Tag Archives: politics

A New You — Finish the Story Challenge

This challenge was started by Teresa, The Haunted Wordsmith and then passed to Rory, A Guy Called Bloke. Rory passed the challenge on to Kristian, who passed it to me. [Note: I edited this paragraph to apply to me after Rory reblogged my post and noted that I’d kept Kristian’s wording.]

Here is Rory’s post:

Finish The Story 2019 – #8

and here is Teresa’s original post:

https://thehauntedwordsmith.wordpress.com/2019/03/13/finish-the-story-2019-8/

store-984393_1920

Finish The Story 2019 – #8

Tailoring A New You

The small shop sat on the corner of Houston and Parker for more than a century. Any piece of clothing a person ever needed could be found there. They even sold hand stitched underwear. The Frederickson family owned the shop from the day it opened, and everyone loved the family.
It wasn’t just the customer service, low prices, and great quality that brought customers back for generations – it was the other things the Fredericksons offered. They say a new pair of clothes can change a person, and at A New You, they meant it. One had to be careful when requesting a custom suit – you didn’t want to get your specifications wrong. Why, even one misplaced check mark could have dire consequences on a person’s future.
Take Emilio for example, he …
***
Part 2 – Rory from A Guy Called Bloke

Take Emilio for example, he … had listened to his Father Fausto for years, since indeed when he had been kneehigh to a grasshopper crediting and hailing the Fredericksons or as his Father pronounced it the Frederickshons for their exquisitery and finery in being able to produce something absolutely remarkable from sometimes the most staidest of cloth and if not that then there was this magical element to the garments, you didn’t just wear the suit, the suit wore you!
Fausto, had been a young man when he had first ventured into the German tailors at the bequest of his own Father Gregorio, Emilio’s Grandfather only armed with the words – ‘Don’t judge a book by its cover Fausto, this family are from a long line of magickal tailors. They enthuse the garments with not just love and beauty, nor experience and wisdom but if l didn’t know better, l would say with their very souls and blood, indeed it is almost like wearing another person’s skin, but in suit form. For the best suit anywhere in this world, this is the only place to be”
“The moment you slip inside the fabric, it’s almost like you are a different person. My last bit of advice is you must know what you and who you want and where you want to be in life? Then the master tailor Gunther he will make you a masterpiece of craftsmanship. There will never be anything like it ever again, it will be your one and only suit from the time you start your professional life to the day you stop working, then you MUST take off that suit and return it to the family of the Frederickshons, so that they can destroy it, do you understand what l am saying to Fausto?”
“I think so Father, yes.” Fausto answered rather confusedly.
When Fausto had gone to the family tailors he had been made a suit so fine, so fitting that he never needed another suit ever again in his life, he had wanted to be rich and successful and within a very short time Fausto had become one of the cities most sought out grocers. No one had fruits or vegetables of the quality that Fausto had. No one could ever outsell him, outbid him, outsmart or outfool him. After 50 years he had built up an empire of grocery stalls that was the best in all of the Americas! Fausto had wanted his favourite and only Son Emilio to take on the family business, but Emilio needed his own power suit, his own successful three-piece so he could follow in his Father’s footsteps ………
.….except Fausto hadn’t actually asked his Son what and if he wanted to follow in his Father’s shadow, or if he wanted to lead his own life?
Of course the truth had he been asked was indeed different – Emilio wanted his Sister Alessandra to take on her Father’s business. His Sister had always been keenly astute on that side of the business, she was very taken with fruits and vegetables and herbs, she was a fabulous cook, who knew all the right ingredients to make each dish spectacular – she was in her own rights their families best chef! You see Emilio, well he had other interests, and they didn’t involve cucumbers, broccoli or marrows – he used to play with bananas and pretend they were guns …. and even more recently he had made friends with Alphonse who had even bigger dreams. Alphonse had at one time been a Five Points Gang member and was shrewd, he was also closely associated with the notorious Johnny Torrio. Alphonse himself was a right ‘snorky’, and also used the Frederickshons for his own suits, but he had many made and needed more than one, for his many shades of personality and success. Snorky was the terms for ‘sharp dresser’ and Emilio wanted to be like Alphonse too!
The year was 1923, the location was Chicago and Emilio and Alphonse walked into the Frederickshons Tailors where Gunther upon seeing them, greeting them both, “Emilio, your Papa Fausto said you would be stopping by with your new friend, but l never knew, this was the type of suit you wanted!” Turning to Alphonse, “Mr Capone it is so good to see you again, a new suit is it?”
” Gunther, not at all, l want you to outfit my new boy here, Emilio, tell the man what you want?”
Emilio, smiled a big proud toothy grin and said …..

