Tag Archives: Pops

The Best Laid Plans ► Unpacking The Writer

Toronto’s own Johnnie Lombardi and Me

My Go Fund Me campaign:

In our last exciting episode of Unpacking The Writer — my monthly look behind the curtain at the Not Now Silly Newsroom — I got all nostalgic. To quote myself from Where We’re At & Where We’re Going

I’ve taken care of Pops for the last decade and I’m simply burned out. It’s time for me to return to Toronto, the city I call home, to recharge my batteries.

Ironically, I’m returning to Kensington Market, which has a similar Hippie feel as Coconut Grove. I lived in Kensington Market many years ago, but was able to experience it again anew when I visited Toronto in September. I spent most of my time in the Market and felt comfortable and at home. Soon I will be able to call it home.

When I wrote that (at the beginning of January) my departure date was tentatively scheduled for the end of February; so tentative that I didn’t mention it. Now, due to circumstances beyond my control, I won’t be leaving the Yew Ess Eh ’til the end of August. That means I have more time to tie up all the loose ends down here and promote my Go Fund Me campaign, to help defray my moving expenses.

My best ever month and my All Time Top Five

SOUR GRAPES MAKES FOR A BITTER WHINE: I’ve been looking at the stats again for the Not Now Silly Newsroom. As of this writing, I have served up 410,958 pages for my readers to … err … read since launching this place almost 4 years ago.

My monthly count averages 9,000-10,000 views. My daily hits range anywhere from 150-300, depending on the subject matter and how much promotion I do. On the odd occasion my monthly readership has reached heights that even I have trouble believing. Pictured at right is when I hit almost 18,000 views just one year ago, twice my general average.

I bring these stats up because, to be perfectly honest (and a bit of a whiner), I am disappointed in the lack of response to my Go Fund Me campaign to help me get back to Canada. If people knew how much work went into these posts, and how few pennies I get from the few advertisements that Google feeds me, they’d wonder why I do it at all.

There are times I wonder myself. Times like this when I look at the stats and see that I made a dime yesterday, or $1.78 in the last 28 days, which comes to slightly over 6 cents a day.

I know that over the course of the next month this particular post will be read by an average of 300 people. If every person chucked a quarter into a Tip Jar for every page they read, I’d be bringing in about $2,500 a month. I’ve not even earned 1/10th of that since starting this blog almost 4 years ago.

Having said that, I didn’t start this blog for the money. I would write regardless because it’s what I’ve done my entire adult life. However, I did have it in the back of my mind that this blog could ‘top off’ the other income I produced. It’s been a disaster in that respect.

While still on the subject of stats, you’ll find in the column to the right the Not Now Silly All Time Top Ten Posts. However, just for the fun of it, I broke out the Top 10 stories that caught your attention just this month, from highest to lowest:

TITLE OF POST VIEWS PUBLISHED TOTAL VIEWS
Paul McCartney Deported From Japan 280 Jan 25, 2016 280
A Civil Rights Champion Born 187 Feb 4, 2016 187
Del Shannon & Me 179 Feb 8, 2016 179
The 45 Is Introduced 179 Feb 1, 2016 179
Take the “A” Train 171 Feb 15, 2016 171
The Detroit Riots 132 July 22, 2012 6401
Remembering the Challenger Crew 30 Years Later 125 Jan 28, 2016 125
The Palin Family’s Greatest [Literal] Hits 81 Jan 21, 2016 264
It’s Only A Northern Song 75 Feb 22, 2016 75
Unpacking The Writer 68 Dec 1, 2012 1285

That’s 1,477 views on just the Top Ten posts in the last 30 days (which doesn’t even include those evergreens that didn’t make the Top Ten). A dime per visitor would earn me more than in the past 30 days than I have received in the 4 years since launching the blog.

Recently I was having this discussion with a friend on the facebookery: Our mutual profession of writing has been seriously devalued since Bill Gates made the World Wide Web a Point & Click environment. Anybody with a keyboard and mouse now believes they can write. And, we can see the sad results all over the innertubes: People can barely create a 10 word meme without serious grammar and spelling errors.

Speaking of sour grapes: I’ve groused several times previously about the Coconut Grove Grapevine. I have even truthfully and non-ashamedly admitted to being jealous; jealous that such a poorly written blog has so many more readers than I. That a blog so devoid of actual journalism is able to sell a passel of advertisements. Yet the actual news stories I write about Coconut Grove — as opposed to Falco’s commercial fluff — earns almost nothing at all. [I know I am repeating myself from previous posts, but it’s only a rerun if you’ve seen it before.]

Consequently, a profession I spent my entire adult life perfecting is no longer considered worthy of adequate remuneration. [A big shout out here to all my musician friends who find themselves in the same sinking boat.] I remember how excited I was, way back when, that an editor agreed to pay me 5 cents a word for a very long article she commissioned. I thought I won the lottery because that seemed like a fortune in those days. Now I am constantly approached to write for free because it will be “good exposure.” No, seriously. I also stopped writing “on spec” 4 decades ago. Either I will pre-sell an article or keep it for the Not Now Silly Newsroom.

