We've been busy here at WWN. We continue to tweak & test our site and later this Spring you can look for some major design and content changes. But we've got great things that we've added right now:
The Legislature is in session and on top of that - it's an election year. Our Legislative News page (4th tab down on toolbar) is something completely new that we don't believe has ever been done before. This page contains a Twitter feed of tweets not only from WWN but also news sources and legislative members right at the State Capitol. Now folks here in Winston County or across the state, can continually monitor the activity during the session. WWN screens the tweets for content (no flagrant campaigning or name - calling) and will post links to bills or further news stories.
For those unfamiliar with Twitter - posts must be short but can contain links to news stories, websites, video & photos. It's a great headline generator and posts are almost immediate. -- And the great thing about WWN's Feed is that you don't have to follow anyone or even have a Twitter account - Just check out our page several times a day. If you know of an area legislator or news source that tweets, let us know and we will continually add them to our feed.
Also*** you will see a series of video stories over the next few days from Public Service Commissioner Brandon Presley's town hall meeting right here in Louisville on Thursday night. He presented a great deal of information that almost any consumer can use and we have edited his remarks into short videos that will be posted in the News Links section of our home page on a regular basis over the next several days (next post will be Monday). Topics include a Rate payers Bill of Rights, Cell Tower coverage in Winston County, Spoofing, Cramming, the Kemper coal plant and more. The first video is online now.
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Thanks for your support over the last six months and in the future.
William Mccully
Editor WWN
http://winstonwebnews.com
Commentary
Friday, January 7, 2011
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
To Droop or Not To Droop - Every Middle -Aged Man's Question
I’m afraid I’ve reached that certain point in my life; a milestone of middle age that all men dread worse than prostate exams and ear hair; a sign of the aging process that can’t be hidden with a toupee or a botox injection. I have finally reached the “droopy drawers” stage of my life.
My pants and yes, even my underwear just won’t stay put anymore. The gravity that’s been working aggressively on various parts of my body has now attacked my britches. My pants bag around my backside looking for any excuse to drop a little lower and drag my BVD’s along for the ride.
Now a fellow might think that all this bagginess might be coming from a loss of mass in the posterior, allowing for more wiggle room in the standard pair of khakis or jeans, but unfortunately this is not the case. Most men my age could stand a little less baggage back there, but believe me, guys, while this is one of the few areas you do want to shrink as you get older – it ain’t gonna! No, the problem is coming from the other direction.
The late great Lewis Grizzard called it the “two-bellies”; a condition that men seem to suffer from as they reach their forties and beyond. The two-bellies (TB for short) almost always appear in conjunction with droopy drawers and is most likely the cause of this sad sagging situation. If you’re not sure that you suffer from TB, let me provide some instructions for self-diagnosis because the medical profession refuses to recognize this or droopy-drawers (DD) as actual medical problems. All they’re going to do is put you on a low-fat diet and tell you to eat only those things that have the taste and texture of cardboard or Styrofoam packing peanuts.
These ailments are most obvious in the standing position. I suggest you wear a white t-shirt, your favorite pair of khakis and a standard belt. Place the waistline of your britches in the standard position and tighten the belt - one more notch than you usually do. Now, look in a full length mirror. What do you see? If there are two distinct bellies; one north of the belt and another south, you’ve got the TB’s. To further verify your condition, sit down and stand back up. Turn around and view yourself from behind. If the seat of your pants is in close proximity to the back of your knees, you are also suffering from “Droopy Drawers”.
What has happened is that your waistband slipped below belly number two when you sat down. This is a design mechanism built into most trousers to keep their integrity intact and to prevent the top button from popping off with such force as to put out an eye or break a window. But by slipping below belly two, the seat is also lowered and the result is of course “DD”.
Some men try to overcome the effects of “TB” and “DD” by raising their waistline above belly number one to a point just below the neck. This is called high pants or “HP”. This actually rejoins the two bellies into one and produces a nice rounded shape in the midsection. However, it does seem to be only effective when wearing polyester pants and white socks with sandals and the general consensus of opinion is that “HP” is even less attractive than DD.
Most of us go through life after forty, adjusting and hitching up our britches and shorts every time we stand or take a few steps or when we suck in our bellies when we see a pretty girl. It’s just a fact of aging that we have to deal with; like stray hairs growing out of our foreheads at the same time our hairline is receding.
There is no easy cure for “TB” and “DD”. Do a hundred sit ups a day and eat cardboard or deal with the symptoms by hitching up our pants and going about our business – or -- switching to dresses – but most of us just don’t have the legs for that.
My pants and yes, even my underwear just won’t stay put anymore. The gravity that’s been working aggressively on various parts of my body has now attacked my britches. My pants bag around my backside looking for any excuse to drop a little lower and drag my BVD’s along for the ride.
Now a fellow might think that all this bagginess might be coming from a loss of mass in the posterior, allowing for more wiggle room in the standard pair of khakis or jeans, but unfortunately this is not the case. Most men my age could stand a little less baggage back there, but believe me, guys, while this is one of the few areas you do want to shrink as you get older – it ain’t gonna! No, the problem is coming from the other direction.