Part 3 – Kristian’s Addition

“I want to look drop dead gorgeous” Emilio said. He liked the ladies, but so far in his life, they seemed to realise he was a low life scumbag who liked gangs and violence and so stayed well away.

Unfortunately the Magical Tailor, Gunther, was become a trifle deaf. He was coming up to two hundred years old and was way past retirement age. Being slightly deaf, he failed to hear Emilio’s last word. You would have thought that it would have occurred to him that Emilio’s request was rather strange and therefore he must have misheard, but senility was creeping in, so he crafted the suit according to the very request he had heard.

Within a week of wearing it, Emilio had dropped dead.

The consequences of Gunther’s auditory and mental deterioration were even more drastically displayed when poor Tristram Van De Gould went in for a fitting.

He asked for a waistcoat that would make him appear slimmer, what he ended up with was a straightjacket that prevented him from eating at all. He died of an emptystomach.

If you thought things couldn’t get any worse, you were wrong because next……..

 

Part 4 ~ Paula’s Part

The taxicab stopped in front of the shop and a disparate group of Americans piled out. “Hey!” yelled the driver. “Someone needs to pay me!”

“Someone pay the poor guy, for Pete’s sake,” Bernie said. “What’s the matter with you people?” And he walked into the shop, bumping his head on the door. “Owww.”

“I’d love to pay him,” Kamala said, “but I gave all my money to that sweet little girl at the airport who said she was homeless.” She went into the shop too. Amy and Beto and Liz ran after her. “Wait for us!” they shouted.

Joe rolled his eyes. “Geez, I’ll pay him. I always get stuck with the check when I go out with those guys,” he said to the cabbie. “It’s just the weirdest thing!”

“I sympathize, buddy,” the cabbie said. “My in-laws are exactly the same. Have fun shopping.”

Trailing after the others into the shop, Joe found them already arguing with the suit maker, who was nearly deaf, apparently. Everyone was yelling. “CALM DOWN!” Joe shouted.

“I was here first,” Bernie insisted. “I should get to order my suit first.”

“Fine.” Amy plopped down in a chair. “I’ll just sit here and have some of their free juice. Can I drink it out of one of these shoes, Gunther?”

The ancient tailor heard his name and turned in her direction. “Ehh, no one here named Sue, honey. We have a Lucy, but she’s off today.”

“‘Scuse me!” Beto said. “But we don’t call women honey anymore. I got in trouble for making some jokes earlier, so now I intend to be an annoying sourpuss wherever I go. I think my suit should reflect my new personality of a serious man who has meditated deeply upon–”

Bernie waggled a finger in his face. “MY TURN MY TURN MY TURN!”

“Ahem,” Kamala said. “This is a perfect example of why we need a woman in charge. Men just feel so entitled to everything. It’s definitely time for women to show how things can be done in a more orderly and peaceful manner.”

“You hussy!” Liz cried. “You winked at my husband at the rally last month.”

“What are you talking about?” Kamala said. “Have you gone off the reservation again?”

“LOL!” Amy laughed, coughing on her shoe juice.

Beto tried so hard not to laugh he waved his arms around madly and knocked over a rack of ties. Joe picked them all up.

Liz showed Kamala a video on her phone. “See? There you are winking at my sweetie.”

“I was crying,” Kamala told her. “I have hay fever. I had to take a Benadryl.”

Gunther hobbled over and said, “Alrighty then, dearies. Who’s next? I’ve measured the men.”

Kamala went next. Liz said to Amy, “I don’t even know why we’re here. It seems so silly, but I didn’t want to be at a disadvantage when you all said you were getting these special suits made.”

“I know, right?” Amy shrugged. “They’re supposed to be magical, or something.”

“Hillary had a suit made here,” Joe said. “But then she didn’t wear it. I’m not sure why. I’d ask her, but she won’t talk to me anymore. Who can even understand women, am I right?”

They just glared at him. “Oopsy,” Beto said. “Uncle Joe needs to go for retraining. Perhaps some yoga.”

“What?” Joe looked around, bewildered. “What did I do?”

“This shop needs to unionize,” Bernie announced. “Who’s with me on that?”

Liz frowned. “I don’t see any employees, Bern. Plus, it’s another country. They don’t need your help.”