I need to be more like Al Crespo, of The Crespogram Report,
who publishes the best muckraking blog in Miami. He doesn’t take any
advertising at all, so he obviously doesn’t peg his words’ worth to the
almighty advertising dollar.

Hopefully next month I won’t feel so sorry for myself and my profession.

HOP ON POPS: The last week has been very busy around here. Pops celebrated his 90th birthday on Valentine’s Day. Relatives started arriving last week for the party on the 20th. We took over one of the condo clubhouses and invited over 60 of his friends to help us celebrate this great day.

Here’s a pic of him getting about to blow out his candles and you can follow THIS LINK to a slideshow.

What a great time it was. Pops loves being the center of attention (Who doesn’t?) and he sure was this weekend. People hung on his every word and laughed at all his jokes, even the ones we’ve heard for decades. He couldn’t have asked for a better time and neither could we.

Now that things are returning back to what qualifies as normal around here, I have several irons in the fire. Hopefully, I’ll be able to reveal more about these projects in our next exciting episode of Unpacking The Writer, coming soon to a web browser near you.

Bang The News Slowly ► Unpacking The Writer

Here we go again, readers! Unpacking The Writer is a monthly pulling-back-of-the-curtain to reveal the inner-workings of a one-man news operation. Let’s get right to it.

The most exciting news of the last month is the campaign to put Harry Nilsson in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Every year when the RnRHoF nominees are announced I scream, “What about Harry?” Then when I see who is finally inducted, I just shake my head in despair. This year I decided to do something about it.

Just a few days before last month’s Unpacking The Writer, I fired up a facebookery called Harry Nilsson for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. It was only a few days later that I discovered there was a similar page started much earlier than mine. Had I known, I would have signed onto Harry Nilsson belongs in the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, started by Todd Lawrence, instead. Todd and I connected soon afterwards in IM. I assured him that I didn’t consider my page competition to his and that we should cooperate for the greater good. It can’t hurt that there are two such pages because we travel in different circles.

It wasn’t long before Todd asked we could add Gabriel Szoke, moderator of the Harry Nilsson facebook fan page, to our IMs. Then the 3 of us started kicking around various ideas to put #HarryintheHall. None of our plans are ripe enough to be revealed, but I can assure you that they are grandiose.

There are 3 ways you can help, dear readers: 1). Stay tuned; 2). Join our facebook pages; 3). And, watch this. A Little Touch of Schmilsson in the Night is a sublime BBC production of the LP of the same name. It is one of the few times in his entire career that Harry Nilsson sang live, even though there was no audience and it’s certainly not Rock and Roll:


This is definitely not Rock and Roll

Meanwhile, the Not Now Silly Newsroom has been busy breaking actual news during the past month. 

Since our last exciting episode I’ve written [in chronological order] about Richard Nixon (once again); attended and reported on the campaign kick-off of District Two Candidate Javier Gonzalez; finally told my Sally Kellerman story, which I had been threatening to do for years; wrote about the Bicycle Shop (again), which resulted in a $1,000 fine against Aries Development; and, if that isn’t enough, wrote about a rip off of Miami taxpayers by the valet parking companies — connected to Aries Development through family — and alerted the Miami Parking Authority to this scam. [What’s more is that I’ve been constructing longer and longer sentences.] I’ve been busy little writer.

I make no bones about it: I’m always delighted when I can score points against Gino Falsetto, the rapacious owner/developer of Aries Development. Rather than go through all the reasons why, just read Happy Birthday Coconut Grove!!! Now Honour Your Past. Then join Save the E.W.F. Stirrup House on the facebookery and help me make this campaign go viral.

A PERSONAL MESSAGE TO GINO FALSETTO: When I began writing about the E.W.F. Stirrup House more than 5 years ago, I phoned and emailed several times to get your side of the story. You never gave me the decency of a response, even if it were to tell me it was none of my business and to get lost. However, that did not deter me from trying to save the 120-year old house and the amazing legacy of Ebenezer Woodbury Franklin Stirrup. However, I’d still love to hear your side of the story. Contact me. I promise to be as fair to you as you have been to Coconut Grove history.

This month’s Top Ten Posts

Tangent over, dear readers.

Those are the writings that appear above the surface. What’s below the surface? Well, to start with, there’s always the ongoing research on other stories still to be written. Then there are those stories only partially written. On those I’m either stalled because I’m looking for additional information or have hit the wall on that topic, hoping I’ll eventually return to it. Writer’s Block is a cruel mistress.

