by Tom Kando
That’s it. We are there. We have reached the point of insanity. I’m referring to the “gun debate” in the aftermath of the Parkland shooting.
There is now a SERIOUS conversation about arming teachers!
That the President and the NRA most prominently make such a proposal is not what strikes me as the most insane aspect of this. We are used to Donald Trump and Wayne La Pierre saying crazy things.
What I find insane is that there is a conversation about this, that there are people who think about this seriously. While most teachers (I think) would still find this idea abhorrent, there are already some teachers who are sort of warming up to it...
As my sister Madeleine says, the press isn’t doing its job either: Recently on the NewsHour, Judy Woodruff interviewed a couple of pro-gun rights high schoolers. One of them offered the imbecile argument that we have security at airports, banks and government facilities, so why not at our schools?
Thursday, February 22, 2018
Sunday, February 18, 2018
It's the Guns
by Madeleine Kando
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Source: What
Explains U.S. Mass Shootings? International Comparisons Suggest an Answer
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Wednesday, February 14, 2018
Happy, Bloody Valentine’s Day
by Madeleine Kando
Did you get roses for Valentine’s day? A card? Chocolates? I was going to order those ’12 long-stemmed roses’, advertised ad nauseam on NPR, but then I asked myself: who is this Valentine guy anyway? What gives him the right to mind-control an entire population to go out and spend their hard earned money on others? ** There should be a law against saints telling us what to do, I reasoned.
So I went digging and I came across several articles on The Dark Origins Of Valentine's Day. Let me warn you, it ain’t pretty. And quite convoluted.
There are two theories on the origin of this supposedly lovey-dovey celebration; one cruel and bloody, the other salacious and sex-driven.
The first connection is to the ancient Roman festival called Lupercalia, in honor of the fertility god Lupercus. During this pagan ritual from February 13 to 15, a group of priests called Luperci, sacrificed a goat (the symbol for virility) and a dog (not sure why), sliced strips of skin from these victims and ran around naked, whipping young women who willingly lined up for a beating. They believed that being beaten by naked men would make them fertile. This ‘naked guys running amok frenzy’ was followed by a blind-date lottery where names of young girls were put in a large urn, followed by activities better not described here in detail.
Did you get roses for Valentine’s day? A card? Chocolates? I was going to order those ’12 long-stemmed roses’, advertised ad nauseam on NPR, but then I asked myself: who is this Valentine guy anyway? What gives him the right to mind-control an entire population to go out and spend their hard earned money on others? ** There should be a law against saints telling us what to do, I reasoned.
So I went digging and I came across several articles on The Dark Origins Of Valentine's Day. Let me warn you, it ain’t pretty. And quite convoluted.
There are two theories on the origin of this supposedly lovey-dovey celebration; one cruel and bloody, the other salacious and sex-driven.
The first connection is to the ancient Roman festival called Lupercalia, in honor of the fertility god Lupercus. During this pagan ritual from February 13 to 15, a group of priests called Luperci, sacrificed a goat (the symbol for virility) and a dog (not sure why), sliced strips of skin from these victims and ran around naked, whipping young women who willingly lined up for a beating. They believed that being beaten by naked men would make them fertile. This ‘naked guys running amok frenzy’ was followed by a blind-date lottery where names of young girls were put in a large urn, followed by activities better not described here in detail.
Wednesday, February 7, 2018
Looking for my Muse
by Madeleine Kando
My muse has disappeared. She left without explaining why or when she would return. She used to work overtime for long stretches, you see, to the point where I took her for granted and never even considered giving her anything in return. Maybe she realized that she was being played for a sucker and decided to teach me a lesson.
I confess to all the times that she whispered in my ear while I was in the shower or cooking dinner, but it wasn’t ‘convenient’ for me to pick up the little muselings she dropped in my lap and take the time to put them on paper. Muselings don’t stick around unless you catch them in the act, you know.
I confess to all the times I was cheating on her by watching a third rate movie on T.V. instead of spending quality time with her. Who can blame her, sitting there in the corner of my darkened living room, staring at me staring at the boob tube, wondering what she was doing there, wasting her time on me.
She must have found someone more deserving of her gifts by now. Muses are so in demand these days, what with all those Indie writers who think they can ride the gravy train without an ounce of creativity. My muse is probably cheating on me with some other undeserving schmuck, who thinks he can use her as a ghostwriter.
My muse has disappeared. She left without explaining why or when she would return. She used to work overtime for long stretches, you see, to the point where I took her for granted and never even considered giving her anything in return. Maybe she realized that she was being played for a sucker and decided to teach me a lesson.
I confess to all the times that she whispered in my ear while I was in the shower or cooking dinner, but it wasn’t ‘convenient’ for me to pick up the little muselings she dropped in my lap and take the time to put them on paper. Muselings don’t stick around unless you catch them in the act, you know.
I confess to all the times I was cheating on her by watching a third rate movie on T.V. instead of spending quality time with her. Who can blame her, sitting there in the corner of my darkened living room, staring at me staring at the boob tube, wondering what she was doing there, wasting her time on me.
She must have found someone more deserving of her gifts by now. Muses are so in demand these days, what with all those Indie writers who think they can ride the gravy train without an ounce of creativity. My muse is probably cheating on me with some other undeserving schmuck, who thinks he can use her as a ghostwriter.