DON'T QUOTE ME ON THAT...

Waitin' for an offsite meeting to wrap up so that I can break down some data equipment.  A speaker just finished up with a quote that he attributed to Winston Churchill, complete with a presentation graphic displayed on the colossal screen behind him.  It was a particularly simple, but eloquent, statement, and I pulled out my phone so that I could copy it down.  Before I could finish, the slide was taken down.  I turned to the Interweb to make sure I had transcribed it correctly- found multiple references immediately.

Funny thing:  This particular quote is often attributed to Churchill, but there is nothin' to prove that he actually said it or wrote it.  No letters.  No speech transcripts.  Nothin'.  Several sites displayin' it as a quote, none givin' reference to anything.

These were good words, placed in a certain order with appropriate punctuation, that expressed a fine sentiment.  But somehow, at some point, someone felt it necessary to attach a famous name to these words in what I can only assume was an effort to give the statement some sort of heightened (inflated?) legitimacy/validity.

So, someone took a perfectly good, even above average, expression of thought and hung a chunk of Bullshit at the end of it.

This was unnecessary, and may well only serve to reduce the impact of a set of good words.  The statement, with the misattribution attached, has become nothin' more than a lie.  Some Bullshit.

Think of how often we're exposed to things like this every day and we never even know it.  The Politicians and the Spin Doctors and the For-Profit Media have figured out just how gullible a huge portion of our citizenry actually is.  And they know that practically anything can be said, no matter how false and absurd, and a large percentage of those that hear it will take it as Absolute Truth.  It can be refuted and proven wrong over and over again, but a great number will still hold on to it and take it as Gospel, especially if it happened to be somethin' that they wanted to believe to begin with.

Disregard for Honesty?  Self-delusion?  Intellectual Sloth or Plain Ol' Stupidity?  Couldn't tell you.  But I would imagine it to be a combination of many, many things, includin' those I've mentioned.

Perhaps, some day, we'll grow bored and embarrassed by our own ignorance and decide to start engagin' our brains enough to cut through the Fog of Lies and Distortions.

But I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you.  I've heard that can actually turn you into an atheist...

Fish~

IS IT BULLSHIT? WELL...

So, been sorta broke down for the past few days, hangin' around the house, completely non-productive.  Bluesy.  A Stationary Front, somewhere between the Top and the Bottom of a Depressive Swing--just ain't exactly sure of the direction, up or down.  (Odd.  The direction is usually pretty damn obvious.)  But, this afternoon, feelin' better (up?), I thought I'd kill a little time by diggin' up a few thought-provokin' (emphasis on "provokin'") historical quotes that I could drop out here on the Ol' Interweb.  (I call it "Stirrin' the Pot...")

With not a lot of time or effort, I soon gathered several bits that I found interestin', even topical.  You know--Venerable Statesmen, Foundin' Fathers, that kinda stuff.  Bona fide--or so some might have you believe...

Never intentionally wantin' to be the Purveyor of Bad Info (though I have been guilty in the past) I set about the task of vettin' my Chosen Slices of Flowery Dead Man Rhetoric.  However, the actual content of these particular Pearls of Wisdom ain't exactly what I've wound up feelin' like sharin'.  Nope, not exactly.

It ain't that tough to do a little fact-checkin'.  Just copy a relevant snippet of text, drop it in the tiny window, search, cross-reference and compare.  (With somethin' as specific as quotes, the results of a query are fairly free of irrelevant material.)   More often than you might expect, results may render strong evidence, or downright proof, that information peddled as Truth is, in reality, a Falsehood. Or, what is better know by it's more descriptive common name--"Bullshit".

So, I shifted gears and went lookin' for it.  (For Bullshit.)

Curious as to just how broad a swath this phenomenon cut, I began to pull up random quotes and claims and statements.  Even dumb stuff;  Stuff you wouldn'ta thought anybody would ever bother to lie about or have any reason to misrepresent.  (I suppose my original pursuit--quotes from historical figures--would be placed in the Dumb Stuff Column by some.)  I found that, with suprisin' frequency, after a little diggin' and the application of some Common Sense...  Yep, some Bullshit.  Sometimes, it's hard to question the validity of a statement or postulation, particularly when it's comin' from somethin' we may consider a "trusted source", or if it should happen to fit a particular pre-conceived notion we may personally hold in favor.  (This would be a polite way of sayin' "what we want to hear.")

"Where'd ya hear that?"

"Read it out there on that Internet."

"Oh.  Well Hell, then it must be true..."

If you can find additional reasonable points of proof, arrived at independently from one another, that either support the original information or contradict it, then you have attempted to do due dilligence when it comes to acceptin' somethin' as a point of fact.  (One nail in a board- not very secure and easy to spin.  A second nail--more secure, much harder to move.  Three nails--damn secure.  Ad infinitum...  A simple, succinct analogy.)

