Hank Jr.'s Censor-tive Subject

The magical glow of the cathode ray illuminates the dark room as Hank Jr. and Kid Rock crooned center stage during Hank’s Outlaw concert on CMT. Uncle Bubba smiles and turns up his surround sound and imagines he was hanging out with the other lucky fans in the audience. Heck, it ain't like a Lynyrd Skynyrd concert of the 70's, but their having a good time and it's pretty entertaining.

Bubbie’s view of country music has diminished over the past twenty years; raised on southern rock with a pension for country sound of the 60’s and 70’s, today’s brand is commercialized crap. Sadly the faithful fans of Hank Sr., Merle, Willie and Waylon, George Jones, Conway Twitty and Loretta Lynn, Johnny Cash and so on, they’re long gone. It was a different time, a slower more innocent time when loyalty to substance over style meant something. Talent came from the heart and the vocal chords and not from one’s appearance because music was played on the radio or record player. Music was listened to, and watching an entertainer meant seeing them live in concert, not watching a video.

Bubbie takes swig of his drink and notices a strange apparition on the TV—I mean aside from the Hank Jr. dancing. Do y’all know the Trucker Girl? She’s the chrome silhouette on the mud flaps of tractor trailers.
Hank has an enormous Trucker Girl hanging as a backdrop on the stage and CMT has fuzzed out the nipple area of her breast! Dude, it’s fake! It’s a chrome silhouette of a woman; that’s obscene and offensive? And what did CMT think they were getting when they booked the Outlaw concert. Bubbie shakes his head then as he straightens his ball cap and thinks about his $120 cable bill and wonders why he’s paying so much for censored entertainment.

Illegal chaos

I wrote an email to my Congressperson and Senators about this rediculous immiration bill that our government is try to pass and you can too. Go to http://www.house.gov/writerep as well as http://www.senate.gov/general/contact_information/senators_cfm.cfm and you may even cut and paste my letter below or use any portion of it and let them know that this legislation is bad for the country.

"Please vote down the immigration bill that grants amnesty to illegal immigrants. We are a nation of laws and need to keep a high standard to protect our great country of legal citizens. This is a travesty for our country and an insult to millions of immigrants who have come before sacrificing so much time, effort, and money to do things the legally.

Illegal immigrants care nothing about our laws and one cannot seriously believe that they will jump through all of the legal hoops and subject themselves to our laws and our system to comply with this newly proposed bill. The only people who benefit from this will be companies that hire illegal’s now. This is a complex issue which the citizens of this country, not just the corporations, should have a voice in because the current course is a recipe for disaster for our country as a whole.

Please vote no."

Thank you

Boogity, Boogity, Boogity!

Uncle Bubba settled into his favorite spot in front of the TV in anticipation of the NASCAR race at Bristol. Having an hour or so before the action started, Bubbie was channel surfing and stopped on a man, Andras Schiff playing Chopin. He seemed to be playing entirely without sheet music in front of him and Bubbie noticed an interesting thing, he glanced at the keys while transitioning his hands into position then glanced at the next position while striking the preceding notes. He wasn’t looking at what he was playing but looking ahead in anticipation of the next note to be played. That’s were we all should be in our lives.

School of Hard Knocks

Uncle Bubba figured he needed some more learnin’ to get right with today’s technology. He’d been working, doing hard labor most of his life, and he could see that it was no way to grow old and reckoned he’d better get right for a change. After looking into his limited options, he enrolled in a prestigious online university. Now, anyone who thinks that getting a degree via an online institution is a piece of cake better think again. It’s a rigorous fast paced, no holds barred education. Anyway, Bubbie, always being the rebel, still has a hard time coping with the agenda of organized accredited education.

Let me expound; one pays an enormous amount of money to learn something one doesn’t know and the methods to apply the newly learned material. Sounds about right. But what’s really going on? There is a time table that must be stringently adhered to and within that time one must choose; do I learn why something is, or how to do it, because there is no time to do both. The accreditation that we all crave dictates that we learn certain amount of useless material, limiting the amount of precious time, holding true to being counter to common sense. Hey, it’s just like the American way of governing.