But, that’s only what’s just immediately beneath the surface. That’s what will, in all probability (but only if things go well), rise to the surface and eventually appear on these pages. Not everything does. There are currently 23 posts in draft form and I know that not all will make it to the front page of the Not Now Silly Newsroom. To compare: there are 747 posts here, not including this one.

Of course, there are deeper layers. F’rinstance, my continued exploration of Drum Circles. I am trying to solve — in an intellectual way — why I feel such an unworldly attraction to them. The fact of the matter is I’ve never been a joiner. Most of my adult life I’ve eschewed groups the same way Groucho said he wouldn’t want to belong to a club that would have him as a member. However, since my first encounter with a drum circle (a story I tell in The 32nd Annual King Mango Strut), I try to join them whenever I get the chance. I’ll even drive an hour to go to a drum circle.

I play the claves, mostly, but occasionally will play the wood block and, even more occasionally, the cowbell. When I’m playing cowbell nobody shouts, “More cowbell!” because I’m terrible at the cowbell, which takes far more rhythm and wrist than I’ve got. When I play cowbell, I play real quietly, hoping I’ll eventually find the groove. I never seem to.

I was recently discussing my attraction to the claves with one of my drumming buddies. It actually started with mutual book recommendations. I suggested she read Dr. Oliver SacksMusicophilia; Tales of Music and the Brain. I’ve read Sacks books for years, loving his case histories. Reading Musicophilia explained part of my attraction to drum circles and my relationship to music. From the book blurb:

Our exquisite sensitivity to music can sometimes go wrong: Sacks explores how catchy tunes can subject us to hours of mental replay, and how a surprising number of people acquire nonstop musical hallucinations that assault them night and day. Yet far more frequently, music goes right: Sacks describes how music can animate people with Parkinson’s disease who cannot otherwise move, give words to stroke patients who cannot otherwise speak, and calm and organize people whose memories are ravaged by Alzheimer’s or amnesia.

Music is irresistible, haunting, and unforgettable, and in Musicophilia, Oliver Sacks tells us why.

Here’s a true confession: When I was growing up I was constantly told, “Stop fidgeting.”

However, I wasn’t fidgeting. I was keeping an internal rhythm with my feet or hands. I would be tapping my fingers and toes to the music I heard playing in my head all the time.

However, it took me a very long time to realize that not everybody hears music in their head all the time. I’m always hearing music in my head, but only when there is no music; especially if there is no music. Sometimes the machinery I hear on the streets is converted to song as it passes through my ears to other receptors in my brain. Leaf blowers cease droning to become a background pipe organ to a brand new song my grey matter invented on the spot.

When
there’s no music playing, I can have entire swing bands playing my own
arrangements in my own head. Or a Blues band rocking out to a tune
that’s being made up on the spot. I used to do this more often when I
was in my late teens. In fact I remember several hitchhiking trips
when I composed entire tunes in my head. I would write down the lyrics as soon
as I got the chance. I can still remember some of them, which have become far more elaborate in my head over the years.

When there’s actual music playing, my head, hands, and feet keep a counter-rhythm to it, or add trumpet parts, or other vocals. But, only in my head, translating those complexities into seemingly spasmodic jerking of my fingers and toes.

Maybe I should have been a composer/arranger, but I play no instruments and can’t read or write music. However, when I am at drum circles, that part of my psyche seems to get a workout. When I’m in a drum circle I play what I think of as the accents with my claves. Sometimes (in my head) it’s what Ella would sing when she was scatting. Other times I hear my little rat-tat-tat bursts as the parts for a brass section.

I know I have entered my personal groove at a drum circle when what I hear is melody and not strictly rhythm. While I’m not sure I described it so that it makes sense to my readers, it makes perfect sense to me, which is what counts.

If you’ve been following along at home, you’ll recognize Pops, to the left. After my mother died a decade ago, I came down to help Pops. It’s not that Pops really needed my help. He played golf 4-5 days a week. However, he’s of a generation that knows where the kitchen is, but never mastered the magic required to get a meal on the table, unless it came out of a microwave. That’s has always been my main role here.

Pops turned turned 89 on Valentine’s Day and, for the most part, he’s been healthy. But, he’s slowing down. There are fewer chores around the house I’ll let him do. However, it’s hard. I remember how sad he was when I told him that I was taking the laundry away from him. It was one of the household jobs he had to learn when my mother went into the hospital, and he was so proud of himself. He argued for a while, but finally gave in.

Two weeks ago, during a routine pacemaker check-up, it was discovered that it was not getting any signals to his heart. One of the wire leads became corroded some time since his last check-up 3 months ago.

That was the bad news. The good news was that his heart was beating well enough on its own that he didn’t require an immediate operation. We scheduled a pacemaker procedure for the following week, after adjusting some of his meds. This past Thursday he went in for the operation to replace his pacemaker.

Normally, this is an outpatient procedure; a quick in and out. However, because of Pops’ age, they thought it was a good idea that he be kept overnight. I spent about 15 hours at the hospital last week, split over 2 days. I brought Pops home on Friday and he’s been taking it easy ever since.