First, I started drillin' down on the really easy things, the kinda stuff saddled with histories rife with subterfuge and manipulation:  Partisan Politics;  the Media--Left, Right, and Center;  Big Business;  Advertisin';  Religion--all of it; the Obvious Bullshitters; Those with Agendas Clear as Chrystal.

Some things were blatantly suspect on the first read, quick and easy to refute.  Other Bullshit was more cleverly disguised.  Some deceits were so subtle, so camouflaged, they were virtually transparent, invisible.  Arguably, Works of Art.  I'm confident that, if confronted, many of the more adept Authors of Bullshit would refer to their "manipulation" of information (I'm bein' extremely gracious) as "Spin".

The more I looked, the more Bullshit I found.  Everywhere.  Absolutely dead up everywhere.  Did I learn anything?  Did I experience an epiphany?  Have a revelation?  Maybe feel just a tiny bit smarter...?

It would appear that the Internet has become the New Roost for all manners of Bullshit: Hate, Commercialism, Religious and Political Dogma, even a place for the promotion of an authoritarian and nationalistic system of government and social organization with a contempt for Democracy.  (Okay, that last one is Fascism.  Just felt like slippin' in a quick definition...)  

Perhaps, regardin' the Distillation of  Legitimate Fact from a Churnin' Sea of Bullshit, it may actually be better, simpler, smarter in this particular scenario, to view the information in question with the help of metaphoric blinders, or as through the center of a narrow philosophical tube.  Somethin' that would assist us in shuttin' out some of the Noise and Flashin' Lights, increasin' our capacity for Focus, intensify Concentration, assist in avoidin' the Intentional Distractions designed and constructed to Influence and Sway.

We have all become active, unknowing participants in a Global Exercise in Gullibility, deployed on the Grandest of Scales.  Suspicion?  Sure.  Paranoia...?  Maybe...

The Internet, in so many ways, has become (relative to Conflict) a reflection of our Contemporary World.  On issues of Morality, Religion, Politics, All Things Devisive, it has become the Forum of Choice, where anyone (includin' Yours Truly) can inject their personal version of "Fact" and "Truth", in almost any style or form they choose, while enjoyin' near-total anonymity.  (Or, even more fun, under the cover of a fictitious personality purely of our own design.  How freakin' cool is that?!  Huh?  Whoa...)  

Yep.  The metaphysical Blunt Instrument of Propaganda.  The Information Highway:  our New Frontier--devoid of the Virtues of Honesty and Civility.  Unencumbered by the Rule of Law, Matters of Conscience, or the Burden of Fact.  Even the very Laws of Physics themselves fall before the Power of Bullshit.

Gotta say--this is startin' to get a little Crazy...

And, you know, a funny thing about Bullshit:  Whether well-intentioned or malicious, it's still Bullshit.  And, Bullshit is Dishonest, Dishonesty is Wrong.  Right?  Wrong ain't Right, right?  It can't be--it's wrong.  That's right, ain't it?  Ain't that a constant?  Wrong is wrong?  Anybody...?

Regretably, this has led me to what appears to be an Inevitable and Unavoidable Conclusion:  To blindly trust anything, anyone, is to do ourselves an injustice most grave.  Even dangerous. 

And yet, it seems that many of us consistently choose to embrace even the most suspect of statements, no matter how absurd or illogical.  Why?  Is it Intellectual Sloth?  Zealotry?  Plain Ol' Dumbass?  All these things, and more?  

Hell, I'll be honest--I ain't got a freakin' clue.  That's an admission of Ignorance and Confusion.  You ain't gotta vet that.

~Fish

An Immodest Proposal (with apologies to Jonathan Swift and Pol Pot)

Ya know, all this Taxes/Entitlements/Fiscal Cliff talk has got me to thinkin'...

If we really want to solve these complicated issues, then we gotta get a clearly defined picture of exactly what, or who, is the Enemy. What, or who, stands in the way of our struggle to address all the Monumental Issues currently facin' this Great Country of Ours.

First, let's go over a few of the things that seem to be gettin' a lot of the attention lately:

The National Debt. Easy. This can best be described as more Money goin' out than comin' in. I think we can all agree on that one. Cut and dried. Movin' on...

Next, how about the Disparity Between the Rich and the Poor? That doesn't look good at all. This is supposed to be the Land of Opportunity. A real embarrassment before the entire Global Community, and the Gap has been gettin' wider for decades. The Numbers bear this one out. Kinda tough to dispute. Again, didn't have to flip over no rock to see this one, either.

Then, there's this Entitlement Thing. Just because you worked hard all your life doesn't mean that you automatically deserve to live out your last remainin' years in Relative Comfort. Or Dignity. Not if the Stockholders decide that conditions dictate that your Retirement Fund be raided- wait, no- "requisitioned" for the Benefit of the Company as a Whole. Yeah. "Requisitioned". Likin' that. Okay, things might be gettin' a little muddy now. Givin' ya that...

