Pulp Radio

          While the world laments the fading of quality journalism in the face of media takeover by huge corporations, a whole new breed of stars is on the rise in radio. It used to be morning chat teams who shared humor and homey patter with their listeners. Many are still around. Then it was the “shock jocks” that ascended the throne. But the real comers these days are the “talk radio” opinion mongers who ply their trade with sensationalism, conspiracy theories, exploitative exhortations, and fear.

           Spin the dial any time of day and you will find somebody on pulp radio screaming ‘scandal !’ and telling you how the Constitution of our great country has been sullied, or the honor of our military fighters has been tarnished, or how our country is being overrun by unsavory elements that must be expelled, or how lascivious and immoral people in our midst are destroying our religious freedom.

           Around here, we call it “Pulp Radio” because it is cheap and simplistic and caters to fear, hatred, and ignorance. Pulp Radio is doing as much damage in America as any other wrong-headed influence. It contributes to political gridlock and emotional adherence to unfounded accusations.

           It is clear that our system of education has not taught us an essential skill—that of asking, and establishing by fact, “What is true and what is false among the things that are found in radio, television, print, and internet media?” That failure has come home to roost in Pulp Radio.

Sandhills Symphony

          Today’s performance of a Spanish Salute by the many Sandhills Symphony volunteer musicians was an exceptional treat. Carmen Allen and crew filled the auditorium with great (and some familiar) music, all of it with a Spanish theme. This group deserves to have a huge area following, and therein lies the exception to the treat. Not nearly enough people are taking advantage of this wonderful community asset. Too many people, particularly young people, are missing out on exposure to this form of good music—exposure that would dramatically enrich their lives and their appreciation of quality entertainment and community involvement.

           Live local symphony is one of the things that families should enjoy together if possible, and it should begin when kids are young. It will turn into a lifelong joy for those who grow to appreciate it. Enlightened listening is after all an intellectual activity that engages the senses uniquely. Music of all genres belongs in our lives. It can relax, it can uplift, and it can energize us. There may not be a soundtrack to your life, but nearly everyone has a favorite song. Here’s the great news: with early exposure, nearly everyone can also have a favorite overture or classical composer, or orchestral piece that brings abiding delight.

           Around here, we are convinced of a couple of things. First, the volunteers who bring us this musical enjoyment deserve our appreciation and support. Thank you to all of you! Second, those who missed today’s Sandhills Symphony performance missed out on a cultural gem.

Wiley Stinks Is Up To Something

          Ducky Bumps noticed it first. A subtle change in Wiley’s demeanor. Then I caught him softly singing, “Workin’ on the Chain Gang” and doing a little two-step. Weird. We pretty much don’t mess with Wiley. He’s a great cook, and a frugal cook, and he does his own thing—he has autonomy. He walks to work. He washes his hands. Who messes with that?

           When he started draping the dining room with crepe streamers and making party favors, we had no choice.

           “Wiley, are you ingesting some kind of new food or pharmaceutical group substance these days,” Ducky Bumps asked diplomatically?

           “Yous are always so thoughtful,” Wiley allowed. “The answer is nope I’m just naturally ecstatic. See, in two days I’m discharged from parole. I’m baking a cake!”

           “That’s GREAT,” we both said in unison.

           “Wiley,” I asked, “what, exactly, were you convicted of?”

           “Felony abuse of U.S. Postal regulations,” Wiley grinned.

           “No, what I mean is, what did you do?”

           “Well, I stole the stink bag out of a skunk and stuffed it in Governor Louie Headbolt’s mailbox at the Mansion in Baton Rouge. Thought I got away with it too. Turns out they just didn’t notice it for two weeks. That was a felony in them days. Got 34 years. Thirty three on probation. Done in two days.

           “Nice story, Stinks,” Ducky Bumps snarled, “What about all those missing automobiles I heard about down the FBI?! What’d they say? Two hundred or so?”

           “Oh. That,” said Wiley, his grin going straight. “What kind of cake do you want for the party?”

Bainwarble’s Personal Senator

          Senator was an exemplary coyote. As a Senator, he was typically picaresque. He urinated and dumped on everything Bainwarble treasured until Bainwarble voted him out. Senator became an “outside” canis. Bainwarble built him a doghouse out of old pallets and stuck it by the camper.

Meanwhile, Senator couldn’t support his voracious appetites, so he applied for a government grant. Ducky Bumps said Bainwarble should never have taught him to make an ‘X’ by holding a pencil in his teeth, but it was she who prepared his application. Fortunately, it failed.

           Bainwarble spent weeks cleaning his camper. He scrubbed everything, replaced the mattress, cushions, and rugs, and even wiped down the ceiling. I helped him. Ducky Bumps obliged by yelling at us until we were finished. She said a little adult supervision could do wonders, and told Bainwarble there was a place in politics for anyone who would listen.

           Left temporarily unsupervised, Senator admired a spot behind the fence, on the neighbor’s property. He drug his doghouse and toys over, and became a squatter. The neighbor said it was fine, but when he wanted the spot back for a compost heap, Senator bared his teeth. Bainwarble had to hypnotize him and bring his things home. Senator retaliated by biting the mail carrier, so the Post Office made us rent a box. Then they moved the Post Office two miles away.

           The dog whisperer we hired said Senator wasn’t mean, just opposed to any form of government that didn’t benefit him personally.