When has Political Correctness (or PC) gone too far?  When does being “P.C.” become just plain stupid?

Example: During the holidays, rumor had it that a certain local group of Santa impersonators for malls was instructed not to say “Ho Ho Ho” because of the negative connotation it implies in recent street slang.  By recent I mean within the last five to six years or so.

Sure there are people out there who may just be crooked enough to act as if they were being slighted by the Santa in the mall.  There may even be a Santa in the mall drunk or ignorant enough to make a person feel slighted.  But the legend of Santa Claus has been around since long before the street vernacular.  And I would say more folks are familiar with his jolly, “Ho ho ho” than the vulgar slang “Hoe”.  They are messing with traditions dating back to the early nineteenth century here.

I say this one is plain stupid.

But it doesn’t end there, that’s just one example that I thought up off the cuff.  There are millions more I am sure.  What stupid changes have been made to appease the unwashed masses out for a buck?  Yeah, thats right, out for a buck… Think about it.  The reason they change these rules isn’t because they are afraid to insult or offend people.  No, they are afraid of legal ramification from idiots bent on making a buck through a loop hole in the system.  Folks willing to spend loads of our court time and tax money tying up government workers and getting the Johnny Cochrans of the world out there to make huge social debates on why “Ho” is, or could be construed as, the same as “Hoe” by their alleged emotionally hurt client.  Worse, they play this crap up heavy in our media… Why do you think that is?  The reason is pretty simple really; its the fact that public opinion is easily swayed by the media.

Thus as they say, “The mob rules”.  You see what they are hoping for is to create a public outcry in favor of their client.  Or at least cause enough of an uproar that the higher up muckity-mucks get their panties in a bunch and force the hand of the courts to pressure a quick solution to a non-issue. Then the attorney in question, who created the “issue” to begin with, starts pulling appeals and all kinds of reasons to extend the case out all the time whipping the media in the background to keep the pressure on.  Reminds me of that court scene in “From the Hip” with Judd Nelson blowing the courtroom into a three ring circus. http://imdb.com/title/tt0093051/trailers-screenplay-E10692-310 <— funny movie if you haven’t seen it.

What’s all this lead too?  Well rather than do what they should and just shut the books on the stupid case and shuffle the attorney into a nice quiet cell for contempt of court and wasting valuable tax dollars, the judge bends to the pressure and pays off the jack hole who started the whole mess.

So now we see a reason behind the stupidity… but does that make it right?  Is it OK for the corporate world to see a “possible” future and change years of pure and fun related tradition to save a couple of bucks?  Do we simply turn a blind eye on this?  Well of course we do, we are the sheep and the media is our shepherd.  If they say this is how it must be, well then its best for us all.

I say screw that.  I dare to spit in the face of the media!  I dare to to think like an individual and make my own mind up about what I will and won’t accept as rules.  They want to pass a law that protects folks?  They need to put it past us first.  That’s what democracy used to be all about.  The people selecting the folks who lead us, and us having the power to tell them how they will do their jobs, and what they can and can’t tell us to do.  When did “power of the people” become just another bullshit term?  I think its getting time for another proverbial “tea party”.

With today’s technological communications we have the power to get information out to the public in a much faster and more effective manner than in days of old.  There isn’t a Paul Revere running around on horseback.  We have Internet, we have media, we have iPhones, for god sake.  Let’s use them.  Write emails, call congressional representatives, create websites, yell and scream naked in the streets about it (If you do that last one, let me know.  Especially if you’re hot and female).

Don’t get me wrong, media isn’t evil, its a tool.  And just like any tool, you can use a hammer to drive a nail and build a house, or to put out someones eye.  The media tool has put out far too many eyes, most of America is blind.  There are those who think that the Jerry Springer show is giving us a view into all backyards.  I don’t speak for you, but my closet skeletons aren’t Aryan white trash nuns who cheat on their hillbilly spouse by sleeping with dwarves and beat their sexually active drugged out fifth grade children behind the strip club they all work at.