Now you’re all caught up until next month.

Hurricanes I Have Known

The crazy trajectory of Hurricane Wilma. When it began,
the liklihood of hit hitting Florida was almost zero.

DATELINE: October 19, 2005 — On this day Wilma became “the most intense hurricane on record with a minimum pressure of 882 mb.”

Everybody remembers Katrina, but Wilma has always been the bridesmaid. But, it should be the other way around. Here’s why from the WikiWhackyWoo: “Hurricane Wilma was the most intense tropical cyclone ever recorded in the Atlantic basin. Part of the record breaking 2005 Atlantic hurricane season, which included three of the six most intense Atlantic hurricanes ever (along with #4 Rita and #6 Katrina), Wilma was the twenty-second storm, thirteenth hurricane, sixth major hurricane, fourth Category 5 hurricane, and second-most destructive hurricane of the 2005 season.” 

At the time I had just moved to Florida and wondering what the hell I had gotten myself into. All the news stations down here were going crazy with hurricane coverage and were saying that such an active hurricane season might be the “new normal.”

CLICK TO ENLARGE: Top left: One of the building’s roof peeled off by the wind;
Top right: Trees took the brunt of Hurricane Wilma; Lower left: A neighbour’s
car after the roof was peeled of its roof; Lower right: Roof where it don’t belong.
That yellow thing is the ‘igloo’ where we put our recycling. They became airborne.

While a couple of hurricanes had skirted by Florida prior to Wilma, and Hurricane Katrina crossed the state much farther north, no one thought that Wilma would hit Florida.

It formed as a Tropical Depression, as they all do. But, rather than getting organized in the eastern Atlantic Ocean, it formed in the Caribbean, near Jamaica. Two days later it became a Tropical Storm and received a name: Wilma. A day later it was already a monster Category 5 hurricane.

Then it moved over the Yucatan Peninsula of Mexico, where it simply stopped moving. Hurricane Wilma churned over the Yucatan for almost 2 days, as tourists in Cozumel and Cancun hunkered down as best they could. During those 2 days Hurricane Wilma lost much of its energy, decreasing to a Cat 2 when it entered the Gulf of Mexico. Then the fucker made a right turn and headed straight for my condo.

My condo’s on the east side of Florida. First it made landfall in Cape Romano as a Category 3. However, it also picked up lateral speed, moving across Florida faster than it had the Gulf of Mexico.

Top left: Why trees didn’t do well. Roots have a hard time going down in sand, so
root systems grow outward. With not enough purchase, winds just push them over;
Upper right: Same car. Lower left: Pops giving the ‘thumbs down’ to the tree my
mother, who had recently died, planted when the condo was new; Lower right:
A totally different tree which shows the horizontal extent on the root system.

Pops was an old hand at hurricanes. He’d ridden out many since moving to Florida. In fact, during Hurricane Andrew in 1992 I was working in the CityPulse [sic] Newsroom on BreakfastTelevision. [sic] Through sheer luck of the draw, it fell to me to write up the Hurricane Andrew Story™ that morning. While it was on my mind — and I had free long distance at my disposal — I called Pops in Sunrise to check up on him. At the time I didn’t really know Florida geography and didn’t realize that Homestead, which took a direct hit from Andrew was almost 60 miles away. While on the phone with Pops, who was hunkered down with my mother in the interior closet, Producer Bud Pierce asked if he’d be willing to do a live phoner during our newspacks, which is how he ended up on the air 3 times that morning.

As I said, Pops was an old hand at hurricanes and nothing was going to budge him. That’s why we remained in the condo as it took a direct hit. However, rather than hunker down in Pops’ closet or my bathroom (the only 2 places in the condo that doesn’t have windows), we wandered around the condo, occasionally looking out the windows to watch huge things fly past. We were crazy and lucky nothing happened.

There was one point when everything calmed down and I walked outside in the eye of the hurricane. It was beautiful and clear and one couldn’t even see the eye walls. That lasted only about 15 minutes. Then it all started going to hell again, with the wind coming from the opposite direction.

These pictures are just a small portion from my facebook album Hurricane Wilma Damage.

BTW: We were without power for 18 days after that. People ask me how that was. It was like camping, but with more comfortable furniture.

Unpacking The Writer ► April 2014

Welcome readers both new and old. Once a month, on an irregular schedule, I drop a blog post under the rubric Unpacking the Writer, where I pull back the curtain and expose some of what’s happening on this side of the keyboard, much like Toto did to The Wizard of Oz.

Which is only appropriate because I wrote under the nom de plume of Aunty Em for NewsHounds, the motto of which is “We watch Fox so you don’t have to.” Clearly, I did a very good job of exposing Fox “News” mendacity. You know how I can tell? Although I left NewsHounds more than 2 years ago, the same crazy, obsessive Fox “News” defending, cyber-stalking bullies I picked up back then continue to hound me to this very day. [See what I did there?]

