Categorically Opposed to a First-World Problem

by Angela K. Durden
Technology inventor protecting creator's copyrights. Business writer, novelist, songwriter, and Citizen Journalist.


I can shovel dung out of a barn by the wheelbarrow loads and never gag once, but let me watch a commercial for the "new and revolutionary litter box" as they demonstrate the clumped sorting factor, or see somebody with a little plastic bag bend over to pick up what their dog just dumped and I'll gag in a second.

What to do with your dog poo is literally a first-world problem. Who else picks up their dog's droppings, wraps it in plastic, and throws it away? Nobody.

Why the two reactions to the same by-product?

I've given this a lot of thought and have come to the conclusion that it has to do with the concepts of Socialism v Capitalism.

I am a Capitalist. Capitalists are practical people. They make money the old fashioned way: They earn it. Cows earn their keep. Animals that perform, that is, what they do will sell a ticket, they also earn their keep. 

Pets, on the other hand, are Socialists waiting on Big Gubment to supply their every whim and fancy. The concept of earning their keep is not part of the equation in their lives. All they have to do is wag their tale, purr, or squawk and — WHAM! — "Does Muffie want a new toy? Yes, Muffie wants a new toy. Oh, no. Muffie doesn't like her new toy? I'm so sorry, Muffie. Let me remove it from your sight."

See? Gag. 

Therefore, since I am categorically opposed to Socialism and it makes me gag, it simply follows that my gag-response to pet poo makes perfect sense.

Frankly, I'm surprised

The same first-worlders who dutifully follow their pets picking up poo, are the same people who say nothing at all about the wolves, foxes, and coyotes living nearby who dump their poo — willy-nilly — throughout pristine wildlife sanctuaries and late at night in neighboring yards.

Frankly, I'm surprised Socialists have not used government job creation programs to hire people with tiny plastic bags to follow these wild dog-types around. 

If there is an American radical right, where is an American radical left?

by Angela K. Durden
Technology inventor protecting creator's copyrights. Business writer, novelist, songwriter, and Citizen Journalist.

It is quite possible that the Southern Poverty Law Center (SPLC) began as a needed organization with solid people and good motives.

It is also quite possible they still do some good in the world, though frankly I'm not sure what that would be. I know what the SPLC thinks it is. As you can see from this map on their website, they think it is tracking the 917 groups they have designated Hate.

I am not opposed to knowing where hate groups are located and what types there are. Forewarned is forearmed, right? The SPLC even breaks the groups down by type and state. The General Hate designation is troublesome. What is "general hate"?

For instance, let's say I hate smoke (which I do, by the way). If I start an organization specializing in Cigarette Smoke Hate, will I be kicked off the General Hate list since my focus will be on only one type of smoke? The SPLC is not very helpful in this matter.

But frankly, even that isn't the main concern. It is what they focus on as a Hate Group as this screen snip will show. Notice the four words I underlined in red in the below graphic?

"The American radical right." As if there can never be and there is no "American radical left."

You won't find me supporting Jesse James, a home-grown domestic terrorist who was a total radical right. I would like to say he was bat-sh** crazy, but he wasn't. He knew what he was doing and he did it well.

I don't care what the movies have romanticized about him, all his crimes were motivated toward those he disagreed with politically. He was merciless.

Right; left. I don't care because when they get radicalized, then you know you're getting into Wild, Wild West territory.

The SPLC is like Jesse James in that they believe so totally in the rightness of their vision that anything outside it they label hate. That makes their motives suspect and any information they spew out as propaganda.

"Sweet Dream" Music Business Tip O'da Day

by Angela K. Durden
Technology inventor protecting creator's copyrights. Business writer, novelist, songwriter, and Citizen Journalist.


Always remember and never forget —

Travel the world and the seven seas.
Everybody is looking for something.
Some of them want to use you.
Some of them want be used by you.
Some of them want to abuse you.
Some of them want to be abused.

Hillary: No 'Absolution' for the Women Who Didn't Vote for Me

by Kim D.

