Cowboy Confessional

“I look forward confidently to the day when … where men will not argue that the color of a man’s skin determines the content of his character.” Dr. Martin Luther King

We have yet to reach Dr. Kings dream state, if the mutterings of Mr. Obama are any indication.

In recent weeks, Obama’s flaws have started to reveal themselves. The fatigue of the campaign trail has has flayed his facade, the mask of the mild uniting force, and has exposed a troubled soul. Obama’s spiritual devils reside in his mind more than they do in Revered Wright’s church.

“… my grandmother … is a typical white person“

In the absence of good natured humor, stereotyping is bigotry. In this and other quotes, Obama struggles to clarify his own apparent racism (being half white and half black, perhaps he hates himself the most) and we see a candidate who has obliquely ignored Dr. Kings objective.

Character is the least of Obama criteria for judgement of others. Indeed he judges his own grandmother by the color of her skin and nothing more. Given his allegiance and alignment with the racist Rev Wright, we have not a mere misplacement of sentiments. We see a cabal of klan mentality in reverse.

Yet Obama has not confined his contempt to race-based prejudices. In his latest unscripted exposure, he said:

“You go into these small towns in Pennsylvania and, like a lot of small towns in the Midwest … And it’s not surprising then they get bitter, they cling to guns or religion or antipathy to people who aren’t like them or anti-immigrant sentiment or anti-trade sentiment as a way to explain their frustrations.”

Some claim this is a prototypical urban elitist attitude, and well it might be. But more importantly it shows an unfounded disdain for people he doesn’t personally know or remotely understand.

Small town America is not a land of bitter people. Quite the opposite. I have been in and out of many small towns, including some in Pennsylvania from where my my ex came. With rare exception small towners are your basic salt-of-the-earth types, having a unique attachment to family (which has been a fragile part of Obama’s life, and thus might be the true source of his resentments). They do not “cling” to guns or religion, those items being simply a normal part of every day life. They are not anti-immigrant (my ex’s town was primarily populated with Irish and Polish steel workers, immigrants or children thereof) though having arrived in America through the front door they are annoyed by those breaking in through the backdoor.

Obama negatively stereotypes everyone who lives in a small town as reactionaries, when indeed that are not reacting but living good and quiet lives based on their faith, beliefs and moral philosophies that are far superior to anything Obama ever uttered on the campaign trail, and I would wager in his entire life. His words are the sign of a soft mind.

“A nation or civilization that continues to produce soft-minded men purchases its own spiritual death on the installment plan.” Dr. Martin Luther King

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Be wary of stupid people in large groups. They tend to be dangerous.

Just watch any session of Congress.

Today’s lunacy lesson revolves around a tiny film called Fitna. The video involves the Quran (or Koran for American journalists) and was produced by a non-Muslim. That combination alone is enough to ignite lethal agitation among zealots sans intelligence (if I may be redundant).

In this presentation, producer Geert Wilders simply shows verses from the Quran, then plays video of Islamists who obviously wound their turbans too tightly. For each of these select passages Wilders shows the verses being used as justification for abusing women, slavery and homicide. Wilders’ point appears to be that like many religions before, some people are using Islam to justify theological fascism.

You know, like the Roman church did by posting a copy of Deuteronomy in every inquisition waiting room.

Granted, Wilders put a prickly point on his presentation, using some of the more graphic (though edited) videos produced by Islamist for Fascism, Inc. (if you don’t like seeing a masked jihadist holding aloft a freshly severed caucasian head, then don’t watch Finta). Wilders’ selected footage is the best of their worst, or as I like to say “the cream of the crap.”

But at no place in the video does Wilders call Islam a bad name, defame Mohamed, or call for reverse jihad. He simply exposes people misusing religion as a means for their maniacal mission.

Tell that to the Islamist. Well try to tell them if you can get them to quit scream and burning effigies long enough to engage in thoughtful discussion (yes, I know — I’m pissin’ into the wind with that notion).

All too predictably, after the film hit the Internet violence erupted among Islamic hot heads (how can your head not be hot when you live in the desert and is wrap your head in turban — maybe they have simply baked their brains to the point of imbecility). “They call this freedom of expression, but it’s freedom of aggression,” said one over agitated ass. Failing to have watched the film or to dispassionately consider Wilders’ core message, he continued with the obligatory “God is great.”