And, the final point I would like to touch on? Social Programs designed to assist Those in Need. Or, as our grandparents would have called it- Relief. Relief? Yeah. As in Rich or Poor. Right or Wrong. Good or Bad. Black or White. (White or Whiter?) More or Less. Healthy or Stricken. Belch or Fart.

So, now that we've defined these points, let's put a face on 'em. (We gotta be able to see the whites of their eyes, right?)

Now, the Money Thing: Clearly this cannot be the fault of the Rich, or even the Fairly Well-Off. They have plenty of excess cash and ain't afraid to use it. (Not unlike a Junky with a Gun in a Liquor Store.) These are the folks that keep the Skids of Commerce greased. And I ain't talkin' about buyin' a new grocery-getter every few years or school clothes for your kid in August. I'm talkin' Big Ticket Items- Brand Name Shit, like Cadillac and Mercedes, Gucci and Armani. Beach Houses in Malibu and Mansions in Bel-Air. All the stuff and places we've all read about, or have at least seen on TV. Some serious coin bein' dropped here, so they must be part of the Solution, right? Sure...

This means the Problem has gotta lie with the Have-Nots. The Indigent, the Down-Trodden, the Poor Planners, the People with the Really Bad Luck. The Ugly Ones. Those types. These are the Albatross around the Neck of the Well-To-Do. Ya know what? Let's throw in the Elderly. And the Handicapped. And the Sickly. All Users and Takers, incapable or unwillin' to pull their own weight. How can the Affluent be expected to maintain their Elevated Standard of Livin' and their Superior Buyin' Power if they're asked to help with the Less Fortunate? How fair is that? (Remember: We've entrusted this small group of Money-Changers with the Fiscal Well-Being of our Entire Nation.) Just because others are born into our Pseudo-Caste System somewhere near the Bottom does not mean they are automatically entitled to some kind of Help. This is America. The Land of the Free Market and the Home of the Brave Investors. Pull your socks up and take some Responsibility. (Oh, you ain't got socks? Or even shoes? Not my problem...)

And this brings us to the second and third points- Entitlements and the Disparity of Wealth. Again, why should the "Accident of Birth" for Many become the Responsibility of the Few? One percent interest on passbook savings is simply the Market doin' what it does. Not necessarily what it used to do or was designed to do, but what it's doin' right now. Fact of life. Don't blame the Banks, or the Insurance Companies, or the Corporations. After all- they're people, too. (See "Citizens United v. Federal Election Committee", 2010.)

Nor is it the fault of our Congressmen or Representatives that One Percent of Nothin' equals Nothin'. They have no experience with Nothin'. (Remember: They are members of the Haves. The concept of "Naught" is foreign to them. Unless it's in the "Tax Due" column.) This is Math in its purest form. So what if the Upper Echelon happens to have most of the Money and most of the Control? These people work hard every day to hold onto their Money and the Money their Money is makin'. Tax shelters, blind trusts, offshore accounts, write-offs, business losses, capital gains , ponzi, pyramid- this is not an easy task. Hell, it's almost frightenin'. I don't know what any of that shit means! It's a wonder these folks ain't exhausted just from the keepin' up of all that Green! As for the Dissatisfied Masses? Human Nature. People with Less want More. (Of course, it would also appear that People with More want More.) And let's face it: it doesn't matter what you're entitled to if it's no longer there. Where'd it go? A moot point, because even if I tell ya, it won't change the fact that it's still gone. (If a tree falls in the forest...? Hell, I don't know...)

Now- Social Programs. How in the Hell did our Government ever get in the business of helpin' people? (Please disregard the Mother of Exiles. She is figuratively half-buried on a beach somewhere in the Not-Too-Distant Future, where the Great Apes hold Sway and Dominion over Man.) This is where the majority of the Leeches are hidin'- the Smooth, Unblemished Underbelly of Democracy. Barnacles, warts, fungi. Lesions. To say that they deserve attention is just such a hard sell to those devoid of a Social Conscience. Thanks to television, the Top Tier sees more images of the Starvin' and the Destitute from the opposite hemisphere than they do our own. Is it reasonable to expect compassion from a group that has no real contact outside their own Shiny Circle? 'Course not. That would be tantamount to feelin' concern for a cartoon dog. Not part of their Reality. An Emotional and Socio-Economical "Closed Shop". The Brotherhood of the One Percent.

Okay. A fairly concise profile of the Enemy has been established. Now, the really excitin' part all y'all been waitin' for. Let's discuss Plans of Action! (Surely, ya didn't think this was gonna be just some Piss and Moan with no Suggestions...? Not my style.)

Keepin' top of mind an Economy of Effort and Expenditure, (after all, this is ultimately about Money, right?) we must locate the greatest concentrations of the Enemy... Hold it. Let's use a different term. Undesirables? Naw, too Elitist. Non-Contributors! Yep, the Non-Contributors! That'll work. (Did ya catch that one?)... the greatest concentrations of the "Non-Contributors", thus enablin' us to operate efficiently and effectively.