The late great Lewis Grizzard called it the “two-bellies”; a condition that men seem to suffer from as they reach their forties and beyond. The two-bellies (TB for short) almost always appear in conjunction with droopy drawers and is most likely the cause of this sad sagging situation. If you’re not sure that you suffer from TB, let me provide some instructions for self-diagnosis because the medical profession refuses to recognize this or droopy-drawers (DD) as actual medical problems. All they’re going to do is put you on a low-fat diet and tell you to eat only those things that have the taste and texture of cardboard or Styrofoam packing peanuts.
These ailments are most obvious in the standing position. I suggest you wear a white t-shirt, your favorite pair of khakis and a standard belt. Place the waistline of your britches in the standard position and tighten the belt - one more notch than you usually do. Now, look in a full length mirror. What do you see? If there are two distinct bellies; one north of the belt and another south, you’ve got the TB’s. To further verify your condition, sit down and stand back up. Turn around and view yourself from behind. If the seat of your pants is in close proximity to the back of your knees, you are also suffering from “Droopy Drawers”.
What has happened is that your waistband slipped below belly number two when you sat down. This is a design mechanism built into most trousers to keep their integrity intact and to prevent the top button from popping off with such force as to put out an eye or break a window. But by slipping below belly two, the seat is also lowered and the result is of course “DD”.
Some men try to overcome the effects of “TB” and “DD” by raising their waistline above belly number one to a point just below the neck. This is called high pants or “HP”. This actually rejoins the two bellies into one and produces a nice rounded shape in the midsection. However, it does seem to be only effective when wearing polyester pants and white socks with sandals and the general consensus of opinion is that “HP” is even less attractive than DD.
Most of us go through life after forty, adjusting and hitching up our britches and shorts every time we stand or take a few steps or when we suck in our bellies when we see a pretty girl. It’s just a fact of aging that we have to deal with; like stray hairs growing out of our foreheads at the same time our hairline is receding.
There is no easy cure for “TB” and “DD”. Do a hundred sit ups a day and eat cardboard or deal with the symptoms by hitching up our pants and going about our business – or -- switching to dresses – but most of us just don’t have the legs for that.
Monday, November 15, 2010
A Little Atmosphere in the Toilet
We’re getting ready for the holidays around my house. Holidays mean company. Company means one thing: break out the good towels! You know the ones I’m talking about- the ones that you or the kids are never, ever supposed to touch - the ones with the little monograms on them - the ones that are color coordinated with the guest bathroom.
We put out these towels when we are expecting guests, just like a lot of people do. I assume this is supposed to impress people – the fact that we have towels that we don’t actually use ourselves. Now I’ve become so well trained that when I’m a guest in someone else’s home, I’m very hesitant to use their towels. I really believe most people would prefer that their guests don’t wipe their hands on them and if you do, they probably talk about you after you leave;
“Harold, just come look at this bathroom!”
“What is it, Margie?”
“Just look at that! He actually wiped his hands on our good towels!”
“Incredible! You’d think he was raised in a barn. Better check the medicine cabinet and make sure he didn’t make off with my Viagra. You just can’t trust anybody that would use a guest towel! Better see if he flushed, too!”
I always feel a little guilty if I do dry my hands on someone’s guest towels. If I’m lucky or if my host has planned ahead, there will be another towel hanging around that I can use but more likely than not, I end up drying my hands on the shower curtain or the thighs of my britches.
I don’t understand why anyone would put something as utilitarian as a towel in the bathroom and then not expect it to be used but then women put a lot of things in bathrooms that they never intend for anyone to use. My wife has little bowls filled with soaps - soaps shaped like flowers or seashells or fishes. These soaps aren’t meant for hand washing after working on the old John Deere. Then there are the creams and lotions in the odd shaped little bottles that clutter up the sink and tub areas. These never seem to be used either. And of course, there are the candles – of every color, scent, and shape that a woman could ever imagine. Candles that we aren’t allowed to burn even at times when their fresh aroma could be useful.
I suppose women like these things because they are pretty and add atmosphere to the bath. Men don’t really understand the need to have “atmosphere” in the toilet but we generally go along with it. But I still don’t understand this towel thing. I’ll live with it unless it goes too far. The day my wife tells me I can’t use the guest toilet paper, I’m gonna stop putting the seat down for her.
We put out these towels when we are expecting guests, just like a lot of people do. I assume this is supposed to impress people – the fact that we have towels that we don’t actually use ourselves. Now I’ve become so well trained that when I’m a guest in someone else’s home, I’m very hesitant to use their towels. I really believe most people would prefer that their guests don’t wipe their hands on them and if you do, they probably talk about you after you leave;
“Harold, just come look at this bathroom!”
“What is it, Margie?”
“Just look at that! He actually wiped his hands on our good towels!”
