’80’s Nostalgia, Humor in Suffering, and Things I Never Thought I’d See in a Museum

I thought it was weird when I saw the 1981 Reagan Limousine on display four years ago.  It was on display when I took Steve-o and his woman du jour to the Henry Ford Museum, lined up along with the Kennedy Assassination Limo and a string of other Presidential limos dating back to Roosevelt.  I need to make it a point to take a trip up there again soon, even though I absolutely hate the crappy roads in Detroit, and the Dearborn area is rather frightening even in the daytime.

Granted, this is a historical car- and technically it does belong in a museum- but the fact that the props (ok, artifacts) from events I remember as if they were yesterday are in museums is a bit disquieting.  As far as I’m concerned (yes, I know he died in 2004) Reagan should still be President, riding around in that limo.  I bet Reagan is spinning in his grave at the antics of his successors (Bill Clinton was bad enough- and a tomcat- but even though as far as anyone knows, he keeps his pants on, Obama is far worse) and that’s sad.   We could really use someone like Reagan today.  To quote a bumper sticker that I would put on the HK Yaris if I had enough room:

In the 80’s we had Bob Hope, Johnny Cash and President Reagan. Today we have No Hope, No Cash and President Obama.

I also like this one:

Put the Constitution on His Teleprompter!

I’m sure Obama could use some fresh new reading. 

The statement comparing the 80’s to today almost makes me depressed.  It makes me want to vote for Donald Trump, even though he’s no Reagan.  I like him better than the same old tired milquetoasts that have been dominating the Republican mainstream the past few years. Mitt Romney and Mike Huckabee are just plain too lame.  Like him, or hate him, The Donald has balls.  We need a President with balls. Obama has none.  I believe if he’s not directly in cahoots with terrorist nations and organizations, he’s not doing anything to stop them or even mitigate their actions.  He’s complicit with Black genocide in supporting abortion “rights” that are NOT the state’s to give and are clearly morally wrong.  Reagan was the last one who had the courage to call evil what it is and to do what was right even when it wasn’t popular.  I don’t know if Trump is in that league, but I think he is more aware of the right course for this country, at least in regard to economics and foreign policy, than Obama ever could be.  

The sad thing is back in the 90’s I didn’t think it could get any worse than Bill Clinton.  I was absolutely shocked at the dress-stain incident even though Clinton’s foreign policy (or the lack thereof) was even more devastating to the country than the shame he brought to the Oval Office.   Even so, if someone were to compare Clinton vs. Obama, I hate to say it, but I would take Bill Clinton in a heartbeat (which is disturbing clear down to my conservative Republican soul.)  If there is worse than Obama, and given human nature there is (even though we have not seen it in an American President, and I hope we never do) but- humanity gave us Stalin, Mao and Hitler after all.  I hope people aren’t dumb enough to vote for him/her.

One thing I also noted on our trip to the Henry Ford Museum was an exhibit on 80’s ephemera in which there was a Marlboro Lights 100’s pack, (now I don’t see that as historically worthy, but I smoked my share back then, so maybe so) and a collection of old vinyl records to die for by- Boston, Foreigner, The Police, Iron Maiden, Journey, and many other good ones.  The album art was so much better back then.  Someone actually had to draw them instead of just getting into some computer program and playing with it to make some funky design.   I still say the Journey Departure cover is one of the best:

We thought Defender was a “futuristic” video game.  Then again, we actually took quarters and went to the arcade to play video games and pinball. 

I still think it would be a much better world if Reagan were in the White House, and Neal Schon still had his fro.

Makes me wish it were 1981 again…only not as a geeky 12 year old who got beat up every day.  If it were 1981 and I knew what I do now it would be interesting.  I could have a lot of fun with that.

Speaking of Journey, I decided to go ahead and get my ticket for the show on August 5, even though it is at Crew Stadium (outside.)  I don’t generally like to go to outside shows because of the lack of A/C, but it starts at 7PM, so at least it’s not in the heat of the day.  Journey only makes it to Columbus every couple of years or so, and they aren’t getting any younger.  Neal Schon is pushing 60, Jonathan and Ross are over 60, and Arnel and Deen are both over 40, and given the lifespans of rock musicians, that’s not a comforting thought.  I should take any opportunity to see them that I can get. Foreigner and Night Ranger (also very good bands live) are opening for them, so this is a show worth having to contend with stygian heat and/or the prospect of torrential rain. The nice thing about this show is that it will be an older crowd.  Usually the over 40 set is not into throwing things, fighting or stealing stuff- and it’s reserved seats- so barring weather extremes, it should be a pleasant evening. 

Jerry has been on yet another trip on the self-pity express.  I don’t feel sorry for him.  He brings his own misery upon himself.  I do try to find the humor in it, otherwise I’d have to throttle him. 

Last night he decided to go to the hell hole again.  He staggered in around 10PM which was nice.  I had a quiet evening until he came home.  The best thing for me to do is to pretend I’m asleep.  He knows better than to try to wake me up- even when he’s shitfaced, usually- because I am rather nasty when I’m disturbed late at night.  If he sees that I’m awake he will torment me, and I’ll never get to bed, but if I stay under the radar he will usually prattle on to the walls (or Isabel if she is in view) about various unintelligible nonsense for an hour or so until he passes out.  I got lucky last night.  He was sprawled across the bed, pants down, snoring and near comatose before 11. 

Jerry has had many shitfaced conversations with poor Isabel.  According to him, she’s the only one who understands him when he’s shitfaced.  I never knew that cats could understand the ramblings of the insanely drunk. 

I should put a collar on Isabel with a speaker in it.  When Jerry’s shitfaced and talks to her, I could have her reply through her collar speaker.  It would be a hoot.