For starters- Public Housing. This is potentially the single largest collection of Economic Drag that can be pinpointed to specific geographic areas. (Due to previously defined Modes of Societal Function, most logistical concerns regardin' this have already been addressed. Time saver.) On and beyond this, things become more complicated, less defined. We begin to encounter the Small Tribes. The Nomadic. The Loners. The Hidden. These will be among the last to be ferreted out. But, they may prove to be the groups that are most easily addressed. They will lack Strength in Numbers, Cohesive Defense. Sympathy. Support. From Public Housing we can then move on to the homeless shelters, soup kitchens, free health clinics. These kinds of places, by their very nature, attract the Non-Contributors. Anywhere they can get somethin' for nothin'.

History has shown us that Sweepin' Change can only be accomplished with Bold Steps, Broad Strokes. Decisive Action. But these will be things that those of Weak Constitution may shy away from. Nonetheless, the Consensus has been reached and the Path is clear. It's Broken Eggs/Omelet Time.

Many options are available to the Resourceful. Again, let's look to the successes of the Past to guide our Future. What will be as to our new Non-Contributors what Whiskey and Smallpox were to the Red Savages our Forefathers first faced when they bravely settled this Great Land? Experience and Superior Knowledge will serve us well here, as we assemble our Modern Arsenal.(And a little Callousness and Brutality couldn't hurt... Am I right? Huh? Huh?) Our Weapons of Today must be designed specifically to take full advantage of the Weaknesses of our Target. Anything that can be used to Amplify Despair, Crush the Spirit. These will be the tools that allow us to move the Agenda forward while keepin' our hands figuratively clean. Narcotics will be our New Whiskey. Poverty will act as our Smallpox of Today. Oppression will serve as the Theater where we shall Flex and Subdue. Modify. Correct.

Sub-Standard and Unaffordable Health Care will slowly eradicate a large number of this group. Privatization of the Health Care Industry will ensure that those that cannot afford it will simply no longer receive it. This will keep For Profit Providers in the black. No longer should it be unethical to turn away the Sick or Injured. The System must be self-sustainin'. This is not to say that, initially, the current status quo cannot serve as part of the means to our end. Free vaccinations could be labeled as safeguards against tuberculosis, tetanus, even flu, but in reality can be an "inoculation" that will assist in the reduction of the Non-Contributors and their negative impact. For those without the means to pay, then "special" vaccinations could be administered to protect the Interests of the Greater Good. Perfect. It's free. They'll line up for it. It's in their nature. It's who they are.

Subsidized liquor prices in particular neighborhoods will ensure that all those overwhelmed by their Lot in Life and the despair it brings with it will have reasonable access to what they need to wreck their physical and emotional health, their relationships, their families. Sure, this will call for an initial investment, but this will be a new kind of Relief. A Relief that can ultimately bring a lastin' solution to the Problem(s). A Relief for the System that has had to bear this undue burden placed upon it and its Champions.

The turnin' of a blind eye by Law Enforcement to the Drug Trade in these same areas will help to supply the Non-Contributors with still more avenues of self-destruction. This should be looked upon as the natural progression of a situation. And this can be achieved by doin' less, not more. Modern Science may be able to assist in expandin' the selection put forth. There may even be opportunities for modest research in some instances. This will depend on how creative we allow ourselves to be. Yep- Better Livin' through Chemistry!

These things, if handled correctly, could be put in place discreetly, leavin', at most, a vague trail or Straw Men on which to heap Blame. But the real challenges, the things that will separate the Men from the Garbage, will be our willingness to step out of the Shadows. To operate openly in the Light of Day in Support of our Righteous Agenda. To promote Our Cause without concern for "others".

Extra care must be used in order to minimize the Collateral Damage. We must not allow our exuberance to cause hastily chosen weapons to endanger the Righteous. ( Let's not forget the research, and sometimes introduction, of what appeared to be perfectly selective weapons, such as the HIV Project (see Gao, F et al. (1999, 4th February) 'Origin of HIV-1 in the chimpanzee Pan troglodytes troglodytes', Nature 397(6718)), Post-Vietnam Heroin (see Higher and Higher: American Drug Use in Vietnam, http://www.library.vanderbilt.edu/central/Brush/American-drug-use-vietnam.htm), and many others (http://targetedindividualscanada.wordpress.com/tag/tuskegee-syphilis-study/.). Public Opinion and Propaganda Nightmares, all. We must move Decisively, but not Recklessly. The potential for insufficient control and cross-class pollination is too great with material that works on a strictly biological level, such as the ones cited above. As with so many Recipes for Success, Simplicity shall prove to be the Key.