That will win over more women voters.  Keep it up, Hillary.

Gowdy Slams Comey for Clearing Clinton of Criminal Charges Before Interviewing Her

by Kim D.

It's clear to anyone paying attention that then FBI Direction James Comey broke federal law. If justice is ever to be served, Americans need to tell their representatives to investigate to verify this latest White House claim.  

 

It's Time for a Tax Cut #TXSen #TedCruz

Chainsaw Wielding Nun Takes on Irma's Aftermath

by Kim D.

She grew up in Texas and remembers fondly the wise words of her father: "Do what you need to do to help other people out and always put others before yourself." Sister Margaret Ann is doing just that dressing in full habit while wielding a chainsaw to help clear trees clearing a road in west Florida. She is receiving tons of accolades but the Sister simply says "It was no sweat. Helping everybody out and working together as a team is what it's all about."

 

Lack of Reason and Accountability #WhatHappened #Hillary

by Kim D.

The notion that women were imagined stereotypically by certain men as lacking reason and accountability was laughable in the the late 90's. No one expressed this ridiculous idea better than the fictional character Melvin Udall, a socially bigoted and perhaps mentally unstable New Yorker.



Unfortunately, failed presidential candidate Hillary Clinton is giving credence to that notion. And she needs to stop. How can a woman make the argument that she is strong enough to lead a nation, when the woman who supposedly cracked the proverbial glass ceiling keeps spouting illogical reasons as to why she failed to capture the support of everyday Americans and blaming a litany of forces for her demise.  She shows not one ounce of reason or accountability.

Fox News sums up the blame game nicely. My favorite boogeyman is the media. Although I do believe the media played a significant role in pushing Donald Trump to the top of the Republican ticket, the majority of journalists and pundits did their best to tear him down in the general election.

It was an obvious attempt to pave the way for a Clinton victory despite all the major scandals that haunted her candidacy: Benghazi, missing emails, and her suspected poor health. All in all, Clinton lost the election because she viewed it as her right to be president of the United States - not a privilege. This is how a progressive thinks and, thank goodness, the rest of the country is not there . . . yet.

The best thing for the right-minded folks is for Hillary to hang around which, as evidenced by her new book - What Happened - is exactly what she plans to do. It also, coincidentally, is the worst thing for left-minded Americans. While the leaders of the Democrat party are adopting and pushing Bernie Sanders' "democratic" socialist ideals, Hillary is still trying to sell crazy and blame everyone for her misfortune except for her own self. If the Democrats are smart, they would back away from Bernie and cling to Trump who will help them pass their agenda, give or take some commonsense policies which give semblance to making America great again. More importantly, they would reject the Clintons once and for all, following the attitude of Melvin Udall and loudly proclaiming to Hillary, "Sell crazy somewhere else - we're all stocked up here."

Data Breaches: Have you ever noticed...

by Angela K. Durden
Technology inventor protecting creator's copyrights. Business writer, novelist, songwriter, and Citizen Journalist.

Forgive me as I put on my Andrew Aitken "Andy" Rooney hat and ask:

Have you ever noticed that these huge data breaches, such as the most current with Equifax, seem to happen about once a year?

Credit reporting agency.
Internal Revenue Service.
Giant retailer.
Major health system.
Major banking system.


And have you also ever noticed that when it happens, citizens freak out?

And have you also ever noticed that when the freak out follows the hack that some governmental agency or commercial enterprise has a "fix" for you?

Me and conspiracy theories do not get along. At the same time, just because I'm not paranoid doesn't mean somebody isn't out to get me.

The new "Squirrel!"

Look, there aren't enough bad guys in the world to use 143,000,000 credit cards, the amount of records stolen from Equifax the other day.

Soros, or somebody like him, is like an illusionist who keeps you looking at the half-naked pretty girl while he shuffles stuff on stage so that you will go "OOOOOH! How did he DO that?"

There is a method, a plan, an end goal, behind all of these data breaches and the reason is not because they want to get credit in our names. They don't need the credit, but they do need us to look away from where the real action is taking place.