Jerry: “Whaats aff? Gotta pith…”  (falling over something)

Isabel: “Go to bed, shit head!”

Jerry: “Where’s foooooooooood?”

Isabel: “Shut up, or it’s gonna be up your ass.” 

That could be funny.  Isabel can out run him, and she always has the option of disappearing down the cat hole (there’s a cat-sized hole in the basement door for cat access so they can use the litter box, but the dogs can’t get to the litter box and use it as a snack bar) when she’s had enough of his “conversation.”

Actions Have Consequences, Social Darwinism, and Compassion for the Drunk and Stupid?

A quick disclaimer: While Jerry is currently sporting a particularly wicked shiner, like this poor gentleman pictured above, I didn’t have the opportunity to snap a pic of the genuine article.  This guy is not Jerry.  I don’t have a clue who the dude in the pic is, but he and Jerry have matching black eyes this morning.  And I am laughing my sorry ass off.

Perhaps that is a bit cold-hearted of me, but I have absolutely no sympathy for illnesses or injuries of the self-inflicted kind.  He got shitfaced last night (no, that’s not usually news) but the humor in this is that somehow, sometime very late last night, he managed to get off the toilet and fall directly into the corner of the towel rack.  His left eye looks like something out of the Rocky movies, and he has a nice goose egg on his left temple to boot.  The cosmic justice lies in the fact that he decided to go to the hell-hole across the road to blow money on gambling tickets and get shitfaced AFTER he assured me that he didn’t mind if I went to my class and that he would stay home and behave.  Yeah, right.  Serves him right.  Even so, it was a bit heartless of me to comment that at least he didn’t injure anything important when he hit his head.

I do find it disturbing, and he should too, that a grown man of his advanced age (53) would engage in behaviors that lead to falling.  The last thing I need is for him to break a hip or something- although that would really cut down on the forays to the hell-hole.  For some reason, the book Misery by Stephen King comes to mind, although Jerry is not a famous author, and I wouldn’t even want to pretend to be a nurse, psychotic or otherwise.

The only thing that sort of concerns me is that he might try to blame me.  Then again I don’t think he’s old enough to claim elder abuse- yet.

I thought Jerry sort of learned his lesson about getting shitfaced at the hell-hole two years ago January when he pissed himself and  then passed out in the men’s room.  Where was Steve-o with his black Sharpie marker to write the word PENIS in reverse on Jerry’s forehead? Maybe waking up to being branded as a PENIS the following morning would have amplified the instructional effect.  I am a big believer in personal responsibility, and the instructional value of natural consequences, but I still have a bit of a moral/ethical problem with liquor-serving establishments who have no common sense regarding when to cut people off.  Jerry blows more money on pull-off tickets when he’s plastered, so they keep on serving him no matter how loud or obnoxious he gets.  That is my main beef with the hell-hole in general, that they take undue advantage of the drunk and stupid.  In spite of the ethical bankruptcy of the bar staff, there was some semblance of human compassion in the hell-hole that night.  Apparently someone noticed Jerry’s bar stool was getting cold, so a couple of guys had enough decency to retrieve his pickled carcass from the men’s, toss him in the back of their truck, drop him off on the front porch, and ring the bell.  Before I could get to the door to drag Jerry in, they were peeling out of the driveway.  I think they were driving an older, distressed F-150, but it was hard to tell because they were so gung-ho to get out of Dodge.  I don’t blame them.

I am thankful they did ring the bell and wake the dogs up- the bell generally won’t wake me up, few things do at 1AM, but the dogs will-  instead of just leaving Jerry on the front porch to die of hypothermia, frozen to the concrete in a puddle of his own pee.  It was only about 15 degrees (F) that night, so I think hypothermia would have come upon him rather quickly had I not dragged him in.  At least there’s linoleum in the foyer and in the kitchen.  That way I only had to mop the foyer and the kitchen floor instead of having to drag out the rug cleaner again.  There’s one for 1,000 Ways to Die.  Here’s your Darwin Award!

I’ve always believed the Lord has a soft spot for stupid people and drunks, which might explain why there are so many of both.

I try to be compassionate, but I don’t have a whole lot of compassion to begin with.  I am not a naturally warm and fuzzy person.  I’m not terribly forgiving by nature either, so it really vexes me to see someone keep on doing the same stupid shit over and over ad nauseam

I’d like to think that I hold myself to a higher standard than I hold others.  I usually overlook character flaws or lapses of judgment coming from others that I would not tolerate coming from me.  I don’t like to criticize others until and unless they come to the point of being incorrigible, or just downright stupid.  Drinking to shitfacedness is stupid.  It should have lost its charm for Jerry years ago, but he still hasn’t learned.

I have never bought the hoo-hah that being a drunk is a “disease.”  Cigarettes are far more addicting than alcohol (I stopped binge drinking with relative ease- but the cigarettes…that was quite another ordeal entirely) yet no one is going around calling smokers “Smokeaholics” and granting them “disease” status.   You decide to drink or not, that’s all there is to it.  I think the big difference between drinkers and smokers is that non-smokers absolutely can’t stand the smell of the smoke- so they bitch- and since there are more non-smokers than smokers, the non-smokers usually get their way. (hooray!)  Then again, I’m having a really hard time cleaning up after Mr. Happy Hour when he deposits his beer cans here there and everywhere, and when he loses control of his bladder.  It’s somewhat funny when you’re a college kid, but when you’re almost old enough to qualify for Taco Tuesday, it really loses its charm.

Maybe I’ll have to work him over with the Sharpie marker myself the next time he gets shitfaced and stupid.  That would be funny as hell.