Well, at least he got something right. I hope he joins one group that marched in protest of the film. They were wearing headbands that read “We are ready to sacrifice our lives for the sanctity of the prophet”.

That can be arranged.

What would be amusing were it not for the sadness of stupidity is that Radical Islamist have detached themselves from reality. Sane people who watch Wilders’ film will not think less of Islam. They would instead see an analysis of how dimwits with dictatorial dementia abuse the Prophet’s words to justify their temporal tantrums. Loons — like the leadership of Jamate-e-Islami — are Wilders target.

Likewise with my literary cross-hairs and Leupold scope.

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There is no place quite like Las Vegas to give one perspective, typically by first disposing of all perspective through bright lights, vivid primary colors, and copious quantities of alcoholic disposition adjustment fluid.

For those readers who have never sojourned in the Big Sleazy, dispense now with your black-and-white celluloid visions of cigarette smoke obscured stages where Frank and Dino sing lusty songs while Bugsy Siegel watches everyone suspiciously from the corner of his steely eye. Vegas has gone through two major changes in my minor life span, and it is evolving into something even more frightening than before.

Last year I had the great fortune to accompany a lady of good repute and devastatingly skilled prose to Vegas. In all her years - which numbered more than mine — she had not once landed in Vegas, despite having lived in more places in the U.S. and Europe than I ever plan to. Hell, the number of cities she has lived in number more than the times I’ve been drunk in Vegas, which by itself is an impressive sum.

She “got” Vegas in less than 60 seconds. Walking down the strip and into one of casinos, she suddenly said “This is Disneyland for adults.”

Bingo. Give that lady a cigar.

Vegas was once called Sin City, because that was its precise design — a place in the uptight and (back then) utterly puritan United States where one found reasons to later on attend confession. Businessmen (there were few business women in that era) planned conference in Vegas for the secondary reason of conducting business. Their primary mission was to drink heavily, squander other people’s money, and fornicate with hookers.

You know, a typical day for a New York governor.

But something quirky happened as the baby boomers entered the middle-class majority, and redefined where “the money was.” With kinder in tow, the grandfatherly paternity of Ronald Reagan in their heads, and with what all we did with and to one another in the 60’s, the old Vegas vices were no longer a powerful draw. So Vegas reinvented itself, turning from a district of debauchery into a colorful playground with something for kids as well as adults. Sure the seamy side of Vegas remained — after all it is still a convention town — but one could bring a child there and not have it become completely corrupt before the vacation was over. And if the kids were perverted beyond repair, then you at least knew where they would reside after turning 18.

Along with the burgeoning baby boomers came the building boom. Vegas exploded in size not only due to the influx of tourist, but an evolving economy that required suburbs and stable families. The boomers, having visited Vegas, decided to stay, forever wrecking the nasty noir that we cynical folks found so endearing. Beside suburbs as far as one can see from atop the Stratosphere, the strip itself exploded — growing from a mere 1,300 rooms in the early sixties, to several bizzilion today … at that is just at the Wynn.

But the City of Excess changed yet again. Though not planned as the earlier family-friendly shift was, the city somehow recognized that being all sin or all family was a profit-limiting exercise. One commentating bartender said to me during this week’s trip “There is now something for everyone. Roller coasters for the kids, hip night clubs for the twenty-somethings, resident acts for middle-aged farts, and bingo for the retirees. Oh, and hookers.”

Condominiums are the next change. Not content to reside in surrounding suburbs or in swank casino hotels, the strip is being invaded with high-rise condominiums for the well-heeled. Many or the riche buying these apartments-with-mortgages will be part-time residents. Others won’t.

Imagine the level of boredom one must have in order to desire living on the Vegas strip. To spend every day surrounded by a swarm of pot bellied tourist, pale legs exposed under Bermuda shorts to the blazing desert sun, jiggling their way down the strip in search of their next margarita and a “guaranteed payout” slot that is “due.” For one’s daily scenery to be the plastic veneer of a completely artificial town, echoing poker chips, never ending streams of whiskey and the occasional flesh show …

Hmmmmm. Suddenly it is not sounding all that bad.

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