The reason is because there is something nasty in the woodshed.

So, BOHICA*, everybody. Best watch your backside.


*BOHICA: Bend over, here it comes again.

Extended power outages? No problem.

by Angela K. Durden
Technology inventor protecting creator's copyrights. Business writer, novelist, songwriter, and Citizen Journalist.

If you are experiencing extended power outages, here are your Hints and Tips O-da Day about how to function.

First:
Remember you have always wanted to "live close to nature" and "camp out" for two weeks. Now is your opportunity to put up or shut up. 

Second:

Remember all those posts you make on social media about people being too obsessed with their handheld technology and view this as an opportunity as an intervention, much like shock therapy.

(Not sure if you are one of those? Take this test.)

[NOTE: If you are going to click the link to take the test, then you are one of those people, so don't even bother clicking.]

Third:  
Think of your home as a fancy camping tent that just happens to have your bed, fave sheets and pillows, clothes, toilet paper, manual toothbrush, and drinking alcohol but with lights that are only there for decoration.

Fourth:

Remember all those post-apocalyptic movies you like to watch and how you always walk out of the theater thinking "I could do that." Well, welcome to the reckoning in Your Week of Practice.

Fifth:
Stopyerdamnwhinin' and dig deep into your knapsack of shelves and eat that vast store of canned goods. It won't kill you to eat it cold. Betcha won't laugh at preppers ever again, will ya? That's right. Preppers don't whine. They take action.

And lastly, or sixth if you want to get all snippy and technical about it after reading all the above awesome motivational Hints and Tips O-da Day, be thankful you are still alive unless you just want to not be thankful for that in which case who am I to say you must be thankful?

Hump Day Quickie: The New Cocktail Party

by Angela K. Durden 

These days Linkedin is an after-work cocktail party.

Everybody's still in their work clothes and trying to make the deals and schmooze and present best profile, but the pretzel nuggets aren't soaking up the alcohol fast enough and, well, next thing you know a couple of folks have removed their under garments and, swinging them over their heads, shout, "Sumbitch boss has a little weenie!"

Ah, yes, a drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts.

Puddles, Negan, DragonCon, and my failure to serve you well as Citizen Journalist.

by Angela K. Durden
Technology inventor protecting creator's copyrights. Business writer, novelist, songwriter, and Citizen Journalist.


Not to be confused with Puddles Pita Party which involves some sort of lap dog with a bladder problem eating hummus and olives, Atlanta's own Puddles Pity Party is now known to the entire population of the U.S. who watches America's Got Talent.

(See Puddles' show audition here.)

But this article is not about the original seven-foot tall white male in white face Puddles The Clown or his Pity Party. It is about me going to DragonCon and not being the Citizen Journalist I promised I would be for you, Dear Readers of ROTW.

Handsome dude dressed as
Negan from The Walking Dead.

You see, I went to DragonCon Atlanta on Labor Day Weekend 2017 because my friend Linda dragged me.

"We're gonna see some weird sh**," she promised.

It is obvious Linda has no clue what I grew up around, so frankly, I was somewhat bored though there was this one fella...yeah...he was right handsome and I got a hug-and-a-pic with him. (Here is the Walking Dead Wiki about Negan.)

Can this fella pose or what?

Back to my apology about falling down on my job as Citizen Journalist. So, while mostly I was walking around and taking pictures and trying my very best to get into the spirit of the thing, there came a point where I was tired of holding my phone and I put it in my purse.

Shame. On. Me.

Of all people I should know that the best stories are not made, they simply often walk by just begging to be told. Such a story happened at DragonCon but because I was too slow I missed it. Let me assure faithful readers of ROTW that two wines, one champagne, and one White Russian had absolutely nothing to do with my lapse.

Here's what I missed documenting in a photo.

Puddles The Clown showed up in white face, but this Puddles was a black man in white face. I hesitate to say the man was African American as I did not hear his voice nor was I able to interview him to ask his heritage. So anybody reading this who takes offense at me mentioning the black man in white face needs to realize I am doing my best not to offend his racial heritage by calling him something he's not.