BOOK CORNER: I’ve been writing about the exciting adventures battling my cyber-stalking bullies — chapter by chapter — since the day I launched this blog. They’ve been published at Not Now Silly as needed and now comprise quite a thick dossier on what crazy obsessives do in the Age of the Internet. In previous times they’d be standing on street corners babbling incoherently. This medium keeps them off the street, unless they have a phone smarter than they are.

As of late [and mentioned only to satisfy Grayhammy’s vast curiosity, because he keeps asking] I have been working with an editor to give the project more ‘”shape,” as they keep putting it. They believe The Johnny Dollar Wars could be turned into a Laff Riot Situation Comedy or a blockbuster Gothic Horror movie. [It works both ways.] Until I post a compendium, the best place to start is Anatomy of a Cyber-Feud, which is currently the #3 most popular post at Not Now Silly for the past 30 days, despite it being published way back in December. If you want to keep up with the daily shoot & miss tactics of The Flying Monkey Squad, you’re personally invited to join The Johnny Dollar Depreciation Society, on the facebookery.

Follow the day-to-day craziness of my cyber-stalking bullies at The Johnny Dollar Depreciation Society page.
HARD WORK: Forging Farce Au Pain from the raw alphabet.

CHAPTER TWO: My other book, Farce Au Pain, proceeds a lot slower than I ever expected when I promised serialization way back when. I anticipated having more time to work on it, but life and new Coconut Grove stories keep getting in the way. It doesn’t help that I chose to make my task more difficult. Because it’s being published on the Internet, I decided to link all the facts and references to the existing internet proofs as I edit the manuscript. There are a lot of those, which you’ll notice when it’s eventually published. I’m closing in on it, but I’ve learned better to make any hard promises, otherwise Grayhammy will squawk again. Hopefully I’ll have some news on that front very soon. Stay tuned. Check your local listings. Coming to a browser near you, and all that Jazz.

COCONUT GROVE CORNER: Still awaiting news of a Trolleygate settlement in West Grove. Almost 2 months ago I wrote Is Trolleygate Headed For An Out Of Court Settlement? To quote myself:

So confident are all the parties that an agreement is possible, that they’ve requested a 60-day freeze in all legal proceedings to see if they can all get on the bus. Based on the anger expressed at the Village Council Meeting, it may be an uphill climb on a rough road to a negotiated settlement.


The broad outline of the proposed settlement looks like this: Coral Gables agrees to drop its lawsuit against Astor Development that asks a judge to abrogate its contract with the developer. Meanwhile Astor Trolley/Astor Development agrees to stick the new fake trolley garage RIGHT WHERE IT IS NOW, more or less, as opposed to the non-conforming White Elephant on Douglas Road.

Those 60 days are just about up, if they haven’t expired already. I should put in a few calls. I’ll add that to my ever-increasing To Do List.

This is where the next sidewalk ends.
This historic walkway has been fixed.

MY LATEST WRITING PROJECT: I’ve slowing been crafting another chapter in my ongoing series Where The Sidewalk Ends, Racism Begins (of which there has been only one so far). The next one will delineate another segment of The Colour Line in Coconut Grove, pictured at left.

The Coconut Grove Colour Line has existed for decades. The line was
always meant to keep Black Grove separated from White Grove. But, it’s not just ancient history.

Current segments of The Colour Line are as concrete as the cinder block wall described in Where The Sidewalk Ends, Racism Begins.
Other parts of The Colour Line in Coconut Grove are subtle and almost
imperceptible to the naked eye, unless you know what to look for. Still
other parts of The Colour Line are as clear as black and white when
looking at maps of property values and demographics in Coconut Grove. 

A close up of the fence seen in the background [above left]. Two
feet have been added to the top of it within the last few weeks.

Although the building of The Colour Line in Coconut Grove is ancient history, some of the walls along it were not only maintained, but made taller and more formidable as time went on, a process that continues to this very day. Shockingly so.

Within the last few weeks the latest spot I have been struggling to write about has had its fence — this small segment of The Colour Line — grow 2 feet taller by just nailing new boards over the old. Look for the next blog post on The Colour Line, coming soon to a browser near you.

THE CORNER OF MAIN HIGHWAY AND CHARLES AVENUE: This is where it all began for me 5 years ago when I discovered the Historical Marker and started researching and writing about this small corner of the world. Here are some quick updates:

The deal concerning the Coconut Grove Playhouse continues to unfold exactly as the residents had hoped it never would. The Miami Parking Authority has now painted HUGE arrows in the parking lot on Main Highway, directing traffic to an exit on Charles Avenue. This has increased the traffic in both directions along the Historic Roadway, along which you will find the Coconut Grove Playhouse; the Charles Avenue Historical Marker; the E.W.F. Stirrup House; the former Odd Fellows Hall; the Mariah Brown House, the first house built on Charles; ending at the Charlotte Jane Memorial Park Cemetery, named after the wife and childhood sweetheart of Mr. Stirrup and at the time of its founding the only place in Miami Black folk could be buried.