The stress of this is compounded by the bobble-headed instructor whom brings to class their individual whacky loads of personal baggage and judgmental attitudes. It seems that they are more interested in getting their students to jump through hoops than help them understand the material being presented, and of course their lack of elucidation is under the guise of their method of teaching. Yea… right. Their whim of floating criteria, the moving target of grading, can ruin ones GPA with every mood swing. Like more government guidelines, everything is open to one’s interpretation; you know the one, the one who is in charge. I’m paying tens of thousands of dollars to be judged. Great! So I’m being taught how to play nice and get along with others, the same thing I learned in kindergarten. But hey, at least I’ll have a degree that says to the world, “Hire me! I know what I’m doing!”

Well, I could go on and on but I have homework to do. I’ll chat with you later.

What Kind of Friend Are You?

Bubbie’s sister, Carrie, stopped by for a cup-a-Joe and a visit and told him about having some work done on her home. She was having a new shower installed and was very pleased with the way that it was turning out. In the course of the conversation she talked about how certain friends of hers always have a comment that goes something like, “That’s a very nice shower, but I would have done this to make it just a little bit better.” Bubbie sympathized with her realizing that he discounts those types as friends, well, true friends anyway. You know the type, always chipping away at one’s joy with “helpful” comments about how one could do something better. After considering it even more he realized that that is why he doesn’t have more true friends, because no one can ever just say, “That’s great, I’m happy for you,” and leave it at that. A true friend doesn’t try to improve you or question your tastes, they accept that the things you do and the way that you do them are right for you.

Bubbie turned that around and looked at himself; does he bite his tongue for the sake of harmony? Does he try to impose his sense of the “right way”? Bubbie is human and we all do it, but over the course of a lifetime he has learned that in the choice to be right or kind, always choose kind.

Thanks Jorge

To quote our fearless leader, "illegal immigrants do what US citizens won'’t"”; like spreading Tuberculosis, along with cholera, smallpox, yellow fever, hemorrhagic fevers, SARS, and influenza with potential for pandemic. Of course under this current administration there must be no issue of sharing strains of dengue, chickenpox, AIDS/HIV, hepatitis and measles either.

I'’ve heard the argument that we are all immigrants, or the sons or grandsons of immigrants; well I'm not an immigrant, I was born here. My great-grandparents were legal immigrants. We hear so much about how difficult it is to be an illegal immigrant, how about all the tension, desire, heartbreak, fortitude and hardwork it takes to be a legal immigrant; now that's difficult. This is my country and I love living here with all of its advantages and safety. I feel sorry for citizens of under-developed third world countries but I don'’t want illegal immigrants in my country. We are expected to follow the rules so we should expect those who want to participate in our country to do the same; it all seems pretty simple to me.

Thanks George, for putting us first and protecting us on all fronts.

What happened?

Uncle Bubba and Sweet Pea took a little trip for a fun weekend get away. They finished work on Friday and packed a few things, Uncle Bubba carried the bags out to the car, opened the door for Sweet Pea and she hopped into the car, turned up the radio and they drove off down the open road. They had hotel reservations so they were in no hurry, just enjoying the company of one another, the scenery and the ride. Through the course of the ride Uncle Bubba noticed that most people on the road drive with the intention of getting ahead. Ahead of what? Whatever is in front of them. Have you noticed it; no one can just ride along, they have to be applying pressure whether tailgating waiting for the first opportunity to get around the person in front of them or cruising past in the left lane of a four lane to beat everyone to the exit. What ever happened to common courtesy?

Now Bubbie and Sweat Pea had a wonderful weekend of relaxation, good food and a little dancing; but what could have made it better? Common courtesy. From the rude drivers to the discourteous desk jockey at the hotel, a waitress that was obviously having a breakdown and was unconcerned with serving anyone--consumed with her personal crisis--and just generally boorish others. Uncle Bubba is amazed at how seldom a person will hold a door for another, use manners in public like “please” and “thank you”, and the prevalent use of cursing vulgar language in the company of women, senior citizens and children.

