Missives From Fuckneckville (Back to School Edition)

Fuck the kids. I mean, don't fuck them, but fuck 'em.

At least that's what this contributor to The Buffalo News' Letter to the Editor page thinks.

The following love letter to poor children was submitted by Anthony Pasceri of Buffalo, NY:

DISCLAIMER:

The basic idea of this letter is ridiculous enough that I can afford some magnanimity with regard to the underlying racist tones. Mainly because I'm not willing to waste the requisite minutes of my life debunking the imaginary welfare queen archetypes that certainly dance like sugarplums in this fuckneck's head.

Parents are shirking their responsibilities

According to a recent letter, 86 percent of Buffalo students quality for a free or reduced lunch. Would I be wrong in assuming that they are also eligible for food stamps and other public assistance? With so many entitlement and food programs in this country, whose fault would it be if any school-aged child came to school hungry – their parents or their teacher?

How about Supper at School to go along with Breakfast in the Classroom? That way, parents can be absolved of another parental duty. This Breakfast in the Classroom debate is actually much more than another attempt to blame the Buffalo Teachers Federation for a societal ill. It brings to light the biggest problem in our country today: People having children whom they are either unable or unwilling to care for.

Anthony Pasceri

Buffalo

I just made my 'derp face' so hard I think my cheeks might be broken. Maybe that happened because I'm burdened by facts and I know things about stuff. Either way, my fucking cheeks hurt and I feel like I need to make the pain worthwhile.

Let's start by educating ourselves about the cost of running a household, then we'll have a look at which households qualify for this hippie program.

Since this particular missive from fuckneckville was submitted from a major metropolitan area in New York State, we'll do our best to use available numbers for that area. 

Average rent/mortgage expense per year in Buffalo, NY (2 bedrooms) $10,752

Average elecricity usage multiplied by NYS average cost.tHm per year: $2040/year

Average gas bill: $1200/year

So, $13,992 gets you a roof over your head in Western New York, but how do you get to work? 

Right, a car, have to have one of those. Unless you have a pile of cash lying around, the best way to get a car is to finance it. Let's see what the average, smart spending, Buffalonian can afford. Using the accepted 20/4/10 rule, we can find out what folks in the Queen City should be driving, but we're not going to bother since the median Buffalo household income of $30,230/yearly tells us that we can't afford a new car anyway. We'll just assume we drive a shitty rust bucket with no airbags, financed over 6 years at 12% interest. Let's say $240/month plus $100/month in insurance: $4080.

Now, lets say we live in Cheektowaga and work in Hamburg. Not that we'd want to do either, but I digress. That would be roughly 26 miles round trip every day. Let's say your used shitbox car gets 26 mpg in city traffic (it doesn't, but fuck it, right?) So that's a gallon of gas every day at $3.85/gallon working 260 days per year: $1001

So far, we've figured out that it costs the average Buffalonian $19,703.00 per year to be sheltered, employed and single.

Congratulations, single Buffalonian! You're 19k deep before you've even scarfed a cheeseburger. You don't have a girlfriend and your terrible football team has to play the Patriots in Week 1. 

Whatever, Tom Brady and the boys spanked you good and proper, but you left the bar at halftime and went to the library instead where you met the girl of your dreams. You're married now and her dad got you a job renovating dilapidated grain elevators. You're making 15 bucks an hour and hauling in 30k a year like a good average Buffalonian when your wife gets pregnant. The kid shows up nine months later and it's the best day of your life.

Over the next four years, you raise your child right and settle into a simple life. Your wife chooses to stay home with that awesome kid (or maybe you do and she takes over your job...gender roles don't really matter here) it's tough to keep food on the table and make the rent payment, but you and your spouse are responsible and you make it work. One morning, she tells you she's pregnant again. It's a great feeling.

It's about a year later and you've just had your second child. This is also the greatest day of your life. You, your wife and your two kids are a family of four living in Western New York. Money is tight so you demand a raise, your boss bumps you up ten grand a year because you've been a loyal employee.. You do the research and find out it's cheaper for your wife to stay home with the second baby than to put the kid in daycare.

So, you're making $40,000 per year. It's more than the average Buffalo household and a hell of a lot more than what you were raking in five years ago, but now you have to buy health insurance at 12k/ year and feed yourself and three other people. You have to buy diapers for the newborn and clothes for your new kindergartener. You're above average for your area and you still can't make ends meet. 

Wouldn't it be wonderful if your school aged kid could get a midday meal that wouldn't cause you budget worries? What if there was some way to ensure your child was getting proper nutrition during the school-day without causing you budget worries?.

The NYS school lunch program is as follows:

Eligibility

Meal Categories	Eligibility
Free meals	Income up to 130% of poverty ($28,665 for a family of 4 annually)
Reduced Price ($.25) paid by family	Income up to 185% of poverty ($40,793 for a family of 4 annually)
Full price* paid by family	Income over 185% of poverty ($40,793 for a family of 4 annually)

So Mr. Pasceri, fuck you and the dinosaur you rode in on. The average Buffalo family of four is hovering just above the poverty line. Wages remain stagnant while that same poverty line creeps ever higher and your execrable letter to the editor does absolutely nothing to solve either of those problems.


So fuck you, and fuck The Buffalo News doubly and sideways for allowing this trash to make the print version of a major metro American Newspaper.

 ...and welcome back to school, kids. Make sure to learn things, and eat a healthy lunch.

 

Missives From Fuckneckville

I think this may become a series. I even tried to come up with a name for it.

'The I'm With Stupid Review'

'Letters From the Twilight Zone'

'Things More Useless Than Non-Alcoholic Beer'

'Hashtag #IJustLostIQ'

'Twits: Why You Might Be One'

and my personal favorite:

'Herp, Derp, Type'

Whatever, It'll come to me.

Today, though, I offer you an opportunity to purse your lips over your morning coffee and think, silently of course, "What the fuck is this shit?"

Grab your coffee now and read this indecipherable assgasm sent to the Batavia Daily News from former elected official and current loveable curmudgeon, John Sackett.

Are you a real Christian or a social Christian? Do you believe in your family’s heritage? Do you know your family’s heritage? What made your ancestors come to America? Does your church post the Ten Commandments? If not, why not? Do you know the Ten Commandments? Why not? Do you read the Bible by yourself? If not, why? Yes, heritage and knowledge of the Bible is still important today in this age of progressiveness and so-called enlightenment.


Our ancestors worked hard, took no food, took no clothing, took no heat, took no housing — unless the Church provided help when really needed! It was called pride! What do we have today? More people on food stamps than are working! Let’s hear that again — more people taking food stamps than are working/employed! Is this our America? How have we allowed this to happen? Have we been negligent of our duties as free Americans? Why have we allowed this to happen? Has our country changed before our eyes? Why? It is because we have forgotten our heritage? Have we forgotten our pride? Have we forgotten how to guide ourselves? Will we allow the government to control our lives? Free people don’t depend on the government!

Do you let television dominate your free time? Why? Do you allow our elected representatives to do things contrary to what you believe? Why? Are you working more but enjoying life less? Why?
I raise these questions because many of us, myself included, have been chasing the dollar instead of considering our lifestyle, instead of considering our families and not considering our country’s future!
In reality — are you a real Christian or a social Christian? What do you think-believe?

John L. Sackett Jr.
Byron

Let's just take a journey through Mr. Sackett's letter (even though we think he may be the victim of some kind of malignant brain parasite.)

Are you a real Christian or a social Christian?

Neither, actually. Are these the only options? Could I be a Jew, or some sort of Viking priest? I'm unsure about the ground rules here, but let's continue.

Do you believe in your family’s heritage?

I most certainly do, sir. As a matter of fact, I exist...so I have to, right? Am I a figment of my own imagination? Hell, if I had known that, I would have cooked up something a lot more awesome than this. I'm an underwear model, no wait, I'm a dildo model...no wait, I'm Batman. 

Yeah, I'm Batman.

Do you know your family’s heritage?

Yes, sir. My parents were killed during a robbery gone bad when I was just a boy. I was left as the sole heir to an enormous fortune, but I always felt the need to protect the weak and fight injustice...


What made your ancestors come to America?

Probably a boat with some sails. BatSails.


Does your church post the Ten Commandments?