Yeah laugh, its funny, but sometimes the jester points at truth and the court howls in laughter…

St Peter is standing at heaven’s gate when a man walks up.

“Excellent my son, I have to leave for a bit, watch the gate will you?”

I recently in my web surfing mode came across a rather… well venomous article.  It was a very long winded attack on Harley-Davidson riders and the company in general.  The writer did make a few valid points, but over all the impression it left me with was one of pity.  I felt sorry for anyone who lives with that much pent up anger and frustration.  To bad he doesn’t ride  ;)

Here’s the link: http://www.goingfaster.com/angst/noharley2.html

Here’s the email I replied to him with because I doubt he’ll print it on his website:

I won’t lower myself to insults or hate email’s.  Unlike you I will not call you names or attack you for having an opinion.  What I will do is explain the fundamental attraction to Harley-Davidson that you didn’t see in your attack on those of us within the, lets see if I get this right, “pagan cult religion for brain dead trend humping fashion lemmings”… Very colorful attack by the way.
 
First Harley-Davidson isn’t built for breakneck speeds because for the most part, those of us who ride them are not out to race from one point to the next.  For us its not about being the first person at the destination, its about leaving a day or so early, taking back roads and enjoying the journey.  Freedom to chose means if you prefer to buy a Kawasaki Ninja, curl up into an uncomfortable cramped little ball on top of it and race through the curves to get where you are going, well that’s your prerogative.  I prefer to sit up right, lean back, relax and enjoy the views along the trip.  That is my prerogative.
 
Harley-Davidson isn’t about being “in fashion”, heck one could argue that its about the farthest you can get from the “in crowd”.  Sure it’s become fad in recent years to buy and ride Harley-Davidson’s.  You may point out that there are a bunch of yuppie riders out there trying to fit into the biker persona because they saw it on television and thought it was cool.  Or maybe they got caught up in the custom chopper craze and decided a Harley was the cheaper fix.  Whatever their reasons for buying a Harley-Davidson, they have the right and freedom to do so.  Just as you have a right and the freedom to criticize them for it.  I find that most R.U.B.’s (Rich Urban Bikers) purchase their bike, then put it in the garage and wipe it with a diaper.  They don’t get it any more than you do.  But who cares how they spend their money?  Not me.  I also don’t care how you spend yours.
 
Do I worship my Harley-Davidson?  My girlfriend might tell you I do, but for me I see it as more of an escape.  When I ride, I am a part of the bike and the road.  But more than that I am a part of my environment.  Sitting in a car, you watch the world pass by your windows like you watch the television.  You are not feeling the crisp air, smelling the pine trees, you are not “experiencing the ride” you are watching it.
 
Sport bikes and motorcycles with enough torque to leave the riders internal organs bunched into his hind quarters are built for the adrenaline junkie.  They are designed for folks who are all about your speed and power.  But on the open road, where there are laws against that kind of speed and where those of us on motorcycles are at a notable disadvantage to those wrapped in a couple tons of steel during a collision, who cares about getting to the grave yard faster?  If you ride your 1995 Kawasaki Ninja ZX-6R’s 599cc in-line four bike and I ride my 2006 Harley-Davidson Dyna Wide glide 1450cc and we trip across country, you may beat me to all the rest stops, but I won’t have to stop as often as you.  And while you are at the destination tapping your foot and laughing at me for “Easy Riding” I will be enjoying my trip and seeing some of that beautiful county you claim to love so much but blazed right past in a blur of death defying speed and performance.  That’s where you and I truly differ my friend.  You claim to love your country, but sit in judgment over its people and race past its beauty.  You point your finger at what you see as “Wrong” or un-American and nit pick at one of its best known companies.  Well enjoy your freedom to do that, enjoy your freedom to speech and to sling mud at other Americans because you don’t agree with their choices.  I chose the moral high ground.  And I ride my Harley there
 
Print that on your website.
 
Freelyx

I expect no response or reply from him.  I expect him to probably not even read past the first couple of lines of my email.  I expect he’s going to sit in judgment over me too… Oh well, some folks just don’t get it.