However, as with any operation of this Scope and Magnitude, some Collateral Damage is inescapable. A fact of any conflict. Guilty of Support, and by Association. Sympathy for the Non-Contributors will place some in Harm's Way. (The likes of these would prove to not have the stomach for what has to be done, anyway. ) Still yet, their sacrifice must be recognized, their demise, in the right hands, a Golden Publicity Opportunity. They will not have died in vain, for these will be our Martyrs. Managed properly, they will become Our Symbols of What We All Would Have Chosen to Be, (had it been even remotely fiscally appropriate.) In their honor, we shall continue our Quest. The Grand Correction. The Cleansing. Steam tables will serve the Last Supper. Punch bowls shall be overflowin' with Terminal Kool-Aid. The "socially-medicinal" aspects of some of our most common poisons of the past will once again find Divine Purpose under the New Agenda.

As the body count rises, there will come a point in time when the Direction of Things will become clear to all that were not in "the Loop". It will then be time for the Great Reconstruction. The clutter of our current multi-class system and it's never-endin', continually-changin' sub-classes will finally be recreated, distilled and simplified, from the ground up, with reportionin' of Power, Wealth, Property, and Responsibility. It will be time for all to be made aware their New Position. With this Sea Change, three distinct, new castes shall arise.

First, the New Upper-Caste-
Those of this group will be the Overseers. They will hold the Wealth, the Property, the Power. All decisions will be made by those within this group. They will control all moneys in every form. All determinations of the distribution of commodities, duties, responsibilities, as well as any form of recognition, will be made at this level. All others will defer to this group when decisions are to be made. Members of this group have proven their Right to this Duty and Privilege. It has been evidenced by their ability to continue to amass Wealth and Power, while the Strengths and Positions of others slipped and faltered, helpless in the wake of a Changin' World. Weak. Impotent, regardless of their numbers.

The New Middle-Caste-
These will be the Implementers. This group will consist of the Skilled Professionals, such as those in the scientific fields, the health service industries, law enforcement, as well as managers, supervisors, business professionals. They will be the new center, vastly smaller than the previous middle class, primarily due to the absence of the Minions of Unskilled. (The Screw-Turners, the Line-Pickers, the Dock-Workers. The Factory Fodder: Those whose numbers had exploded over the past hundred years, siphonin' away far more than that of which they were deservin' or had ever earned. Creatin' an Unsustainable Quality of Life.) This streamlined, better-educated caste will be responsible for any logistics and support functions required by the Overseers, as well as the implementation off all new directives their Superiors may deem necessary.

Those that have displayed their above average, yet still menial, intelligence and proved their survivability (as well as their capacity to Know Fear and Accept Change) shall take their place among the Remainders. They shall be the new Workin' Class, the new Common Man. They will be great in number, but that number will be designated by the Overseers, and controlled by whatever means is necessary, lest we repeat the errors of the past. This will be where tightly-controlled, narrow Living Standards will need to be maintained. After only a few generations, memories of the Waste and Abandon of the Past shall be supplanted by the New Reality, the stark acceptance of knowing exactly who you are and where you belong. Removal of things such as Aspiration, Longing, Ambition, will allow all to accept their lot as a Fact of Life. In time, they will even come to embrace their Contribution. Possibly even develop a basic Sense of Pride.

Conscription will be used to ensure Appropriate Balance across all Stations and Aspects of Life for the Remainders. This shall also allow for a "flattenin'" of Expectations, a "thinnin'" of Hope. It can also be closely manipulated (by those with the skills) to suppress counter-productive emotions- Frustration, Dissatisfaction, Disappointment. Particularly Disappointment. This could conceivably come to include prospects such as Controlled Designated Life Span, (see "Logan's Run", MGM, 1976,) or, with sufficient strides in technology, the recyclin' of valuable human assets, (see "THX 1138", American Zoetrope, 1971 and "Soylent Green", MGM, 1973) or Regulated Conflicts, (see "Zardoz", John Boorman, 1974.)

Thusly, shall our Nation finally find its Deserved Greatness in this Brave New World. A World not based on the Outdated Concepts of Liberty, or Justice, or Compassion, or even Politics or Faith, but a World based on Commerce, Power, and Control.

Only then shall Man be positioned to Manage the Business of Man.

Fish

No Free Lunch

I happened to be privvy to a conversation the other day, (post-Presidential Election) and it got me thinkin'...

It started out innocently enough- someone statin' that they felt that the teachers in our public school system were underpaid and how much they appreciated them and the work that they do. Another person commented that they felt the teachers were overpaid and failed to do the job with which they are tasked.

(Obviously, both of these statements are generalizations. One would assume that each of these folks may have intended for some quantifier, such as "most" or "some" or "many", to be implied. Nothing is absolute, right...?)

The first person responded with what seemed to be an attempt to clarify what I had felt was a very straightforward statement, appearin' to be startled by the coarse response from her friend.

