Harleys, Cars, Girls & Guitars

Trump's Mic Was Sabotaged

Like everybody else, I thought Donald Trump's performance at the first debate left a lot to be desired. Yesterday, CNN published this story. Trump's microphone was cutting in and out throughout the debate.

I cannot imagine how this can happen at a major event. Sound crews routinely check and double check sound systems for an event of this magnitude. A mic cutting in and out cannot be explained except as sabotage.

My opinion of the debate has been blown to hell by this. No speaker can be effective when his mic is malfunctioning.

Blacks are Responsible for Their Own Problems

Black Lives Matter is a rent-a-mob of the Democratic Party, organized, funded and controlled at the highest levels of the Obama administration. The goal of BLM is to drive law enforcement out of black communities so as to turn over the streets to black gangs. This is all a rerun for me.

I lived through the epidemic of gang violence in Brooklyn during the crack era. The city of New York turned over the streets to black gangs. Same sort of agitation in the 60s by leftists led to this surrender of the streets to thugs.

It was a nightmare which I will not describe in detail here.

I find it almost impossible to believe that we're headed toward a repeat of this nightmare. How is it possible that people did not learn from the last go round?

60 years of constant weeping and gnashing of the teeth over blacks has driven us all nuts. We've beatified blacks, simultaneously exempting them from any responsibility for their own lives and problems. White kids have been taught for generations to devise the most tortured explanations to pin the blame for any problem blacks might encounter on whites. That's what nice white people are supposed to do.

This shit has devolved into insanity and farce.

The ideological foundation for this attempt to drive law enforcement out of black communities was already in place when I was a kid in the 60s. I was taught in my undergraduate courses by white lefty professors that cops were an "occupying army" in black communities. What was supposed to take the place of a police presence was never quite explained.

But the cops were evil and racist... that was for certain.

My college indoctrination also taught me that white racism was responsible for the fact that black men dominate the prison population. In fact, I was taught that holding blacks responsible for their lives was a form of racism.

BLM is the expected outcome of this indoctrination of our kids. Several generations of black kids have been told that whites are responsible for all their problems. White kids have been beaten down into apologists and flagellants. Nobody has the courage to say to blacks:  "That's enough. Back off. You don't get any more."

I'm not a political activist. I'm not going to do anything more about this insanity than write this bit. But, I want to be the first to say this. I'm retired, financially secure and I don't have to fear blacklisting.

The time to say No! to blacks has arrived. Blacks are responsible for their own problems and their own lives. They must obey the law, and humble themselves before law enforcement, like everybody else. Injustices happen to members of every group. Blacks don't have some special claim here.

The outcome of this capitulation to the rent-a-mob BLM will be black gang control of the streets of many of our major cities. I know because I lived through the last episode.

I live now at the end of a dirt road on top a mountain in the forest. The violence and chaos is unlikely to reach me or my family. What the hell! I will only be an observer as New York City sinks again into the madness of black gang control of the streets.

Ann Althouse... Whiny Bitch... Spoiled Brat

If you don't read Ann Althouse's weblog, you probably should. She's a law professor at the University of Wisconsin. I worked at the most powerful and important corporate law firm in the world for 5 years, so I know a great legal mind when I encounter same. Althouse is a brilliant legal analyst. She's also a hideously spoiled brat and whining, nagging bitch. The problem here is that she's a feminist.

This woman pulls down a $150,000 salary, has enjoyed tenure for 45 years and has not really had to work much in those 45 years. She absented herself from the hard work, long hours and the need to hustle for clients that most lawyers face to live this life of idle pleasure.

But, she can't stop bitching about how badly women are treated. Everything about her life demonstrates that her bitch has no foundation in realty, but she can't stop bitching. She seems determined to prove that the widely held stereotype of women is true... that nothing you give a woman will stop her from bitching for more.

I actually enjoy reading her blog, until I run into the inevitable bitchery. Once I get to that, I just want to kick this fucking spoiled brat in the ass. Her daddy obviously spoiled the hell out of her. She was cute when she was a kid, too, and she undoubtedly enjoyed manipulating men with this bitch act. She's an old woman now and she's still carrying on like some fucking 20 year old spoiled brat bitch.

Althouse got started on this bitching back when she was a kid, joining in the feminist fable that women were treated just like blacks under Jim Crow. You'd think that the circumstances of her life would have caused her to abandon this stupid lie decades ago. No, she's only embraced the "cause" more fiercely as we've dumped wealth, leisure and privilege in her lap.