Is this the course of a modern society or a reversion to a more uncivilized culture? I’ll tell ya what Bubbie told me; there was a time when he got a smack on the back of the head if he forgot his manners; a mouthful of soap for an ill timed expletive. He remembers a little old lady chastising him in public for not holding the door for her. He remembers learning how to drive and being lectured about keeping a safe distance around other drivers, being defensive and courteous to avoid accidents. He remembers his chest bursting with pride when he impressed his first girlfriend on their first date for his skills as a gentleman. Ah yea, that’s it, the contentment of self respect.

If a person hasn’t any self respect, how can they respect anyone else? Could this be the core of rude behavior? Are we living in an impolite society as a result of 25 or 30 years of children being raised in homes with two working parents, broken homes, step families, and deadbeat dads? Not taking anything away from some wonderful single mothers, but if no one is around to express positive reinforcement of values and instill a child’s sense of value, how do they learn self respect? Now these unskilled adults, acting more like grown children are raising their own children.

So Uncle Bubba and Sweet Pea made it back home with some wonderful memories because they chose to focus on each other and forget about the less pleasurable moments, and happily look forward to their next journey. Uncle Bubba opened the door for Sweet Pea, carried in the bags and thanked her for the good time.

Utopia's slipping away

Uncle Bubba takes a deep breath of fresh air and closes his eyes. He rests his head against the back of his Adirondack chair. He listens to the rustling of leaves as the breeze gently flips them on the trees, and the song birds chirping across the way. A mullet jumps and turns its belly to the sun before splashing back into the green river and Bubbie smiles considering just how lucky he is to live in this time and place. It seems to be a vanishing utopia in the South because of the greed of our government leadership.

Parted face down on Bubbie’s knee is a book, Two Trees in the Garden by Rick Joyner that has got him considering the state of our country, society and the earth. It seems that the political climate today is to minister fear on a disingenuous moral and religious theme to win votes, and that comes from the top down, as most mud flows in a hierarchical system. Yep, right down to our local elected officials that allow every square inch of property to be developed including the swamplands with no regard for the limited available resources to supply an adequate and acceptable infrastructure. “Just keep those tax bases growing and we’ll deal with it the best we can,” seems to be the mantra to keep the new and ever expanding constituents happy.

There are two types of leaders; those who use people for their own interests and those who sacrifice themselves for the interests of the people. Aren’t the former the reason we distrust our politicians? Are you tired of politicians stroking us with their pseudo theology? We hate to think about it, but we all know that if it comes down to us or them they will sell us out. People who follow God with their hearts are people that are called to be he servants of all men, but men are not to be our masters. We must be willing to give our lives for men but not to be controlled or influenced by them.

The greatest opposition to the success and security of this country is not the evil terrorists but the phony Christian, morally righteous leaders. The uttermost threat to the truth will always come from those who live unmitigated in their minds but not in their hearts. In the supreme example of this phenomenon; recall that it was not the demon processed terrorists that persecuted Jesus, they believed him, bowed a knee and submitted to him; the religious, moral, and conservative citizens were the people who crucified Jesus.

Regardless of the choices our elected officials make that we will all live by, the breeze will blow and flip the leaves, the song birds will chirp from across the way, and the sun will warm your face on a lazy afternoon. But will it feel the same in your heart?

Let's ride!

As you may or may not know, Uncle Bubba gets around. Just the other day he saddled his hawg and set out for wherever the road might lead. That’s the beauty of the South; one can ride this time of year without fear of frostbite. Anyway, after a eating up a long straight stretch of highway Bubbie rolled into a small town and gassed up. Across the street was the Homestead restaurant--a full service restaurant—with the parking lot full of pickup trucks. With few options and a hungry belly, Bubbie rode over and went in for a bite to eat.