A man walks into a bar and asks the bartender, “If I show you a really good trick, will you give me a free drink?” The bartender considers it, then agrees. The man reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tiny rat. He reaches into his other pocket and pulls out a tiny piano. The rat stretches, cracks his knuckles, and proceeds to play the blues.

After the man finished his drink, he asked the bartender, “If I show you an even better trick, will you give me free drinks for the rest of the evening?” The bartender agrees, thinking that no trick could possibly be better than the first. The man reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tiny rat. He reaches into his other pocket and pulls out a tiny piano. The rat stretches, cracks his knuckles, and proceeds to play the blues. The man reaches into yet another pocket and pulls out a small bullfrog, who begins to sing along with the rat’s music.

While the man is enjoying his beverages, a stranger confronts him and offers him $100,000.00 for the bullfrog. “Sorry,” the man replies, “he’s not for sale.” The stranger increases the offer to $250,000.00 cash up front. “No,” he insists, “he’s not for sale.” The stranger again increases the offer, this time to $500,000.00 cash. The man finally agrees, and turns the frog over to the stranger in exchange for the money.

“Are you insane?” the bartender demanded. “That frog could have been worth millions to you, and you let him go for a mere $500,000!” “Don’t worry about it.” the man answered. “The frog was really nothing special. You see, the rat’s a ventriloquist.”

Friday night after work, I rolled out of the parking lot feeling pretty good.  I had just sold a bike adding another number to the board and in general life was good.  I think it was about 7:15PM or so when I left.

I had decided to stop and get a drink at a gas station on the way home.  I don’t know what I hit when I turned into the driveway.  I was later told there was a glass coke bottle on the ground there as well as a pot hole in the concrete.  Whatever it was, the handlebars jerked hard right throwing me left off the bike.  I went sailing over the ditch and the soft grass to hit and rolled up off the curb into the nice hard pavement.  Laying there looking up at the night sky, some nice folks came over to check on me.  At the time, I thought I was fine there was no pain at all.  Just had the wind knocked out of me.  So after a moment’s rest I went to get up, but realized instantly the mistake that was.  Pain shot through my shoulder like I had never felt in my life.  Now mind you I have broken six bones over my short time on this dirt ball called earth.  None felt like this one.  I knew I had broken my collar bone.

First a cop showed up.  He took a report on the accident for me and gave me a small note to keep in my pocket in case I needed to reference it later for insurance purposes.  I removed my helmet as it was causing my head to lean forward at an odd angle and stressing the pain in my shoulder further.  I called my girlfriend to let her know where I was and that I was still breathing in and out.  The cop asked me who was going to move my bike.  My guess is that the four or five tow trucks were all foaming at the mouth hoping to get my bike and make a little money.  I called a friend of mine who came and got the bike for me and brought it back to my house foiling them all.

The ambulance arrived, paramedics came over and began the job of causing the victim as much pain as possible before transporting them (me) to a hospital ready to leach as much weight out of my wallet to help ease my distress when walking.  I asked the guy to look at my collar bone and see if it was broken.  He said it didn’t look broke, but that it was hard to see.  They asked who took my helmet off twice.  I explained that I had taken it off myself.  They went to put a neck brace on me.  I tried to explain that with the pain in my shoulder I thought that would be a bad idea, but they had procedure to follow in this sort of situation.  So they put it on me anyway.  They brought out a back board.  I had no idea how they were going to get me on it without touching the shoulder.  Reaching with my right arm across my body I held my left arm to my side and they rolled my up on my right to place the board.  Then they taped me down to it.  I had to lean my head right and put pressure on the neck brace to keep it from pushing left on my broken collar bone.  They then lifted me up and put me on the ambulance gurney.  I gave my cell phone to my girlfriend, I have an Iphone and didn’t want it to grow legs if I passed out.  She also agreed to stay and help my friend get the bike back to our house before catching up with me at the hospital.