“Incredible! You’d think he was raised in a barn. Better check the medicine cabinet and make sure he didn’t make off with my Viagra. You just can’t trust anybody that would use a guest towel! Better see if he flushed, too!”
I always feel a little guilty if I do dry my hands on someone’s guest towels. If I’m lucky or if my host has planned ahead, there will be another towel hanging around that I can use but more likely than not, I end up drying my hands on the shower curtain or the thighs of my britches.
I don’t understand why anyone would put something as utilitarian as a towel in the bathroom and then not expect it to be used but then women put a lot of things in bathrooms that they never intend for anyone to use. My wife has little bowls filled with soaps - soaps shaped like flowers or seashells or fishes. These soaps aren’t meant for hand washing after working on the old John Deere. Then there are the creams and lotions in the odd shaped little bottles that clutter up the sink and tub areas. These never seem to be used either. And of course, there are the candles – of every color, scent, and shape that a woman could ever imagine. Candles that we aren’t allowed to burn even at times when their fresh aroma could be useful.
I suppose women like these things because they are pretty and add atmosphere to the bath. Men don’t really understand the need to have “atmosphere” in the toilet but we generally go along with it. But I still don’t understand this towel thing. I’ll live with it unless it goes too far. The day my wife tells me I can’t use the guest toilet paper, I’m gonna stop putting the seat down for her.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Reader Suggests Solution for Helmet to Helmet Blows in Pro Football
Letters to the Editor
There is a hot subject in the current news about football that concerns how the game is played. This is the dangerous spear tackling characterized by hitting an opponent with the helmet aiming at his head and what can be done to stop the possible brain damage and carnage on football players.
The NFL has said that starting this Sunday (24 Oct. 2010) they will take measures against the offenders if they practice this barbaric, intentional act to maim an opponent. Some of the players will object because this will remove one of their weapons they use to try to win games. If they are more heavily fined or dropped from the team for multiple games, they will scream even louder.
There is a very simple thing that can be done by the officials which will put a stop to this practice in a single weekend and it will not affect the players’ livelihood by taking money from them in fines. All the officials have to do is to start imposing a 30 yard penalty against the team whose member uses the spear tackle.
A 15 yard penalty is obviously not sufficient to prevent the use of the spear tackle but I think the 30 yard penalty would be. This dangerous form of play appears to happen more often when an opponent gets onto the other team’s end of the field and especially when in or near the red zone. I think a 30 yard penalty would be effective at stopping intentional spear tackling because it would result in an automatic touchdown if it happens on a play starting 30 yards or less from the opponent’s goal line. Even further away it would greatly increase the opportunity to score a touchdown. This would immediately get the attention of the owners of the franchises because it would result in lost games and you can be very sure that they would take the necessary action to stop their players from ever using the spear tackle to stop an opponent.
If applied judiciously, It would become equivalent to throwing a boxer out of the ring for a low blow during a prize fight.
Sincerely yours,
Robert M. Mc Cully, Colonel (Ret. ) UFAF, V.C.
October 23, 2010
There is a hot subject in the current news about football that concerns how the game is played. This is the dangerous spear tackling characterized by hitting an opponent with the helmet aiming at his head and what can be done to stop the possible brain damage and carnage on football players.
The NFL has said that starting this Sunday (24 Oct. 2010) they will take measures against the offenders if they practice this barbaric, intentional act to maim an opponent. Some of the players will object because this will remove one of their weapons they use to try to win games. If they are more heavily fined or dropped from the team for multiple games, they will scream even louder.
There is a very simple thing that can be done by the officials which will put a stop to this practice in a single weekend and it will not affect the players’ livelihood by taking money from them in fines. All the officials have to do is to start imposing a 30 yard penalty against the team whose member uses the spear tackle.
A 15 yard penalty is obviously not sufficient to prevent the use of the spear tackle but I think the 30 yard penalty would be. This dangerous form of play appears to happen more often when an opponent gets onto the other team’s end of the field and especially when in or near the red zone. I think a 30 yard penalty would be effective at stopping intentional spear tackling because it would result in an automatic touchdown if it happens on a play starting 30 yards or less from the opponent’s goal line. Even further away it would greatly increase the opportunity to score a touchdown. This would immediately get the attention of the owners of the franchises because it would result in lost games and you can be very sure that they would take the necessary action to stop their players from ever using the spear tackle to stop an opponent.
If applied judiciously, It would become equivalent to throwing a boxer out of the ring for a low blow during a prize fight.
Sincerely yours,
Robert M. Mc Cully, Colonel (Ret. ) UFAF, V.C.
October 23, 2010
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Cutie & Sweetie
We have two new inhabitants in our house. You see, after an unfortunate accident, our “beloved” housedog “Buster” passed away and with a young child in our home, it was understood that a new puppy was required. And of course “Doctor Fred” our veterinarian just happened to have a passel of pups for sale in his waiting room. (I don’t think it’s much of a coincidence that Doctor Fred also sells used cars.)