Here's how bad things are. She and her colleagues purged the faculty of the University of Wisconsin Law School of anybody we might think of as "normal," that is Christian, conservative and oriented toward traditional family. The law school is now entirely in the hands of far leftist feminists, critical race theorists and other such pieces of shit. She and her colleagues get paid to prosecute their bitch, and she still can't stop bitching like a rotten cunt.

It would be interesting to know what we could give this rotten spoiled bitch that would put an end to her whining and bitching.

We spoiled women rotten in my lifetime. It's been 60 years of bitching and whining for more. And, yet, we've given women everything they've asked for, usually within moments after they've asked. The results of this stupidity should have been predictable.

As any daddy knows, you have to say no to your kids or this is what you get.

I really do enjoy Althouse's legal analysis. The bitching and spoiled brat whining, however, drive me away. I go away for a couple of months and then get drawn back in... and she's still whining and bitching.

Althouse seems determined to prove that our fathers and grandfathers were on the money when they said that women will bitch about anything and everything and there's nothing you can do to stop that. She's certainly convinced me.

Happy Hippie Hobbit House for Sale!

When you sell a house, the buyers all negotiate as if they intended to do a gut renovation of the house. My house was designed, not so much to be a showcase, but to be a cheap place to live.

My house started life as a cinder block hunting cabin in the woods. The trappings of a house were superimposed in a couple of different renovations. Aluminum siding... what a great idea!

You could just sit out here in a cheap house, let it crumble around you and enjoy life. 

I've never been much into home improvement. The girlfriend has been nagging me for several years to replace the windows in the back and, in theory, she's right. The decrepitude never bothered me.

Admittedly, my laissez faire attitude toward home maintenance has added up over the years and the house could use a redo.

Maybe I'll get into home improvement at my new digs, the in-law apartment with my daughter and son-in-law. Of course, I wouldn't have to do the work. My son-in-law has his own little crew.

I'm burrowing deeper into being a retired grandpa.

Hitler is Hillary

A presidential candidate condemns about a quarter of the electorate for voting for her opposition candidate. This is the most damnable tactic I've ever witnessed in an election.

After all the Hitler accusations thrown at Trump, Hillary Clinton reveals herself as a dangerous, vicious thug.

Say whatever you like about your political opponent. Lie, cheat, defame... have at it. Clinton has crossed the line here in defaming voters for refusing to vote for her. 

This woman must lose. 

Leftists Worry About My Dick

We can now apparently add sexual inadequacy and a tiny penis to the causes of disagreement with a leftist. Racism, of course, is to be taken for granted. Below, a nice sketch from DeviantArt.

I've been encountering this theme with some frequency on Facebook and other web sites. Some lefties become so obsessed with the size of my dick that they can't talk about anything else.

Feminists online have been obsessed with this issue for years. My loathing for feminism is, of course, proof that I "hate women," a hatred which must have been borne in my fury over the size of my member.

Racism pimps joined in with the penis fantasies some time ago. 

"You wouldn't be talking that way if you were face to face with a black person!" lefties like to say. "You'd be too afraid. Your problem is just that you've got a tiny dick."

Telling the lefties that I'm not going to show them my dick doesn't do a bit of good. I'm not the kind of guy to take a dick selfie and put it up on the web. I'm not sure that that's really proof anyway. How would I prove that the dick in question is mine? 

Lefties have always enjoyed imagining that their ideology is proof that they are free spirits with wide ranging and hot sex lives. I've lived in Woodstock long enough to know that that is mostly bullshit. Lefties get divorced, experience failure in relationship and change partners frequently. No doubt about that.

Drama and failure give an illusion of spicing up one's sex life. The toll from that sort of life adds up over the years. By one's 30s or 40s, a constant parade of partners ceases to seem glamorous. It's simply dreary failure.

I guess this "tiny dick" thing is an elaboration upon the "angry old white man" bit. My backward political thinking, so this theory goes, originates in my fury over my obsolescence and minuscule dick. Eat shit and die, old white guy!

I've always been happy with the size of my dick. Perhaps I'm fooling myself, but I can't recall spending any time fretting over this issue. 

And, no, I won't show the damned thing to you either. You'll just have to take my word for it. The damned thing is YUGE!

World Still Going to Hell... I'm OK!

"I am never sure whether I should lament the state of the world or be complacent about it. For on the one hand everything is going to the dogs and on the other I am a happy man." Theodore Dalrymple, writing in Taki Mag.