Right from the start Uncle Bubba was a marked outsider. All eyes were on him as he made his way through the old building to find an empty table. There was a lunch buffet that appeared to be the main attraction for the locals, but Uncle Bubba was traveling light, so after finding a seat in the corner, he asked the young waitress for a sweet iced tea and a menu. She returned with the iced tea in a dirty glass and a smile as she flopped a greasy menu on the table in front of him. It didn’t take Bubbie long to pick out a grouper sandwich off of the short list of choices through the smashed crumbs and fingerprints. Eying his tea he surmised that it must be dish soap residue that clouded the clear plastic glass, or at least he hoped so, so he gave’er a sip. He glanced sheepishly around the room at the proletariat that surrounded him. There were family clans, related kin and their confederation or in other words most people seemed to know one another. He noticed that the fella seated to his right didn’t have a left ear. To his defense it didn’t look as though it had ever been there, and Uncle Bubba considered how hard his life must have been to live life with a defect such as that, whether he lost it or never had it. Had he lived without it as a child? Oh, how cruel children can be. He reckoned that nearly every time he visited this region he came across at least one person with a missing body part and wondered, “What’s with that?”

Uncle Bubba’s waitress finally returned and he placed his order. To his surprise she rebounded quickly with a grouper sandwich, dill spear and a side of coleslaw. About that time three thick necked men took command of everyone’s attention as they made their way to a table next to Uncle Bubba. One had on a sheriff’s uniform and shook hands as he lumbered through the maze of tables; the other two in plain clothes bore more resemblance to bulldogs than men and with less personality. The chairs creaked as they sat down and Uncle Bubba noticed, as I’m sure everyone else did, that they all were packing heat. Do you need a pistol at a buffet? Is that considered a working lunch? I noticed the dirty boys from the tire shop sitting across the room eyeballing the lawmen with distain and had settled down from flirting with the young waitress. Yea, the life had been sucked out of the room and it was time for Uncle Bubba to settle up and get back on his hawg and ride. He waited at the cashier counter behind a man that was wearing a bright green T-shirt said FEMA (fix everything my ass) on the back in big white letters; grinned, paid his bill and made his way back out to the fresh air and sunshine.

Uncle Bubba cranked that marvel of American made steel to life and rode on but mulled the subtleties of the social interactions back in the restaurant. That’s America--the core of who we are; not the rich social elite that infuriates us in the news headlines, but the working class folks of small towns that are just trying to survive with some dignity and happiness. As Uncle Bubba winds out in fifth gear he feels a blog coming on. Yep, he needs to share his thoughts.

What's eating you?

Uncle Bubba is lucky enough to live where a short drive in nearly any direction takes him past rolling vistas of grazing bovine. At this time of year the black, brown and brindle statues decorate the olive and harvest tan pastures as the old grey bones of the trees, bent from the weight of time, stand watching.

Did you ever wonder about a cow? What do they think? What do they know? Are they contented to graze—unthinking, responding to an instinctual urge--or do they feel overworked and see the pasture as an endless job like 1850’s slaves in a cotton field? Do they tire of the endless nibbling, masticating, chewing and chewing? I can imagine them thinking, "I'd love to take a break, my hoves are killing me, but I've got this whole pasture to keep mowed down!"


I’ve asked people who in my opinion would have the authority to know, and the general consensus is the cows don’t think much at all; they aren’t too smart. I tend to value that thread of thought, yet I see the one way off in the distance, alone in the pasture, separated from the herd; what is she thinking? Or how about the one that forgoes the tiny grass shoots and strains, stretching its neck through what must be painful barbed wire to nibble at a roadside bush? Has that cow decided that there is more to life than following the herd and taking the easy way out?

Maybe they don’t think much and aren’t very bright, or maybe they just don’t care. Perhaps being in a herd of like creatures with the same mundane lives and no real desire or ambition to rise above they’re situation is enough. Maybe they’ve been cow for so long that they have been conditioned into thinking that they have only to rely on the men that oversee them. After all, the farmer and the rancher know what’s best for them; feeding them and giving them shelter, free vaccinations and veterinarian visits. They allow them to forage freely in vast green pastures and are nice enough to put up fences to keep out predators (isn't that why those fences are there?). At ease and fat; why question their authority? It’s not like they’d lead us, I mean them to a slaughter.