippi legislature that passed that law. No, Tennessee made it legal for teachers to challenge "the teaching of some scientific subjects," including global warming, evolution, human cloning and gravity. (One can only assume that Scientology and astrology are not targets for later legislation; and okay, I made up the part about gravity.)

There are NUMEROUS comments I could make about the passage of this law, but since I make a studious effort to avoid speaking of politics here on my blog, I will refrain. I will say that the great state of Tennessee is second to none in its respect and admiration for teachers everywhere, and that the lawmakers of the State feel strongly about the American flag, motherhood and apple pie, not in that order.

And I feel certain that, should I ever decide to run for political office, the above comment would be completely apropos in all instances I would be called upon to express an opinion or to articulate a stand on some issue or another. (As a Christian, I am pleased that Intelligent Design can now be taught, right alongside Darwin's theory of evolution, in Tennessee schools; as a moderate, I'm terrified what some conservative right-wingnuts will do with this opportunity.)

So much for refraining from "speaking of politics".

*** Speaking of politicians with no discernible agenda (we were?), I came across this gem in the third volume of the incredible series of books on Presidential elections, "The Making Of The President 1968", by one of the most erudite and influential political authors of all time, Mr. Theodore H. White, who won a Pulitzer Prize for his first volume, "The Making Of The President 1960". Mr. White, speaking of the candidacy of George Romney, then governor of Michigan and father of the current presumptive Republican Presidential nominee, "Mittens", quotes then governor of Ohio, James Rhodes, as saying the following: "Watching George Romney run for the Presidency is like watching a duck try to make love to a football", proving unequivocally that history, indeed, does have the capacity to repeat itself. (Why do I suspect that Governor Rhodes used slightly saltier language when making this observation in private?)

*** Today is April 15th; do you know where your tax return is?

*** Organizers of the 2012 Summer Olympics in London recently contacted Bill Curbishley, manager of the rock band The Who, to inquire as to whether drummer Keith Moon would be interested, and available, to perform in the opening ceremonies of the quadrennial sporting event.

Unfortunately, Mr. Moon died in 1978, making him both a) deceased and, I would imagine, b) unavailable.

Mr. Moon is currently the drummer for the All Dead Band, which features Jimi Hendrix on guitar, Jim Morrison as lead vocalist, fellow Who member John Entwhistle on bass, Janis Joplin as back-up vocalist, both John Lennon and George Harrison on rhythm guitars and Bob Marley as resident reggae person.

To quote Homer Simpson: "D'uh."

*** If there is a more beautiful stadium in Major League Baseball than Dodger Stadium, which celebrates it's 50th birthday this month, well, actually, there isn't. Thank you, to Mr. Walter O'Malley and his family, for bringing the team to Los Angeles all those years ago, and building this incredible edifice to the greatest game in the world in the foothills of the San Gabriel Mountains. He was truly, one of a kind, as is his stadium. (And you can mark this date, 4/15/12, as the day I predicted that the '12 Dodgers will make the playoffs this year. Book it.)

FYI, Dodger Stadium is the third oldest park in baseball, with Fenway Park in Boston, home of the ridiculous "Green Monster" left-field wall, in second place, and the granddaddy of them all, the oldest stadium in the country and home of the most futile organization in the history of modern sports, the Chicago Cubs, Wrigley Field in Chicago. (If you look up the word "futile" in the dictionary, you'll find a picture of the Cubs.)

*** For those of you who do not understand the joys of apartment living, the above is a picture of my garden, as viewed from my front porch, all one of it. (There is, at once, to my mind anyway, something heroic and yet very poignant about this picture.) FYI, I can happily report that, since the picture was taken, several days ago, the "garden" is growing well and amazingly fast. I should be up to my gunwales in tomatoes by summer.

Apparently, tomato plants have no recognition of the theory of gravity, much like the legislature of the State of Tennessee.

"Then God said, 'I give you every seed-bearing plant on the face of the whole earth and every tree that has fruit with seed in it. They will be yours for food.'" Genesis 1:29

He did not, however, clear up the controversy over whether the tomato is a fruit or a vegetable; there is also some doubt about my older brother, along the same lines.

Oh, and in looking up "gunwale" in my Webster's New World Dictionary Of The American Language (not to be confused with English), I found the following definition:

"A large marine creature with an AK-47 rifle growing from its frontal lobe."

And just for the record, at least in MY dictionary, "cleanliness" in NOT next to Godliness, it's next to "cleanly".

Love and miscellany,

PJTT

copyright 2012 Krissongs, Inc.

For My Friend Robin

I have the honor of writing something today that I have never had to write before: the eulogy of a fine woman who passed on well before what most of us would consider to be a full lifetime. I'm going to take this opportunity to praise her life, and to memorialize the parts that I was involved in, as best I can.

In 1973, when I was a very youthful 22 years of age, I was playing bass guitar in a glorified garage band with some friends, one of whom, our drummer, was dating a young lady named Robin, who was 18 and a senior in our local high school at the time.