“Everyone needs my help!” Bernie waggled his finger at her.

Gunther finished up with Liz and Kamala, and now all six Americans had been measured and fitted for their custom suits. They had told Gunther exactly what their hopes were for the coming year and he would take that into account when designing their apparel. He tallied up the final bill and brought it back out to the front.

“All the suits should be ready in three weeks,” he said to the group. “I can have them air mailed for an additional fee, since I know everyone has to zip back across the pond to his and her busy lives. Now did you want separate cheques?”

Everyone looked at Joe. He sighed and took out his Amex. “No, I’ll put it on my card for the travel points. We’ll settle up later.”

“Thanks, Joe!” everyone said. “You’re the best! We’ll PayPal you!”

The suits did arrive three weeks later, as promised. But…

 

And here I pass the story on to….

Fandango, of course!

Rules–
Copy the story below as it appears when you receive it (and the rules please)
Add somehow to the story in which ever style and length you choose
Tag only 1 person
If you choose to not participate or finish the story, please comment/tag this post so that I know.

Song Lyric Sunday: School

Out of Jim’s prompts for this week, I choose school. One of my favorite songs from Steely Dan is “My Old School,” which is what I’m sharing today. It was written by Donald Fagen and Walter Becker in 1973 for the album Countdown to Ecstasy. The lyrics are about a drug bust at Bard College (“Annandale”) and reference the local prosecutor at the time, Daddy Gee ~ better known as G. Gordon Liddy. (Wikipedia)

I remember the thirty-five sweet goodbyes
When you put me on the Wolverine up to Annandale
It was still September
When your daddy was quite surprised
To find you with the working girls in the county jail
I was smoking with the boys upstairs when I
Heard about the whole affair, I said oh no
William and Mary won’t do

Well, I did not think the girl
Could be so cruel
And I’m never going back
To my old school

Oleanders growing outside her door
Soon they’re gonna be in bloom up in Annandale
I can’t stand her
Doing what she did before
Living like a gypsy queen in a fairy tale
Well, I hear the whistle but I can’t go, I’m gonna
Take her down to Mexico, she said oh no
Guadalajara won’t do

Well, I did not think the girl
Could be so cruel
And I’m never going back
To my old school

California tumbles into the sea
That’ll be the day I go back to Annandale
Tried to warn you
About Chino and Daddy Gee
But I can’t seem to get to you through the U.S. Mail
Well I hear the whistle but I can’t go, I’m gonna
Take her down to Mexico, she said oh no
Guadalajara won’t do

Well, I did not think the girl
Could be so cruel
And I’m never going back
To my old school

Sorry Sorry Sorry!

I’m tired of useless, BS apologies. Haven’t we heard enough of them already? All these phony baloney pretensions of being contrite when everyone knows that the only thing the [celeb, politician, spouse, etc.] is sorry about is the fact that they got caught doing whatever thing. 🙄

I expect that in the coming weeks we’ll be treated to a parade of sorries from the criminals caught up in the college cheating scandal. You know they’re unrepentant. You know they haven’t suddenly found a moral compass. They’re just sorry they got caught.

I would love to see real justice served up to these uber wealthy who believe they can sail through life flinging money at every obstacle until it disappears, but I’ve been told that is unlikely. Money is power after all. These superrich celebs know another scandal will be along soon, and theirs will thaw in the public mind until it melts from view.

It was a relief to read that Faux News creep announcing how he refused to apologize for his nasty comments about women and girls. He knows he’s a jerk. He knows we know ~ and he doesn’t give a crap. No one has to pretend to accept his fake apology because he isn’t giving one. Win win!

On the other hand, when someone is forced to apologize for saying something nasty or doing a bad, and you know they don’t mean it, our cultural norms dictate that you give them a second chance even when you know in your heart they’re insincere. That’s really annoying. 😡

Then what happens? All too predictably, they go and do the same thing again. We’ve all seen it, haven’t we? Both in our personal lives and with public figures. I used to buy into the second chance garbage, especially with romance ~ I can’t tell you how many plots are built around the concept of the “second chance romance,” and it seeps into your mindset that you should be forgiving. Well, that’s crapadoo.

We should be more judgmental is what. If your instincts say someone is a lying jerk, and they’ve hurt you once, then why accept an apology? Why give a second chance? Eff all that. Pffft. 😛

Yeah, if time has passed and someone has demonstrably changed their behavior, that’s a different thing. Then their apology isn’t just a giant bowl of moldy word salad.