I watched and listened, both fascinated and shocked as the conversation quickly took an abrupt and bizarre turn.

The second person then continued with a string of comments in rapid succession. The first proclamation- that the food being served to her children during school lunch was positively inedible and that (I ain't makin' this up), it was all the fault of Michelle Obama. Yeah, that Michelle Obama. Pretty sure the only Michelle Obama you know of. The President's wife.

Her friend countered, politely, that the meals at her childrens' school were actually not bad for cafeteria food, and that the cafeteria personnel were quite creative when it came to the menu and preparation of the food. She added that during her volunteer opportunities there, she had, relatively speakin', enjoyed what was served.

But the cap was off the bottle and had been tossed away.

Next, her friend countered that some children weren't even required to pay for their lunch and, via some obscure logic, she posited that this shortfall in the revenue stream lowered the quality of school meals for all, and that it wasn't fair that her children should have to "suffer" because the parents of others could not pay "their share." Ultimately, this stream of thought devolved into the proclamation that this group of unfortunates was not her problem. I don't recall much beyond this, other than that it was basically more of the same. Thankfully, the conversation burned out quickly. Me? I was havin' a tough time gettin' past this irritation with hungry children.

When my family moved from Indiana to Brindle Ridge, Kentucky, Rockcastle was one of the poorest of all one hundred, twenty counties. I was in third grade and I remember clearly on that first day of school, Mrs. McKinney (a woman I fondly recall as a beautiful, dark-haired twenty-somethin') called roll, then immediately followed it by callin' for a show of hands from all the kids present that were gettin' "free lunch." This was typically around one in four of the kids in my class. I also noticed that these same kids had the three cent cost of mornin' milk break waived. Three cents. Three. If I am not mistaken, the cost of lunch was twenty-five cents.

This concept of "free lunch" was a new one for me. Near the end of the first week of school, I had to ask one of my classmates why he didn't pay for his meal. I remember him explainin' to me, in as few words as he could, that his family did not have enough money for him to pay. I wasn't a dumb kid, but the thought that someone couldn't afford what was literally this small amount of change never entered my mind. Maybe the fact that there were no fat kids in Mrs. McKinney's third grade class should have tipped me off. That, and the fact that the room was filled with worn shirts with stick arms hangin' from the sleeves, and pants that were worn at the cuff, but were now too short to cover the tops of their socks.

In 2010, 17.2 million U.S. households (14.5 percent/approximately one in seven) were "food insecure." Food insecurity is defined as "limited or uncertain availability of nutritionally adequate and safe foods or uncertain ability to acquire acceptable foods in socially acceptable ways." This can lead to malnutrition. It is also estimated that at least thirteen million of our country's children go to bed hungry every night, or about one in four.

Malnutrition has been shown to affect cognitive development among young children and can affect school performance in children of all ages, as well as contributin' to a host of other health issues. Research shows that with hunger comes more frequent sickness and therefore higher health care costs. It can alter the brain architecture, stunting intellectual capacity and a child's ability to learn and interact with others.

I'm not gonna say that everyone should volunteer regularly at their local food bank or homeless shelter, or that everyone should make it a point to make regular contributions of time or money to organizations and agencies that work to combat this problem so that the world would be a better place. I think this goes without sayin'.

But, I will say that I personally find begrudgin' a hungry kid a decent meal borders on despicable.

So, when you sit down at the table and pick up your fork and spread your napkin in your lap, you should remember the people that, at that same moment, are doin' without enough food to eat and sustain their bodies and keep them in a reasonably healthy state. And, at the end of that good meal, when you have eaten all you cared to eat and have pushed away from the table, satisfied and lethargic, remember that many of those hungry are children, and are in that situation through no fault of their own.

If you feel that your taxes are too high, don't bitch about the small portion that might allow a skinny grade school kid to focus on his or her schoolwork, rather than the emptiness gnawin' at their gut. It's actually quite ugly.

Fish

Tuesday Night...