I think the ambulance driver knew a shortcut to the hospital.  I say that because I’m almost positive we never touched a paved road the entire trip there.  I felt every bump and pebble in the road.  Each time he hit a turn it pushed me against the rail on the gurney and sent fresh waves of pain throughout my body emanating from that shoulder.

When we got into the emergency room I could hear quite a lot of folks in the area, but only see the ceiling as my head was taped down still.  I asked the paramedic to help me get the collar off my neck so I could relax a little, but was informed that only a doctor could authorize its removal.  Well while that made perfect sense, it did nothing to ease my pain.  Shortly after that someone came over and checked out my neck.  They finally removed the offending neck brace so I could stretch my neck out and relax.  They had to cut the tape off and help me sit up (still holding my left arm to my body) then moved me into a wheel chair.  When the lady asked me what was wrong I told her I thought my collar bone was broken.  The paramedic took another look at it and said other than some swelling in one particular area, it didn’t appear to be broken.  They took my info and moved me in my chair out into the hallway to wait for a doctor and a chance to be seen.

A little info to help you understand the gravity of my situation here, it was Friday night, a full moon, and the weekend before New Years Eve.  The place was packed.  I didn’t get out of there until after midnight and the accident had happened around 7:30PM or so.  I sat in that wheel chair against a wall in the hallway for a long time; it was standing room only that night.  My girlfriend showed up and I had her help me cause even more pain to myself.  My thoughts were of them trying to use those sharp doctor scissors to cut the $350.00 leather jacket off of me, so I had her help me take it off.  She then became my personal coat rack.  She had to hold my helmet, my jacket, and the work shirt that I also took off.  I spent $80.00 on those shirts and I wasn’t about to have to buy another of those either.  A couple of hours went by.  I saw lots of people coming in but rarely saw anyone leave.

When I saw guy and his very obviously preggers wife arrive, she was standing there shaking in shock of some kind, I gave up my seat to her.  Chivalry is harder when you are in as much pain as I was, but its how I was raised.  Piece of advice to you however, never lean against a wall with a broken collar bone.  Hurts like hell.  Anyway they finally saw me around 11:45 or so and took the X-rays, sure enough.  What I had been telling everyone since it happened turned out to be right.  It was broken.  I was given some pain pills and put in a room.  Someone brought me a chicken salad sandwich that I am ever grateful for.  Then they put me in a harness told me to see an orthopedic specialist regarding the break.  The only way I can describe the torture device that this harness is, is to liken it to those old shoulder holsters the detectives wear in cop shows, but designed for both sides.  The idea is to hold your shoulders back so you won’t hunch while the bone heals.  They can’t cast a broken clavicle.  So they stretch you out and squirm gleefully behind your back at the excruciating pain they cause you.

Looking at the X-rays, I have a small part of bone still attached to the shoulder.  The longer part of the bone is jabbed up into the muscle that stretches over the top of your shoulder.  The doc at the ER said that she thought they may have to surgically go in and fix it.  She said the conventional way to do it was to just keep the shoulder brace on and let it heal itself, but that now, depending on the kind of break, they sometimes had to put the bone back where it belonged, put a couple of small metal plates and a few screws in it to insure it healed right.

Thus I have an appointment for today around lunch time.  Hope they just knock me out, do the surgery, and get me on my way.  I want this done and over with so I can start the healing process and get back on my bike.  Beautiful weather yesterday.  I really missed the ride I could have had.

Speaking of the bike: I broke the left mirror, bent the risers and handle bars down towards the tank and put a scrape in the paint on the left side of the tank about the size of a silver dollar. Also the bike won’t start. The lights come on and the fuel injection primes, but when you hit the start button you hear that clicking sound you get when the battery is dead. Since the lights never dim, it could mean several things. Hopefully none of them too expensive to fix as I am going to be dropping a pretty large load of cash on medical bills and land taxes that are coming up on us.