*

Speaking of misogyny. This is in no way a defense of the Faux News creep, but we are sure weird about bodies, especially female ones. I mean, we have “pageants” where women (or girls even, gah) are supposed to glorify their physical looks in bikinis and glittery gowns, with loads of makeup on their faces and their hair styled all sexy, etc., but men are not supposed to be attracted to them, and if they are, they must not express their attraction in any sort of inappropriate language. What is the right way for a man to say that Miss Maine is appealing to him without sounding degrading or demeaning? “Gosh, I would love to discuss poetry with her over a nice cup of tea?” 🌹

There are men who haven’t been present at teen beauty pageants, ever. I would wager most men have not. So, we don’t know what most adult men would say to their friends about these girls. Maybe adult men shouldn’t be at these pageants. Maybe we shouldn’t have contests where teen girls are judged by adult men on how they look in bikinis. Just some thought noodles…

*

WordPress apparently did not want to be left out of the #failloop of Gmail and Facebook, which both went kerflooey this week, Gmail on Tuesday and FB yesterday. (I only know about FB from everyone’s moaning ~ happily, I do not have any FB products myself.) So, last night I was yet again treated to a 12+ hour gap in posts in my newsfeed. If you’re wondering why you’re missing my hearts and cheery comments, this is the reason. 😢

I did search for the prompts however, and to my delight lots of them could be applied (with a wrench) to this very post I had saved in drafts, hurrah! Of course, I needed to write a zillion more words, but when does that stop me? (Hint: never.) I hope everyone has read to the bitter end looking for the prize!

Erm, there isn’t one.

So very sincerely sorry that you read all these words for nothing. 😂😂😂

~*~

Opposites Attract: Challenge 9

Opposites Attract: Challenge 11

[yes, I skipped 10 ~ even my wrench could not make it fit]

FPQ18: A-hole Artists

This week’s provocative question was spurred by the recent headlines about R. Kelly and Michael Jackson. A Lifetime docuseries, “Surviving R. Kelly,” along with Kelly’s bizarre interview with Gayle King of CBS News, has sparked renewed interest in allegations of sexual abuse, manipulation, and inappropriate encounters with girls and young women. And HBO’s documentary about Michael Jackson, “Leaving Neverland,” which focuses on his alleged sexual abuses of young boys, has also put his inappropriate sexual proclivities under the spotlight.

As a result of the highly inappropriate behavior of these two artists, many radio stations have ceased playing their recordings and people are removing their songs from their personal playlists.

So, my question this week is about whether or not you think it’s possible to separate the art from the artist.

“When you learn about highly regarded artists being accused of inappropriate sexual behavior, especially with minors, can you separate the artists from their art, or would you refuse to listen to, watch, or read the artists’ works?”

Great question! First, I want to say that I am not convinced of MJ’s guilt by the conflicting testimony of people motivated by profit, especially given the fact that he’s no longer around to defend himself. But that’s a side issue to the question. My basic answer is that I do not separate the art from the artist. But in reality I am a bit more nuanced.

For example, I am disgusted with Woody Allen, from what I’ve read about him. He may not be a criminal, but he’s icky. And I don’t want to financially support that, no matter how “great” an artist he may be. So, I would not spend money on him. But if someone else had one of his films that I know I like (I only enjoy the ones where he isn’t a main character), I might re-watch.

Another example is Mel Gibson. He doesn’t fall into the above categories; he’s merely an anti-semite. Yes, I know he “apologized.” I think very little of apologies, especially from men after they’ve been caught doing something wrong. It’s easy for me not to spend money on any MG film, since I never liked him in the first place. The rest of you can wrestle with your consciences.

But what about the musical artists Fandango mentioned specifically? Okay. I don’t listen to R. Kelly, so he’s irrelevant to me. I do listen to old MJ songs sometimes, though I’m not a superfan. I will continue listening to them. I don’t see the big deal ~ he’s dead. I’m not enriching him.

What we need here is an example of a live artist I liked, who totally disappointed me, in order to discover what I would do. Luckily, we have such an example: Sean Penn. I loved him in several movies, such as Fast Times at Ridgemont High and Carlito’s Way. Then he became a traitor, so I quit liking him, and I will never see another one of his films.

