Random musings, 23.3.17

This is why progressives fail:

Senator Ted Cruz Has Forever Tainted The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy

Because God forbid somebody who doesn’t share your political beliefs like the same things you do but not for the same reasons you do, amirite? I mean, Bernie Sanders has gone on record as liking Willie Nelson and Merle Haggard, and God knows Sanders and I agree on precious few things politically, if we agree on anything at all. But does that taint them for me? No, no it does not. In a way, in fact, it makes Sanders kinda cool, more of a “regular Joe,” if you will. I know he’s not — let’s face it, by the time you get to the lofty position of United States Senator, you’re anything but a regular Joe — but some of the people who do make it that far are, shall we say, more relatable and down-to-earth than others, or at least have tastes that make them seem so.

But some people just can’t have that, it seems. No, if they find out that one of their political nemeses likes the same things they do, they can’t like it anymore because it makes them JUST LIKE the people they don’t agree with. I suppose you could call it the reverse of what we see so often with musicians and entertainers. Whatever you want to call it, it’s pretty fucking pathetic. And I would feel sorry for them…but no. Just, no. They deserve every bit of the existential angst that comes their way and then some, to say nothing of the political defeats that come their way just because they can’t shut the hell up. It sounds like a bleak, joyless existence indeed, and it couldn’t happen to a more deserving bunch.

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On the Live At Gruene Hall album, as he goes into the band intro in the middle of “Wishing Well,” William Clark Green addresses the audience, saying, “It’s such a pleasure to play music for people who give a shit.”

Well, as a fan, I will certainly say the same for the artists down here that play OKOM — that is, that it’s such a pleasure to still have artists to listen to who give a shit. I first got into the Texas scene back in late 1999 and early 2000 with Pat Green, Cory Morrow, the Robison brothers, etc. That was without a doubt the beginning of my disillusionment with mainstream country music, but I can’t deny that there was a fair bit of, well, music that I thought was good even that late in the game — music from people who, well, gave a shit. Now we just have a constant stream of brainless auto-tuned party songs and pseudo-deep crap like “Dirt” and “You Should Be Here” that wouldn’t even have made a B-side once upon a time. (And even that is giving those songs more credit than they deserve, because some of the greatest songs in the history of popular music were B-sides.) I mean, really. I saw the reaction to Cole Swindell’s “You Should Be Here” on a Reddit thread not long after it came out, and people were talking about how amaaaaazing it was…

…and all I could think was, “Obviously none of these people have heard George Strait’s “Everything I See.'”

“…it’s such a pleasure to play music for people who give a shit.”

What does that say about mainstream country fans? Well, nothing that hasn’t already been said, really, in this space or anywhere else. As long as they get another shitty party-on-a-tailgate song that validates their vapid existence, they, well, just don’t give a shit, about the music itself or anything else.

Maybe you shouldn’t be doing that in the first place.

From the Northeast Mississippi Daily Journal:

New legislation approved by Gov. Phil Bryant requires increased public disclosure when law enforcement agencies seize private property.

House Bill 812, signed by Bryant on Monday, requires the creation of a public database which will list and track assets taken by law enforcement through civil action.

The new law also requires agencies to obtain a warrant within 72 hours after a seizure takes place.

Tupelo Police Chief Bart Aguirre, however, is a little uneasy and believes that transparency may hamper his department.

“I don’t necessarily agree with it. It could hinder us from doing other investigations,” Aguirre said. “By putting this on a website, it shows our hand.”

Weeeeell, Chief, here’s a novel thought: Maybe the Tupelo Police Department’s “hand” shouldn’t be in the business of taking people’s stuff just because they were selling a good the government doesn’t approve of them selling. I understand that we’re probably not going to be looking at widespread decriminalization of certain narcotics, let alone legalization of such, for a long time — if ever. I understand that the laws are on the books and they should be enforced, lest respect for the rule of law be lessened. (Yes, I know. The law is an ass and all that. That’s a perfectly legitimate point but a different discussion.)

