Testicles

Today's episode is brought to you by the Gulf Coast Sur-Realist, a poor but passionate substitute for Wes. For those dear readers with dainty sensibilities, please cover your eyes while you read this. You may wish to dip your lacy hanky in ammonia to have available to revive yourself and have your funeral home fan handy to help you recover from your swoon because today's topic is testicles. Yes, testicles.

You well might wonder how a blog of social/political commentary could get into an anatomical discussion. Frankly, anything to do with politics should immediately bring at least a couple of body parts to mind. It would be so easy to digress at this point, butt . . . . .

Historically, the removal of testicles has signified the removal of manhood. We all know, of course, this does not work. Involuntarily emasculated harem masters often got their revenge because, contrary to popular belief, they actually could perform. This brings to mind locking the fox in the hen house. One ancient example of a eunuch is Henry, as seen in the picture below.

To get a better idea of the actual Egyptian pronunciation, use your mind's ear to imagine Margery Maine aka Ma Kettle, a woman of action, affirmatively shouting, "Henreeeeeee!!!!!!!" and you will have a better idea of how it might have sounded in ancient Egypt. Our next example of a eunuch was also an involuntary testicle donor; I believe his name was Wingate.

European history obviously also had its vicious moments all the way up through WWII with the horrifying medical experiments in the death camps.

And then there are those eunuchs who actually still have their testicles (as far as the rest of the world knows), but who have no real manhood. Perhaps we should first agree on some of the qualities of manhood. Manhood requires courage, integrity, honor, bravery, strength, morals, honesty, trustworthiness, caring, decency, protectiveness, kindness, truthfulness, reliability, willingness to uphold duties, sense of responsibilities, and many other positive characteristics.

Strangely, these characteristics were strikingly absent from the judge in Wes Teel's case. George Lucas, Wes' attorney, had a firm appointment with him to get a ruling on the montion that had been filed for months to allow Wes to stay out of prison pending the appeal. According to George, the judge dodge him all week instead of manning-up and just giving him a straight answer. Way to go, judge. Heap on a little more torture. I rest my case.

We will ccomplete today's anatomy lesson, class, by considering the following analogy (remember how we all had to take Miller's Analogy Test to get into grad school? I thought it was great fun!):

WES TEEL IS TO A REAL JUDGE

AS

WINGATE IS TO

Ladner Family Funeral Rites and Customs

I Married Into the Southern Version of the Adam's Family

I married into a family of funeral lovers. Oh yes, funeral lovers. Not car lovers, boat lovers, horse lovers, but funeral lovers ! My in laws' hobby was going to funerals.

Attending the last rites of a treasured member of the family or even a distant relative is an obligation for most normal people. It isn't something we necessarily look forward to. Sitting uncomfortably in a pew while sad songs are played and tears are shed, though a part of mourning, simply does not make my day. That wasn't the case with my wonderful, but wacky, Ladner relatives. They are not the Adam's Family, but The Ladner Family.

Lonis and the Roll of the Dead

Lonis Ladner, the patriarch of my wife's clan, and my father-in-law, would scan the morning paper each day to see if there were any dead people listed in there that he might want to go down to the funeral home to visit. If the pickings were scant (meaning the names of the deceased were none to familiar as friends or relatives - there are lots and lots of Ladners and the dead ones do not out pace the living, so you might say the supply side is always ahead) he would expand his options.

"Tecia", he'd call out, "don't we know Cecil Burns ? Didn't his cousin Hank run the hardware store over* in Oak Grove when we taught school at McNeil ?" If she answered no, he would reply, "Well, I think we met him one time. They're waking him up at Purvis tomorrow so I think we'll go up there for the wake. We might see someone we know." And, that's what they'd do: get dressed up, drive to Purvis, Mississippi, and attend the wake - even if they didn't know a soul. Perhaps, they would run into someone there they knew. It was a social outing for them. Even a chance one time meeting with the deceased was excuse enough to attend his wake, funeral, or both.

[*In the south geographically a location technically is "up there", "over there", "down there", or perhaps, "out there". It does not merely exist, nor is it ever simply "there". ]



After Lonis and Tecia retired to the farm "up there" in Poplarville, my wife and I lived "down here" on the Mississippi Coast.