NB: I don’t really want to debate the traitor thing. I respect that people have other views. This isn’t Facebook and I don’t intend to host a flamewar. I have no problem deleting nasty comments. Thanks for understanding. 🙂

Opposites Attract: Challenges 4 & 5

These two challenges are perfect for International Women’s Day! 🌏

So many things have been forbidden to women over the centuries, depending upon the society. Certain professions were not deemed permissible for “the fairer sex.” Only in the last hundred years have women demanded and received the right to vote and manage their own money, here in the USA! It some cultures, it’s not allowable for women to drive or choose their own spouses. 😡

On social media, wherever a woman may be physically located, it’s likely that in cyberspace she has experienced misogynistic bullying and trolling, if not worse. But she is still expected to be pleasant and have a smiling selfie as well as an emotionally generous and forgiving “tone,” lest she be accused of not being feminine. The horror! 😱

Speaking of looks, in the dating arena (yes, we are back to that, pffft), a woman is expected to be fashionable. Men are always jabbering on about women’s looks, even when they say stupid things like they prefer “Mary Ann to Ginger,” as if Mary Ann’s pigtails and non-makeup makeup look didn’t take just as long to style as Ginger’s glam. But supposedly it’s okay for men to obsess about looks because they’re “visual” and can’t help it, but if a woman cares about comfort and security due to her DNA, then she’s a gold-digger, right guys? 🙄

Whatever! I’m just happy to be done with all that, and now I can schlump around in uncool corduroy pants, cozy unstylish sweaters, and all manner of comfy dowdy shoes that aren’t sexy in the least.😜

Opposites Attract: Challenges 2 & 3

Once again, I relate these language challenges to my dating misadventures. I can come across as frivolous at first ~ in fact, I prefer a lighthearted approach to initial conversations. I don’t want to talk about politics or religion on the first date. But that generated a new set of issues, namely that men sometimes assumed I didn’t care that they were bigots or that I had no interest in significant issues. Later, if I brought up meaningful topics, they acted surprised. So, I began talking about more substantial matters early on, even though this made me uncomfortable.

There’s a fine line between being arrogant and being confident, and I confess it took me way too long to figure this out. For decades I was attracted to arrogant men, who were outright obnoxious and emotional bullies at times, mostly as a cover for raging insecurities. I didn’t understand that one can be pleasantly humble, modest, and unpretentious, without being weak and spineless. I get it now. Now that I’m done dating! 😂

Song Lyric Sunday: Occupation

The song I’m sharing for Jim’s challenge this week is “The Night Chicago Died” by Paper Lace. Two jobs are referenced: cops and gangsters, so take your pick. I’m on the cops’ side.

The songwriters, Peter Callander and Mitch Murray, were/are British, and wrote the lyrics in 1974 as a fictional shootout, but it got a bunch of Chicagoan panties in a wad, notably Mayor Daley’s, who believed lyrics must be historically accurate apparently. I wonder how he felt about The Unicorn Song? 😂

My daddy was a cop on the east side of Chicago
Back in the U.S.A. back in the bad old days

In the heat of a summer night
In the land of the dollar bill
When the town of Chicago died
And they talk about it still
When a man named Al Capone
Tried to make that town his own
And he called his gang to war
With the forces of the law

I heard my mama cry
I heard her pray the night Chicago died
Brother what a night it really was
Brother what a fight it really was
Glory be!
I heard my mama cry
I heard her pray the night Chicago died
Brother what a night the people saw
Brother what a fight the people saw
Yes indeed!

And the sound of the battle rang
Through the streets of the old east side
‘Til the last of the hoodlum gang
Had surrendered up or died
There was shouting in the street
And the sound of running feet
And I asked someone who said
“‘Bout a hundred cops are dead!”

I heard my mama cry
I heard her pray the night Chicago died
Brother what a night it really was
Brother what a fight it really was
Glory be!
I heard my mama cry
I heard her pray the night Chicago died
Brother what a night the people saw
Brother what a fight the people saw
Yes indeed!

And ther was no sound at all
But the clock upon the wall
Then the door burst open wide
And my daddy stepped inside
And he kissed my mama’s face
And he brushed her tears away

The night Chicago died
Na-na na, na-na-na, na-na-na-na-na
The night Chicago died
Brother what a night the people saw
Brother what a fight the people saw
Yes indeed!

The night Chicago died
Na-na na, na-na-na, na-na-na-na-na
The night Chicago died
Brother what a night it really was
Brother what a fight it really was
Glory be!