I still support Trump. My reasons have not changed. I did my civic duty and wrote up a long winded essay explaining why I support The Donald a while ago. Go read it if you're so inclined.

I volunteered to work in a presidential campaign once... the Gene McCarthy Kids' Crusade in 1968. Anti-Vietnam war candidate.

Nobody seems to notice that Trump is, relatively speaking, the anti-war candidate in this election. Yeah, I know... how in the hell can you tell what a candidate is really going to do once he assumes office?

Trump has suggested that we might pull back from policing the world and invading other countries to focus mostly on self-defense. I'm down with that. Hillary, on the other hand, has already knocked over a couple of foreign nations... the Ukraine and Libya.

I'm still trying to stay out of the fray. My life will continue to be fine, no matter who wins or loses. I think. Each side keeps trying to tell me the End is Near if their loathed opponent wins.

I'm an internet idiot like anybody else. Catch me on a day when I'm tired, or tired of being lonely, and I'll tear some Hillary supporter a new asshole and fight and bitch for hours. I regret it later, but what can I do? I am but a sinner.

Life is too good for me to get caught up in the histrionics.

I'm just a retired Mr. Mom Grandpa. I never wanted to run the world. Shit, I never even wanted to be a manager in an office. On a few occasions, I somehow found myself fulfilling that function. Be damned if I know how or why that happened. I failed as miserably as I could and got out as fast as I could.

Life is pretty damned good. Getting ready to move into my Mr. Mom Grandpa in-law apartment. Cleaning up the house and getting it ready to go on the market. Health returning to normal.

Friggin' Cubs are going crazy this year.

Who could ask for more?

I Support the Police Sign Near Woodstock

This sign, spotted on Route 28 just before the turnoff to Woodstock, is a little defiant. My far left community is deep in cop hatred and apology for black gangsterism. I'm surprised one of the local lefties hasn't defaced it.

I also support the police. They're our thugs. It takes thugs to fight thugs, and I know this from experience.

I moved from San Francisco to New York City in the late 70s. Much to my dismay, I found myself and my family living in Brooklyn in the midst of the crack epidemic. At the time, I was a conventional leftist, true to my college indoctrination.

Black gangs controlled the streets in Brooklyn in those days. Two successive mayors allied themselves with the gangs. This was the result of the same sort of leftist agitation against police in the 60s that you're reading and hearing today... that police are pigs and racists who deliberately shoot and hassle poor innocent black people.

Dumb hippie that I was, I actually believed that crap.

Brooklyn cured me of that. My family was constantly harassed and threatened by black racists. Chased down the street quite often in broad daylight.

The cops had abandoned the streets to the gangs because the political leaders of the city had abandoned them. So, the black gangs owned the streets. When I complained to the cops after one assault on my family, one of them told me:

"There isn't anything we can do about it. You've got to be crazy to live here. If you're going to live here, you'd better start packing. The only thing we're going to do is pick up your body."

The great leftist dream had come true! Those "colonial oppressors," the despicable cops, had been driven from the black neighborhoods and blacks could "take care of their own" as black radicals like to say. The result was chaos, an epidemic of violence, burglary and murder, and streets that were unsafe for my wife and kids to walk down at high noon. 

I had knives and guns pulled on me as I walked home late at night from the subway. Hard to say how I escaped being murdered. Thugs followed me down the street cursing and threatening me.

The final straw... my wife was damned near kidnapped at high noon on a busy street corner in our neighborhood. A group of black thugs tried to push her into a van. The cops, usually nowhere to be found, happened on the scene and everybody ran.

I got my family out of Brooklyn ASAP to save our lives.

Mayor Giuliani was elected by New Yorkers who were fed up with black gang control of the streets. He defied the liberal wisdom of several decades and resumed enforcing the law in black communities. The bad guys were thrown in jail en masse. The gangs were broken. Peace returned to the streets of New York City almost overnight.

So, I stopped buying all the leftist horse shit. Yes, blacks can be, and quite often are, vicious racists. Cops are the good guys. Well, at least they're on our side against black gangs.

I didn't care much how the cops took back control of the streets. If they fudged a little to get a murderous gangster off the corner, good for them!

Yes, I support the cops, too.

Everybody Liked the Meatballs!

That's what I told my girlfriend this morning. Over the weekend, she taught me her meatballs with tomato sauce recipe. I'm learning to cook some basic dishes that my grandkids will eat.