     A couple weeks ago, Tuesday afternoon- I get a call from my Middle One.  His Mom had picked him up some stuff, and he's busy with work and school, so he asks if there's any way I could meet him in Frankfort later- bring the stuff from Mom, as well as a short stack of mail I'd been pilin' on the dresser in his old room.  A couple weeks into his sophomore year at UK.  Lexington.  Not close, but not far.  From Shelby County, East of Louisville, a run to Lexington to see either one of Two Oldest is only about an hour or so.  The Wife and the Oldest One like to take I-64 East, all the way to Newtown Pike, then South to Town and Campus.  Me and the Middle One like gettin' off the highway at Midway, then runnin' straight East.  No turns.  The Old Road.  Turns into Main.  So I tell 'em, "You ain't gotta come that far: Frankfort.  Just come out toward Midway and meet me at that little station at the bottom of the hill, right at the highway."
     That little station has been there at least since I was nineteen.  I can remember it bein' there then, when I first started runnin' this road from home.  As many times as I've been past it in thirty years or so, I only stopped a couple times.  I can remember it bein' closed for a year or two at a time.  Not really typical for an intestate exit- just this one little station, strugglin', I guess, to stay in business. Nothin' else but this station.  A small building, really steep roof.  Shape and dimensions that would look more at home on somebody's little lot down by the Lake.  They didn't sell beer, and the gas was never particularly cheap.  Maybe that played into it- me almost never stoppin'.  Others...
     So a game plan was agreed upon: I would gather up things and head that way- the longest leg, but nearly all highway.  The Middle One would have the shorter, but slower leg- Main Street West, past New Circle, the old Coca-Cola Plant, the Detention Center.  The road would narrow from four lanes to two.  City would surrender to country: fields, barns, old and older homes, dry-stack stone walls and wood plank fences.  Not a bad ride.
     I reach our shared destination first.  A right at the top of the ramp, another at the solitary caution light, then down the slight grade and into the lot.  It looks kinda dark, but the lights over the pumps are burnin' and there's an older Buick pulled along side, the driver's door open and a Big Guy leanin' against the front of the car, his arms folded tight across his chest.  I continue straight across the lot, wheel a sharp one-eighty, and back my car to the edge of the asphalt.  I shut the engine off and turn the radio down a little.  Checkin' the the time on my phone: I'm a little early.  Good.  
     I get out and head toward the store, get a pop or somethin', lookin' in my wallet as I walk.  See how close I am to broke.  It ain't until I've passed the car and the pumps that I lift my head and see the hand-written paper sign taped to the inside of the glass and wrought iron door, (a door whose obvious first purpose is to keep things out, not let things in).  "Closed".  Now things are beginnin' to seem a little strange.  I turn and head back toward my car, and then realize the Big Guy guy ain't alone.  A couple brown boy kids, maybe five years old, pop from the back seat as a back door swngs open, and begin to pogo around the car as if they had springs on their feet.  Giant kid smiles across their faces. 
     I make my way on across the lot to my car, climb back in and watch the scene of miniature chaos. The Big Guy is clearly not havin' the same experience as the two Little Ones.  There is someone else in the front seat of his car, but I can't see clearly.  After a few minutes, the Big Guy walks one of the Little Ones over near the dumpster off to my left.  There's a ragged loveseat alongside the dumpster, ditched by someone who I reckon didn't feel like payin' for garbage pickup.  I'm thinkin' that this Little One musta had to take a pee.  Broke down with little kids in tow.  That sucks.
     After the Big Guy and the Little One start back to their car, I get out and head back that way.
     "Hey Man, you outta gas?  I'm meetin' one of my sons here any time now, but after that, I can go to the next exit and bring you back some fuel..."
     "No, but thanks.  Her Dad is supposed to be comin' with some gas.  But thanks."  Must be the other person in the car.
     "Yeah, outta gas when the kids are with you, that stinks.  Just wanted to ask ya and see if somebody was comin'."  I'm feelin' kinda awkward now.  The Big Guy was already annoyed, now he seems a little embarrassed, and I'm bettin' he ain't embarrassed very often by somebody like me.
     "Yeah.  Thanks."
     I head back to my car.  I turn and lean against the driver's door, in an effort to look relaxed, tryin' not to show my discomfort. Another car turns onto the lot.  My Middle Kid.  He pulls straight down next to me.  "Sorry I'm late, Pops.  Got caught up in somethin' and lost track of time."
     "No big deal.  Ain't been here no more than ten minutes, or so."
     I reach through the window, grab his bag of stuff, and pass it to 'em.  He drops it in the passenger's seat and steps out.
     We stand leanin' against our respective rides and he tells me about how he's thinkin' about quittin' one of his two jobs because he's workin' his ass off and they're a hateful bunch.  I listen, then tell him that if he ain't likin' it, quit, and that I think he's doin' too much anyway- two jobs on top of a full plate in school...  He says he's probably gonna give 'em notice, but that he's already looked into a job to replace that one and it looks like he's in.  
     I used to tell my kids what to do.  Now, I just listen, and maybe give a little advice, encouragement.  After which they usually tell me what they have already decided to do, and I nod slowly and try and look wise.  They're movin' away from me and there ain't nothin' I can do but watch.
