Go Home America, you're drunk

I am so pissed off right now.  America, you are getting on my nerves. Your racist roots are showing and it is making me angry.

In the age of instant information, there is no room for the slap-dash manner in which you deal with People of Color.

Your latest act is heinous, reprehensible and down right dumb.

The Standing Rock Sioux do not want that dratted pipeline, the environment does not want that pipeline and any one with sense should not want it either.

The rapid deterioration of our air, land and water will only be hastened by the greedy and grasping nature of the Fossil Fuel Fanatics.

Pipelines are popping all over the country, crap seeping into our soil.  Money-Media is keeping this quiet, but our Native brothers and sisters need our help right now as much as we need theirs.

As we read this, the water supply is being cut-off, seems the Feds have more tolerance for right-wing gun nutz than Native American protesters on their own land.  This obvious inequity is making me crazy.

That group of nabobs associated with that takeover of governmental land were treated like frat boys. The Bundy Fiasco went on for weeks, it took the government 4 weeks before they cut off their supplies. These protesters trying to protect their land are being treated like terrorists.

We cannot drink oil, we cannot eat crops contaminated by oil spills, gas leaks and other unspeakable horrors that await us if we keep insulting Mother Earth.

So I am asking you to educate yourselves, send money, write to the government.  Call your legal representatives, tell them that we love our land more than money. I stand with the Standing Rock Sioux.

Losing Lincoln Park Zoo

Growing up black on the South Side of Chicago, Summer was not complete without the trips to Lincoln Park Zoo.  My family was luckier than most, our Mom would take us at least 3 or four times in summer so that we could see the babies.

Mom would prepare TipTop bread, Scotts Street Loaf and Imperial sandwiches, thermos with Hawiian Punch and some graham crackers for dessert. Every once and a while she'd let other kids come too, but the best times when we went alone with our Mommy.

Lincoln Park Zoo opened in 1868 with a gifted pair of white swans as it's first residents.  Most Chicago residents have been there at least once.

This is Wilma The White Spoonbill Stork, quite a beauty ain't she?

While we were meandering through what is truly a remarkable piece of property, Mom would tell us about the animals, pronouncing their Latin names.  And how the critters would cut up when the Mosby Mob came to town.  Condors would swoop when Kimmy ran up to the cage, birds would peck me in the head ala Tippy Hedron and Mike would eat too much.

My siblings and I got to know every nook and cranny of the dusty old place.  We never realized just how small those enclosures were, or the trapped and haunted look in the eyes of the exhibits.  We were children, excited to see real wildlife right there in front of our eyes.

I hadn't been back in awhile, so I wasn't adverse to a trip down Memory Lane.  The sticker shock is amazing, yes it is still free, but $2.50 for a bottle of water, come on!! And get this, the water fountains don't work-wtf!!

I have to admit that I did enjoy strolling the grounds, snapping pictures as I went.  But the enjoyment was tinged a bit with guilt because they are existing in captivity, and that must be rough. Never to feel the savannah under your feet, never to fly swiftly for miles into the sun, never to wallow in the waters of your homeland.

My family names everything, cars, pets, homes..you get the drift.  So I started naming my photo subjects above is Myrna the Meerkat, and below is Melvin the Melencholy Lion.  He roared a few times, turned his back on his audience and pooped. Didn't capture that, thank goodness.

Don't misunderstand, I realize the value in zoos, just wish they didn't exist.

But the kids tho, they were losing their minds!!! Little, shrill voices hyped up on sugar and pure, sweet adrenaline. I remember those days well.  Squeals of delight, gasps of awe and wonder.  The Zoo can be magical when you are too short to see reality of their habitats.

Humans were not the only ones having a good time, cause I swear this bird above is giving me shade.  I had a good ole belly laugh at this bird's expense, so I'm calling her Doozy.

Here's Larry the Leopard who is all out of f**cks to give.  I spent 15 minutes of my life I will never get back trying to get him agitated enough to move, home boy did not budge.  

Some subjects were more willing than others, meet Mike the Meetkat, Myrna's ex.  Dude is cocky, ain't he ?

Mike made me laugh out loud.  And if it weren't for this little guy, I might have decided not to go back.  But I have to find out if he and Myrna make it. Stay tuned for an update.

Happy Birthday Snoopy

 Man, am I getting old or what?  It's Snoopy's Birthday...that's right Snoopy from Peanuts.  Dude is 66 years old.  He has been a loyal and stalwart friend since I can remember.

You cannot tell it by looking at him, but Snoopy has led a thrilling life... 

He has been to space, flew in World War One and got to kiss Lucy.

His creator, Charles Schultz, was in my opinion, one of the finest artists of our age.  He drew with humor, passion and wit. We believed in the Peanuts Gang, so much that my Militant Mom never said a word about the lack of black characters. She was too busy laughing.

Sunday morning meant Mom would read us the "Funny Papers" and we always started off with Peanuts.  Never knew what that Snoopy might do.

Mr. Schultz was "woke" and introduced Franklin, the first black

character in 1969 when Martin Luther King died.  

Snoopy has been around flying, thinking, pranking and playing for as long as I remember.  His strong sense of honor and bravery have inspired many.  But I had to take pause...when I googled Snoop...Snoop Dogg came up first.  I guess a cartoon does not trend as high as a rapper.

Now Snoopy is ready to retire, SS about to kick in and I have one thing I want the GOP to know, don't try coming for his Social Security cause the Peanuts Gang ain't having it.