Now before I would agree to another pet, I made my daughter promise that she would be responsible and take care of it. I actually made her swear on a stack of three Bibles, had my attorney draw up a contract for her to sign and made her spit on her hand before we shook on it. While she picked out a single puppy that struck her fancy, I paid the vet bill for the previously deceased Buster and then wrote another check for the puppy. Little did I realize that the check writing was just beginning.
As we took “the sweetest little puppy in the world” home, (my daughter’s words not mine) the pup promptly wet on my car seat. When we got home, my wife was waiting for us, still teary-eyed and a bit melancholy about Buster but she did make the best of it. As anyone with a new pet would do, we sat in the floor to play with “the sweetest puppy in the world” that of course immediately wet on the rug. I should have known that I was in trouble when my wife didn’t get upset at this or the other mess that “Sweetie” was strategically leaving around the living room. In fact, Tracy seemed unusually calm and that should have been a warning sign of things to come.
Even though it was like closing the barn door after the horse got out, my daughter & I took the pup outside. As we sat on the steps and watched for any “activity”, I whiled away the time pondering the absurdity of the theory of evolution, not upon religious grounds but upon a review of my current situation. I mean when you consider that man has evolved from hunters, gatherers and graphic cave artists to the state at which I found myself (waiting in the hot sun for a dog to do her business), it doesn’t really lend much support to Darwin’s Theories.
After twenty minutes of no activity, “Sweetie” was brought back inside where she promptly wet in the foyer just inside the door. As my daughter so cheerfully cleaned up the mess, I realized that my wife was nowhere to be found & neither was the checkbook. I checked the garage and her car was gone. Thinking positively I reasoned that she had gone to get some high powered puppy food for “Sweetie”. You know the kind I’m talking about; it costs more per pound than rib eye steak & has “all the vitamins, minerals & roughage to make your puppy big & strong & poop a lot!”
It wasn’t much later that she came in the door holding “the cutest puppy in the world.”
“Sweetie needed a companion.” She said, “and besides it’s no more trouble to keep two than it is one.” Now I’ve been married for 17 years and even as slow-witted as I am, I know there are some battles that I can’t win. I wasn’t even going to fight this one. Sweetie was excited to see her sister, so excited in fact, that she wet on the rug again. Cutie decided to make it a group activity.
After much debate and at least one roll of paper towels, Sweetie & Cutie became Roxie & Chloe. Now a trip to Wal Mart was required to fulfill the “little darlings” needs. This included five pounds of that puppy food, two color coordinated collars, half a dozen squeaky toys, chew sticks, pig ears, Vidal Sassoon Dog Shampoo or equivalent, puppy pads, doggie perfume, nail polish, air freshener, carpet cleaner and industrial strength paper towels (they’re in the automotive department). Fortunately we already had a pet carrier.
Now I’ve had dogs all my life but most of them were outdoor critters that slept on the porch and chased rabbits when the urge hit them. Roxie & Chloe or “Pee & Poop” as I call them aren’t ever going to make it outside. Why any self- respecting rabbit would either die laughing at the sight of them or try to nurse them. So we were going to have to house train Pee & Poop – errr Roxie & Chloe. Now I had once house-trained a border collie in one day so I figured this shouldn’t be too hard; a rolled up newspaper and sharp voice should take care of this in short order. I discovered that these dogs have very little in common with border collies!
The first night, I think there were 47 little presents left for us throughout the house & this was before bedtime. We finally got them in their cage and quiet around midnight. By four o’clock the next morning, I couldn’t take the whining anymore. I did learn that my wife could actually laugh in her sleep when I told her that she needed to get up & take the puppies outside. Being the good father that I am and knowing that a ten year old needs her sleep, I didn’t bother to drag out my contract with my daughter and wake her with the details of Article IV, Section 1-5 of the fine print. Fortunately, our nearest neighbor is a quarter mile away, so still half asleep, I just slipped on my wife’s bathrobe, grabbed the “little darlings” and took them to the backyard. Instead of taking care of business as they should, they proceeded to make a mad dash for the woods behind our house. Calling them did no good as they were as confused about their names as I was and as some of the names I was calling them were not appropriate for mixed company, it’s just as well they didn’t respond.
Now we have a lot of coyotes in our area and as I didn’t want to put my family through yet another grieving process, I decided I had better bring them back. I took off after them in an uncinched pink bathrobe and not much else. After ten minutes of stumbling through the mud & brambles not only had I lost the puppies but I had also lost the belt to the robe and most of my dignity. I decided to go back to the house and get properly dressed and equipped for a massive search effort. As I crawled out of the woods, there they were sitting on the porch looking at me with their heads cocked to the side as if thinking “What’s that idiot doing out there?”. I’m just thankful that God will forgive us for the use of foul language in times of stress especially between the hours of midnight & five A.M.
Upon bringing them back into the house, Pee & Poop (they’ve earned these names) proceeded to do just that on the living room rug. Knowing there wasn’t much sense in going back to bed, I spent the next three hours following them around with a paper towel in one hand and a rolled up newspaper in the other. I have to give my wife some credit for good judgment, as she never once had the nerve to ask me what happened to her bathrobe.