Absolutely.  In fact I attend the Church of the Ten Commandments.

The First Commandment is: Thou shalt wash and wax the Batmobile every Saturday...unless it's raining.

There used to only be nine commandments, but Superman started showing up and insisted on implementing the Tenth which states: Thou shalt not bang fat chicks. 

Superman is kind of a dick, but we let him hang out because he always brings blueberry muffins.

If not, why not?

We do, man, get off my cape. Damn.

 Do you know the Ten Commandments?

Well, I definitely know the tenth. Supes is always calling Aquaman a chubby chaser because of that one time with the orca...but she was cool, you know? Superman is a total dick.


Do you read the Bible by yourself?

Shit yeah, then I share my favorite verses on Facebook...they're fucking hilarious. Total lulz factory. Matter of fact, that's how I meet chicks from ChristianMingle.com. I get crazy ass from that site. I'm all like, 'I'm Batman.' and they're all like, 'I'll only blow you if you love Jesus.' Then I pull out the old BataWang and it's on like Donkey Kong.

Our ancestors worked hard, took no food, took no clothing, took no heat, took no housing — unless the Church provided help when really needed! It was called pride! What do we have today?

Bullshit, BatShit. I'm richer than the Pope but I'm pretty sure a neighbor or two dropped off a loaf of non-church sanctioned bread at one of my ancestors' houses at some point in history, and if they didn't, fuck them. That's some un-neighborly shit right there. As a matter of fact, if your ancestors didn't let my ancestors borrow a cup of sugar I'm dis-inviting you from my bounce house slumber party. This means you, Superman. Asshole.



What do we have today? More people on food stamps than are working! Let’s hear that again — more people taking food stamps than are working/employed!

For this to be true, over 90% of Americans would be on food stamps. You stupid motherfucker.

Have we been negligent of our duties as free Americans? 

Uh, no. The other night I watched Miley Cyrus dry fuck a middle aged man then I went out and fought crime. What else do you want from me? Free Healthcare? 

Has our country changed before our eyes? Why? It is because we have forgotten our heritage?

Are you talking about smallpox? Yeah that was a shitty thing to do the the Native Americans, we should remember that. Or maybe you're talking about slavery? That was shitty too. Definitely remember that.  I don't know, maybe you need to clarify that whole 'heritage' thing. Even Superman thinks your ancestors were dicks...


Have we forgotten our pride?

Uh, no, I'm fucking Batman. The Third Commandment is: Thou shalt remember that I am Batman.

Have we forgotten how to guide ourselves?

I have GPS, bro.

Will we allow the government to control our lives? Free people don’t depend on the government!

Right, tell me about it brother! Fucking Mayor McCheese tried to stiff me out of some McNuggets last week and I took that punk out to the woodshed. Tell me I can't have a 15-piece?! I'll kick you in your Mayor McNutsack. 

Do you let television dominate your free time?

Only until Breaking Bad is finished.



Do you allow our elected representatives to do things contrary to what you believe?

Damn, no! I'll be donating heavily to the Hamburglar come next election cycle. 

Are you working more but enjoying life less? Why?

Yes, because I'm Batman.

I raise these questions because many of us, myself included, have been chasing the dollar instead of considering our lifestyle, instead of considering our families and not considering our country’s future!

My lifestyle is awesome. I wear a cape and kick ass...and I told you about those chicks from Christian Mingle, right?


What do you think-believe?

I think I'm going to call this series: 'Missives From Fuckneckville'.

I believe I'll subtitle it: 'Herp, Derp, Type'.

 



 




 

Homeless Vet At The Bus Station

I don't remember his name. I'm not certain he ever told me what it was. Years later when I really started to think about him and and a hundred thousand other men just like him, I felt shame. I thought if I could just remember what he called himself, or if I knew for sure I'd cared enough back then to ask, the whole encounter wouldn't live in my head as a metaphor for the false empathy and all too real apathy that defines so many of us.

On an August afternoon in 2000 I bought Mr. Nobody a cheeseburger at the Buffalo bus station.

I was there because I'd just left my in-processing screening for the Air Force a few streets over. I had spent the day  moving from one station to another, hearing tests, drug tests, tests where they groped your balls and tests where some un-funny asshole joked about the guy who just groped your balls.

"Lift this weight. Strip down to your underwear. Put your hands together and touch the floor, I need to check your spine. How many times did you say you smoked marijuana? Sign this. Go wait in that room over there, we'll call your name when it's your turn. Let's talk about what kind of job the Air Force needs you to do."

At the end of the day, those of us who were entering into delayed enlistment took the oath.

"Raise your right hand and repeat after me. I (state your name), do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. So help me God."

"Here's your bus ticket, see you in a couple months."

It was thirteen months before a handful of hyper-religious shitheads attacked America. Kids my age were joining so they could go to college, or because they couldn't get into one. They were too poor or too dumb. I was there because I'd had enough of college. When I was there, I never went to class. I drank cheap beer every day and I spent most of my productive time sampling from a suitcase filled with my roommate's seemingly endless supply of hard drugs. So I dropped out and went to work. That wasn't doing it for me either, so strolled into the Air Force recruiter's office and signed myself up.

I joined the Air Force because I was a bored middle-class kid.

That's how I found myself standing outside the Buffalo bus station on an August afternoon listening un-ironically to Rage Against the Machine on my Sony Discman, smoking cigarettes and trying to kill the hour before I could get on a bus and go home.

"You got another one of those?" It was Mr. Nobody.

I looked over and saw an older black man in a wheelchair. Red knit hat, stringy gray beard, faded and thick green jacket, frayed gray and red blanket over his lap hiding legs that ended at the knees. Another man stood behind him with his hands on the wheelchair's handles. The second man wasn't in much better shape, but at least he was standing. Everything is relative, I suppose.

"Yeah," I said, pulling out my pack of Newports, "here."

"You got one for my friend too?"

"Sure, whatever."

I handed a second cigarette to the man behind the chair and leaned against the wall.

"Where you goin', man?"

"Home," I replied. "I just joined the Air Force."

"Ha!" He let out a barking laugh and let it dwindle down to a chuckle. "Motherfuckin' Air Force. You gonna fly them fighter planes?" He stuck his hands out like he was driving a car and made an engine noise with gunfire punctuation. "VRRRrrrRRRrrrrRRRRR...... chchchchchch.... vRRRrrrRRRrrrrRRRRR fuckin' Air Force. Yeah!" He laughed again.

I smiled with him. "Nah, no flying for me. I don't know what my job's gonna be."

"Probably a good thing, man. Fuckin' fighter planes get shot down, crash. I was in the Army, man. Yeah."

"What did you do in the Army?"

"It was Vietnam. I did what every motherfucker in the Army did, man."

I grunted in response and looked down at the empty place where his shins and feet should have been. It was a reflex. I looked away immediately.

I finished my cigarette and turned toward the bus station door, I wanted to get away. Then I heard his voice again.

"Hey, Air Force, you got a dollar maybe?"

"Yeah, maybe," I said. "Depends on what you need it for, I guess."

"Gotta eat, man."

"How about I buy you a cheeseburger instead?" Self-righteous, nineteen year-old me didn't want to give the man money for booze or drugs. Self-righteous, hypocritical, nineteen year-old me.

I walked into the bus station and ordered a couple cheeseburgers, fries and drinks from the short order lunch counter. I felt like I was saving the world. VRRRrrrRRRrrrrRRRRR...... chchchchchch.... vRRRrrrRRRrrrrRRRRR. Modern Christ and Air Force enlistee saving boozehound bums one shitty lunch at a time. Yeah!

I took the bag of food back outside and handed it to Mr. Nobody. He took a burger and a cardboard container of soggy fries and gave the rest to his friend.

"So," I asked, "you live around here?"

"Ha!" That barking laugh again. "Yeah, man, I live around here." He forked a thumb over his shoulder. "I live around there too." He made a circling motion with the hand holding the burger. "I live all around, man. Ha!"

"Well," I replied, "at least it's warm right now." That, to this day and despite heavy competition, remains the stupidest fucking thing that has ever come out of my mouth.

We sat there on the corner of N. Division and Ellicott and made small talk while he and his friend ate. At one point I heard a noise like a dwindling faucet and looked down to see that he'd pissed himself right there in his wheelchair. The urine was dripping steadily from his blanket and puddling on the sidewalk. I pretended not to notice.