You know when I was a kid, Christmas was always my favorite time of year.  I couldn’t wait to see what new toys Santa would bring.  For weeks before the big day I was on edge, always thinking I should have asked for this, or I shouldn’t have done that to my sister.  I never got a lump of coal or a bundle of switches for Christmas.  Which of course meant that Santa approved of how I treated my sister. 

 Anyway, the point I’m getting at here is this, when I was younger, the Christmas bug would bite me hard every year. 

The older I get the less that bug seems to effect me.  Not that I don’t love the spirit of this season and the joy of giving and receiving gifts, just that as I grow older I seem to over think things I guess.  Its all too commercial for me now.  I look forward to the time when family and friends are chilling in the den opening out gifts and smiling at each other.  Listening to happy music and drinking too much egg nog.  Eating sweets and the smell of our tree.  The laughter in the streets when the kids are all outside playing with their new toys and running around looking at what all their friends got too.  That feeling you have in your gut of satisfaction when your loved ones open that perfect gift you found for them and their eyes light up.  Or they just throw their arms around you and hug the life out of you.  That’s what this season is supposed to be about.  Open minded loved ones hanging out and celebrating.

In the spirit or being an open minded society, lets take a step out of the bustle for a second and look at something important that a lot of people right now are not thinking about, and may not even know.  Solstice, or the winter festival dates back before Christianity and several “gods” of that day had their birthdays celebrated on or around December 25th.  It is thought that Christians began Christmas celebrations on that date to both help Roman pagans to convert over to Christianity and to keep the tradition of the winter festival alive and strong.  Thus even folks claiming not to be Christians can celebrate in the comfort that the Solstice Winter festival and not the true birth of Christ is the foundation of our current holiday. 

The bible doesn’t list the birth date of Jesus, and some papal scholars believe he may have been born on March 25th.  (facts based on information found here ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christmas )

I don’t bring these facts up to dilute the christian belief’s.  I speak of these other rituals and celebrations to share with everyone the true meaning of these holidays, the spirit of giving.  The spirit of thinking about others and enjoying the company of friends, family and neighbors.   The idea that the stranger sitting beside you on the bus, or standing next to you in the elevator is connected to you if only for a short while.  Our common bond this time of year is that of caring for one another.  Smile and tell your stranger to have a happy holidays. 

“God bless us everyone.” doesn’t mean only the Christians.  Open your heart, your eyes and your mind to the fact that we are all of us on this world together.  Lets try to get along with each other and at least for this season, be nice to each other.

A guy just died and is standing at the pearly gates, waiting to be admitted, while St. Peter is leafing through a big book to see if the guy is worthy. St. Peter goes through the book several times and furrows his brow.
“You know, I can’t see that you ever did anything really bad in your life, but you never did anything really good either. If you can point to even one really good deed, you’re in.” 

The guy thinks for a moment. “Yeah, there was this one time when I was driving down the highway and saw a giant group of biker gang members vandalizing a schoolyard. I slowed down my car to see what was going on and sure enough, there they were, about 50 of ‘em smashing in windows, tearing off doors and setting fires. Infuriated, I got out of my car, grabbed a tire iron out of my trunk, walked up to the leader of the gang — a huge guy with a studded leather jacket and a chain running from his nose to his ear. As I walked up to the leader, the biker gang members formed a circle around me. So, I ripped the leader’s chain off his face and smashed him over the head with the tire iron. Laid him out. Then I turned and yelled at the rest of them, ‘Leave this poor building alone! You’re all a bunch of sick, deranged animals! Go home before I teach you all a lesson in pain!’”

St. Peter, impressed starts looking through his book again and says, “Really? When did this happen?”

“Oh, about two minutes ago.”

An old biker decked out in his leather chaps, jacket and boots with faded jeans and a Harley T-shirt went to a bar and ordered a drink.

As he sat there sipping his whiskey, a young lady sat down next to him. After she ordered her drink she turned to the biker and asked him, “Are you a real biker?”

He replied, “Well, I have spent my whole life on two wheels, riding Harley’s, fixin’ bikes, and trying to find the perfect curve in the road, I guess I am.” After a short while he asked her what she was.

