Little Timmy's Election Year Dictionary (Abridged)

Ambivalent- having ”mixed feelings about someone or something; being unable to choose between two (usually opposing) courses of action.
Balanced- being in harmonious or proper arrangement or adjustment, proportion, etc.
Bigot- a person who is intolerant of any ideas other than his or her own, esp on religion, politics, or race.
Bigotry- stubborn and complete intolerance of any creed, belief, or opinion that differs from one's own.
Bipartisan- representing, characterized by, or including members from two parties or factions.
Buy-to acquire by exchange or concession, to buy favor with flattery, to hire or obtain the services of, to bribe.
Cheat- to deceive; influence by fraud, to elude; deprive of something expected.
Cheater- a person or thing that cheats.
Contribute- to give (money, food, etc.) to a common supply, fund, etc.
Contributor- a person who contributes money, assistance, etc.
Citizen- an inhabitant of a city or town, especially one entitled to its privileges or franchise, an inhabitant, or denizen.
Citizenship- the state of being vested with the rights, privileges, and duties of a citizen, the character of an individual viewed as a member of society; behavior in terms of the duties, obligations, and functions of a citizen.
Competent- adequate but not exceptional.
Conservative- disposed to preserve existing conditions, institutions, etc., or to restore traditional ones, and to limit change.
Conservation- the careful utilization of a natural resource in order to prevent depletion.
Deceit- an act or device intended to deceive; trick; stratagem, the quality of being deceitful; duplicity; falseness.
to mislead by a false appearance or statement; delude.
Decide- to determine or settle (something in dispute or doubt).
Decision- the act of or need for making up one's mind.
Dishonest- not honest; disposed to lie, cheat, or steal; not worthy of trust or belief.
Fair- free from bias, dishonesty, or injustice.
Fascism- any ideology, movement, programme, tendency, etc, that may be characterized as right-wing, chauvinist, authoritarian, etc.
Fascist- a person who is dictatorial or has extreme right-wing views.
Fact- something that actually exists; reality; truth, something known to exist or to have happened, a truth known by actual experience or observation; something known to be true.
Factual- based on or restricted to facts.
False- uttering or declaring what is untrue: a false witness, not faithful or loyal; treacherous: a false friend.
Falsehood- something false; an untrue idea, belief, etc.
Fear- a distressing emotion aroused by impending danger, evil, pain, etc., whether the threat is real or imagined.
Fearmonger- a person who creates or spreads alarming news.
Flipflop- to change suddenly, as from one side or party to another.
Free- exempt from external authority, interference, restriction, etc., as a person or one's will, thought, choice, action, etc.; independent; unrestricted.
Freedom- exemption from external control, interference, regulation, etc., the power to determine action without restraint, political or national independence.
Hatemonger- one who arouses hatred for others.
Honest- honorable in principles, intentions, and actions; upright and fair: an honest person, showing uprightness and fairness: honest dealings.
Honesty- truthfulness, sincerity, or frankness, freedom from deceit or fraud.
Honor- honesty, fairness, or integrity in one's beliefs and actions.
Incompetent- not possessing the necessary ability, skill, etc. to do or carry out a task; incapable.
Integrity- adherence to moral and ethical principles; soundness of moral character; honesty.
Interests- a business, cause, or the like in which a person has a share, concern, responsibility, etc.
Liberal- relating to or having social and political views that favor progress and reform; giving and generous in temperament or behavior; tolerant of other people.
Liberty- the power of choosing, thinking, and acting for oneself; freedom from control or restriction.
Lie- a false statement made with deliberate intent to deceive; an intentional untruth; a falsehood.
Manipulate- to manage or influence skillfully, especially in an unfair manner: to manipulate people's feelings.
Mislead- to lead or guide wrongly; lead astray; to lead into error of conduct, thought, or judgment.
Morality- conformity, or degree of conformity, to conventional standards of moral conduct.
Myopic- unable or unwilling to act prudently; shortsighted; lacking tolerance or understanding; narrow-minded.
Nationalism- exaggerated, passionate, or fanatical devotion to a national community.
Outsourcing- paying another company to provide services which a company might otherwise have employed its own staff to perform.
Pander- a person who caters to or profits from the weaknesses or vices of others.
Patriot- a person who vigorously supports his country and its way of life.
Patriotism- devoted love, support, and defense of one's country; national loyalty.
Politics- any activity concerned with the acquisition of power, gaining one's own ends, etc.
Prejudice- unreasonable feelings, opinions, or attitudes, especially of a hostile nature, regarding a racial, religious, or national group.
Racism- the belief that races have distinctive cultural characteristics determined by hereditary factors and that this endows some races with an intrinsic superiority over others.
Right- ( sometimes capital ) of, designating, supporting, belonging to, or relating to the political or intellectual right; conservative or reactionary: the right wing of the party.
Righteous- morally justifiable or right, especially from one's own point of view.
Steal- to take (the property of another or others) without permission or right, especially secretly or by force; to appropriate (ideas, credit, words, etc.) without right or acknowledgment.
Subtilise- to elevate in character; sublimate, to introduce subtleties into or argue subtly about.
Tax- a compulsory financial contribution imposed by a government to raise revenue, levied on the income or property of persons or organizations, on the production costs or sales prices of goods and services, etc.
Trick- a crafty or underhanded device, maneuver, stratagem, or the like, intended to deceive or cheat.
True- being in accordance with the actual state or conditions; conforming to reality or fact; not false; sincere; not deceitful.
Truth- conformity with fact or reality; verity: the truth of a statement; a verified or indisputable fact, proposition, principle, or the like.
Virtue- moral excellence; goodness; righteousness; conformity of one's life and conduct to moral and ethical principles; uprightness; rectitude.
Wrong- deviating from truth or fact; erroneous: a wrong answer; not correct in action, judgment, opinion, method, etc., as a person; in error.