Eventually I made my excuses and left to finish waiting for my bus inside the station. The bus came. I got on and rode the thing back home. Just a bored middle-class kid.

I wish I had remembered his name, or even asked for it. There are thousands of Mr. Nobody's in hundreds of cities and towns all over America.

Homeless veterans.

Mr. Nobody was a nineteen year-old kid once, he was a soldier. Somewhere along the way he lost his legs and sometime after that he acquired a blanket to piss into after eating a free cheeseburger and sucking down a soda from a bus station lunch counter.

Kids take the oath every day. They fight the wars of the rich and powerful and we forget about them when they come home. We think of the casualties of war as flag-draped coffins and weeping widows. We put yellow ribbon bumper stickers on our cars because  WE SUPPORT THE TROOPS byChristbyJovebyAmerica.

That is, until the troops actually need our support. Then the flagsucking, warhawk bastards walk away.

VRRRrrrRRRrrrrRRRRR...... chchchchchch.... vRRRrrrRRRrrrrRRRRR... Fuckin' America. Yeah!

Hey, Senator, you got a dollar, maybe?

Genesee County Legal Politics (and things, to wit: Criminal Charges)

So, the LeRoy Town Supervisor, Steve Barbeau. found himself in bracelets this weekend following a physical altercation with a LeRoy property developer who also happens to be said Supervisor's neghbor.

According to The Batavian, LeRoy Town Supervisor Steve Barbeau initiated a physical altercation with neighbor and local property developer Pete McQuillen over a dispute about some tree branches and where they happened to land.

Barbeau allegedly attacked McQuillen because "Barbeau was upset because a tree on McQuillen's property fell and Barbeau believed a portion of the tree came down onto his property."

Barbeau was arrested by LeRoy police and charged with Second Degree Harassment which, under New York Penal code happens when:

A person is guilty of harassment in the second degree when, with
intent to harass, annoy or alarm another person:
  1. He or she strikes, shoves, kicks or otherwise subjects such other
person to physical contact, or attempts or threatens to do the same; or
  2. He or she follows a person in or about a public place or places; or
  3. He or she engages in a course of conduct or repeatedly commits acts
which alarm or seriously annoy such other person and which serve no
legitimate purpose.
  Subdivisions two and three of this section shall not apply to
activities regulated by the national labor relations act, as amended,
the railway labor act, as amended, or the federal employment labor
management act, as amended.

Barbeau by his own admission in the following quote from The Batavian committed the violation:

"It was quite heated," Barbeau said. "He got heated right back. I pushed him with my hands open on his chest and he fell to the ground."

This quote tells you a couple different thing. First, when Barbeau says that 'It was quite heated,' he is referring either to himself or his opinion of the entire situation since he modifies that statement immediately with the following, 'He got heated right back.' The statement tells us unequivocally that McQuillen responded in a way that mirrored Barbeau's 'heated' actions until those actions became physical in nature. There is also a reasonable understanding that, at this point, Barbeau was on McQuillen's property and, by Barbeau's own admission, initiating physical contact.

I take no issue with the police response or with the charges levied against Mr. Barbeau for his admitted actions except for this:

In Genesee County, NY, alleged crimes rising to the bare minimum level for charging under the statute have been previously charged under the current District Attorney Lawrence Friedman, particularly when they involve political figures to wit NY v. Charvella in which a political activist was charged with Misdemeanor Aggravated Harassment under NY Penal code 240 for placing a phone call in which the defendant stated to an elected official's answering machine: 'Thank you for reading my blog.'

NY v. Charvella was later dismissed by a Town Justice in that same county.

The District Attorney in that county later stated after being accused by the defendant in the case as well as educated commentors outside of the case as making political decisions rather than legal ones that his ""political affiliation is always irrelevant. I don’t look at anybody’s politics when I get involved in a case, neither the victims nor the defendants nor the witnesses nor anybody else."

If the Genesee County DA was in any way serious when he made that statement he should, based on his history of charging crimes clarified in the the very weakest letter of the law, upgrade this charge to Assault in the Second Degree (a misdemeanor) which states:

 A person is guilty of assault in the second degree when:
    1.  With intent to cause serious physical injury to another person, he
  causes such injury to such person or to a third person;

Or, at the very minimum, Menacing in the Third Degree which states:

A person is guilty of menacing in the third degree when, by physical
menace, he or she intentionally places or attempts to place another
person in fear of death, imminent serious physical injury or physical
injury.

The Genesee County DA should also reserve, and exercise , the right to upgrade this crime based on any injuries Mr. McQuillen may have sustained during the altercation.

The justice system only works when it is used in a manner that is equal for all under its purview. Whether that person is the accuser or the accused should not matter. Consistency must be the watchword. Consistency from case to case.

Election Day In America

It's Election Day in America and policy is an internet meme. I know this because I made more than a few of them myself.

What will Medicare be?

Who feels more deeply the plight of the middle class?

Who loves Christ the King?

Who will represent whiteblackmuslimlatinoasian America?

Why do less than half of us even care enough to fill in a sheet, pull a lever or punch, too softly, a hanging chad?

Maybe it's because Mr. Smith can never go to Washington.

Maybe it's because our politicians send pictures of their stiff cocks to Twitter followers or are so ashamed to admit they're gay that they troll Craigslist for transsexual boytoys.

Maybe it's because no matter who becomes the President, there will always be football on Sunday (rightafterchurchamenpraiseGodandtheDallasCowboyshallelujah!)


Maybe it's because we're a nation of homeless veterans and impoverished children and no one here seems to give one tinylittlemarginal fuck about it anymore.

Maybe it's because our education system is out of money and terrible and our health-care system is drowning in money and even worse.

Show me a candidate who will spend a trillion dollars on feeding the poor and homeless.

Show me a candidate who will tell the naysayers to go fuck themselves when he does it.  

Show me the man or woman who will stop the wars to pay for better schools and bridges and clean energy and healthcare that won't bankrupt families.
\
Show me a candidate who will stop forcing eighteen year old American children to kill eighteen year old Afghan and Pakistani children.

Show me a way to a better world and I will show you a reason for more than less than half of us to care again. 

Chris Collins Thinks Substance Is For Suckers

Submitted for your skepticism.

That's an email sent by Chris Collins to supporters just a few days after GOP Presidential candidate Mitt Romney chose Medicare hatchet-man Congressman Paul Ryan as his running mate. It's not surprising that Collins would attempt to find an attack avenue using Medicare as an issue in the NY27 race since the Ryan budget plan of 2011 received most of the credit for Congresswoman Kathy Hochul's easy victory in last year's special election in a heavily Republican district.

Collins refused to take any position whatsoever on Paul Ryan's plan for Medicare, but that didn't stop him from attempting to turn the issue into a ham-fisted attack on Kathy Hochul. As usual, Collins' latest release is so full of misdirection, fantasy and outright lies that we'll need to break it down point by point.

1:

"Typical Kathy...

She's at it again.  After voting to cut $700 billion from Medicare and Medicare Advantage, Kathy Hochul is back to scaring seniors with half-truths, lies and distortions." 

No one is going to accuse the Collins campaign of having a sense of irony. The cuts Collins is discussing here have zero effect on benefits to seniors. They are aimed at disbursements to providers and the Medicare bureaucracy. The real fun fact about this attack is that the Ryan plan for Medicare contains the same 700 billion in cuts. Collins knows this and even told the Batavia Daily News that the Ryan plan doesn't go far enough with its cuts.

2: The second portion of the Collins email is a donation ask. This is typical for a campaign email from any candidate, a simple link to a donation page that says their opponent is killing puppies and if you want to help stop such disgusting behavior you need to send five or ten or twenty-five dollars right now.

3:

That’s right - she’s the only candidate in this race who voted to cut Medicare - by $700 billion.

That’s the kind of hypocrisy typical politicians like Kathy are known for.  They say one thing at home, but do another in Washington. 

 Kathy Hochul is the only candidate in this race who has ever voted for any bill. She's a Congresswoman, that's sort of what they do. We've already addressed the $700 billion myth, so let's just move on.