     Another car, a nice SUV, pulls into the lot, circles, and stops at the pumps opposite the Big Guy.  The Middle One is still tellin' me about his new job prospects and I'm lookin' over his right shoulder as SUV Guy messes around at the pump for a few seconds, then begins to pump gas into his tank.  I am feelin' really confused...
     "Hey Man-  I thought this station was closed..."
     "Yeah, but I think if you have plastic, you can still get gas," explains the Middle One.
     "Apparently."
     Weird.  The Middle One continues his story and SUV Guy returns the hose to its restin' place, taps a couple buttons, then takes his receipt, climbs in and bolts for the highway, never once acknowledgin' the presence of the Big Guy, the Little Ones, or Her.  Before SUV Guy can get outta sight, a fairly new pickup turns in and drives up to the pumps.  Pretty damn busy for a gas station that can't decide if it's open or closed.  A middle-aged, bearded man steps out and begins talkin' to the Big Guy, while liftin' a gas can from the bed of his truck.  His passenger, another middle-aged man, but clean-shaven, thinner than the Bearded Man, exits the truck and joins the others as they go about the business of dumpin' gas into the old car.  Wow.  Even brought a funnel. 
     The passenger's side door of the old car swings open.  A heavy-set girl steps out beside the car, and stands against the open door, a small baby in the crook of her left arm.  This must be Her. Bearded Man walks over and begins to make over the baby, while the other two finish up with the gas can.  A few minutes later, the Big Guy shoos the two Little Ones and Her back into the car while goodbyes and thank yous are exchanged.  Both vehicles pull from under the light of the pumps and turn out onto the road, East.
     "Well Pops, I hate to rush off, but I got a big day tomorrow-classes early, then workin' 'til ten."
     "Yeah, sure.  No big deal, Mister.  Good to see ya, even if for just a little bit."
     "Thanks for bringin' my stuff."
     "Ain't nuthin', Son.  A nice night.  A nice ride.  You know all you gotta do is call..."
     Time stops for an instant, then switches back on as the Middle One reaches for his door handle.
     "Yeah, yeah, you get on back, Son.  I gotta be gettin' back, too."  He drops behind the wheel and I ease his door closed.
     "Yep, five o'clock comes mighty early..."
     "Yeah, at five o'clock."
     "Funny.  You're funny, Son!"  We're both smilin'.  I'm wonderin' if my smile looks a little sad to him, like his does to me.
     Lights and sound.  I look up.  Another car?  Ya gotta be jokin'.  A maroon car loops into the lot and steers between the pumps and the shuttered building, stops for only a second, then comtinues its arc around the pumps, stoppin' near the rear of the Middle One's car.  Through the open passenger's window, I can see a skinny girl leanin' across the seat.
     "Is this station open?"  I start in her direction.  (My hearin' sucks.)
     "I gotta go, Pops..."  I glance back: backup lights.
     "Be careful, Son."
     Back to Skinny Girl: "Well, kinda.  Store's closed, but I think if you got plastic, you can still pump gas."
    The Middle One's car begins to move.  "Bye, Pops..."
     "Bye, Son..."  Dissatisfied. 
     "I don't have any cards, but I have some money."
     "You gonna be able to make it to the next exit, or are ya 'bout out?"  I'm a couple steps closer.  In the dim light, Skinny Girl looks to be in her mid-twenties.  Not pretty, not ugly.  Plain.  Brown-headed, probably cut the same way since high school.
     "No."  She seems anxious.  The Middle One's car is now facin' the road.
     "Where you headin'?"
     "Georgetown."  That ain't but about fifteen miles or so on down the highway.
     "I got a card.  I reckon I can pump ya a little gas to get ya that far."
     "Oh please!  I have some money!"
     I walk the last few steps to the pumps as the Skinny Girl makes a second loop to bring her car back around alongside the pumps again.  My wallet is out and I pull out my debit card. 
     Skinny Girl is rattlin':  "I can pay you!  I've got some money!"
     I focus on the task at hand.  "No big deal.  Don't worry 'bout it."  Pump on, gas cap off, hose in...
     The Middle One swings near the pumps and stops:  "I love you, Pops."
     I look up. "I love you, too, Son." 
     He pulls away and heads to the East.  In the direction of his life.  Away from me.  I glance back at the numbers on the pump, rolling.
     "See?  Here's two dollars... and here's fifty more cents..."  She continues to rifle through her purse.  
     "Forget it.  I'm only gonna pump five dollars worth.  That'll get you to Georgetown."
     "My Momma's in Georgetown.  I need to get to my Momma's before my ex-husband finds me. Please, take this money..."
     "Nope."
     "I don't know what to say..."  Her voice has changed somehow.
     I look up.  Crap, she's cryin'.  I look away.  I won't look at her again.
     "You don't have to say nuthin'.  Everybody needs a little help every now and then.  I have.  Don't say nuthin..."
     Five dollars worth.  That don't take long no more.  I button up the gas cap and the pump.
     "You better get goin'."  I turn and begin to walk across the lot to my car.
     "I don't know what to say..."
     "Go on.  And be careful."
     I hear the Skinny Girl's car fire up and move away.  When I reach my car I turn and see her top the grade, turn left, then right, onto the interstate ramp, East.  Away from me.  I stand beside my car for a minute.  The key in the ignition, the radio playin'.  It's cool.  Nice.  I get in my car, head across the viaduct.  One left turn drops me down the ramp toward home, West.  I reach toward the dash and turn the radio up.

Fish