Meanwhile rapacious developer Gino Falsetto continues to chip away at The Colour Line in Coconut Grove. His Aries Development has checkmated the Coconut Grove Playhouse with the acquisition of the Bicycle Shop on Main Highway at one end. This adds to the property he’s controlled for a while: the two empty lots immediately west of the Playhouse and the E.W.F. Stirrup House immediately across the street. Now whatever people want to build in between all those properties will have to go begging to Aries Development, hat in hand.

Pops on his 88th birthday, February 14, 2014

PERSONAL CORNER: My family and closest friends know, but I’ve not shared this with Not Now Silly readers yet: I came to Florida after the death of my mother to look after Pops. It’s starting to weigh on me and maybe writing about it will help me work some things out.

I’ve been in Sunrise for 9 years, arriving just in time for Hurricane Wilma. When I arrived, Pops was fine, despite his having a stroke about 20 years ago. He battled back and you would never know he had had one.

Pops didn’t really need me to care for him. He was capable of accomplishing more in a day than I did. However, he is of a generation of men who knows where the kitchen is, but just doesn’t know what kind of magic gets food on the table. If I weren’t here, he’d be getting all his meals out of the microwave. A fried egg is beyond his expertise.

However, in every other way he was competent. Three or 4 days a week Pops played 9 holes of golf on the course that wends its way around the condo complex. He’d hang with his buddies at Subway or the condo clubhouse. The last few years he’s been slowing down. At first he’d only play 8 holes of golf, knocking off at the one closest to our building. Then it was 5 holes, meeting up with his crew on the 4th and playing with them through 8.

He may have battled back against the stroke, but he’s getting pummeled by the years. Within the last year he’s been admitted to the hospital twice, both times for having a bit of trouble catching his breath. The last visit was 3 weeks ago. He’s just not bounced back the way we all thought he would afterwards. And, he hasn’t played any golf since. He’s just had a round of tests to see whether we can get to the bottom of this latest problem and we’ll get the results in a few days when we visit the pulmonologist again. Meanwhile he’s on a Nebulizer twice a day and an inhaler 4 times a day and his movements are resricted by his lack of energy.

We’ve recently convinced Pops to start using a cane. After the stroke he always had a very slight imbalance. However, lately it’s been more pronounced. He seems unaware of how he tacks to the right as he walks without assistance. My biggest fear, of course, is that he’s going to fall when I’m not here or when I’m asleep. That’s why I now always make sure a walker and cane are within reach.

This all means I am getting to Coconut Grove less often than I would like, but I wouldn’t suggest Gino Falsetto relax. I still pop into Coconut Grove when I’m least expected. Recently I was fortunate enough to meet his wife Magda. Maybe one day soon I can meet the brains behind Aries Development and can ask him questions directly. Meanwhile, you can help Save the E.W.F. Stirrup House by joining the Facebook group.

Headlines Du Jour ► Friday, February 14, 2014

It’s Valentine’s Day, but more importantly, it’s Pops’ 88th birthday. Pops shares his date with these headlines from yesteryear:

1349 – Several hundred Jews are burned to death by mobs while the remainder of their population is forcibly removed from the city of Strasbourg.
1778 – The United States Flag is formally recognized by a foreign naval vessel for the first time, when French Admiral Toussaint-Guillaume Picquet de la Motte renders a nine gun salute to USS Ranger, commanded by John Paul Jones.
1779James Cook is killed by Native Hawaiians near Kealakekua on the Island of Hawaii.
1849 – In New York City, James Knox Polk becomes the first serving President of the United States to have his photograph taken.
1876Alexander Graham Bell applies for a patent for the telephone, as does Elisha Gray.
1929Saint Valentine’s Day Massacre: Seven people, six of them gangster rivals of Al Capone‘s gang, are murdered in Chicago, Illinois.

Let’s get right to today’s Headlines Du Jour:

LGBT NEWS:

Virginia Ban on Gay
Marriage Overruled

Kansas’ Anti-Gay Segregation Bill Is an Abomination

Facebook adds gender options

TODAY IN HEALTH CARE:

How Texas Health Care Failed Israel, A Man With
Terminal Cancer Who’d Worked His Whole Life

GUNS, GUNS, GUNS:

Court overturns restrictions on
concealed guns in much of California

Appeals panel finds state rules allowing
counties to restrict the right to carry concealed
weapons in public violate the 2nd Amendment.

NATURE IS COMPLICATED:

Takeover of the crazy ants: It’s creepy!