4:

We have serious problems ahead of us.  As a result of Barack Obama and Kathy Hochul’s reckless policies of massive debts, skyrocketing taxes and economic failure, our country is at a tipping point.  

Their failed policies have jeopardized the very programs they claim to protect - like Medicare.

There is nothing true about this statement. Taxes are at a 30 year low. Allow me to repeat that: Taxes are at a 30 year low. This cannot be denied. Collins, much like Mitt Romney is attempting to run against a fictional opponent rather than the one standing right in front of him. 

5:

But even worse, their failed policies have jeopardized the the future of our children and grandchildren.

We need to get serious about cutting our spending, reducing the debt and fixing our economy.  To do that, we need serious leaders who will tell us the truth, and not use scare tactics like Kathy Hochul. 

Right, Collins for the kids. What does that statement even mean? Nothing, nothing at all. I'll let you decide who's using the 'scare tactic' here.

6:

We deserve a real debate about the solutions to address these problems.  But with typical politicians like Kathy Hochul who campaign based on distortions and half truths, we won’t have that debate. That’s why we need a change. 

This little gem is the crowning achievement in this communication from Candidate Collins. A fundraising email full of distortions and half truths sent out at the direction of a candidate that refuses to have an public opinion about the issue being discussed is finished off by accusing Congresswoman Hochul of engaging in the same behavior without providing a single example of her doing so.

Chris Collins continues to be a willfully ignorant and purposefully non-substantive candidate. He uses poorly thought out e-mails and press releases to define a platform that doesn't appear to have any planks.

Taxation Misrepresentation The NY-27 Way

Last night in Washington D.C, members of the House of Representatives voted on two separate tax relief extension bills.

First up was H.R. 15, the version introduced by House Democrats. The highlights of this bill were extensions to tax cuts for the middle class through December 2013, a 5% increase in the capital gains tax that would have moved the current rate on self-replicating wealth from 15-20%, a reset of the tax rate on income over $250,000, and extensions of the Child Tax Credit and Earned Income Tax Credit. Local representatives Kathy Hochul, Brian Higgins and Louise Slaughter all voted in favor of the bill which was eventually defeated by House Republicans.

After defeating H.R. 15, House Republicans introduced their own, much shorter, tax bill, H.R. 8. It is shorter because it is simply a continuation of what we're doing now with some minor adjustments to specific amounts. Hochul, Higgins and Slaughter all voted against this bill, but it passed the House 256-171. It will not pass in the Senate.

Now that the background is done, let's look at how the votes on these bills are being used as campaign fodder in the NY-27 Congressional race.

Republican candidate Chris Collins wasted no time before making outrageous and barely factual statements about Kathy Hochul's votes. His statement also included a poorly constructed populist narrative that would only be construed as sincere if you didn't know anything at all about Collins.

First, the substance. In his statement, Collins accuses Hochul of voting 'against extending the Child Tax Credit and the Marriage Penalty Tax Relief which were included in the package passed by the U.S. House of Representatives today.' This, while not exactly a lie, fails to address the fact that Hochul voted for extending the Child Tax Credit in the Democratic version of the tax relief bill. This signifies that she is not opposed to the Child Tax Credit, but instead to the extension of tax breaks for millionaires. Marriage Penalty Tax relief is a misnomer at best. There was never a tax penalty for being married, only a lack of incentive to file jointly if spouses had significantly disparate incomes. Hochul supports what is essentially a return to the Clinton-era tax structure, with some extended benefits for the working class. Collins is apparently demanding that she support the status quo, which is an unbelievably dense position since the only thing we can all seem to agree about is that our economy sucks and things are terrible.

Collins then goes on to say that 'Official records show that Kathy Hochul may be one of Congress’ more wealthy members, having disclosed assets that total between $1 million and $2.3 million. In addition, Hochul and her husband, an Obama political appointee, together jointly earn over $325,000 annually, placing them in the top 1.5% of earners in the United States.' I'm not sure I've ever seen a more ironic statement from a candidate, so let's break this down.

Collins seems to be donning his populist costume here, but it doesn't fit very well. This attack on Hochul probably needs to be fisked sentence by sentence so let's drag our Bull-Shit-O-Meter up from the basement and get to work:

Sentence 1:  'Official records show that Kathy Hochul may be one of Congress’ more wealthy members, having disclosed assets that total between $1 million and $2.3 million.'

On a bullshit scale of 1-10, this statement ranks a 9.5. The only reason it wasn't a perfect 10 was because there actually is a financial disclosure document that details Hochul's assets. The rest of this sentence is nonsense. Although 2012 comparisons including liabilities were not readily available, using the best information at my disposal, it took me about ten seconds to learn that the 'official records' referenced by Collins when compared to other members of Congress actually show that Hochul is most likely in the bottom third of House members when it comes to wealth.

Sentence 2: In addition, Hochul and her husband, an Obama political appointee, together jointly earn over $325,000 annually, placing them in the top 1.5% of earners in the United States.

When I applied my Bull-Shit-O-Meter to this statement, something strange happened. The needle swung back and forth between 0 and 10, metronome style. I was confused until I realized what the problem was: I had the wrong tool. I opened my drawer and there, nestled between the Sarcastoguage and the Snarktimeter, lay my Irony-ometer. It was just what I needed and when I applied the tool to this statement, it promptly exploded.

As it turns out, the numbers used in Collins' attack on wealth are correct, but the sentiment is not. Collins seems to want you to believe that he is both Robin Hood and the Sheriff of Nottingham. There is no sincerity whatsoever in the Collins position on this issue, in fact, it assumes that you, the voter are a misinformed, zombie, coma patient...but I digress.

The Collins statement goes on to accuse Kathy Hochul of working for the government. We'll have to assume (since we are all morons) that Mr. Collins actually loathes the idea of being a Congressman and that he's just doing it because Jesus told him he had to...or something...

After that, Collins prints a list of generally bullshit talking points that were prepared by his party's majority on the Ways and Means Committee.

I feel like I'm going to be doing a lot of these little pieces on the nonsense coming out of the Collins camp between now and November, and I'm not going to let Congresswoman Hochul slide either. I absolutely detest inanity and obfuscation in political campaigns.

The Siren call of bullshit, smirking accusations seems to be too much for Collins. He simply can't help himself. He and many members of his party think their wobbly platform is enough to win as long as they can get their rabid base foaming at the mouth and the under-informed centrists to believe the nonsense.

Sadly enough, they may be right.

Chris Collins Writes A Letter

It's almost August. Too soon for anyone to care much about local elections, but not too soon for candidates to start making ridiculous statements about one another.

Enter Chris Collins and a letter he wrote to Kathy Hochul dated today, July 31st, 2012. In it, he calls on Democratic incumbent Kathy Hochul to support an extension to the 2001 and 2003 middle class and small business tax cuts and to break with the President 'just once' in order to do so.

Apparently, Mr. Collins, despite all of his self-proclaimed business acumen, has failed to learn how to count. Representative Hochul was one of only 18 house Democrats to vote with House Republicans in favor of a $46 Billion small-business tax cut last April. 

In fact, Representative Hochul, according to her congressional voting record is actually one of the most conservative members of the Democratic Caucus, voting with her party only 82% of the time. By the numbers she is the 24th most conservative Democrat out of the 192 currently serving in Congress.

As for the middle class tax cut extension, it was Representative Hochul who issued her own press release four days ago calling on Mr. Collins to support tax cut extensions for American workers.

Now, here's the important part: Middle class tax cuts don't mean the same thing to both candidates. The 2001 'middle class tax cuts' that Mr. Collins is referring to are commonly known as the Bush tax cuts that reduced tax rates on income over $500,000 roughly 3%.. When you watch MSNBC or listen to liberal talk radio, you will hear this rate commonly paired with the phrase, 'The wealthiest one percent of Americans.' These tax cuts were originally scheduled to expire at the end of 2010, but were extended after President Obama made a deal with Congress that included an extension to his own payroll tax cut as well as guaranteeing long-term unemployment benefits.

