Name Recognition

A long time ago, in a state far away, my  father approached a young man walking the streets of Denver who was absently twirling a pearl-handled revolver. My father asked him for an autograph. The young man took the menu my father offered him and wrote, "Cassius Clay." This young man was on his way to becoming the Heavyweight Champion of the World. Back then, it wasn't that hard to get that autograph.
Once Cassius Clay became the Greatest of All Time, it was a little harder get. Climbing forward in time, when my older brother was part of a multi-national group of law enforcement types who gathered to protect and serve at the 1996 Olympics in Atlanta. He had a chance to serve and protect a man named Muhammad Ali, a much older and battle-scarred version of that young man from the streets of Denver. He was no longer twirling a pearl-handled revolver, damage of years in the ring and the ravages of Parkinson's disease had left him shaky and slow, but not so slow that he wouldn't stop in the Olympic Village to pose with other young boxers, posing them to make it appear as though they were taking their best shot at The Champ. And on the night that The Champ was scheduled to light the torch, my brother walked Ali and his family to the position where he would take the flame and carry it to those last few yards. My brother understood that he was in the presence of greatness, which is why he turned to Muhammad Ali's son and asked if he ever got asked for his autograph. That's how my older brother got Muhammad Ali's son's autograph.
In the hours after his death, a local news anchor made this assertion: "If you asked one hundred people who is currently the Heavyweight Champion of the World, ninety-five of them wouldn't have an answer. Back in the seventies, if you asked one hundred people who the Heavyweight Champion of the World was, they would all have answered 'Muhammad Ali.'" That's what being the Greatest will do for you.
He didn't stomp on the Terra, he floated like a butterfly and stung like a bee. That was the magic of Muhammad Ali. Aloha, Champ.

You Better Watch Out

Larry Pratt, executive director of Gun Owners of America, said that if a Democrat wins the presidential election in November and appoints an anti-gun Supreme Court Justice then right-wing gun advocates will no longer resort to the ballot box, but will instead turn to "bullet box." It's a pretty catchy turn of phrase, but more than just a little troublesome since the GOA make the NRA look like weekend collectors. They refer to themselves as the "no compromise gun lobby." Like the old Robin Williams bit: (sound of gunshot) "Halt, or I'll shoot!"
Mister Pratt, who has been the executive director for forty of the forty-one years that GOA has been in existence, would like us to know that if things don't go their way, there could be trouble. “I didn’t say that would happen," that whole bullets versus ballots thing, "but I would say that’s why we have a Second Amendment. If elections are compromised, that could happen. I don’t think we’re at that point. We haven’t lost that much control, I don’t think, of the electoral process. We have actually been making some progress in recent months with voter ID and that hopefully is going to cut down on some of the voter fraud that could potentially occur.”
Thirty four states have voter ID laws in place, of various types. This is in spite of the lack of any kind of widespread voter fraud, in spite of the regular and seemingly pervasive email claims of such conspiracies. What then can Larry Pratt and his heavily armed followers be so worried about? African American and Latino voters are generally those impacted most regularly by such legislation, so maybe it's not the hanging chads as much as the black and brown faces showing up to the polls to vote. Votes that have historically been cast for Democrats. With the orange vote all but sealed up for the Republicans, Gun Owners of America have nothing to fear but fear itself. And a large turnout by those not-so-orange voters. “If people become convinced that elections don’t matter and that their vote doesn’t count and that there’s fraud that’s rampant, then I think we enter a potentially very dangerous time,” Pratt said. And just who will do that convincing? At the end of a loaded gun? Larry says that we have the Second Amendment to protect us from our government. Who will protect us from Larry? 