The Hell You Say

One day a former neighbor lady of the Ladner's died and Lonis called us after his morning review of the roll of the dead and invited us to supper followed by the wake to be held at the home of the deceased, where, as an added treat, the lady was going to be on display in her coffin. Now really, who could turn down such an offer as that ? My wife was pressured by her parents to attend, "You need to go because you grew up with her children and they expect you to be there." She accepted the invitation.



We had a nice meal with my wife's parents and eventually ended up at the wake at the home of the grieving husband. Greetings were made with all. Hands were shook. Small talk made. Time passed. Coffee drank. Time passed. More small talk. Time passed. We sat. We stood. Time passed. More coffee. Time passed. Finally it was getting late and my wife leaned over to her father and said, "Daddy, we need to go now. We're all tired."

"Not yet." was his reply. She asked him why not and he replied he was waiting for them to open up the casket so he could look at Mrs. Smith.



"But Daddy, they're keeping the casket closed."



"The HELL you say !" He exploded about three feet from the widower. "You mean to tell me I got dressed, put gas in the car, drove all way the down here from Poplarville, spent all that money at a restaurant, and they close the casket ? I don't even get to see what she looks like ? The HELL you say ! What kind of damn wake is this ?"



People turned in our direction so fast and heads spun so quickly it was almost like that scene in The Exorcist except multiplied by about 100 - many of whom had wrinkles. Sandwiches scattered, coffee spilled, and I swear I think I saw at lease two sets of false teeth hit the floor. My poor mother-in-law swooned (as southern women of her age and station were wont to do), and we pulled Lonis out of the room, past the astonished widower and into the car just ahead of the funeral director who I know was going to ask us to evict the premises. In Lonis' mind all of this had been a complete waste of time because he was deprived of viewing the remains of poor Mrs. Smith.

Will Rogers said he never met a man he didn't like. Lonis Lander never read an obituary he didn't like.

The Ladner funeral rites encompassed the collection of funeral memorabilia. In southern history it was traditional for funeral homes to print their logos on large flat fans and to dispense these to attendees of the ceremonies. One speculates this practice predates air conditioning, but it seems to have continued well beyond climate controlled air era. After Lonis passed away we were cleaning out his room and we came upon hundreds of these old used and weather beaten fans. They had the names of various mortuaries, cemeteries and funeral homes on one side, and on the opposite side assorted pictures of Jesus, angles, the cross, heaven, clouds, and scripture. To my surprise I also discovered funeral programs he saved that went back over fifty years. What a hobby ! If only he had collected baseball cards.

Funeral Dresses and Such

Now my mother-in-law was equally strange. Despite her small objections, she went right along with Lonis in his attendance habits. Me thinks she doth protest too much. They were much alike. After he died every time she came to visit us along with her other clothes she always made sure to pack her "funeral dress". Just in case someone she knew died, she would be prepared to go to the service. Don't laugh too much. It actually happened once, and we stopped making fun of her at that point. She had, indeed, been prepared.

My wife's crazy Aunt Docie actually looked forward to her own funeral. She planned it out in great detail - what church, what songs to be played, picked out the coffin, etc. In fact she designed and sewed her very own dress which she intended to wear in the coffin. She made certain everyone in the family knew which dress it was and where in the closet it was located. Just is case, you understand. She once proudly showed it to us.

Docie was a very old lady. Yet, despite all her planing, fate intervened. Someone, that is some old man, up and married Docie, and being a frugal old lady and not wanting to waste a perfectly good white dress, she got married in her "funeral dress". I don't know what she was buried in. I'm not a Ladner and didn't attend her service.

It is in the Genes

I believe my son Adam has inherited the Ladner Funeral Rites and Customs gene. When we would go on trips he would be fascinated with where people were buried. When he was a kid we went to Washington's Mount Vernon home. "Let's see where he's buried", Adam wanted to know. We went to Monticello, Jefferson's home. "Where's the grave?" Adam demanded. And, much later we visited the shrine of all shrines, Elvis' home, Graceland - where by the way The King, his parents, and his dead twin brother are all entombed. Adam held up the line of perpetual mourners for fifteen minutes.

I finally got him to move away from the crypt by lying to him that I'd buy him a picture of dead Elvis and dead Elvis's family painted on black velvet that glows in the dark. They actually sell them [$79.99 unframed ] across the street in dead Elvis' museum and gift shop.