When Representative Hochul, who supports a marginal tax increase on top earning Americans, calls for extended tax relief for the middle class, she means the payroll tax cut, in place since 2010, that reduces the amount you pay the Social Securtiy Administration by about 2% and puts roughly $20-40 per week back into the pockets of  work-a-day Americans. Extended out over a year that's up to $2000 dollars extra for the average wage earner, or, in layman's terms, about 100 big boxes of diapers. This cut can accurately be described as 'middle-class' because no one in America pays a dime in social security taxes on income earned over $110,100. I doubt the Collins family ever worried much about the cost of diapers.

This game of dueling press releases cuts directly to the core of modern American politics. Our politicians do their best to run out a string of banalities designed (by professionals) to appeal to the lowest common denominator. In short, this stuff isn't complicated, but you have to want to understand it. Politicians and their handlers assume, correctly, that you don't want to understand it. You're getting what you paid for with regard to our level of debate.

Candidates like Collins and Hochul are becoming the norm.

Collins is a wealthy, empty suit who came to the fight armed with talking points about an economic policy that only works in a vacuum or an Ayn Rand novel. He's not John Galt, and neither, by the way, are you. You're not even Hank Reardon.

Hochul, like many Democrats, is bad in a different way. She makes the same assumptions about voters that Collins does, but instead of challenging them to raise their level of understanding she relies heavily on cliche. The tragedy here is that Hochul is actually very good at her job as a Congresswoman. She genuinely cares about constituents and she never misses an opportunity to communicate with people directly. Sadly, the Hochul campaign differs dramatically from the Hochul reality because she has chosen to fight on Collins' home court. No one ever told her that you can win an argument against a person who stubbornly refuses to have any clue what he's talking about.

What's the result? Two separate communications from candidates coming four days apart that look nearly identical but are addressing completely separate points.

We're not having a debate about the benefits/drawbacks of certain economic policies. We're not talking about the wars we fight. We're not talking about the weakening American middle-class. We pretend to talk about those things, they are listed as issues, but honest discussion isn't happening and it's your fault.

Don't let Chris Collins pretend to be the savior of the middle class when his entire platform is essentially a plan to protect some bourgeois notion that a wealth class hoarding money is also creating jobs for the poor. Don't let any candidate for office get away with answering your questions with a talking point from their own website. Life in America is bad and getting worse for almost all of us and our political class is being intentionally useless while we drown.

The Doltification of America

Today I was going to write a piece on equality as it relates to the fervor over the Affordable Care Act (aka ObamaCare) I think we need to start somewhere else, though. Americans aren't ready to have a debate about equality in opportunity without the added decoration of taxation arguments, little girl with cancer memes and all the visceral, emotional rhetoric that comes along with it.

I said Americans aren't 'ready.' I should have said Americans aren't capable. There is something wrong with us culturally. Something is stopping us short of accepting factual material and forming an opinion of that material based only on those facts. We seem to need external input and injections of drama in our political soup. Without that stimulation of our entertainment nerve, we just don't seem able to pay proper attention to important issues. We need someone to root for or we change the channel. Are you on Team Sparkly, Angst-Ridden Vampire or Team Angry, Angst-Ridden Werewolf? Green Bay Packers or Chicago Bears?

Teenage love triangles and football games are not good examples of how to run a government, but the American electorate has come to expect behavior from its politicians that is eerily similar to the two. We want grand gestures and long, meaningful eye-contact from our electeds. We want them knock the other guy out. We don't want boring trips to the library, chaste kisses and post-game handshakes. We want our team to win.

Politicians aren't stupid and neither are the people who manage their campaigns. The trend has been picked up, the gauntlet has been thrown down and elections stopped even pretending to be about ideas and cultural advancement. Instead of debating the cost/benefit/cultural equality implications of a national healthcare plan, paying our bills or even whether or not to fight wars, these people we elect immediately choose a team and go to the mattresses. They do it because that's what we've told them we expect, they do it because they are victims of our drama-crazed culture. We made them that way.

We are the good guys, they are the bad guys.


Don't be on the wrong side of history.


(Insert idea here) is un-American.

Politics is not a teenage drama. Politics is not a sport. Culturally, we have to come to terms with that. We must prepare to be bored by our government or we will be doomed to hate it. Government should be a documentary, not an action film, brain-surgery, not Jersey Shore.

The jokes about politicians being liars, thieves and insipid mouthpieces for special interests have been around forever. Vicious, American self-efficacy perpetuates the narrative.We have set the bar at the level of terrible and corrupt. There has been no need for our representatives to raise themselves up above our expectations. In fact, we punish the ones who try. Why? What is it about our culture that wants the worst of what we are to govern us both literally and figuratively? Are we too dumb to understand the kind of damage we do to ourselves? Are we too lazy to fix it?

Maybe.

A 2003 OECD (Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development) study ranked America's 15 year-olds 25th among the 30 participating countries in problem solving skills. I'm using the 2003 study because these children are now 24-25 years old. They are voters, college graduates and members of our labor force coming into their own as citizens. On a related note, The United States ranks 26th among those same countries in the ratio of GDP (Gross Domestic Product) to teacher salaries and 15th in total education spending as a percentage of GDP.

Here we have the perfect unsolvable problem, a voting population that isn't great at viewing data and making decisions about it responsible for electing representatives whose job it should be to create policy using that same data. Instead of well constructed debates about how we should go about improving our public education system so our children are better prepared to compete in a world that is surpassing us, our system has left us with two emotional arguments that in no way challenge the electorate to make a decision about reality based on fact.

On one side there is the conservative meme that this is all about money and government spending. Because it is the conservative meme, we understand it to mean that if we join this team we are signing up for less of both. So, despite evidence to the contrary, if we side with the conservatives we are telling the world that we think spending less money on teachers and public education, somehow our 15 year-olds will get smarter.

The progressive side has given up on talking about education entirely and instead uses an argument about jobs e.g. employment rates, etc. in order to counteract the conservative meme effectively turning their education policy debate strategy into a numbers game rather than arguing about the quality of our teachers and schools.

Neither side's policy views have anything to do with the real American educational product. They don't address the quality of schools, teachers or students; there is only some ethereal argument about cash and job numbers. Meanwhile, our kids are having trouble deciphering the information contained in the basic graphs that outline the real problem.

How did we get here? It's your fault. Yes, you. You bought tickets to the football game.

Somewhere along the line, one team realized that people don't really like paying taxes, at least not if you can convince them they're not getting a return for their money. This ad campaign worked so well that the other team jumped on defense, but they weren't defending their own policies. Instead, they bought into the other team's game plan and rearranged their own accordingly. Suddenly we weren't having a conversation about what level of government spending on teacher's unions, salaries and public schools had a related benefit to the education product, we were arguing about whether any level of public expenditure on education was just a bad thing or the worst idea possible.

Even a populace as prone to bad ideas in good packaging as ours wouldn't fall into that obvious trap without a little extra help. The emotional idea of bettering our children through education is too strong even in the older demographics that no longer have children in school. The best way to counter an emotional response that you don't want is to introduce an issue that will create the emotional response that you do want. Enter religion.

The public education system had already been vilified for spending a enormous amount of taxpayer dollars and the progressives had already given up defending those expenditures in lieu of a more esoteric argument designed to counter the opposition rather than defend their own philosophy. The conservatives were suddenly able to say things in public like, "Well, we can all agree that the public education system is too expensive," without being argued with or corrected. With that battle won, they were free to attack from another emotional angle. Suddenly it wasn't how our kids were taught, but what.

Conservatives reached out to the fringe of their base and created a new meme: Not only are you paying too much for your kids' education, you are also sending them to public schools that teach them that your personal beliefs are wrong. They are taught in science class that the things they learn in church on Sunday are incorrect so, logically, they are learning that their parents are incorrect.

Once again, progressives failed to argue the correct point. Instead of defending our secular society as laid out in the law of our land, they came back with a mealy-mouthed argument that sounded something like this: "Look, we love God just as much as anybody else, but...., hey, we're Christians too, don't accuse us of being anything else," and down went the American educational system.

We chose teams. We fought about spending money, not about where and how, but about how much. We slipped further down the rabbit hole after a huge voting block decided that the education debate was also about faith vs. fact. The entire argument was suddenly emotional and divisive and no one wanted to talk anymore about the best way to teach children how to read or do long division.

We are living inside the American idiom, while the literal, fact-based world passes us by with incredulous looks on their faces.