But asset forfeiture never should have been recognized as a legitimate tool for law enforcement. Besides the fact that so many people engaged in malum prohibitum activities are the ones getting their stuff taken from them, there’s also the reality of such opening the door for widespread abuses of power against people who weren’t doing anything wrong in the first place, such as the shakedowns of motorists tracing through certain small towns in East Texas. We have a long way to go to even stanch the injustices being done in the name of the War On Some Drugs, but putting some sunlight on what’s being taken is a start. Way to go, Mississippi.

In honor of Texas Independence Day.

I could think of few better written tributes to our state than this; I first saw it around 2006. It was attributed to Orange native Bum Phillips, but I don’t know if he really wrote it; I’ve seen it around the Web and don’t know where it originated. But no matter the author, no matter if it was written in honor of Texas Independence Day, it rings true today, and every day of the year. Every time I read it, the room always gets a bit dusty…

God bless Texas and everyone who lives here, or wishes that they did.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, TEXAS — FROM BUM PHILLIPS

Being Texan by Bum Phillips

Dear Friends,

Last year, I wrote a small piece about what it means to me to be a Texan. My friends know it means about damned near everything. Anyway, this fella asked me to reprint what I’d wrote and I didn’t have it. So I set out to think about rewriting something. I considered writing about all the great things I love about Texas. There are way too many things to list. I can’t even begin to do it justice. Lemme let you in on my short list.

It starts with The Window at Big Bend, which in and of itself is proof of God. It goes to Lake Sam Rayburn where my Granddad taught me more about life than fishin, and enough about fishin to last a lifetime. I can talk about Tyler, and Longview, and Odessa and Cisco, and Abilene and Poteet and every place in between. Every little part of Texas feels special. Every person who ever flew over the Lone Star thinks of Bandera or Victoria or Manor or wherever they call “home” as the best little part of the best state.

So I got to thinkin about it, and here’s what I really want to say. Last year, I talked about all the great places and great heroes who make Texas what it is. I talked about Willie and Waylon and Michael Dell and Michael DeBakey and my Dad and LBJ and Denton Cooley. I talked about everybody that came to mind. It took me sitting here tonight reading this stack of emails and thinkin’ about where I’ve been and what I’ve done since the last time I wrote on this occasion to remind me what it is about Texas that is really great.

You see, this last month or so I finally went to Europe for the first time. I hadn’t ever been, and didn’t too much want to. But you know all my damned friends are always talking about “the time they went to Europe.” So, I finally went. It was a hell of a trip to be sure. All they did when they saw me was say the same thing, before they’d ever met me. “Hey cowboy, we love Texas.” I guess the hat tipped em off. But let me tell you what, they all came up with a smile on their faces. You know why? They knew for damned sure that I was gonna be nice to em. They knew it cause they knew I was from Texas. They knew something that hadn’t even hit me. They knew Texans, even though they’d never met one.

That’s when it occurred to me. Do you know what is great about Texas? Do you know why when my friend Beverly and I were trekking across country to see 15 baseball games we got sick and had to come home after 8? Do you know why every time I cross the border I say, “Lord, please don’t let me die in _____”?

Do you know why children in Japan can look at a picture of the great State and know exactly what it is about the same time they can tell a rhombus from a trapezoid? I can tell you that right quick. You. The same spirit that made 186 men cross that line in the sand in San Antonio damned near 165 years ago is still in you today. Why else would my friend send me William Barrett Travis’ plea for help in an email just a week ago, or why would Charles Stenciled ask me to reprint a Texas Independence column from a year ago?

What would make my friend Elizabeth say, “I don’t know if I can marry a man who doesn’t love Texas like I do?” Why in the hell are 1,000 people coming to my house this weekend to celebrate a holiday for what used to be a nation that is now a state? Because the spirit that made that nation is the spirit that burned in every person who founded this great place we call Texas, and they passed it on through blood or sweat to every one of us.