I Even Owe My Marriage to a Funeral Home

Yes, this is true. My wife was dating a guy who was working as a funeral director. As a joke he and his buddy locked my future wife in the embalming room one night with a corpse peacefully minding its own business on the table near the door. I think they may have turned out the lights as an added funny ploy. He was a good jester. I frankly don't know why she didn't embalm him when she finally got out.

I think they used to make out at the funeral home on his off hours. You would have thought her mother might have gotten a wee bit suspicious when once she came home with a card stuck to the bottom of her panties saying, "Thanks from all the guys at the Firehouse. We'll miss you."

This guy was also a good dresser and used to always give her flowers. At one point we were both dating her at the same time. I think I won her over, mostly because of my charm and good looks (of course) but also because I convinced her he wasn't buying her the flowers he gave her but instead was stealing them off the coffins of dead people.

I don't know if that was true or not, and at the time I didn't care since I certainly couldn't afford flowers every week. But it did not matter. I got the girl, and I guess you might say that other fellow, well, let's just say, he got stiffed !

My wife wants to be cremated when she dies and that's fine with me. She has requested that the old boyfriend, who still works at the funeral home, not handle the arrangements. That's fine with me too. I figure maybe two, perhaps three tanks of butane, fire up the old grill and I'll save a ton of bucks. I'm fond of "do it yourself" projects.

I bet her old boyfriend will send flowers though, and I bet he's still stealing them off coffins.

The Realist

http://gulfcoastrealist.blogspot.com/

Trent Lott and Global Warming - A Fable

The Realist's Take on Lott


Last week our long serving senator, Trent Lott, announced he was quitting his position with five years left on his term. This was a surprise to Mississippians and most of Washington. We never saw it coming. The reason, sort of, given by the Pascagoula native was, well, now what was that reason ? I listened to the press conference with my die hard Republican friend, Phillip, and when I say die hard, Phillip thinks Bush is a "really smart person". Yeah Phillip, and Dick Cheney is a "really good shot".

That reminds me of the AP news headline concerning the latest reports from the National Intelligence Estimate on Iran's nuclear capacity, "Intelligence Doesn't Change Bush's Mind". Well, duh ! I could comment further, but what's the point. You either get it or you don't.


The Hair Thing



Personally, I have a problem with Trent Lott. Any man whose hair does not get messed up in the middle of a hurricane is suspect in my book. His hair simply cannot be real. The coiffure is some sort of helmet. It may even be connected to the internet. Certainly, it is connected to Fox News, the O'Rielly Factor, Hannity (not Combs), and, of course, Rush.



I am convinced that each morning a designated staffer goes to his house and bolts his hair into place on his head. Yes, bolts it on with industrial strength bolts - probably supplied by a defense contractor. Lott would not take a chance that his personal head gear would fall off when he bends over while kissing a special interest on the butt - and he has never met a special interest he didn't like. Until the day State Farm denied his personal insurance claim on his storm damaged house - that was a character builder.

I bet on the day he slipped up and sang the praises of old Strom Thurman at the antique crudmudgeon's birthday bash his regular "bolt boy" staffer was out sick. That had to be it, and a new kid, probably some poor intern, God forbid, maybe even a minority intern at that, must have screwed the nuts on Trent's headpiece just a tad too tight. One can imagine the screening process for the next "bolt boy" was a mite stricter when the new position came open. The job title was undoubtedly changed to "nut boy" or "screw boy", but I rather suspect "bolt boy" is more politically correct.

Rumors, Republicans and Right Wingers

Recent rumors on the blogosphere imply Lott may be gay. I don't know if Lott is gay and I don't care. He was a cheerleader at Ole Miss for what that is worth. I don't know if Sen. Larry Craig is gay. I don't care, but I sure hope he is. Why waste a good bathroom stall on a perfectly straight man.

But, don't you know so many, many Republicans truly are gay and hide in the closet (as we Democrats know they do). By asserting macho issues they seek to hide their secret lives. That's why they pretend to be macho men - and in some cases macho women, are you listening Ann Coulter - by starting wars, rattling on against women's rights, opposing gun control, and, of course, let us not forget, denying there is any semblance of truth in the concept of global warming - bring on the oil rigs boys !