Every debate we have about policy devolves in the same manner as the one we had and are still having about education. Healthcare, military action, the economy, drug laws, gun laws and even our established electoral process are now subject to these arguments where emotions are the proof and opinion is favored over fact.

It's more fun that way for an American citizenry that is getting provably worse at critical thinking. We are caught in a web that we created for ourselves and we are not going to escape it without shifting our thought process completely and I'm not sure this is a society that is capable of doing such a thing.

Pssst... NY27 Republicans, We Need To Talk

Grab a chair, make yourself at home.

Listen, we really need to talk.

Wait, where are my manners? Would you like something to drink? Beer? Single malt? Fine, have it your way, let's get down to business.

You know primary day is tomorrow. You also know that I'm not into your agenda, but for just one day I want us to be on the same team.

What I want, what I've always wanted from government, is honest representation and I'm still young and stupid enough to believe that that there isn't an inherent contradiction there. I don't define 'honest representation' as having a President/Senator/Congressman/Dog Catcher that agrees with everything I think. I don't need my representatives to spend all day doing the bidding of my personal ideology and I hope we're all adult enough here to agree on that point...at least in theory.

What I do need from my representatives is a standard of professionalism, intellectual honesty and an understanding that their only duty is to their constituents and their country. There are no noble bloodlines in America. The people we elect to serve us are raised up from our neighborhoods and cities. We send them off to the seat of power with our trust and hopefully our good will because that is how a representative republic like ours functions and thrives.

There is no noble class in America, no single person is born to serve in government, our representatives choose to do so and we, in turn, choose them.

Tomorrow, your party will be making a choice. It's not a simple one, at least not on the face of it. I've spent a fair amount of time trying to distance myself from this thing because I didn't really see it as any of my business. It doesn't matter to me ideologically who wins tomorrow. When asked about it, I've generally said that the difference between Chris Collins and David Bellavia as potential Congressmen will be maybe a few votes no one will ever hear about deciding issues that no one cares about. In essence, you're choosing one suit and pair of dress shoes over another if all that's important to you is a party line vote.

I already told you, though, that those things are secondary.

Republicans, you have an opportunity here.  You are being presented with a choice between two men who will do the same job. You don't have to make difficult issue decisions, so you are now afforded the opportunity to make a simple personal one. You get to choose the better man.

Whatever you may think about your current representation, you have to know in your heart and your mind that Kathy Hochul has conducted herself with class and dignity during her first term in Congress and you also know that she'll continue to do so if she is re-elected in November. Obviously, you folks will be trying to unseat her but only one of the two men you are choosing between tomorrow has a track record that proves he will match Congresswoman Hochul's comportment.

David Bellavia is a person who understands honor and integrity. He knows what those things mean and more importantly, he knows that conducting himself in a manner that both extends and accepts respect is the most basic function of a person who is selected to represent so many of his fellow citizens.

Chris Collins is none of that. There is no noble class in America, but Collins lives his public life like an entitled Prince sneering at the peasantry. His behavior has been well documented. He has demeaned female members of his staff in public. He has conducted private business in his government offices. He even parks in handicapped parking spaces to save his dainty feet from having to make a few extra steps. He puts on a costume, specially purchased, in order to relate to the plebeian farmers in our rural towns and he barely deigns to acknowledge that primary voters have a choice other than he.

There is no noble class in America. Money buys a lot of elections, but it doesn't have to buy this one. You don't have to worship the businessman if the businessman represents the worst of human nature. A prince may be a member of the nobility, but that doesn't make him noble.

Go. Vote tomorrow. Vote for a man who served his country honorably. Vote for a man who shares your ideals and will not stray. Vote for a man who will serve with dignity. Vote for David Bellavia.

If you do that, we can spend the next five months discussing the issues that are important to us. We can fight about whether Bellavia or Hochul is better for our district and we'll know that whoever wins, we'll have an honest and dignified representative in Congress. Government will roll along forever; nothing is going to change that. Let's take this opportunity to enter a general election season where we know that we'll be able to be proud of our congressperson, whether we agree with them or not.

One Week to Primay Day, Does Anyone Care?

No debates.

Almost nothing on the advertising front.

Somewhere there is a man in a chicken suit. Cluck, cluck.

Chris Collins' strategy may be working. Bellavia and his people have been tossing legitimate bombs at the former Erie County Executive for weeks now, but no one seems to care. Christ, I love this stuff and I can barely force myself to muck through a blog post about it.

Sigh.

What happens next Tuesday? A few thousand septuagenarian Republicans will shuffle off to the polls. Maybe some will wheel themselves to an afternoon game of bridge afterward. Big doings on Primary Tuesday.

Among the conversations that won't be had between now and the 26th:

"What's for lunch, Myrtle?"

"How the fuck should I know, Herbert? I'm too busy comparing all the information I have about these two candidates so I can decide who to vote for."

No debates.

These poor, iron-haired party faithful have no idea who they're voting for.

Chris Collins' strategy is working.

Fatherhood

I wrote this for my father last year. I'm posting it again because nothing has changed:

Father’s Day is this Sunday and I thought I might take some time to to talk about my dad and share some of the things he taught me.
 
Patience:
I can count on one hand the amount of times I’ve heard my father raise his voice in anger. He’s not stoic and he’s not a wimp, he just knows it’s better to control yourself than lose your temper. This is a lesson that has served me well throughout my 30 years and has probably kept me from getting my nose broken on more than one occasion.

 Respect:
Respect comes in many forms and my dad is a master of all of them. He treats everyone equally and does his best to keep his personal judgments to himself. My dad was never the kind of guy who would sit you down for a father/son chat about this sort of thing, but I watched him set thousands of examples while I was growing up.
 
Stand up for yourself when you’re right, apologize when you’re wrong:
After patience and respect have reached their limits and the other guy is still an asshole, you do what you need to do. After patience and respect have reached their limits and you realize that you’re the asshole, apologize. The only exception to those rules is family. Patience and respect never reach their limit when it comes to family.

 Sometimes buying a boat is a bad idea:
We had a boat for a while, then we didn’t. I think this is self-explanatory.

 Fishing is always a good idea:
There were some fairly bad days in our house when I was a kid and my dad had a real knack for knowing when I needed to get away. Every once in a while he’d hand me a spade and say, “Go out back and dig up some worms.” I’d do it and we’d go down to a pond about a mile from the house. The entrance to the pond was down a stone and dirt road. To get there, you had to know to follow the train tracks and which patch of overgrown weeds to push through to get to the fishing spot, but we knew just where to go.
 
No matter how bad a day it had been, I always felt the weight lift when we got to those broken down tracks and by the time I hooked a worm and cast my first line I felt good again. So we’d fish, and talk about what it would be like to catch a frog and cook it, or what species of huge fish might be dwelling in the deeper parts of the pond (oh, if only we had a boat to get there) or whatever things fathers and sons talk about while they sit and fish. It wasn’t really about the fishing though. It was about a little boy whose dad was there, just there, on the worst days.
 
I could go on, I’m not sure there’s really an end to the things my dad taught me and I learn more from him and about him every day.
 
I’m a father too and all of those things that I learned growing up are the things I’ll do in my own attempt to raise my daughter.
 
I’ll always be patient, and when I’ve reached my limit, I’ll take a deep breath and find more.
 
I’ll treat the people around me with respect and I’ll teach my daughter to be a strong and confident woman.
 
I’ll make sure she knows how to stand up for herself and how to admit when she’s wrong, and she’ll grow up knowing that love of family trumps both of those things.
 
I will never buy a boat.
 
I will take my daughter fishing, or shopping, or wherever she wants to go. I will always be there when she needs me and I’ll learn to back away when she doesn’t, but I’ll never be far away.
 
Most of all, I will love my daughter as best as I can. I’m not perfect, (my dad taught me that too) but I will strive every day to be a good man and live up to the standard my father set for me.
 
Thank you, dad, for everything. I hope this beats Hallmark. See you Sunday.

Thoughts: Missing My Uncle On Father's Day

Sometimes I write these things at work, the real ones at least. I do it because when I'm in public with people who expect a certain decorum from me I know I'm not allowed to lose control. Not tonight though. Tonight I want to feel it, all of it, and if I end up screaming, crying, breaking all my things I don't care. That's how I want it. That's what will be right.