Turn Off

Hey you constitutional scholars, time to wake up and smell your briefs. Okay, that didn't come out exactly right, but you might be interested to know that the Fourth Circuit Court of Appeals in Richmond, Virginia recently ruled that police can use your phone as a tracking device. While it is illegal for police to track you without a warrant, they can go and ask your cell phone provider for records that detail your movements. Your cell phone provider is a third party, and they can answer questions as to your whereabouts even when you don't feel like it.
That's because you turn on that little tracking deal on your phone that watches where you go so that you can find the nearest Starbucks (Hint: if you just passed one, look up the street to your left). But if you're one of those people whose phone is smarter than you are on any given day, that little nod to convenience may just be your undoing.
If you're up to a little light reading, the Fourth Amendment Third Party Doctrine will make this whole issue crystal clear. If you don't have the time to digest all twenty-six pages, let me sum it up for you: The Fourth Amendment of our Constitution  is what protects us from illegal and unwanted searches and seizures. The thing about that Third Party is that when you give away information freely to a bank or a cell phone provider, those little tidbits are just hanging out there for anyone to scoop up and use against you. Even if you turn off that GPS app, your phone company still knows where you are, and they will rat you out in a heartbeat. It's their job to tell everyone, including the police, where you are at all times.
This might not bother you in the context of Uber or Santa Claus, but the idea that someone knows where you are just because you were silly enough to check that box and turn your phone on is more than just a little Orwellian. So just how important is if for you to know how far it is to the next In 'n' Out? That's a matter for you to decide. Along with your phone company and anyone they decide to let in on the details.

Standing In Line

Mississippi's governor, Phil Bryant, blames the "secular, progressive world" for all the fuss kicked up by the bill he signed that would allow clerks to cite their religious beliefs in order to recuse themselves from issuing marriage licenses to same-sex couples. Phil made this assertion in a speech to the Family Research Council, a "pro-life, pro-marriage" group whose president is Anthony Perkins. Ooops! Sorry. That's "Tony" Perkins, not to be confused with Anthony "Psycho" Perkins who was pretty "pro-family" himself, come to think of it.

But let's get back to Governor Phil. You might remember his from such blockbuster legislation as House Bill 1523, and its predecessor the year before in 2014. These laws, and similar bills passed in other states, insist that it's okay to discriminate if God tells you to. Here's what he told the FRC: "About sixty days ago, it seemed as if all of the secular, progressive world had decided they were going to pour their anger and their frustration — their friends in the media willingly joining with them to bring all that they could upon the governor of the state. Hoping, first, that surely he wouldn't sign that bill if we could just draw enough editorial cartoons. If we could condemn him enough, if we could get enough cameras in his office, if we could get people to go out and protest in front of the governor's mansion at night. We could get people to call him bad names — 'Oh, you know, he's from Mississippi so we can use that racist idea.' How dare them," Bryant said. "How dare them."

Those secular progressives who bought into that whole "separation of church and state" ideal put forth in the First Amendment of the Constitution. For Bryant and his ilk, that seems to suggest that they need to make laws to protect the rights put forth in the Constitution, even at the expense of other's rights. Family Research Council president Perkins presented Governor Bryant with the organization's first Samuel Adams Religious Freedom Award during a conference for pastors. Perkins (Tony, not Anthony), attended a private ceremony where Bryant signed the 2014 bill, said the award is named for the American founding father known as the "last of the Puritans."

The last? Probably not. "They don't know that Christians have been persecuted throughout the ages," said Bryant, who is United Methodist. "They don't know that if it takes crucifixion, we will stand in line before abandoning our faith and our belief in our Lord and savior, Jesus Christ." Poor, persecuted Christians. It's about time they got their due.

Scripture

For those of us who grew up in the seventies, we know that the true beginning of the Planet of the Apes came when Aldo said, "No." Aldo was a gorilla, according to the scrolls handed down through the generations, who had grown tired of his role as a servant in the homes of humans and who was finally moved to utter the word that had been shouted at him for years as a slave and years before that as he was conditioned to that place. With electric shock and fire hoses and all manner of torment. Aldo said, "No."
This was the story handed down from ape to ape over the ages, but it may not have taken into account just how the gorillas, chimps and orangutans had gained the power of speech. The story from the scrolls suggest that it occurred as if it were predestined, but further examination leads us to understand that it was the appearance of Caesar, son of the time-travelling chimpanzee scientists Zira and Cornelius who was the true instigator of the revolt that eventually became known as the Conquest of the Planet of the Apes.
The scrolls also tell of a plague that wiped out all the cats and dogs on the planet, and eventually humans brought apes into their homes as substitutes for their beloved pets. The size and cognitive abilities of these primates made them ideal servants, once the initial romance of the idea of sharing ones house with their distant cousins wore off. When Aldo said no, it set off a chain of events that eventually led to a race of super-intelligent apes ruling what was left of our planet after the humans had made a mess of it.
Whether you subscribe to the doctrine of the scrolls or the more precise timeline of the Ape-o-nauts, reading the story of Harambe, the seventeen year old gorilla who was shot and killed in Cincinnati last Saturday. The director of the zoo insisted that Harambe was shot in order to save the life of the four year old human child who had fallen into the enclosure. Director Thane Maynard insisted that a tranquilizer would not have acted quickly enough to bring down four hundred-plus pounds of gorilla in time to save the little boy. Who is to blame? In two thousand years when the Lawgiver's scrolls are unfurled and Aldo's story is told right after that of Harmabe's, hopefully it will be a planet of apes and men listening.