Dave, the drummer, would bring Robin to our rehearsals and "gigs" occasionally, and I had the chance to get to know her, and like her, very much. So much in fact that finally, after a job we had played at a local Holiday Inn one early summer's evening that year, where she had come with David to hear us play, she went home with me. (It was okay: she and Dave were ready to go their separate ways anyway.)

We spent a great deal of time together that summer and fall, getting to know each other and learning to love each other, and early in 1974, she moved in with me, in my tiny, one-bedroom apartment on the west side of Joliet, just a few blocks from her family's home, and eventually we got married in June of '74.

I remember a lot of fun times, picnics, and softball games, going to the zoo and mostly, just being together; she had a great smile, and she was very pretty, and although her childhood had not been a good one, and had left many emotional scars which I tried, in my own fumbling way, to help her deal with, we were happy.

I remember how much she loved to dance; I remember how much music was a part of her life. I remember how much we enjoyed being together.

We worked, and we lived, and in 1977, after a very uncomfortable pregnancy for Robin, our daughter was born. We were, like most young parents, unsure at first about what to do with this small human we had brought into the world, but as time passed we grew into our roles as mom and dad. Kristina was an easy and happy baby, and we were a unit of three.

But as is so often the case with folks who marry very young, we grew up together, and in doing so, we grew apart. No one's fault, just a changing of who we were as people, a changing of directions as it were.

After I left, in 1982, our contact with each other, necessarily, was only occasioned by the dictates of raising our daughter together. There were some conflicts, and it was sometimes unpleasant.

Robin finally found her "soulmate", her husband Steve, a number of years after the divorce, and I know from the things she told me, many years later, that she found the happiness with him that she had been searching for all her life. I will tell you that, in my most secret moments, I often regretted not having been able to be that person to her.

She had, as I said, a difficult pregnancy with Kristina, but for all of that, it was many years later, at least for me, before we realized that she was already ill at that time with the disease that eventually ruined her life and hastened her departure to Heaven at such an early age.

The disease she had contracted was Chiari Malformation, and if the name doesn't sound familiar, it should be no surprise, for it is a rare condition. I'll skip the statistics about how many in 10,000 are afflicted, survival rates, etc., but suffice to say that it is no day in the park.

Through my daughter, I kept up with Robin's courageous fight against her illness, through the various treatments and surgeries and what apparently was unrelenting pain, over a period of many years. She was too sick to work, too sick to go out much and too sick to enjoy the life that she deserved. Her world became relegated to Steve, my daughter, her friends that she had made online who also had Chiari, and, mostly, to her God, because during the course of her fight, she had become a staunch Christian and a lover and follower of Jesus Christ.

I had not seen Robin for many years, having nothing more than very occasional email contact, so when I saw her at my daughter's wedding back in '05, I was taken back with how her disease had affected her. She was still a very attractive woman, but the Chiari was obviously taking its toll. At the time she was not quite 50, and looked much older.

We began exchanging Christmas cards every year, and as I said, through Kristina, I kept up with her ongoing physical battle. It was clear to all who knew her, that the disease, and the attendant other physiological problems, continued to exact a steep price.

Just recently, after Kristina had shared with her Mom my moment of salvation, I received a Facebook message from Robin, telling me, with great joy, how pleased she was that I had finally found God and accepted Jesus as my Savior. It was clear that she was thrilled for me, and I have to tell you, it touched my heart.

We began to correspond, through emails and FB messages, about once a week, talking about God's place in our lives and how being a Christian affects what we do. Despite how sick she had become, to the point where, at times, her sentences were confused and garbled, she was always cheerful and always tried to lend me great strength, with her encouragement and her praise.

She commented several times how much she liked some of my posts from "the Pope", and how that she had urged a number of her friends to read what I had written, because she felt the message was important. She shared with me her desire to one day write a book chronicling her battle with Chiari, and told me of the times when she fought despair by turning to God.

Robin passed away yesterday, 2/29, at the age of 56; too soon, and in too much pain. Although I roundly hate the cliché that is so often times used under these circumstances, that "she's better off now", in this instance, I truly believe she is, indeed, better off.

She's no longer suffering, and I will tell you with all that is in me, if this brave woman is not in Heaven, seated at the right hand of her God, than the rest of us have no chance whatsoever to ever gain eternal peace.

I can think of no one else that I have ever known in my life who more deserved Heaven than she.

I was teasing her, just last week, in an email, that the 30th anniversary of our divorce would be the 6th of December, 2012, and if it hadn't been for our going our separate ways, she would have never found Steve, and that they both "owed me one". Even though we had been apart for all those years, she was still, and will always be, a significant part of my life.

She was my friend and, for a time, my partner, as well as the mother of the most beautiful person I know, and in her own way, one of the most courageous, decent people I have ever had the privilege of knowing.

The world is a lot less today for her passing, and truly, I will miss her.

Thank you, God, for Robin; she was one of Your true servants. Thank you for her life, and my part in it.

"Jesus said to her, 'I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never die'". John 11:25-26

Yours in Christ,

PJTT

copyright 2012 Krissongs, Inc.