Fathers Day 2008: We're at my family's place on Lake Ontario and my Uncle says to me over breakfast, “You know, next year at this time, you'll be a Father too,” Capital 'F.' Father. I'd never felt pride like that, happiness. My wife wasn't with me; she was sick...or something; anyway, I'd made her excuses for her. She's my ex-wife now and she missed a million of these moments. So many little asides that I can't ever really share with anyone because no one was there, so many...fuck it. Why bother now?

We took a picture that Father's Day. At least I think it was that one. Four generations of us, my grandfather, my cousin and his two boys, my father and I. We were happy. It wasn't all of us. My other cousin was in Syracuse and, of course, it was just us boys. My grandmother wasn't in it, or my aunt or my stepmother. Four generations of men and boys who loved each other in the way that only a family could.

Fast-forward almost four years and I'm standing in the lobby of a funeral home telling my ten-year-old second cousin that it's all right to cry. His father has an arm around him. His father and I, we're waiting for instructions on how we're supposed to carry our grandmother's coffin outside and what we're supposed to do when we get to the cemetery. Meanwhile his father, my Uncle, that same man who smiled at me about the future is on his way home to die a little more. We get in the car and while we're waiting for the priest I tell my cousin and his brother about the time Gram heard that I was hurting for money and sent Gramps in to work with a check for a thousand dollars. Here we go, time to scream, time to lose it, time to break things...

Let's go back to that perfect Father's Day. That's what I want to remember.

It's before breakfast happened and we're playing catch, my cousin, my Uncle and me. I decide to see if I can still throw a curveball but it hits the dirt. 'Nice throw, sissy,' he laughs. I'm not embarrassed, but I explain myself anyway. That's how it was with him. I was always explaining myself. I wanted his approval. I wanted to walk into the room and have him think: This is a man I respect. He always called me nephew. It's like he knew what I needed from him and he was always reminding me that it didn't matter. We were family; it didn't matter.

I remember the first time he laughed, really laughed, when I told a joke. He said, 'Usually, you don't have much of a sense of humor, but that was funny.' I thought he was dead wrong, but I was proud anyway.

It's four years later and I'm walking up the endless incline to the elevators at the local hospital. Grandma's been dead for two weeks but it's his turn now. He's in a special room, the one you go to when it's the last time you go anywhere. I don't know that yet....I think they're just trying to make him comfortable enough to get well, to go home for a few more months. I'm looking forward to Christmas even though I know in my heart it will be his last. I'm skipping work for this even though I know he wouldn't approve. My father is sleeping on the couch, he wouldn't approve either, at least if he was his normal self, but right now I’m not sure he even knows what day it is. “Hello, Nephew.”

We talk for a while and he tries to give me advice. He’s always trying to say something prophetic these days. He knows he’s dying and he want the things he says to be remembered. He does this so much that it’s almost funny to me so I start calling these little outbursts Skippy’s Last Words. I mean it with love.

It’s about a week later, same hospital room. There is an old man in this hospital bed. This time he calls me Christopher and I make fun of his hospital socks. I hold his hand for a while and promise to smuggle in some booze and loose women.

Back to the best times.

After breakfast we all want to take a walk down to the beach, so we do. You can't just walk right to the beach, there's a cliff in the way...well, not really a cliff, it's only about twelve feet down, but you wouldn't make the jump. At the top there's a small, grassy park with a couple of benches and a stairway that will take you down to the water.

My Uncle, my grandfather and I opt for a bench while my father, my cousin and his two boys take the stairs that lead down to the water. My Uncle and I have a conversation. We talk about the heat. We talk about football and why the Bills are going to be terrible...again. I smoke cigarettes and he tells me I have to quit before Morgan is born. I know, I know. Why isn't your wife here, really? Well, she wasn't feeling well. A knowing grunt. She's never feeling well when there are family things to do. Excuses. It's all right, things will work out or they won't. He spreads his arms out toward the sun and the lake and the children playing “Look at all of this.” He smiles and rests his hands on his belly. “Look at all of this...”

He watches his grand-kids with their father. The eldest is being scolded and the youngest is collecting rocks. "You know, this time next year, you're going to be a Father."

"Yeah, I know. What's it like, raising children?"

He chuckles...I always thought he laughed like Santa Claus. He really felt it. "You'll see." He pats me on the knee twice like Uncles do and he stands up. He walks down the stairs to be scolded and collect rocks with his grandsons.

There are enough pallbearers. Some third or fourth cousin of ours is going to be here soon, they don't need me. I volunteer, you know, just in case. We're in the church....again...I didn't even have time to have my suit dry-cleaned, but I'm wearing a pink tie. Pink tie, black suit. He would have given me a look over that, maybe a comment, but definitely a look. "Nice tie." He would have been joking. My father said later, "Nice tie, by the way." He was serious, but my Uncle wouldn't have been. That's why I wore it. Maybe you wouldn't understand, maybe you would.

That third or fourth cousin didn't show up so I headed to the back of the church. I wanted to carry him. He carried me. He was my Godfather; he called me Nephew. Capital 'N.'

"Will I see you this Sunday, Nephew?"

"Yes, Uncle." I say it sarcastically, but I mean it differently. I don't have much of a sense of humor.

The last conversation we had before we both knew he had cancer was after a nasty fight we had at work. He told me he was sorry and he cried a little. I told him I was sorry and I cried a little too. We were family first and that's how it should be. He went on vacation then and he came back a month later, dying.

I carried his coffin and it was heavy. I wanted to carry the thing. I wanted to feel like I was close to dropping it and I wanted to lift it anyway. I'd have done it alone if I had to...I wish I could have done it alone just to prove that I could.

A year later I was a Father. My daughter was this little spike-haired, red-headed thing and my Uncle laughed when she soiled her diaper on Father's Day. "You'd better change that, do you even know how?"

"Yes, I do it all the time, Uncle." He nods his approval and I love him.

When my wife and I bought our first house, he built us a cabinet with drawers and shelves. My wife wanted to paint it, but I told her no. "it's just right the way it is."

When my daughter was born he made her a toy duck on a string, the same one he made for his grandsons. The wings flap as the wheels turn and it holds a place of honor in my home.

For my daughter's first birthday he and my aunt bought her a toy car that she could ride. She still plays with the thing even though she's too big for it. I'll never throw it away.

In her second year, it was a talking book. We read it all the time.

Last year it was a folding, cardboard house that is still assembled in my living room and the last card that will ever be signed with his name.

No more games of catch, no more conversations on the bench. No more fights at work, no more snoring in hotel rooms on business trips. No more belly laughs, no more 'Nephews."

Loss isn't a thing that happens in an instant. It is a series of small moments where you expect someone to be there when you turn around to say something, but they're not and you cry every time.

Happy Father’s Day , Uncle. I love you.

Politics Aside, The Anniversary of the 19th Amendment

"The right of citizens of the United States to vote shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or by any State on account of sex.
Congress shall have power to enforce this article by appropriate legislation."

On June 5th, 1919 the course to women's suffrage was set when Congress submitted the 19th Amendment to the United States Constitution to the states for ratification. America took one more step on the path to true equality when the Amendment was officially ratified just over a year later. The 19th that gave women the right to vote was about 143 years late, but the wheels of the civil rights movement turn slow.

The GLOW region of Western New York is bursting with strong female leadership that would never have been possible if the Suffragettes hadn't stepped up to fight for gender equality over a century ago. Public service is a calling and we are lucky in this region that so many women have had the opportunity to answer that call.

Here is a list of women in the GLOW region that represent you at the county level and higher. No political labels, no commentary, just pride:

United States Senator Kirsten Gillibrand

Congresswoman Louise Slaughter

Congresswoman Kathy Hochul

NYS 8th District Supreme Court Justices Hon. Tracey Bannister, Hon. Deborah Chimes, Hon. Janice Rosa, Hon. Diane Devlin, Hon. Donna Siwek, Hon. Sharon Townsend, Hon. Penny Wolfgang, Hon. Deborah Haendiges and Hon. Catherine Nugent Panepento

Political Party Chairwomen Lorie Longhany, Judith Hunter, Jeanne Crane, Debra Buck Leaton

Genesee County Legislators Marianne Clattenburg, Esther Leadley, Annie Lawrence, Mary Pat Hancock and Rochelle Stein

Orleans County Legislator Lynne Johnson

Wyoming County Board of Supervisors members Ellen Grant, Jean Totsline, and Rebecca Ryan

Livingston County Board of Supervisors members Brenda Donohue and Debora Babbitt Henry

I apologize if I forgot anyone.