See, this guy could be visiting from South Africa where he is a citizen. To call him an African-American South African is both journalistically and factually incorrect.

Furthermore, I believe he was from way out of town because no African American in their right mind from the U.S. would ever insult white folks by showing up in white face and pretending to be a white male, right?

That won't happen, will it?

Picture from Wiki Commons

DragonCon Puddles did a fine job of looking serious and somewhat put out, that is, staying in character. In fact, when I saw him — I swear I ain't lying — he looked right in my eyes and just dared me to come say something to him so he could not speak to me.

Why oh why did I not jump all over that opportunity? I am so sorry you won't be able to read the silent interview.

So a picture of the real Puddles will have to suffice. You'll simply need to use your imagination to picture the black DragonCon Puddles in white face.

Ten Star Good: The Best - Fanfare For The Common Man (live)

The Best:
Keith Emerson - Keyboards (The Nice/ELP/KEB)
John Entwistle - Bass Guitar & Vocals ( The Who)
Joe Walsh - Guitar & Vocals (Eagles/ James Gang)
Jeff "Skunk" Baxter - Guitar (Steely Dan/The Doobie Brothers)
Rick Livingstone - Vocals (frontman) (Agent )
Simon Phillips - Drums (The Jack Bruce Band/ 801/The Jeff Beck Group/ Toto)
Hamish, Angus and Fergus Richardson - Backing Vocals ( Brother)

The smaller the stakes, the fiercer the fight.

by Angela K. Durden
Technology inventor protecting creator's copyrights. Business writer, novelist, songwriter, and Citizen Journalist.


Bookending two recent weekends was a writer/publisher//agent convention called Killer Nashville, which I attended for the first time and wherein I had one fine blast and installed and began to use this new app for my iPhone called Snapchat. 

The other was the twelfth annual AJC Decatur Book Festival wherein the main reason I had fun was because I was with my fellow Atlanta Chapter of Sisters in Crime in a tent we shared with the Southeast chapter of Mystery Writers of America. 

From cozy mysteries where the crimes happen off the page to thrillers where the good guys kidnap the bad guys and use mind games to make them write their confessions to fun and snarky rock'em-sock'em action, we sisters (and a couple of misters) know how to kill you and get rid of your body while at the same time we can solve the crime, too. 

But this article is not about those fine authors or organizations.

Sayre's law states:

"In any dispute the intensity of feeling is inversely proportional 

to the value of the issues at stake." 

To that I add: 

"That is why the book publishing business is so viciously petty."

At Killer Nashville, I signed up for a pitch session that was scheduled the hour before I was to moderate a bevy of kick-ass panelists, only one of whom I had ever met. Explaining my situation, the two agents allowed me to pitch first and leave the room since I had to get things set up and make sure all was well. The next day, I saw one of the agents who...well, let this Snapchat video to my friend tell you what happened: 

Now, I've been good and properly dissed in my lifetime so I know dissing when I see it. I was dissed.

Turning the page to the next weekend...

Taking my turn handing out brochures to passersby at the AJC Decatur Book Festival, I was smiling and engaging with book lovers of all sorts. I talked to old and young, white and black, Asian and undetermined (it was the same weekend as DragonCon; see picture at right).

Then I saw this couple walking toward me. I can only describe them as smooth. That is, their clothes were crisply starched and ironed. Their hair was perfection itself. Even their skin looked like it had no imperfections. I doubt either of them had ever broken a sweat in their life. Both the man and woman seemed to be somewhere between 45 and 60 years old; these days it's sometimes hard to tell ages.

But hey, they looked like they could afford books. So of course I myself an author of over fifteen books — several novel length — am taking my turn handing out marketing materials for our booth, approached this couple and said in quite a friendly fashion...

"Hello. Are you fans of murder, mystery, and mayhem?"

At this I point to the sign showing that branding along with the logos of the two groups whose authors are represented. [See the picture at the left.]

Remember I told you that I've been dissed good and proper before, so I know when I'm being dissed. I got dissed again by this smooth couple.