She replied, “I’ve never been on a Harley so I’m not a biker, but I am a lesbian. I spend my whole day thinking about women. As soon as I get up in the morning I think of women, when I eat, work, watch TV, everything seems to make me think of women.”

A short while later she left and the biker ordered another drink.

A couple sat down next to him and asked, “Are you a real biker?”

He replied, “I always thought I was, but I just found out that I’m probably a lesbian.”

Its the silly season again.  Folks out shopping for family and friends, buying gifts and creating havoc with the traffic.  Those of us on bikes hate traffic this time of year even more than most.  Peoples minds are never on the road when they are out running their Christmas errands.   Do an old biker a favor and give us a break will yah?  I’m not asking for you to stay home and shop online (although that’s what I did this year), just that you keep you mind on the road and your eye on your surroundings.  The best Christmas gift you can give yourself and the folks like me on bikes this year is not to hurt or kill someone while out there.

Well the next thing I will write about here is a recent trip to a friends house for a Christmas party.  Boy did I learn some things!  First impressions are great, and talking with a guy for years can tell you a lot, but you never really get to know a guy until you see his house. 

This guys home was like a little piece out of the mind of Jimmy Buffet.  His back yard alone was by far the coolest I have ever seen.  It was a little island get away built into a suburban neighborhood.  When I knocked and rang the bell no one answered, I knew we were doing grilled steaks so I wandered around to the back of the house.  There looking through the garage I could see my fellow employees chillin’ around a garden table and drinking while the grill heated up.  

The relaxing tunes of the beach and classic rock played through speakers all around the yard.  There was not just a patio and a gazebo, there was three separate little deck areas.  The patio had the grill and ice chests, the corner gazebo (really more of a grass hut or cabana) had speakers of its own and lighting plus signage that really expressed a lot about our host.  Then just behind that there was a smoker hidden away.  Between that hut and the patio is what I can only describe as “the deck”.  Two lounging lawn chairs sit beside a couple of small tables, each chair giving you a great view of the pool and at least this night a soft warm breeze crossed the deck. 

We sat fat and happy after some of the best home cooked steaks I have ever devoured courtesy of my boss, and listened to the guys tell their tails and chat casually about work and life and really nothing at all.  It was the kind of place you go to disappear from all the turmoils of life, a place where nothing from work or home or family ever touched that short little fuse in your anger, or your last nerve.  Nobody was worried about anything, we just were. 

Some would say Christmas was meant to be cold winter in front of a warm fireplace.  Others would say they love their white Christmas.  Me? I’m a good ol southern boy.  I don’t live in Texas cause I like cold.  No, I think the Santa I saw in my friends bathroom summed it all up for me.

A man owns a parrot that swears like a sailor. He can swear for five minutes straight without repeating himself.
Trouble is, the guy who owns him is a quiet, conservative type, and the bird’s foul mouth is driving him crazy.
One day, it gets out of control. The guy grabs the bird by the throat, shakes him hard and yells, “Quit it!”
But this just makes the bird mad and he swears more than ever. Then the guy gets mad and says,
“Now you’re going to pay.” He locks the bird in a kitchen cabinet.
This really aggravates the bird and he claws and scratches, and when the guy finally lets him out, the bird cuts
loose with a stream of vulgarities that would make a veteran sailor blush. At this point, the guy is so mad that he
throws the bird into the freezer.
For the first few seconds, there is a terrible ruckus. The bird kicks and claws and thrashes.
Then it suddenly gets very, very quiet. At first the guy just waits, but then he starts to think that the bird may be hurt.
After a couple of minutes of silence, he’s worried enough to open the freezer door.
The bird calmly climbs onto the man’s outstretched arm and says, “Awfully sorry about the trouble I caused you.
I’ll do my best to improve my vocabulary from now on.” The man is astounded. He can’t understand the transformation
that has come over the parrot. Then the parrot asks, “By the way, what did the chicken do?”