Work In Progress...

This is a mockup of an idea I've been haulin' around in my head for about fifteen years, but never executed. A couple weeks ago, I sculpted the figure from a clay-like material that you can fire at home in your oven. It's about an inch and a half long. The butterfly was made by another. This is actually a screen image of a butterfly on my tablet, with my tiny sculpt just laid on top of it. The actual butterfly is around four and a quarter inches across. Once I scratch up about forty bucks I can purchase this butterfly mounted in a simple shadow box. Then I'll have a couple small decisions to make and I can assemble the finished product. I'll let y'all see how it turns out...
Fish

Daddy Long Legs

     So, over the weekend, I'm out movin' around, doin' what I do on the weekends- stayin' in constant motion, bein' careful to not  accomplish too much.  (If you actually "accomplish" too much, in too short a period of time, then you limit your future options.  The best tack is to start as many things as come to mind, then leave them is various states of  incompletion.  This way, your options forward are nearly limitless.)

     But, I digress.

     So, I'm movin' through the garage and some motion catches my eye: low on the wall, nearly on the floor.  I look down an see a pair of daddy long legs, their spindly legs entangled, their tiny oval-shaped primary bodies touching.  My initial reaction is to look away, embarrassed.  (I thought they might be doin' it.)  Then, mammal reason/curiosity gets the best of me, and I am compelled to look closer.  After a two second study, I realize that this is a conflict.  A conflagration. 

     This begged a plethora, (yes, I used that), of questions.

     First, what do a couple of spindly spiders have to fight about?  A girlfriend?  What could she be that's worth fightin' for?  Gotta be as ugly as they are.  In fact, gotta be exactly as ugly as they are.  They all look the same, right?  Wait a minute- is this a couple males fightin', or a couple females mix in' it up?  Or, is this a primal "domestic" dispute?  Is there even such a thing?  You know it ain't a fight over "stuff".  These are spiders.  And like most bugs, they would be considered poor, due to their lack of possessions.  (An't got no house.  Ain't even got pockets.)

     That brings us back to the basic point:  Maybe spiders don't need a good reason, or even a bad one.  Maybe they would fight simply because they're in the same place at the same time.  Maybe it's in their nature.  The only way I can stop the confrontation would be to crush them both.  An incredibly simple solution.  Then again, it ain't really none of my business.  So, if this be the case, then the identity of the victor is inconsequential.

                                                                                                                                         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

    

    
    
   
      
    
    
      

Post Number One- MISSION STATEMENT

Greetings, Boys and Girls, and Welcome!

This is the inaugural post here at my first blog, so I thought I would give a brief, (a relative term), explanation of  the what and the why behind it, and maybe a bit of a description of what to expect.  Of course, all of this hinges on whether you, or anyone else, chooses to read it.

I first felt there could be a need for this a couple weeks ago after, during a Facebook
 post,  I dropped into a rather long rant on a certain subject.  A long rant.  Really long.  So I figured "the Facebook" was probably not the best place for a bite of personal opinion of that size.  I also felt that it was kinda self-indulgent to hammer my Buds with a chunk of text so big that it was subject to be crowding other stuff off the tiny screens of their mobile devices.  An Economy of Verbage is something I have never been accused of.  (Hard to believe, I know, but it's true.)

But, in all honestly, I didn't really feel like relinquishing the opportunity to rant/ramble in long form.  (Vanity.)  I just needed a different outlet- a more appropriate venue.  So, here we are.  Now, down to the details-

http://vocabulary-vocabulary.com/dictionary/pontificate.php

If you choose to read any of the content that I may post here, I hope that it will serve to entertain, enlighten, provoke.

I will not intentionally offend (piss off), alienate, slander, or otherwise damage any group, race, creed, blah, blah, blah...

This does not mean that I will not be using satire, innuendo, or other such devices to prove a particular point.

I will do no swearing, in the classic sense, and I will limit the cussin' to one dollar words, or less.  And I will only use them when necessary for dramatic effect/emphasis.

I may also share some music and music news, images, essays, a little art, maybe.  Maybe a joke...

If, at any time during this narcissistic exercise, you become offended, frightened, homesick, sleepy, queasy, etcetera, feel free to bail.  My feelings will not be hurt, 'cause I won't know...

Fish