The male gator, nicknamed ‘Chance the Snapper,’ was first spotted in the Humboldt Park lagoon about a week ago. After local enthusiasts tried and failed to trap the reptile, Frank Robb arrived from St. Augustine on Sunday. By early Tuesday, he had caught the 5 foot 3 inch animal using something that even cartoon alligators know to avoid: a fishing pole.
Cuz no one knows me no one ever will
if I don’t say something, take that dry blue pill
they may see that monster, they may run away
But I have to do this, do it anyway…
I Can’t Keep…QUIET
I had this nightmare that turned into a victorious dream. I was reenacting things that happened in my childhood, but then I would flip the script in my dream. So, I was getting hit, and there was someone watching me get hit. It was a very theatrical look. It was this black, New York theater. It was like, the spotlight. And the abuser and I were in the spotlight. The observer was on the side. As I was getting hit, I looked up at the observer like, “We have to do something. This isn’t right.” That never happened before. I’ve never said, “This is not right. We need to do something.” And the observer said what I had heard my whole life: “Don’t say anything. You’re going to make things worse if you say anything. So just let it happen and then you’ll be OK in a little bit.”
I looked at her, and I was like, “I can’t keep quiet.” And then I woke. It was such a vivid and violent dream, but then at the end, it was kind of this positive dream.
At the unripened age of 51, I now realize that my teen years were framed by choice, free speech, pot and a vote that seemed inconsequential. There had been assassinations, the Kennedy’s, Martin Luther. And the term ‘conflict’…had been a thing of the past. But to a child of 16: those were acts of the past. Had times been more turbulent and less self centered in the mid 80’s; would my life had been different? It hadn’t been until the A.I.D.S., virus and a governmental mishandle took place…did I begin to volunteer to make a difference. Vote to make a change. Things are much different now.
It was last Saturday when it hit me that my entire life has been framed by violence.
I don’t remember being born on Jan. 28, 2000, and I don’t remember being a year and a half old when 9/11 happened. I don’t remember the panic of my mother as she stepped outside our house in Washington and smelled the smoke of the burning Pentagon. I don’t remember her knowing I would grow up in a changed world.
But I remember other things. I remember being 7 years old and seeing adults who were sad, angry, shocked after something terrible happened at Virginia Tech. I remember not knowing why. I remember the lockdown drills at my elementary school, the helpful signs in every classroom telling us where to hide in case of a “Code Blue,” which meant active shooter. (I remember we were told that having all the kids in one corner, a misguided protocol no longer followed, was the best means of protection.)
I remember being in seventh grade, and I remember my teacher looking up from her computer, pale, and running out of the room without a word during a quiz. I remember her walking back in, tears streaking her face, as she told us there had been a shooting in Newtown, Conn., where her grandchildren lived. I remember her telling us they were all right, and I remember thinking of my little brother in his second-grade classroom and feeling my stomach churn.
I remember walking into my high school the day after the Orlando nightclub shooting and seeing one of my gay friends sitting limply in a chair, eyes hollow. I remember sobbing. Often, I remember sobbing. I remember friends’ tears a year later, after the shooting in Las Vegas, and I remember feeling angry that I wasn’t crying. I remember Parkland the most clearly. I remember the silence. No one talked about it the morning after. No teachers mentioned it. I remember bringing it up at lunch but receiving only passing responses. I remember talking to my friend Max about how odd it was that no one said anything. I remember him gathering our friends to organize a walkout. I remember walking out, and I remember the silence of the crowd of students standing outside in the March cold. I remember the crackle of the megaphone we used as we read one name of one victim every minute. I remember those 17 minutes. I remember marching, once, then twice, and again and again.
I remember going with two friends last Friday to a Shabbat service in the spare room of a local Methodist church, sponsored by my college’s Jewish organization Hillel. I remember my friend Lucy leading the prayers, with her singing and playing guitar, and I remember my valiant attempts to sing along using the transliterations below the Hebrew in the books they’d handed out. I remember getting kosher dinner with them afterward as they explained to me how and why kosher food was a thing. I remember them describing the different kinds of Judaism they all came from.
