Fringeville #87, June 07 2013

"...rain? What rain? It's not raining. And if it is, I don't know anything about it."

Legend has it that after Walter Cronkite declared the Vietnam War unwinnable President Johnson said, "...if I've lost Cronkite I've lost middle America."

Yesterday, the New York Times Editorial Board said the Obama Administration has lost all credibility on the phone data collection scandal. They go on to say, "...Mr. Obama is proving the truism that the executive branch will use any power it is given and very likely abuse it."

This is the New York Times, which has long had a love-fest with the President. The Times. Not Fox. Not Breitbart. Not a little-known Internet news source or a kitchen table blogger (like me).

I can't help but wonder what the President said last night after realizing he's lost the New York Freaking Times.

"...the executive branch will use any power it is given and very likely abuse it."

From where I sit, this is the official beginning of Lame Duck season. We are likely facing more than three years of rudderless government, endless hearings, and further erosion of the average American's faith in their government.

This isn't going to be fun, kids, it's going to be a long, depressing slog.

Arrogance reaps a bitter crop.

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I can tell, after reading yesterday's blog entry, that my blog wheels are rusty. I was all over the board on yesterday's post. Bear with me. I'll be back in form soon. I just need more coffee in the morning and chicken wings at night.

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Fringeville Edition #86, June 06 2013

Lately, each day brings evidence that the Federal Government is becoming dangerously powerful. This morning I awoke to learn that the NSA is indiscriminately collecting phone records from millions of Verizon customers.

This is not a story found only in murky media outlets or conservative blogs. It’s front page on the New York Times. It was a big story on MSNBC’s “Morning Joe.”

When the Times and MSNBC start piling on, things are really hitting the fan.

According to the Times story by Charlie Savage and Edward Wyatt, the NSA order (signed by Judge Roger Vinson of the Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Court) directs an arm of Verizon to provide to the NSA “on an ongoing daily basis” all call logs “between the United States and abroad” or “wholly within the United States, including local telephone calls.”

This particular order is aimed at Verizon Business Network Services. I believe it is just the tip of a frightening iceberg. This Administration, supposedly the most transparent ever, has piled lie upon lie and misdirection upon misdirection at every opportunity, and until recently went largely unchallenged. But trust has been broken, the President is ultimately a lame duck, and his Teflon coating is vanishing.

Let me back up a second.

I am not a member of the Tea Party. I am a small government, conservative Republican who believes in God, the sanctity of life, and the inherent right of people to pursue happiness and achieve their dreams in a free America. Yes, I’ve met a number of Tea Party people over the last year or so. I worked with a Congressional candidate last year who was a founder of the Scranton Tea Party. I never once encountered the crazed, militant, dangerous Tea Party folks the mainstream media warned us about.

But I did have my life threatened by a man for supporting Romney. (His exact quote was: “…you’re a Romney man? Get off my porch or I’ll kill you where you stand.”)

Hope and change; ice cream and rainbows; death threats on crumbling porches.

I heard whispers last year that Tea Party groups were being scrutinized by the IRS. At one time I’d have disregarded such a thing as the product of a conspiracy-theory-soaked brain. But these had a ring of truth and they sprang immediately to mind as soon as the IRS targeting scandal broke.

We also have the targeting of certain journalists and the AP by the Justice Department.

And now the NSA is looking indiscriminately at Verizon phone records. (Dear NSA: Can you hear me now? At least you know where to order good wings if you’re pulling my records.)

On this very day in 1944, the beaches of Normandy were soaked red with the blood of those who died to preserve our freedom against an insane dictator and his nightmare government. We are still a free nation, though that freedom is being compromised daily by an out of control Federal Government that indiscriminately monitors the phone calls of anyone they choose …just because they can …and they face no ramifications whatsoever.

I wonder how Walter Griffith feels about this…

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Fringeville Edition #85, June 03 2013

Going to church on Sundays sets the tone for my week. God speaks to me when I'm at Mass. I'm not saying he sits down next to me and says, "Hey Jimbo, let's go for wings after church! And put your money on the Phillies this year." It's a far more subtle conversation. The end result is that no matter how tired or beaten down I was going into church, I leave church recharged and ready for the week ahead. If I'm on the schedule as a Eucharistic Minister, that battery recharge for my soul is triply intense.