Later I learned that puppies don’t have much control over their bodily functions until they are twelve to sixteen weeks old and that smaller breeds like Pee & Poop can sometimes take as much as six months to house train. I think these gals are going for the record. My daughter is not so cheerful about cleaning up after them anymore and my wife has to feed them most of the time but the “little darlings” have become part of the family now. Oh, by the way, that contract I had with my daughter; I found a real good use for it at about four o’clock one morning.
This is an older story written several years ago. Roxie & Chloe are still with us. The pink bathrobe didn't survive.
Now before I would agree to another pet, I made my daughter promise that she would be responsible and take care of it. I actually made her swear on a stack of three Bibles, had my attorney draw up a contract for her to sign and made her spit on her hand before we shook on it. While she picked out a single puppy that struck her fancy, I paid the vet bill for the previously deceased Buster and then wrote another check for the puppy. Little did I realize that the check writing was just beginning.
As we took “the sweetest little puppy in the world” home, (my daughter’s words not mine) the pup promptly wet on my car seat. When we got home, my wife was waiting for us, still teary-eyed and a bit melancholy about Buster but she did make the best of it. As anyone with a new pet would do, we sat in the floor to play with “the sweetest puppy in the world” that of course immediately wet on the rug. I should have known that I was in trouble when my wife didn’t get upset at this or the other mess that “Sweetie” was strategically leaving around the living room. In fact, Tracy seemed unusually calm and that should have been a warning sign of things to come.
Even though it was like closing the barn door after the horse got out, my daughter & I took the pup outside. As we sat on the steps and watched for any “activity”, I whiled away the time pondering the absurdity of the theory of evolution, not upon religious grounds but upon a review of my current situation. I mean when you consider that man has evolved from hunters, gatherers and graphic cave artists to the state at which I found myself (waiting in the hot sun for a dog to do her business), it doesn’t really lend much support to Darwin’s Theories.
After twenty minutes of no activity, “Sweetie” was brought back inside where she promptly wet in the foyer just inside the door. As my daughter so cheerfully cleaned up the mess, I realized that my wife was nowhere to be found & neither was the checkbook. I checked the garage and her car was gone. Thinking positively I reasoned that she had gone to get some high powered puppy food for “Sweetie”. You know the kind I’m talking about; it costs more per pound than rib eye steak & has “all the vitamins, minerals & roughage to make your puppy big & strong & poop a lot!”
It wasn’t much later that she came in the door holding “the cutest puppy in the world.”
“Sweetie needed a companion.” She said, “and besides it’s no more trouble to keep two than it is one.” Now I’ve been married for 17 years and even as slow-witted as I am, I know there are some battles that I can’t win. I wasn’t even going to fight this one. Sweetie was excited to see her sister, so excited in fact, that she wet on the rug again. Cutie decided to make it a group activity.
After much debate and at least one roll of paper towels, Sweetie & Cutie became Roxie & Chloe. Now a trip to Wal Mart was required to fulfill the “little darlings” needs. This included five pounds of that puppy food, two color coordinated collars, half a dozen squeaky toys, chew sticks, pig ears, Vidal Sassoon Dog Shampoo or equivalent, puppy pads, doggie perfume, nail polish, air freshener, carpet cleaner and industrial strength paper towels (they’re in the automotive department). Fortunately we already had a pet carrier.
Now I’ve had dogs all my life but most of them were outdoor critters that slept on the porch and chased rabbits when the urge hit them. Roxie & Chloe or “Pee & Poop” as I call them aren’t ever going to make it outside. Why any self- respecting rabbit would either die laughing at the sight of them or try to nurse them. So we were going to have to house train Pee & Poop – errr Roxie & Chloe. Now I had once house-trained a border collie in one day so I figured this shouldn’t be too hard; a rolled up newspaper and sharp voice should take care of this in short order. I discovered that these dogs have very little in common with border collies!
The first night, I think there were 47 little presents left for us throughout the house & this was before bedtime. We finally got them in their cage and quiet around midnight. By four o’clock the next morning, I couldn’t take the whining anymore. I did learn that my wife could actually laugh in her sleep when I told her that she needed to get up & take the puppies outside. Being the good father that I am and knowing that a ten year old needs her sleep, I didn’t bother to drag out my contract with my daughter and wake her with the details of Article IV, Section 1-5 of the fine print. Fortunately, our nearest neighbor is a quarter mile away, so still half asleep, I just slipped on my wife’s bathrobe, grabbed the “little darlings” and took them to the backyard. Instead of taking care of business as they should, they proceeded to make a mad dash for the woods behind our house. Calling them did no good as they were as confused about their names as I was and as some of the names I was calling them were not appropriate for mixed company, it’s just as well they didn’t respond.