The night Chicago died
Na-na na, na-na-na, na-na-na-na-na
The night Chicago died
Brother what a night the people saw
Brother what a fight the people saw
Yes indeed!

https://youtu.be/Gz0Q0uRWqps

FPQ16: Taxes

This week’s provocative question came to mind when I started to work on our federal taxes this week. My wife said, “I don’t want any of our tax dollars to go to pay for Trump’s goddam vanity wall.”

Unfortunately, we taxpayers don’t have the ability to earmark how our tax dollars are — or are not — spent. And so my wife’s comment gave me fodder for this week’s provocative question:

“Should tax payers have the option to explicitly say what they don’t want their tax dollars spent on?”

What do you think? What areas, if any, would you wish to exclude yout tax dollars from paying for?

No. I don’t think we should have the option to direct our tax dollars to this or that. We are divided enough in this country, and complaining about how our money is spent is just one more way we refuse to work together for the common good. But in fact we do have lots of opportunities to make our preferences known about taxes along with other issues: at the ballot box! And if voting for President once every four years isn’t enough to satisfy a person’s desire to have their wishes granted, they can get more involved in local politics. Volunteer your time to better ensure the candidates who reflect your values get elected. Once I retire I intend to do just that. In the meantime, I vote for Democrats, and they do oppose Trump’s vanity wall, while at the same time supporting immigration reform. Democrats have long been against human trafficking, whether from our southern border or bringing in girls to work as sex slaves in massage parlors for rich hypocrites. Vote Blue!

Patriotic?

Today Bee asks for a song from the country I love the most. Welp, I’m not feeling super patriotic these days, though I guess I’m glad I live in the US and not some place we’re currently bombing or threatening to bomb. Which is pretty much everywhere else, eh? I could say I love California, but I don’t really, though there are certainly good things about it, like the gorgeous coastline and mountains. There are also bad things, like the cost of living. Chicago had great food and museums, and I miss the friends I left there (not that they’re all still there either), but the weather is insane. I was born in New York, and I’m at that age where memories become misty and you say dopey things like mmm I probably would have been happier if I’d lived my life on the East Coast like I was meant to.

“New York, New York” was written in 1977 by Fred Ebb and John Kander, and it was originally recorded by Liza Minelli. I prefer Frank Sinatra’s cover.

With that, I present the one and only Ol’ Blue Eyes…

We Got Trouble: FPQ15

This week’s provocative question is based upon a quote by Bertrand Russell, the British philosopher, logician, mathematician, historian, writer, essayist, social critic, political activist, and Nobel laureate. Whew, that’s a lot of cred. Anyway, Russell, who died in 1970, suggested that…
“The fundamental cause of the trouble is that, in the modern world, the stupid are cocksure while the intelligent are full of doubts.”

Do you concur with Mr. Russell’s perspective? Why or why not?

No. I think that a huge part of “the trouble” is that everyone is cocksure, both the stupid and the intelligent, however we are defining those terms.

And how are we defining them? High IQ, college degree, advanced degree, career success, relationship success, money, fame, power, political alignment, religious values? At what point do we dismiss a person as “stupid” or bestow upon him or her the label of intelligent? Your definition is likely to be different from mine and even if we agree on paper, we may still disagree about particular people. How many errors is someone allowed before they’re out of the intelligent group?

If we admire a person, and especially if we agree with them, we’re inclined to overlook their mistakes. I like Senator Harris, but she was wrong about supporting Jussie Smollett’s hoax story, so I’ll shrug that off. Senator Warren’s supporters don’t care that she lied about her heritage. AOC’s fans don’t care that she’s bad at math. Trump’s supporters routinely shrug off his lies and mistakes as non-events. It’s human nature.

Nowadays, many believe that people who support different political parties are necessarily of lesser intelligence. Trump supporters believe that liberals are stupid and vice versa. I understand that people make these blanket generalizations out of frustration and lack of understanding. I wish Trump would not be re-elected, but I know people who support him, and some are highly intelligent. I also know lots of super intelligent liberals and moderates.

It would be great if everyone could take a few steps back and try to see things from another viewpoint. Are you one of the cocksure people, or a bit more humble, ready to try to understand why others might believe differently? I’m an atheist, as I’ve said, but I can understand why people believe in God. Brilliant people have faith in a Supreme Being, so I’m not going to dismiss them as “stupid.” That would be very stupid indeed.

I think more people should be humble and full of doubts, whether they’re stupid, of average intelligence, or brilliant. No matter how high your IQ is or how many books you’ve read, how many people you’ve met and places you’ve visited, there’s always more to learn, even right here in River City.