Sorry, Bugs

A couple of summers ago, my wife and son gave me a present for my birthday. It was one they felt would last and last: a season pass to Six Flags Discovery Kingdom, just up the road apiece in Vallejo. It would be worth the forty-five minute drive to the top of the Bay for some roller coaster action. In the parlance of our family, "Why not?"
Well, as it turns out, the amusement park section of my brain was not fully satisfied by the lines and rides found beneath those Six Flags. Sadly, I have become impossibly spoiled by all those trips to Disney properties over the years, and the absurd standards that I hold for my amusement are now ridiculously high. It would be foolish of me not to reconcile the relative costs of these adventures. It would be foolish of me still not to recognize the value of a year's worth of high-speed turbulent roller coaster type rides compared to a day's worth. Why not take the family out for a Northern California day full of deep-fried food and a series of apparatus that would make it hard to keep that deep-fried food down? It made fine fiscal sense to do that, as long as I was going to need to scratch that itch every so often.
We went once.
Again, I blame myself. The Six Flags experience wasn't special enough. Not for me and my Disney sensibilities. This makes me a snob, and it pains me to confess it. Coming from a guy who spent his drinking years throwing down case after case of "the best beer you ever kept down," Miller Lite, how could I have managed to let my theme park aesthetic get so out of hand? What is the theme of Disneyland? What Disney owns which, at this point, is most everything. Six Flags has Bugs Bunny. Which does not diminish my love for Bugs.  Not in the least. But he's not Mickey and Donald  and Luke and Han and Spidey and Cap. And Snow White and Cinderella and Ariel and well, you get the idea. The cast members from the turnstiles on the way in to the hand stamp on the way out are so unrelentingly pleasant that the time you spend in what used to be an orange grove is like a visit to the happiest place on earth. Vallejo is still working on becoming a destination place, and one might expect that the addition of live seals and sharks and butterflies should make the trip completely worthwhile.
Once.
It was a good time. But we haven't been back. I feel bad about missing out on all that fun. And value. Now that I don't drink anymore, however, I can tell you that Miller Lite isn't good beer.

Parental Support

I discipline other people's kids. It's my job. I'm an elementary school teacher so when it comes to telling kids what to do, I'm your guy. Get in line. Don't talk in the halls. Use your words. Sit down while you eat. There aren't many situations for which I don't have a suggestion or admonition. I spend a good six to eight hours  a day telling kids what to do. That may be why I was surprised to see all the fuss surrounding a blog post by a mom who wanted to thank a stranger who took the time to correct her son on a playground. She starts by asking if this person has a right to discipline her boy when he tries to push past his daughter on the monkey bars. Yes, mom insists, he does. She gives this father clearance to tell her son to knock it off and to act as if his mother were there watching because, in that it-takes-a-village way of thinking, she is.
Mom is everywhere. It is the question I ask some of the tough cases at my school: "What would your mother do if she were here?" Depending on the infraction, some of them will tell me "nothin'." More of them will look off into the distance and tell me that they would get a whuppin'. They know that I won't give them a whuppin', but thanks to the simple prop of a smart phone, I can imply the connection between myself and those who might administer said whuppin'. The degree of separation between that kid and a whuppin' is one: me. I tell them that I have no interest in anyone getting a whuppin'. I want kids to take turns on the monkey bars. My job doesn't require that I ask permission from a kid's parents before I tell them to knock it off and wait their turn, but if I were to try that same tactic on a public playground, things might go a little differently. I hang around kids all day and I am here to tell you that unless we all step up and tell those kids to get in line it will be anarchy. Or at least there will be a whole lot of tears.
And it's not just kids on a playground. Who among us speaks up when they see someone cut in line at the supermarket? Or when that Mercedes jumps out in front of the Volvo to race down that residential street? Grownups with lizard brains shouldn't push anyone aside to get on the monkey bars either. Get in line. All of you. Now.
You're welcome.