Now we have a lot of coyotes in our area and as I didn’t want to put my family through yet another grieving process, I decided I had better bring them back. I took off after them in an uncinched pink bathrobe and not much else. After ten minutes of stumbling through the mud & brambles not only had I lost the puppies but I had also lost the belt to the robe and most of my dignity. I decided to go back to the house and get properly dressed and equipped for a massive search effort. As I crawled out of the woods, there they were sitting on the porch looking at me with their heads cocked to the side as if thinking “What’s that idiot doing out there?”. I’m just thankful that God will forgive us for the use of foul language in times of stress especially between the hours of midnight & five A.M.
Upon bringing them back into the house, Pee & Poop (they’ve earned these names) proceeded to do just that on the living room rug. Knowing there wasn’t much sense in going back to bed, I spent the next three hours following them around with a paper towel in one hand and a rolled up newspaper in the other. I have to give my wife some credit for good judgment, as she never once had the nerve to ask me what happened to her bathrobe.
Later I learned that puppies don’t have much control over their bodily functions until they are twelve to sixteen weeks old and that smaller breeds like Pee & Poop can sometimes take as much as six months to house train. I think these gals are going for the record. My daughter is not so cheerful about cleaning up after them anymore and my wife has to feed them most of the time but the “little darlings” have become part of the family now. Oh, by the way, that contract I had with my daughter; I found a real good use for it at about four o’clock one morning.
This is an older story written several years ago. Roxie & Chloe are still with us. The pink bathrobe didn't survive.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
The "Tuxedo Girl" is Baaaack!
I noticed in this week’s Clarion Ledger that “Tuxedo Girl” is back. If you remember last Spring, a high school senior in South Mississippi demanded to have her picture included in the yearbook – a reasonable expectation. She was a honor student, active in school organizations and apparently well-liked and well behaved. So what’s the problem? She only wanted her picture included if she could wear a tuxedo not the traditional gown that was expected and accepted by all other female students.
And her reasoning?
The young lady said she should get to decide how she looks in the senior photo. The school should have no right to enforce their stereotypical views of gender upon her. The student indicates that she doesn’t wear feminine clothing while attending school and that she shouldn’t be obligated to wear them in the yearbook. It is here that it should be noted that it is doubtful that she wore a tuxedo to class either.
The school policy (unwritten but certainly understood by all the other students at the school) is that male students wear a tux and female students wear a gown for inclusion in the yearbook. This student doesn’t claim to be male or suffer from gender confusion, so why is she determined to wear a tux?
Here’s a quote:
"I feel like I'm not important, that the school is dismissing who I am as a gay student and that they don't even care about me. All I want is to be able to be me, and to be included in the yearbook."
So it wasn’t a dress issue after all or even a policy issue – it’s a gay issue – a publicity stunt - designed to draw attention to herself.
Her treatment in the press at that time and by advocacy groups was decidely “pro-tuxedo.” NOW and the ACLU vowed support and threatened the school district with legal action if they didn’t capitulate. To their credit, the school district didn’t and “Tuxedo Girl’ didn’t appear in the yearbook.
Now, after the fame and publicity enjoyed by the gay teenager in North Mississippi who halted a school prom because of her threats against a school district, “Tuxedo Girl” has decided to file her own lawsuit against her school. She seeks unspecified damages and legal costs.
This is what her attorney from the ACLU said, “It’s unlawful to force students to conform to outdated notions about what boys and girls should look like without any regard to who they actually are as people.”
It really comes down to - who sets the standards? Do you accept my standards – Do I accept yours? Maybe Obama can set them for us or Pat Roberson. The ACLU is certainly trying to set some kind of standard for us but I’m not sure what gives them that right other than their deep pockets. Or maybe we should acknowledge that given these choices, there is a place in our culture for tradition, authority and historical precedent because that’s the best option we have.
I can’t help but believe that “Tuxedo Girl” is perpetuating a fraud upon the public by claiming discrimination due to sexual orientation when the issue has nothing to do with sexual orientation – all to obtain publicity.
“Tuxedo Girl’s” claim of discrimination is without a doubt – false. The school system did not single out this young woman and force her to dress differently or treat her differently from other students. She chose to single her self out – her choice.
The school system did not make an issue of her sexual orientation – only her gender. A policy that apparently sits well with all the other students. I’m sure there are some female students that are more masculine than others and some male students that exhibit feminine characteristics from time to time. These students didn’t deem it necessary to draw attention to themselves by dressing in the garb of the opposite sex for their yearbook photo – why not? – Because they didn’t have an agenda – they weren’t seeking attention.
Tuxedo Girl says she had a right to decide how she wishes to appear in the yearbook and that a gown did not represent how she dresses in her daily life. I doubt very seriously that a tuxedo is an accurate representation of her daily wear either. This young woman had a right to choose – whether to be included in her high school yearbook or not but she didn’t have the right (at the expense of others) to use a tradition and a right of passage to adulthood as a means of drawing attention to herself or her sexual orientation – no more than a student who demands to flash a gang symbol or wear an Atlanta Braves jersey or hold their deer rifle in their photo because in their mind it symbolizes who they are.