Kentucky Sinkhole Eats
Corvettes, Raises Questions

Geologists explain what happened—and
which other areas might be vulnerable.

THE “O” IN GOP STANDS FOR OLD:

WSJ: Ted Cruz on Mission to ‘Make Republicans Even More Unpopular’


Colorado lawmaker shocks victim’s dad: ‘Good thing’ Aurora shooter had 100-round magazine


Montana Republican Charged With Felony Assault After Throwing 4-Year Old Daughter


Darrell Issa Is Raising Millions Of Dollars
Off Of His Bogus Obama Investigations

SO GLAD WE’RE LIVING IN A POST-RACIAL SOCIETY:

Gun Owner Blames Fictional Black Man for Self-Inflicted Gunshot Wound

MONOPOLY ISN’T JUST A GAME:

Comcast Announces $45.2 Billion Takeover of
Time Warner Cable


Al Franken Drops the
Hammer on the Comcast
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The Comcast Deal Won’t Make a Terrible Industry Any Worse


CAREFUL WHAT YOU TYPE ON FACEBOOK:

The Facebook Comment
That Ruined a Life

FREE THE WEED!!!

Rick Perry urges move toward marijuana decriminalization

Scott Walker: Big difference between
having a beer and smoking marijuana

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Unpacking Aunty Em ► My Shocking Confession

“Hanging” Chad. Despite his
name, Chad’s a wonderful dancer.

I have never voted in an election in my entire life. In fact, it’s somewhat of a family tradition. I am a Second Generation Non-Voter™. 

I had always assumed that Pops voted before I moved back in with him to help him out. I was shocked to learn he never voted in his life. I’ve asked Pops why he doesn’t vote and simply put: he thinks they’re all crooks and doesn’t want to encourage them. People ask me why I’ve never voted and I say, “It’s complicated.”

Get comfy, kidz.

When I became of a voting age, I was already living in CanaDuh, where I moved after growing up in ‘Merka. However, I wasn’t a Canadian citizen. I was merely a “Landed Immigrant,” which is the equivalent of having a Green Card. You must be a Canadian citizen to vote in a Canadian election, just as you have to be a ‘Merkin to vote in ‘Merka.

I lived in Canada as a Landed Immigrant for quite a while. During that period I covered several elections for several publications. I also worked for the #1-rated tee vee newsroom for a decade, which had me working during several long election nights live — some in the newsroom and some as a Field Producer producing, err, out in the field at an election headquarters.

Having no stake voting in Canadian elections, I looked at them from afar, the same way I get to look at the Christmas hysteria every year. It’s a very different experience when watching the sausage get made, especially when one can’t even vote. Having no stake in ‘Merkin elections, I looked at them from even more of an afar, the same way I get to look at the Super Bowl hysteria every year.

If truth be told, I could have voted absentee in ‘Merkin ‘lections. I became eligible to vote there in 1971. Since then there have been no matchups exciting enough for me to go through the process of learning how: Nixon-McGovern; Carter-Ford, Carter-Reagan, Reagan-Mondale, GHW Bush-Dukakis, GHW Bush-Clinton, Clinton-Dole, Bush-Gore, Bush-Kerry. Sorry, but in my opinion none of those races were worth getting out of bed for. Besides, I lived in Canada and never anticipated moving back to ‘Merka. What did I care?

John and Sandra are not related.
Anne and Pierre are cousins.

However, ‘Merka could learn several things from the elections of those crazy Socialists to the north. Lesson Number One: Ballots are uniform across the country. What’s more, they couldn’t be simpler to understand. Make an “X” in a circle on a piece of paper. That’s it. No butterfly ballots. No hanging chads. If there needs to be a recount, all those paper ballots are right there to be recounted. If there’s a dispute? All those paper ballots are right there to be examined.

In Canada electronic voting machines are not owned by one of the candidate’s sons. I put no trust in electronic voting. If entire countries can be hacked, so can your vote. Besides, electronic voting has no paper trail. If you get a receipt for a donut, why not for something as important as your vote?

Lesson Number Two: The Suspense. ‘Merkin ‘lection campaigns always seem to be happening. And, the elections come like clockwork. Senators serve 6 years. Presidents serve 4 years. Congress critters serve 2 years. There always seems to be an election of national import going on in ‘Merka. It seems no sooner that one election is finished, the signs go up for the next election. Those who serve in Congress have it worse. They begin their next campaign on Wednesday.

Suspense is one of the best parts of the Canadian election system. In Canada elections tend to happen every five years, because that’s as long as a government can sit legally without calling one. UNLESS one is called before 5 years have passed. Under the parliamentary system, a Prime Minister
can call an election at any time. If he thinks the party could pick up
more seats in the House, he might call a snap election. But, since Canadians hate being asked to make a firm decision about anything, especially politicians, he better have a good reason to call an
election. He could be punished at the polls if he misreads the mood of the public. Another case in which a snap election can be called — in fact, must be called — is when a minority/coalition government loses a “vote of confidence” in the House.