That last remark might seem to be a stretch, but think about it for a minute and it's really not. Oil rigs. Guys in work clothes. Hot sweaty guys working in hot steamy climates. When they bend over what shows ? Rhymes with racks. Yes you know. Remember the workman guy from the "Village People". The one with the tools hanging off him. Come on, I'm talking about the tool belt folks. Get your mind out of the gutter, will you ? The very image could could turn a low life right wing Republican on. Yes, yes it could. Now you just stop right there. Think about it.


You're thinking about it, aren't you ?



I don't know about Trent, but, the right wingers railing against Global Warming, oh yeah, I can see it. They love those visions of sweaty oil rig workers - this reminds them of the "Village People" workman guy. Next thing you know they'll be jumping around shouting in unison "YMCA". There is no way these right winger shrill voices of unreason want those grimy sweaty oil workers to go away, and I now have - through undeniable logic - proved it.

Headline

CLOSET REPUBLICAN GAY RIGHT WINGERS

DISPUTE GLOBAL WARMING CLAIMS

There I've said it.



Gays, I believe, have the same rights as every other American. That is not the issue, not really. It's hypocrisy.




This brings me back to Lott. Mississippians (not all of us, but the majority) elected him for a six year term. But, no. Does he complete his term ? Does he use his seniority clout or his Minority Whip (more about the whip thing in a moment) position to our betterment ? Nope, he bails out on us. Perhaps, in a plot to allow protege Chip Pickering to get a leg up with a temporary appointment from Gov. Barbour. Certainly, some Republican will get the nod. Time will tell.

Why did Lott quit ?

1. Because he used his influence with the Republican witch hunters to keep his brother-in-law, Dicky Scruggs, from being indicting in the original judicial bribery effort to defund democratic fund raisers and this was soon to come back to haunt him with a new and more independent (and according to law professor and writer Scott Horton - honest ) Attorney General not under the control of Karl Rove and company?

2. Because he wants to make a big pile of money as a lobbyist in Washington selling his access to the corridors of power and must get under the December 31, 2007, deadline or wait another 2 years before he hangs out his "open for business" sign on K street.

3. He just wants to come home and weigh his options and has no immediate plans.

I don't know about option 1 or 2, but have you ever known a politician of Lott's caliber and standing to make a move without a plan ? Not likely.

That Whip Thingy

About that whip thingy. Why do they call it a whip ? Did Trent actually have a whip ? After all, he did write a book called "Herding Cats". Herding animals implies the use of a whip. Who trained Lott to use the whip ? I understand there are some seedy clubs in the D.C. area that employ the whip to good use on the backsides of certain politicos and high government officials to satisfy their less than "moral majority" cravings. Isn't there some sort of D.C. Madam ?

Well, these and other questions cannot be answered in this humble blog. Suffice it to say, that The Realist shall now rest having exposed at least one genuine right wing conspiracy.



The Realist


http://gulfcoastrealist.blogspot.com/

A Punishment Worse Than Jail

Reality

For someone who had never had a traffic ticket, the reality of being arrested and charged with a crime hit home for me when the Sun Herald newspaper splashed across its headlines that I was the target of a federal investigation involving Paul Minor and Mississippi Supreme Court Justice Oliver Diaz. This was conveniently "leaked" to the media from the so called secret grand jury investigation. My first reaction was total shock. How could the paper publish such a report when grand jury testimony is secret ?

Some secret. Oh, did I mention this came right in the middle of my campaign for reelection to the Chancery Court Judgeship ? Did I also fail to mention that the leak from the grand jury was never investigated by the FBI or the federal prosecutors ? I wonder why ? And, least I forget this factoid, the incumbent DA, Cono Caranna, who prosecuted me on trumped up charges and lost - I was completely exonerated after the jury stayed out for 15 minutes - actively supported and campaigned for my opponent.


Although I carried all but 3 precincts in the general election, because I did not obtain a majority, a runoff was required. You can imagine the effect the federal investigation announcement in the newspaper had on my reelection. That did it for me. I was personally shocked that an incumbent District Attorney on the public payroll, Mr. Caranna, would not only engage in politics outside his office duties, but further that he actually stood at election headquarters next to one of my opponent's campaign managers and assisted in keeping a tally on the votes. I wonder how much of his taxpayer paid time was devoted to defeating me ?

A Little History

I was the Senior Chancery Judge at the time and I need to factor one more item into this equation, his wife, Margaret Alfonso (she does not use his last name - not that I blame her) was next in line for the position. After I was defeated guess who took over as Senior Chancery Judge - yes, Margaret. I confess the other judges and I did not get along with Judge Alfonso primarily because she made it very difficult for the lawyers she worked with, and many of them refused to deal with her unless they had no choice. This increased our workload.