I remember waking up on Saturday morning and seeing the news on my phone. I remember the sadness, shock, anger. I remember the haunting thought that the shooter might have gone to our service instead, or could go to the next one. I remember a stream of dripping wax burning my finger at the vigil I attended. I remember the look in my Jewish friends’ eyes.
And it was then that I remembered everything at once. I remembered all the violence looming around me, and my friends, and my entire generation. I remembered that for anyone born near the year 2000, this is all we’ve ever known.
I remember filling out my absentee ballot a few weeks ago. I remember voting, hoping that weeks, years, decades from now I’d be able to remember that we changed.
##Julia Savoca Gibson/essay/Washington Post
An aging mind is like an ancient analog clock. With no fancy battery…it needs to be spun daily. So, therefore, it is only natural, that many ‘oh, shit’ moments, pass us bye…Like good-bye. In the middle of the night, when the old Timex stops, forever, at 4:18, a.m.
Stops, maybe not infinitly, but at least until, at 11:a.m., the next morning…we realize, time has stopped, up til now. Perhaps, I should try and remember those blank, erased spaces…
Awake we remember miniscule pieces, jagged pills of the mind, and wonder…
The uncertainty that, we are intentionally or not, wanting to promote the most deceitful person we know?
That in politics, religion, life…in all honesty (no pun intended) we unintentionally, root for the liar. The one, we see us best suited…to keep up with all the other, cousins, that are family no longer acknowledges. At least, not in mixed company!
In a recently released study reported by Ari Shapiro on National Public Radio, NPR reported that members of the “Donkey Party” have now become full-fledged“jackasses” just like the mascot of their Party. Democrats really do tell more lies, and they actually like their politicians telling lies more than Republicans do. I find this information to be fascinating. Don’t you? But isn’t that what we have all suspected for a long time? How about this fallacy for one of the Democrat’s most blatant lies? Liberals call abortion “a women’s right to reproductive health”.Can you believe it? They call the murder of an unborn baby a woman’s choice, and they refer to an abortion as reproductive health. These same liberals are now trying to give legal rights and legal standing in the courts to chimpanzees. Can you believe it? Liberals believe that chimpanzees have more rights than their unborn babies. I hope they didn’t spend any of my taxpayer money to fund this new study. Its obvious that Democrats have very little regard for the truth.. They have about as much regard for the truth as they have for human life.
Democrats are more likely to be liars, cheats, and crooks than Republicans are… And now we learn that Democrats are also more tolerant of their politicians lying to them too. So Democrat politicians will do just about anything in order to get elected including lie, cheat, and steal. But what did you expect from the Jackass Party? Didn’t you already know that after the elections of 2008 and 2012? Didn’t you already know that Democrats will engage in vote buying and voter fraud if it helps them win elections? Doesn’t Chicago routinely engage in vote fraud during every election when thousands of deceased persons cast their ballots in the Windy City for the Democrat candidate of their choice. And speaking of vote buying… Isn’t that what Lyndon Baines Johnson successfully accomplished with all of his Great Society programs of the 1960’s? Didn’t he permanently buy the Black vote in our country with all of those entitlement programs? (Food Stamps, Head Start, the Fair Housing Act, the Immigration Act of 1965, the Civil Rights Act of 1968)
Think about this for a minute. Is there really any meaningful moral difference between lying, cheating, and stealing? Anybody who is willing to lie, is also going to cheat and steal in order to get elected. And now it appears according to this new study that if they are being judged by their own peers, that Democrats have little or nothing at all to worry about because they are just being judged by a bunch of other liars just like they are who don’t really care if their politicians lie to them or not. There is no one left in the Democrat Party to blame anyone for anything because they all do it. They all lie. They have all absolved each other of their individual and collective guilt. We could actually say that the Democrat Party is“the Party without a conscience”, and we wouldn’t be too far from the truth.