Where were you when Jimi died?

My life-long love affair with rock and roll started February 2, 1964 when I saw the Beatles on Ed Sullivan.  Two minutes into the song I was screaming like the teens on TV.  My Grandmother was shocked and amused.  I was in Heaven.  From that point on I lived and breathed the Beatles.  I even had a Beatles lunchbox set.

Being a child of the radio, I was blasting WVON and WLS all my waking hours.  My Grandmama was constantly telling me to "turn that mess off".  Eventually she got used to it, but my Black friends were a different story.

July, 1964 I went to a picnic, radio was playing and a Beatles song came on.  I sang and danced and popped my nine year old fingers like they were singing to me.  My childhood buddies were appalled, "you a Uncle Tom, how you like white man's music, you a Tom".  It stung, but I did not care, I kept bopping and bobbing cause the Beatles spoke to my soul.  Back in the day to be called an "Uncle Tom"was worse than someone talking about your Mama, I was not affected by their scorn.  They had no idea what they were missing and I was too busy rocking to tell them.

Soon I was searching for posters, buying Teen Beat magazine and spending my allowance on 45's.  For my 10th birthday Mom gave me my own portable stereo and a whole bunch of records, I was transformed.  I'd sit in the middle of my bed, pajama clad and dizzy with anticipation play "Michelle" by the Beatles over and over and over again.

The sounds that issued from my stereo reverberated to my very core.  That music was magic.

James Taylor, CCR, Cream, OMG...Just thinking about them makes me happy.  

And then here comes Jimi Hendrix...I cut my hair off, start wearing it natural and listening to "All Along the Watch Tower" full blast while doing my chores.  

Janis Joplin, Jefferson Airplane, The Funkadelics, Buddy Miles, Jethro Tull...I love each and every one of those artists and more.  Rock and Roll has seen me through some pretty rough times, helped me celebrate, mourn, love and lose.

Right about this time I discovered pot, pills and LSD, I was primed for mind expansion and possibly brain damage but I did not care.  I was tooking away, held in the sway of the world changing around me.

I started watching the news report on Viet Nam and getting involved in social issues, boycotting the A & P, going to Breadbasket meetings.  I was the change I wanted to world to be.

Then Jimi died, and I discovered that there are no end to the tears we shed for our heroes.  Stunned, tears dripping down my face, sipping BaliHi wine and moaning.  The charming, carefree world I lived in came to an end for me that day in 1970.  I wept like my brother had died.  And in a way he had.  Jimi lead me from youth to young adulthood, his guitar strumming the background strains of my life.

I will always be grateful to Rock and Roll....

Waking the Dead, a look at the cost of violence in the USA.

So, it's Monday morning, scrolling through the FB feed like normal.  Then I hit the shooting reports for Chicago this past weekend. 7 dead, forty-some wounded.

   

Then I began to wonder about the the families, loved ones and friends whose lives are changed forever in an instant. How could they cope with such devastating loss.  Where does the pain, anger and grief go?

I consider myself extremely fortunate, my son was wounded by gun-fire 11 years ago. 
No, he is not a thug, drug dealer or person of interest in a crime.  He was at the wrong place at the wrong time.   But the bullets didn't care about that.

There was a minute when we thought he would not make it, but he did and we are glad beyond words and grateful beyond measure.

This made me realize that the shock, dismay and helplessness I felt was being experienced all over the USA, every day.  Multiply it by the rest of the world and families all over the world are in pain.

There are numerous and sundry reasons for the climbing gun play in America, we will not discuss them here.  But we will talk about the toll, emotional and physical of gun violence.

1.  Financial cost..the average (?) funeral in the US is $7,000.00 to $10,000.00.  Who has that kind of money laying around?  But the grieving scrape it together, mortgaging homes and selling heirlooms to provide a proper send off to their loved ones.  

The alternative is cremation, which bothers a lot of folks, but not me.  Average cremation costs $3,000.00 at best.  

The funerary industry posted record profits last year, undertaking is big business. 20 billion dollars worth of profit and climbing.

This death business is very lucrative, and do not forget the prison for profit aspect of gun violence, cause sometimes the cops actually catch someone, put them in jail and I have to feed them for 5-25 years.

2. Emotional costs are incalculable.  The sheer painful impact of the fact that someone you loved was gunned down in cold blood does not bear mentioning.  And this has a ripple effect.  There are literally millions of  human beings walking around with PTSD.  That is correct, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.  We are living in a war zone, fighting for our lives, our freedoms, water to drink and good food to eat. Is there any wonder that folks are snapping like twigs.

Each time you venture outside, there is a chance, ever so slight that you might not make it back.  And this is no way to live, ask any combat soldier.

Children cannot play outside, folks can't sit in the park, lovers cannot stroll in the night air.  This is no way for people to exist.

3.  Our quality of life is directly effected by the violent crimes being committed every day.  The Police are overwhelmed, undermanned, over-medicated and some are just plain nutz.  The constant friction between the community and its police forces makes reporting a crime almost as dangerous as committing one.

We have watched cops kill citizens so much and with so much impunity that it is becoming routine.  And I am sorely disappointed in myself, because I should be doing something, anything to help stop the blood-red tide staining the streets and threatening to flood us.

And it goes without saying that living in an atmosphere so violently charged is not good for your health.  Knowing that you might be living next to a murderer is wearing on the nerves.

But I do not know what to do or where to start.  So I will continue be vigilant and determined to help stop the violence using my tools, my voice and my vote.