Last week was a depressing grind. There were no major tragedies in my life; it was more a matter of still coming off yet another election loss and sitting down to the sobering month-end financials on the home front. (Anyone who thinks all Republicans are rich S.O.B.'s who detest the poor and only want to crush the working class ought to swing by my place on one of my macaroni nights. I get a helluva lot of mileage out of cheese ends, elbow macaroni, and a great roux to start it all off.) It's one thing to be pretty much worn down physically, but it's the feeling of futility, that the hard work isn't paying off, that really tears at the edges of one's soul.

After closing my Quicken software on Saturday night (a depressing session where I realized I'm likely not going to be able to retire to the Eastern Shore of Maryland on the seven grand left in my IRA) I realized how badly I needed church on Sunday. I was on the schedule for Eucharistic Minister, and so much the better. I really needed that weekly talk with God (who I think is actually a Cubs fan; someone has to love the Cubbies).

Sunday morning I woke early, looking forward to that conversation with the Creator. Off to Mass I went. I took my place in the pew, and nothing happened. Zip. Nada. Our Lord was conspicuously absent from my pew. He was there for the Eucharist, of course and stood just behind me while I gave Communion. But he didn't say a word and didn't come back to the pew with me.

Church ended. I walked back to my car. Maybe he was there, in the passenger seat, ready to elbow me and say, "...just messing with you Jimbo." 

Nope. I was in that car alone. I'd been to Mass. I'd anxiously awaited that kick-start to my week, that recharging of my soul's battery. The battery was now, in fact, dead. 

All I had for my trip to Mass was a church bulletin. I started the drive home, feeling worse by the second.

A hundred yards from my intersection, I saw a big rock in the middle of the road. As I prepared to steer around it, the rock moved. It was a snapping turtle, big, ugly and halfway across Union Street. He had left the creek and was headed to the woods. He was in a position of peril. I pulled off the road, backed up, and stopped next to him. I considered picking him up and taking him to the edge of the trees. I've had some small experiences with snapping turtles, so I wasn't worried about getting chomped on. Instead, I decided to watch for vehicles on this normally busy road. I'd be his guardian, but at a distance, and I'd only leave the car if I saw a vehicle coming.

No one drove by; it was like the traffic was miraculously rerouted.

On he slogged, inch by inch, stopping every once in a while just because he damned well felt like it. Finally he was across the road. He raised his head high, looked across the road and directly into my eyes, and a single word formed in my mind: PERSEVERE. 

Sometimes God sends a prophet. Sometimes He sends a great figure like Moses. And I guess sometimes He sends a turtle. 

I'm set for the week, and likely well beyond.

Whaddya looking at? And quit whining.

 

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Fringeville Edition #84, May 31 2013

Nope. Still not dead. I've simply been away "politicking."

That's a code word for me getting thumped in yet another election. To which my granddaughter has this to say to anyone that either didn't vote for me or who couldn't be bothered to vote at all.

As frustrating as it is to lose, what really bothers me is that eight out of ten folks stayed home, consenting to rule by a minority of voters and forgetting the sacrifices of generations of Americans who guaranteed them the rare and precious right to vote. I'd rather have my chicken-wing bloated backside kicked but good by an engaged and active electorate than to get crushed by a small turnout that likely is well-represented by those who don't want someone stopping the gravy train and taking away the gravy ladle.

But, to regurgitate a phrase I truly hate:  It is what it is.

There were many, many words of encouragement during this run for office. I even got Marc Cour's only vote for School Board:

But the continued pathetic turnouts for Primary Elections boggles my mind. Especially in a municipal primary, which I believe is the most important election because it sets the direction your wallet is going in. With the news this week that the Wilkes-Barre Area School Board is once again planning to raise taxes, that direction is clearly charted: Our wallets will be lighter.