I'm unable to take the time to list all of the hundreds of other women in public service in the GLOW region. That inability is a testament to the wealth of female leadership we enjoy here.

Homeless Veteran Interviews Revisited: Fred Part 2

Homeless Vets: An Interview with Fred (cont.)

This is the continuation of the interview, published yesterday, with Fred, a resident of the Loyola House in Pembroke.

During the interview with Fred, time and again I found myself thinking, ‘This is the end, this is where he finds Loyola, it has to be now.’ I was constantly wrong.

I suppose the thing about these interviews that has been most surprising to me is that I can still be surprised. Before I sit down with these guys, I already know a little bit about them even if they just filled me in ten minutes before we turn on the tape recorder. I always think I have a basic understanding of the trip from point A to point B when he starts talking, but I’ve been wrong every time. Maybe that’s a symptom of knowing how the story ends before you know how it begins. Whatever it is, I have to keep reminding myself that what I think I know always reflects the truth as I want it to be, never as it really is.

With that in mind, we continue:

So then you…what next?

Let’s see..where did I work? Well, I got custody of my son. My wife my son and myself lived in Niagara Falls. He was in kindergarten/first grade. His mother came back from Florida and it just seemed that he wasn’t happy…when he was born…let me back up…
Before my son was born, his mother didn’t want him. She’s American Indian, Tuscarora. She told me she could never have him because a person of color like myself….her friends and relatives would shun her for having a black child. I begged her to have the child and she said she would. I told her I would take him, I would raise him myself and she agreed to that. I don’t know if that had anything to do with the relationship they had in the very early years of his life but after he was born, he wouldn’t accept a bottle from her. He didn’t want to be fed, he didn’t want to be hugged and she felt really bad about it.
I was going to school, I was going to work and when I came home, that was when he’d get up and unwind, he’d finally relax. I had to be mom and dad at that time.

When was he born?

1985, this was prior to the Marine Corps. I didn’t go into the Marine Corps until I was 23. I wanted to make sure I was finished having fun. I wanted to be sure I was ready to hunker down and do the right thing; it was a career move. Like I said I spent my whole life thinking, ‘I’m going in the military, the Marine Corps.’ I went to the recruiter and told him if you can get me out of here now, yesterday, I’m yours.

So, at this point you’ve got custody of your son and you’re in Niagara Falls. This is in the mid 90′s?

Yeah, ’91-’92. Amiko came, my wife Amiko. My son didn’t seem so happy and he was a really happy child.

Fred’s narrative drops back to 1985-1986 here, he’s not done talking about his son’s early years.

There was something about when my son’s mother discovered he was reacting to her in such a way that he didn’t want a lot of things from her…affection, whatever, she felt really bad. Her words to me were pretty much, ‘It shouldn’t be that way, I carried him for nine months. Why doesn’t he like me, why doesn’t he want a bottle, a diaper change?’
Well, she left me and she took him with her. I hadn’t seen him since he was about five years old.

Back to 1991

By that time, he was with her for about three years and that was pretty much all he knew was her and that bond was evident. He especially didn’t want this other woman [Amiko] in his life. So, being the father that I am, I felt that his…his happy healthy was important, he’s a really spirited kid. She came back from Florida and I opted to allow her to retain custody again. I saw him periodically.

Did she go back to Florida?

No, she stayed in Niagara Falls, but she disappeared and she didn’t let me know where she was at.

After that me and Amiko split up and she went back to Japan. Upon finding out that I couldn’t move there…that really damaged my spirit, [knowing] I couldn’t be with her again. I really loved her. She was a great inspiration and a wonderful woman. After she left I kinda…went into a slump. I tried to move on. I dibbled and dabbled in a few different things, drugs, alcohol. That’s just a downhill spiral. I think I kind of blamed a lot of things that happened to me on her not being there, on my dad not being there.
Me and my dad were best friends. He died just before she arrived so she never got a chance to meet him. Her arriving, it was an avenue for me to open back up again because I was already closing up in the absence of my father.

When she left I had no one, it felt like I had no one. Such is life.

When she left, like I said I went on a downward spiral. My headaches got worse, I wasn’t working. I was just surviving. I wasn’t even living, I was just surviving. I had child support payments. I wasn’t able to pay and survive at the same time. (sighs)
I’d get a job and shortly after starting work, because my headaches were so intense at the time, I’d lose the job. I’d be down for a while but when I felt myself coming back to normal and the headaches would subside, I’d seek out another job. I had never had a problem finding a job, never in my life. I could finda job at the drop of a dime. So I’d get another job, then the headaches and I’d lose it…find another job…the headaches…then I’d lose it. It just kept going on and on and on and on. I left town.

At one point I thought if I left town I would pick myself up. I’d get away from the drugs, get away from the alcohol, things like that. I moved to South Carolina…Charleston. I found out the expenses down there were substantially more than they were up here and I was going down there with a meager retirement pension. I tried to get a room for a month and I’d figure out how I was gonna eat later. As long as I had a roof I figured I’d do well. If I had a roof, I had a place to work from.

I got robbed as soon as I got down there.

I ended up in a mission, actually a men’s shelter. A couple days later I ended up in a place called the Good Samaritan Mission. I ended up working for the director. I did cooking, interior/exterior remodeling, laid floors, remodeled his porches, trailers…he had several homes that he housed people in. I was pretty much his maintenance guy.

It was a christian based mission and I was hungry for something. Spirituality was my answer. I became one of his parishioners. We attended many functions, television, radio…We did Thanksgivings and things like that in huge parking lots for the community with big trailers. It was decent, I met some really wonderful people.

At this point, Fred gets very quiet and it’s nearly impossible to hear clearly what he said into the tape recorder. He told a story about his artwork, designing a business card for a Reverend Avery, attending different fundraisers and an eventual falling out with the director of the mission. He chose not to go into detail on that final subject because there were other people involved.

I opted to go back to Myrtle Beach, the same hotel. I had met the manager and a couple people that worked there when I was there before and told ‘em I’d be back. I used my retirement to get a room and found a job. I worked at an A&P (smiles), I hadn’t seen one since I was a child, but they have A&P’s down south still. So I worked at A&P and I worked for a temp agency. I worked for a builder. I worked at Spyglass Golf Course. I tried to become employed at the hotel but, for some reason, they wouldn’t allow me.
In January, the rates went up from $350 a month to seven hundred and some change…$720? The next month it went up to $1300.

What was the room like?

Microwave, bed, sofa. Some rooms had kitchenettes, but mine didn’t.

So pretty much a studio apartment?

Yeah, but without the kitchen. It was right in the heart of mid-Myrtle, not south or north. 26th and Ocean Boulevard. Let’s see, I worked for a builder then. After the rent went up so high, I couldn’t maintain and the headaches had started again. I couldn’t maintain employment and the room. The owners wouldn’t give breaks, they were real sticklers.
So, then it was the same thing headache, headache, headache…pick up a job, lose it because of the headaches. It’s been my nemesis, so to speak, for a very long time.

So you left South Carolina and came back to Niagara Falls?

Yeah

What year was that?

Oh, God. That’s the thing with these headaches, you know. After having a headache for so long, time doesn’t really mean a whole lot because all the time there’s a headache. I’ve done a lot of things and I’ve tried to put it in chronological order. I know i could if I tried, but because of the headaches…it throws me off.

I try to persevere and I may fall down a lot of times. It’s been adversity that put me in a lot of places, but a lot of places I’ve been, I’ve fallen in crap and come out smellin’ like roses.. it was because of adversity that this all has happened, even being at Loyola. Here i am again. (laughs) This is the rose-smell that you get when you fall in the crap. I’m really blessed. I’ve learned a lot…I’ve learned a whole lot.

That’s the end of this portion of the interview. The third and final installment will come tomorrow. The last piece will certainly be the longest. Fred’s story continues for another fifteen difficult years or so before things start to go right for him, but when it goes right, it goes right all the way.