First, they stopped dead in their tracks.

Second, their noses locked onto me like laser beams. Those noses quickly traced a pattern from my head to toes and back again.

Third, the woman rolled her eyes and looked away with such an elegant snort of derision.

Fourth, as if I had missed the big sign above their heads announcing it, the man said just prior to walking away in a huff, and I'm not kidding you, he said, "We're authors."

"We're authors." 

"We're authors." We. Are. Authors. Hahahaha. I just can't get enough of saying that. 

I wanted to holler after them, "Oh, yeah? But are you selling any books?" 

Because frankly, if you've got to advertise the fact in such a petty fashion, then it's a sure bet you aren't selling any. Further, it's a sure bet you can't figure out why you are so successful in the rest of your life but can't sell a damn book. 

At Killer Nashville, I asked a question of the agent I mentioned above. I said, "So, how difficult is it to sell a publisher on a book?" 

Her first unguarded reaction told me all I needed to know. She isn't selling many at all. You need to understand that she's only been in the publishing business for a year. Being an agent looks fun and sexy, but it is damn hard work. Like many, she thought she would just jump in and make the next star.

After all, how hard is it to form an opinion on what makes a book the public will like? Like many who have just such an opinion, she thought she had the agent's role all figured out. I know this because her introduction to the pitch group was: 

"I look for books I can fix." 

Oh, honey. It's a good thing you have a rich husband in Big Pharma. You must have a lot of free time on your hands. 

Her idea of "fixing" my book — based on only reading two double-spaced pages — was that on the first page I had to include gory details of the torture murder and make the woman who found the evidence the main protagonist of the story. 

On the first page. 

No wonder she's not selling anything.

To show you how unpetty we real authors are, here is me and my friend Linda Sands using the Snapchat app and giving hints and tips on how to get an agent. Enjoy. 

Oh, Irma! You troublemaker you.

by Angela K. Durden
Technology inventor protecting creator's copyrights. Business writer, novelist, songwriter, and Citizen Journalist.


News reports have Irma sliding by Atlanta. Local animals certainly must feel Irma is on its way. This past week I've had four encounters with animals unknown to me when usually I have none.

Wednesday a squirrel that was either sick or dying, or sick and dying, came up to my balcony and had some things to say to me. I politely asked it to leave as I didn't want his germs there — and he left. 

Thursday, while walking back from the coffee shop, I had fast caught up to a dog and his owner. I assumed they knew I was coming and was just before saying excuse me in order to pass them on the sidewalk when the dog turned, saw me, and screamed and jumped. The man did the same thing. The dog then proceeded to strain at his leash as if he would kill me if he got to me. The man was straining to hold him back while working on getting his heart from racing overtime. I laughed out loud and the man smiled — but the dog took my laughter as a personal insult and ramped up his effrontery.

On Friday I'm sitting on my balcony when this huge cat, long white fur, beautiful thing, walks by and I said, "Well, hello, Cat. I've never seen you before." You've got to understand that most cats hate my guts because they know that I am the queen, so when I say this to the neighborhood cats they mostly give me the stink eye and run away.

This cat, though, had no problem with that obviously, because he stops walking, turns to look at me, sees the stairs, and up he comes where for the next fifteen minutes he sniffs around, sits next to me and yows a couple of offhand comments with which I agree, and shares a bite or two of my food. I said I had to go inside and get busy — and the cat nonchalantly yows goodbye and meanders off. 

Then Saturday, I had opportunity to be around a dog at a library for a presentation about cadaver dogs. This dog said hello to several people in the room and allowed himself to be petted by them, but he was especially enamored of me — spending most of his time parked between my legs in a most adoring fashion. 

The dog arrived in the room just as I was trying to get my camera ready for taking pictures of the event. He comes straight for me — WHAM, kerplunk, almost knocking me out of my chair. Surprised the hell out of me him barreling up like that.

But his attitude is one I want in a man, namely "Oh, I love you! I worship the ground you walk on! Scratch my ears, my Queen!"