I have to say to Tuxedo Girl: “ Grow up a little and get on with your life. If you believe that your clothes define who you are, then you are going to have much bigger problems in life than a simple yearbook photo – and if you don’t want people to base their impressions of you upon your sexual orientation then I suggest that you not define your life that way.
As for NOW & the ACLU, I can’t help but wonder how solid their support would be if Tuxedo Girl had decided to add a little something else to her attire – like a ball cap with the slogan “Jesus Saves”.
W. McCully
And her reasoning?
The young lady said she should get to decide how she looks in the senior photo. The school should have no right to enforce their stereotypical views of gender upon her. The student indicates that she doesn’t wear feminine clothing while attending school and that she shouldn’t be obligated to wear them in the yearbook. It is here that it should be noted that it is doubtful that she wore a tuxedo to class either.
The school policy (unwritten but certainly understood by all the other students at the school) is that male students wear a tux and female students wear a gown for inclusion in the yearbook. This student doesn’t claim to be male or suffer from gender confusion, so why is she determined to wear a tux?
Here’s a quote:
"I feel like I'm not important, that the school is dismissing who I am as a gay student and that they don't even care about me. All I want is to be able to be me, and to be included in the yearbook."
So it wasn’t a dress issue after all or even a policy issue – it’s a gay issue – a publicity stunt - designed to draw attention to herself.
Her treatment in the press at that time and by advocacy groups was decidely “pro-tuxedo.” NOW and the ACLU vowed support and threatened the school district with legal action if they didn’t capitulate. To their credit, the school district didn’t and “Tuxedo Girl’ didn’t appear in the yearbook.
Now, after the fame and publicity enjoyed by the gay teenager in North Mississippi who halted a school prom because of her threats against a school district, “Tuxedo Girl” has decided to file her own lawsuit against her school. She seeks unspecified damages and legal costs.
This is what her attorney from the ACLU said, “It’s unlawful to force students to conform to outdated notions about what boys and girls should look like without any regard to who they actually are as people.”
It really comes down to - who sets the standards? Do you accept my standards – Do I accept yours? Maybe Obama can set them for us or Pat Roberson. The ACLU is certainly trying to set some kind of standard for us but I’m not sure what gives them that right other than their deep pockets. Or maybe we should acknowledge that given these choices, there is a place in our culture for tradition, authority and historical precedent because that’s the best option we have.
I can’t help but believe that “Tuxedo Girl” is perpetuating a fraud upon the public by claiming discrimination due to sexual orientation when the issue has nothing to do with sexual orientation – all to obtain publicity.
“Tuxedo Girl’s” claim of discrimination is without a doubt – false. The school system did not single out this young woman and force her to dress differently or treat her differently from other students. She chose to single her self out – her choice.
The school system did not make an issue of her sexual orientation – only her gender. A policy that apparently sits well with all the other students. I’m sure there are some female students that are more masculine than others and some male students that exhibit feminine characteristics from time to time. These students didn’t deem it necessary to draw attention to themselves by dressing in the garb of the opposite sex for their yearbook photo – why not? – Because they didn’t have an agenda – they weren’t seeking attention.
Tuxedo Girl says she had a right to decide how she wishes to appear in the yearbook and that a gown did not represent how she dresses in her daily life. I doubt very seriously that a tuxedo is an accurate representation of her daily wear either. This young woman had a right to choose – whether to be included in her high school yearbook or not but she didn’t have the right (at the expense of others) to use a tradition and a right of passage to adulthood as a means of drawing attention to herself or her sexual orientation – no more than a student who demands to flash a gang symbol or wear an Atlanta Braves jersey or hold their deer rifle in their photo because in their mind it symbolizes who they are.
I have to say to Tuxedo Girl: “ Grow up a little and get on with your life. If you believe that your clothes define who you are, then you are going to have much bigger problems in life than a simple yearbook photo – and if you don’t want people to base their impressions of you upon your sexual orientation then I suggest that you not define your life that way.
As for NOW & the ACLU, I can’t help but wonder how solid their support would be if Tuxedo Girl had decided to add a little something else to her attire – like a ball cap with the slogan “Jesus Saves”.
W. McCully
Sunday, August 15, 2010
I Know What's Wrong with Pelosi, Reed & Obama
Nancy Pelosi, Harry Reid and President Obama are not real popular right now, even with a lot of the folks that put em in office. It seems like they're just unhappy folks in charge and misery loves company. Now I'm not going to talk any specific politics here. Lord knows there's enough of that out there on the news and Facebook and Twitter. I'm just looking at these folks at a personal level.
Just take a look at them; Obama always going around talkin about whose *ss he's gonna kick, Nancy looks like she swallered a sour pill and Harry, poor Harry, just can't seem to keep his foot outa his mouth.
I know there's a lot a stress in their jobs yet it looks to me like they create a lot of it themselves. But I know what's really wrong with em. I discovered it when I saw a picture of all three of em together. It becomes real obvious when they pose together at some bill signing that just cost us taxpayers - some umpteen trillion dollars;
They 're hungry.