Folks, I've said it before and I'll say it again:  You get what you don't vote for ...or vote against.

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Fringeville Edition #83, February 10 2013

Mail from Josef

...yet another shameless plug of my own fiction.

I'm off Paul Krugman's Christmas Card List...

Meet Josef Plum, a simple farmer who comes into an extraordinary inheritance. His life is upended, and along the way he learns a secret that can bring down the nation.

When he reveals his great secret to us, we face a single question: Is Josef crazy, or are we?

Set in the fictional town of Walnutwood, this is the first of a series of "Walnutwood Tales" by James M. O'Meara

Available only at Amazon:   Mail from Josef

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Fringeville Edition #82, January 18 2013

We're on our own now, kids...

Dear Abby:

My great aunt (let's call her Beansie) visits us several times a year. She's a dear old woman, and we love her to death, but she has a major, major gas problem. Last night, she even let one fly at the dinner table! (She picked up the tablecloth, looked beneath it, and said, "...Bad, bad, doggie!" Abby, we have cats!)

We're at wit's end. How do we approach Aunt Beansie about this without hurting her feelings?

Flatulence in Frisco

Abby:









Dear Abby:

Our son just got engaged to a girl with jewelry in "unusual" places. We've been tolerant, but now she's sporting nipple rings and she's constantly pulling up her shirt to show them off. My husband wears a pacemaker, and this young woman is going to burn the pacemaker battery out with her constant shirt-lifting to show off her little gold rings. But our Herby adores this woman. It's his first love, and we don't want to drive a wedge between them.

How can we lay out the ground rules without offending our son?

Melonsaplenty in Muncy

Abby:









Dear Abby:

My husband "Hershey" has a horrible, horrible habit that's driving me nuts. He leaves his dirty underwear all over the house. I find them on the bathroom floor, the living room floor, hanging from bedposts, draped over our lamps ...and even on the dining room table. I've tried talking to him, and he promises to stop, but next thing I know there's dirty Fruit of the Looms in my fruit bowl.

Help!

Skidmarks in Scranton

Abby:

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Fringeville Edition #81, January 12 2013

NCAA Imposes Crippling Sanctions On BBC and Great Britain

NCAA strips awards from Savile

London (UPI-OH-KIYAY)
   
In a stunning development, the NCAA sanctioned the BBC (British Broadcasting Corporation) and British Empire today for the unprecedented child sex abuse crimes of the late televsion host Jimmy Savile. British police report Savile abused his victims for decades, with some of the crimes taking place on BBC property.

The NCAA fined the BBC $100 million dollars. It also posthumously stripped Savile of his OBE (Office of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire), his British Knighthood and his Papal Knighthood (with the Pope's approval).

In addition, the NCAA vacated all awards the BBC may have given to entertainers, radio and television productions from 1965-2006. Those were the years Savile was on the premises and, according to British authorities, committing his heinous crimes.

The BBC will also be stripped of 25% of its production crews for the next four years. The slashing of everything from camera operators to makeup artists could cripple such BBC hits as "Call the Midwife."

BBC News will not be affected by the NCAA's actions. Likewise, reruns of Monty Python escaped sanctions.

In its most controversial sanction, the NCAA targeted the British Empire itself and returned the Falklands Islands to Argentina. Britain and Argentina fought a 74-day war over the disputed islands in 1982 until Argentine forces were expelled.

"Clearly, the Empire itself was complicit," said NCAA President Mark Emmert.  "The BBC operates under a Royal Charter. The BBC is funded by a license fee collected from virtually anyone in Britain with a television. The entire Empire must be punished. The strongest possible message must be sent."

Emmert shrugged off reporters who questioned whether the sanctions were outside the scope of the NCAA with a sharp retort of: "Bite me."

The news that the islands would be returned to Argentina brought joyous celebration to the streets of Buenos Aires.

"I am moving to the Malvinas next week," said one elated citizen, referring to the islands by their Argentine name. "I will open an empanada stand. And maybe a Starbucks. Bless you, Mr. NCAA!"

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