Lesson Number Three: Most of my ‘Merkin friends would love how there are three viable parties in Canada, as well as a few rump parties that also garner votes. Consequently, if a candidate wants to win, she cannot just appeal to the extremist wackadoodles on one side or another, like what happens in ‘Merkin ‘lections. Having multiple political parties also means that minority/coalition governments are possible. A minority government is the circumstance best for the public in the long run. Political parties have to compromise and work together to get any laws passed. If a government falls due to a vote of “non-confidence,” the party that showed the most intransigence leading to the snap election could be punished at the polls. 

My Majesty’s a pretty nice girl,
but she doesn’t have a lot to say.

Lesson Number Four: The election cycle in Canada is mercifully short. The
legislated minimum length of an election campaign is 36 days. While there’s no maximum legislated length, other laws about
when a government MUST sit in the House would kick in.
This would effectively limit an election campaign to a year. However, and this is the blissful part, Canadian election campaigns generally only last about 5 weeks, TOPS! Then it’s done. Finished.
Kaput. Over. And Canadians forget all about politics until the next election.

However, this essay is supposed to be about me not voting. I digress.

All the time I lived in Canada, it bothered me that I couldn’t vote. All I would have needed to do was become a Canadian Citizen. However, somewhere deep in my heart and psyche I was still a ‘Merkin. There was something about having to swear allegiance to The Queen — a MONARCH, fer fuck’s sake!!! — that went against the grain. Charles Roach — a man I respected who passed away last month — took the same stance as I did. He went further and wanted to abolish the entire monarchy. I didn’t care that much. However, as a ‘Merkin I still couldn’t bring myself to pledge allegiance to a MONARCHY!!! Ain’t that what ‘Merkins spilled blood over way back when, or did I confuse my wars again? They all look alike.

Pics in the Public Domain stitched together by author.

However, it was decades of watching ‘Merkin ‘lections, while fully immersed in a Canadian news stream, that made me 100% cynical about ‘Merkin politics. What can you say about a populace who elected Richard Nixon twice, despite the fact that he was always Tricky Dickie, and always would be? ‘Merkins elected Dubya — not once, but twice!!! That’s when I finally gave up on ‘Merka and decided to take out my Canadian citizenship — oath be damned — just in time to return to ‘Merka to take care of Pops.

That was the supreme irony. While I hold dual citizenship, there were other parts of that
solemn oath I swore to The Queen, and all her heirs and assigns. I also swore
that I would not vote in another country’s elections, nor serve in
another country’s armed forces. I took that part of the oath seriously. Therefore, I am still prohibited from voting. I wonder if I can vote absentee in Canadian elections?

When I returned to ‘Merka, after 3.5 decades outside the country, I decided to adopt the nom de plume “Aunty Em Ericann.” It seemed to fit because I felt almost like a “Stranger in a Strange Land.” The country was familiar on the surface, but once I started digging deeper, I didn’t recognize ‘Merka anymore. She was uglier and meaner than I ever expected her to be. There was far more of “I got mine, Jack. Fuck off” than I ever would have imagined.

However, after careful consideration, I realized the fault was all mine. I came to realize that I had retained an idealized, halcyon, childhood, rose-coloured image of ‘Merka in my mind all of those years in Canada, where there are enough safety nets to catch almost everyone.

I watched the election of Barack Obama from Florida in 2008 with alarm. There was far more racism than I ever could have imagined. Little of that was reflected in the mainstream media news stream (which includes Fox “News”). It was the deeply racist rumblings in some of the circles I found myself immersed in, on the patio at Starbucks, overheard in line at the store. Because people thought I belonged to the same White Skin Club, they’d say the most outrageous things to be unbidden.

‘Merkin racism has only gotten — Yannow, I was going to say “worse,” but I’m not sure it’s worse. I think it has just become more acceptable to express, so it is just out in the open these days. Some people believe because there is a Black president, racism ended. Therefore, they feel more comfortable blurting out the stupidly racist shit that’s dangled at the end of their tongue unexpressed all those years.

Edward Everett Hale, 1865

But I digress and am about to do so again, but I’ll connect it all up at the end.

When I was growing up, there was a short story that deeply affected me. It always brought me to the verge of tears. I recently re-read it and my reaction was even more visceral. How did I know as a child how deeply it would affect me as an adult? But I did.

The Man Without a Country was a short story originally published anonymously in The Atlantic Monthly in 1863. The author was later revealed to have been Edward Everett Hale and it purports to be a true story. However, it is not, something I only learned while researching this paragraph. Yet, that doesn’t change the way I feel about this story. It seems to describe me in a way that I never could have imagined when I first read it as a child.

When I am finally allowed to vote, I will no longer feel like Philip Nolan, whose obituary begins The Man Without a Country.