My last act in life is playing Mr. Mom to my three grandkids. Not complaining. They're a lot of fun. They're also full of a lot of hugs. My toddler granddaughter is three. The twins are one. Boy and girl.

My girlfriend is giving me Mr. Mom lessons. Tips on housekeeping. Good snacks for the grandkids. That kind of stuff.

Took a drive-by of my new home over the weekend, too. Lots of land... almost 7 acres on top a mountain. I'll put in a vegetable garden and also do some landscape gardening. The house could be quite a showplace.

I remind myself frequently that I don't need to clinch my jaw any more. Hadn't realized that I had been doing that. In the early days of my retirement, I noticed that I was clinching my jaw.

"You don't have to do that anymore," I told myself.

My life was a wild adventure played out mostly in Chicago, San Francisco and New York City. I was on edge all the time. No matter what I did, I had to do it the most difficult way possible. Especially with women.

So, I was always fighting with the world and struggling to hold myself together. And, always clinching my jaw.

That is not an easy habit to stop. I'm consciously trying, but the habit keeps popping up.

Everything has changed. I no longer need to fight anything. No longer have to look over my shoulder. No longer even have to worry about money. (I'm fixed for life at the level of a college student with a decent part time job.) 

Once I sell my house, I won't even have any bills. No car or house payment. I'll pay into the general house fund with my daughter and son-in-law. Pay for my own cable and internet. 

When I get drawn into a political fight on Facebook or some weblog, I remind myself at some point that political controversy has become irrelevant to me. Hell, I'll be lucky just to live through the next presidency.

I'm focused on the grandkids. They're fascinating people already. I am privileged to spend a lot of time with them. I'm involved in their most formative years. Cooking and cleaning for them, and taking care of a yard so that they are free to play without worry... these are the things that concern me now.

My girlfriend is a very happy Filipino. That's the first thing that people notice about her. The reason for her happiness is obvious... she lives solely to serve other people. She's as deeply Christian as a woman can be. She's a fantastic cook and homemaker. She loves to do the things that so many other people consider chores.

The kids did like the meatballs. The twins dug in, mostly into the hamburger. They tried a few slurps of sauce from a spoon. My toddler girl haggled over dessert before she finally gave in and ate meatballs, sauce and pasta.

Getting Un-Woodstuck

Got the OK from the doctor to resume my normal physical regimen. Good thing! I was going nuts sitting on my ass after 3 surgeries in two months. The good news is... no cancer! The other big news is that I'll be departing Woodstock, although the date for that is not yet set. I'll be getting un-Woodstuck.

"Woodstuck" is a term the locals have always used to describe somebody who moved to town, excited by living in the most famous small town in the world, only to become stuck with no way to get out. 

I got Woodstuck over 40 years ago. Immigrated to the burg to immerse myself in the music scene, and to put my kids in safe schools. Got stuck. Long after there's any reason to be here, I'm still here. 

Not moving very far away. Less than 20 miles, on the periphery of Kingston, but still out in the country and atop a mountain. A shorter mountain.

I will, however, be moving to an entirely different universe. I'll be living in an ordinary small town with no claim to fame, populated by people with a lot more sense and much smaller egos. No flocks of tourists.

The reason? I'm going in with my daughter and son-in-law to buy a house. They need all the help I can give them to care for my three grandkids, and I'm retired and happy to play the role of Mr. Mom. So, we'll be building an in-law unit in the basement of the new house for me. I'll be selling my house in Woodstock.

I've never lived in the town of Woodstock. That's too damned crazy. Town is full of rental houses for the transients, and shops and amenities for the tourists. The transients are artists, usually musicians or painters. An entertaining but addled bunch trying to continue to live the hippie dream.

No, I've always lived in isolation in the forest in the mountains to the west of Woodstock. That area belongs spiritually to Woodstock, isolated from the melodrama and mental illness. Every crazy artist and burned out far leftist must live for a while in Woodstock.

Another reason for the move is that I need somebody to look after me. I'm headed toward 70. No serious health problems, but living in isolation out in the mountains will soon be too much for me to handle. And, if I fall down or have a serious health problem, I will need to have somebody nearby to help me. 

While I'm still completely independent, capable and mobile, I am old.

I'll be Woodstuck until my house sells. Might be a year or two. Or might happen in a hurry.

I'm ready. God has blessed the final chapter of my life... He has given me these beautiful and fascinating grandkids and He's given me a big role in rearing them.

I'll be commuting to my babysitting gig until the house sells. Then, Crazy Grandpa will move into the basement apartment. Happy days ahead, indeed.