You see, that spirit that made Texas what it is, is alive in all of us, even if we can’t stand next to a cannon to prove it, and it’s our responsibility to keep that fire burning. Every person who ever put a “Native Texan” or an “I wasn’t born in Texas but I got here as fast a could” sticker on his car understands. Anyone who ever hung a map of Texas on their wall or flew a Lone Star flag on their porch knows what I mean.

My Dad’s buddy Bill has an old saying. He says that some people were forged of a hotter fire. Well, that’s what it is to be Texan. To be forged of a hotter fire.

To know that part of Colorado was Texas. That part of New Mexico was Texas. That part of Oklahoma was Texas. Yep. Talk all you want. Part of what you got was what we gave you. To look at a picture of Idaho or Istanbul and say, “what the Hell is that?” when you know that anyone in Idaho or Istanbul who sees a picture of Texas knows damned good and well what it is. It isn’t the shape, it isn’t the state, it’s the state of mind. You’re what makes Texas.

The fact that you would take 15 minutes out of your day to read this, because that’s what Texas means to you, that’s what makes Texas what it is. The fact that when you see the guy in front of you litter you honk and think, “Sonofabitch. Littering on MY highway.”

When was the last time you went to a person’s house in New York and you saw a big map of New York on their wall? That was never. When did you ever drive through Oklahoma and see their flag waving on four businesses in a row? Can you even tell me what the flag in Louisiana looks like? I damned sure can’t.

But I bet my ass you can’t drive 20 minutes from your house and not see a business that has a big Texas flag as part of its logo. If you haven’t done business with someone called All Tex something or Lone Star somebody or other, or Texas such and such, you hadn’t lived here for too long.

When you ask a man from New York what he is, he’ll say a stockbroker, or an accountant, or an ad exec. When you ask a woman from California what she is, she’ll tell you her last name or her major. Hell either of em might say “I’m a republican,” or they might be a democrat. When you ask a Texan what they are, before they say, “I’m a Methodist,” or “I’m a lawyer,” or “I’m a Smith,” they tell you they’re a Texan. I got nothin’ against all those other places, and Lord knows they’ve probably got some fine folks, but in your gut you know it just like I do, Texas is just a little different.

So tomorrow when you drive down the road and you see a person broken down on the side of the road, stop and help. When you are in a bar in California, buy a Californian a drink and tell him it’s for Texas Independence Day. Remind the person in the cube next to you that he wouldn’t be here enjoying this if it weren’t for Sam Houston, and if he or she doesn’t know the story, tell them.

When William Barrett Travis wrote in 1836 that he would never surrender and he would have Victory or Death, what he was really saying was that he and his men were forged of a hotter fire. They weren’t your average every day men.

Well, that is what it means to be a Texan. It meant it then, and that’s why it means it today. It means just what all those people North of the Red River accuse us of thinking it means. It means there’s no mountain that we can’t climb. It means that we can swim the Gulf in the winter. It means that Earl Campbell ran harder and Houston is bigger and Dallas is richer and Alpine is hotter and Stevie Ray was smoother and God vacations in Texas.

It means that come Hell or high water, when the chips are down and the Good Lord is watching, we’re Texans by damned, and just like in 1836, that counts for something. So for today at least, when your chance comes around, go out and prove it. It’s true because we believe it’s true. If you are sitting wondering what the Hell I’m talking about, this ain’t for you.

But if the first thing you are going to do when the Good Lord calls your number is find the men who sat in that tiny mission in San Antonio and shake their hands, then you’re the reason I wrote this tonight, and this is for you. So until next time you hear from me, God Bless and Happy Texas Independence Day.

May you be poor in misfortune, rich in blessings, slow to make enemies and quick to make friends. But, rich or poor, quick or slow, may you know nothing but happiness from this day forward.

Regards From Texas