Margaret was so silly. One day a lawyer friend of mine gave me a necktie that a Viagra sales rep had given him. It had the words "Viagra " on it printed on a slant in small letters. It was blue, of course, and it was a joke. I put it on and wore it down the hall to the coffee room (not open to the public). It was a joke. She called the Senior Judge and complained. It was a joke. My God, I didn't wear it in court. I didn't wear it in public. It was a joke. The Senior Judge thought it was a joke when she called to complain about me, and thought she was a joke too ! Actually, most of the lawyers did too, and still do. They are, understandably, afraid to admit it. Fear factor.

I suppose I just wanted to get reelected and wear that tie, and in the famous words of singer Ray Stevens, call her and tell her, "It's me again Margaret. Bet you can't guess what I'm doing".

I truly enjoyed my job. I loved being a judge, not because of any prestiege, but because it afforded me the opportunity to help people. The amazing thing was I actually believed I was making a difference. I wanted to keep my job.

But, it was not to be.

If you have not had to have contact with the legal system count yourself fortunate. It will sully you. My friend, Roger Shuler, had one such contact and soon discovered being in the right and being innocent is absolutely no guaranty you will prevail in your case. Actually, in the real world being in the right does not always count in court. We fool ourselves in thinking that it does because this makes us comfortable. You can, and should, read about Roger's experiences in his excellent blog http://legalschnauzer.blogspot.com/. What counts more in court is the side that has more money, is able to gin up more pretrial publicity, and perhaps has a hidden political agenda that cannot be located in the cold array of a trial transcript.

The Nightmare

My family and I have been living a nightmare ever since the day I was indicted. This has been going on for over 4 years and then some. I am emotionally, mentally, and financially drained. Unless you have been put through the legal wringer as I have with countless delays, untold motions, legal arguments, two trials, so many trips to Jackson which I cannot afford, and my wife's tears which would fill a river, you would never, never begin to fathom the legal system.

The Power to Indict is the Power to Destroy

Now, as of this writing I am facing having to report to a federal prison facility on December 27, which happens to be our 36th wedding anniversary. This wonderful woman, whom I am lucky to have married, and I have never been separated. I am worried about her health and how she will survive. What will happen ? What will happen ?

To me, going to jail - even for something I did not do - is not the real punishment. Well, that's bad enough, but no, the real punishment, or more aptly put, torture, is seeing my wife so hurt. She does not deserve any part of the misery that has crashed over us like waters of a hurricane bashing against the shore. What am I to say to her every night to ease her pain, to shut off her tears, and to assure her all will be well ? If you have an answer, please send it to me, because I have no reassuring words to give her. I almost hesitate to hold her anymore for when I do, the tears come again and the agony starts anew.

Another innocent victim of this catastrophe is my wonderful granddaughter. We are very, very close. She is just nine years old and we have tried to keep as much of this controversy from her as we can. Do you have any idea what it is like to hide the newspaper from a child out of fear she will see your picture on the front page ? What about turning off the local TV station because your face is item number one and you don't want the child to view it. Think about calling this precious child's teachers and speaking to them about being on guard should another child make a remark about this to her.

Punishment. I have lost my career, my reputation, and security for my family. I feel as though I have been a pawn in someone's great scheme to get someone - not even me. Someone else. I feel as though I have been used and then casually discarded as some useless piece of scrap no longer of any value. When all of this first started I cooperated with the FBI. I spoke with them without an attorney several times, and I ever sat down with one of the prosecutors and stated I didn't know anything about Paul Minor's business and nothing bad about Minor. That did a lot of good. They didn't want to hear it.

Jail is nothing now. Frankly, I would rather be in jail than to have to watch another day of my wife's suffering.

Never

Yet, there are several things that I know I will never lose. First, I know will never lose my faith in God. No matter how much is heaped on me, God will be with me always. "Hey, big guy", I pray, "I ain't no modern day Jobe. So give me a break". I also know I will never lose the love of my wife. She will continue to stand by me and believe in me. Finally, I know I will never lose the trust of my friends, my real friends - the ones who have stood by me throughout this ordeal.

Thank you God for all of your blessings.

The Realist

http://gulfcoastrealist.blogspot.com/