Just look at em. This has got to be the skinniest bunch of leaders this country has ever seen. Nancy looks like one of them stick figures you draw when you're playing hangman, Harry looks like the scared school teacher, Ichabod Crane, in the Tale of Sleepy Hollow and heaven help me- the Prez looks like Jack Skellington in Tim Burton's Movie "Nightmare Before Christmas".
It's hard to make good decisions or be agreeable if you're hungry. Your ol' stomach's a growlin and maybe you got a little low blood sugar to make you a bit dizzy. Things might improve up there in Washington if we could just get these folks to eat proper- fatten em up a bit as my Momma used to say.
It's interesting to note that none of these folks are from the South where we know how, when, what and where to eat. I know they say we're the fattest folks in America and as to how unhealthy we are, but compared to the rest of the country- we do manage to get along better than most and if you look around, we've managed to control our state budgets better than them skinny folks out in California or them high-falootin sushi (we call it bait down here) & salad eatin socialites in New York. A little meat on your bones tends to make you calmer and more thoughtful in your decision making - you see the world with a little more ease.
Now I don't know exactly why these folks aren't eatin - maybe they've got some misplaced concern about their health or appearance but it's obvious it ain't workin for em. Nancy got access to all that fresh seafood at Fisherman's Wharf, Harry could probably eat free at any casino buffet in Las Vegas and the President has got his own personal chef. There ain't no excuse for them to be as skinny as they are. I can only assume it's the environment that they're workin in. I mean everytime I think about the stuff goin on in Washington, I lose my appetite too.
So maybe instead of fussin and cussin at em from a distance, we oughta invite em down here just for some real food. Governor Barbour who is more than qualified in the ways of Southern cookin, could invite them on the pretense of discussing the Gulf situation and then we could whisk them up here to Louisville for some good ol' fashioned fare. We all know Ms. Aline Haynes and a few others could throw a meal together to put anybody in a good mood. People just tend to be more pleasant when their bellies are full of fried chicken, garlic mashed potatoes, purple hull peas, fried green tomatoes and southern cornbread. Now - if you were to top that off with a slice of pecan pie and a serving of Alene Ingram's homemade ice cream, I guarantee them folks couldn't be anything but more agreeable.
Just take a look at them; Obama always going around talkin about whose *ss he's gonna kick, Nancy looks like she swallered a sour pill and Harry, poor Harry, just can't seem to keep his foot outa his mouth.
I know there's a lot a stress in their jobs yet it looks to me like they create a lot of it themselves. But I know what's really wrong with em. I discovered it when I saw a picture of all three of em together. It becomes real obvious when they pose together at some bill signing that just cost us taxpayers - some umpteen trillion dollars;
They 're hungry.
Just look at em. This has got to be the skinniest bunch of leaders this country has ever seen. Nancy looks like one of them stick figures you draw when you're playing hangman, Harry looks like the scared school teacher, Ichabod Crane, in the Tale of Sleepy Hollow and heaven help me- the Prez looks like Jack Skellington in Tim Burton's Movie "Nightmare Before Christmas".
It's hard to make good decisions or be agreeable if you're hungry. Your ol' stomach's a growlin and maybe you got a little low blood sugar to make you a bit dizzy. Things might improve up there in Washington if we could just get these folks to eat proper- fatten em up a bit as my Momma used to say.
It's interesting to note that none of these folks are from the South where we know how, when, what and where to eat. I know they say we're the fattest folks in America and as to how unhealthy we are, but compared to the rest of the country- we do manage to get along better than most and if you look around, we've managed to control our state budgets better than them skinny folks out in California or them high-falootin sushi (we call it bait down here) & salad eatin socialites in New York. A little meat on your bones tends to make you calmer and more thoughtful in your decision making - you see the world with a little more ease.
Now I don't know exactly why these folks aren't eatin - maybe they've got some misplaced concern about their health or appearance but it's obvious it ain't workin for em. Nancy got access to all that fresh seafood at Fisherman's Wharf, Harry could probably eat free at any casino buffet in Las Vegas and the President has got his own personal chef. There ain't no excuse for them to be as skinny as they are. I can only assume it's the environment that they're workin in. I mean everytime I think about the stuff goin on in Washington, I lose my appetite too.
So maybe instead of fussin and cussin at em from a distance, we oughta invite em down here just for some real food. Governor Barbour who is more than qualified in the ways of Southern cookin, could invite them on the pretense of discussing the Gulf situation and then we could whisk them up here to Louisville for some good ol' fashioned fare. We all know Ms. Aline Haynes and a few others could throw a meal together to put anybody in a good mood. People just tend to be more pleasant when their bellies are full of fried chicken, garlic mashed potatoes, purple hull peas, fried green tomatoes and southern cornbread. Now - if you were to top that off with a slice of pecan pie and a serving of Alene Ingram's homemade ice cream, I guarantee them folks couldn't be anything but more agreeable.
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