Cartoon Home Cookin’, Mama King and Me

March 14, 2006 at 11:41 pm (It's all about me Me ME, Politics, War on Terror)

This is my first blog. Welcome. Hopefully it won’t take too long for me to get the hang of this.

I’ve had this nagging idea following me around for a while – I feel the need to write. Something. Anything. It had to be about the South, that much is true. About childhood and breezy pastures and stifling hot days in the porch swing and crunchy fried chicken straight from the skillet and thunderstorms and screen doors and the funny sound June bugs make when you’re trying to go to sleep. All those things just past the grasp of memory – things you know are missing because life has become just too fast.

The thought of writing a book seems too daunting at this stage of my life, so I’ve settled on the blog scene as a surrogate, at least for the time being. I’d researched and poked around and piddled and procrastinated…. and then the last couple of weeks happened. I stewed and procrastinated some more and then I just knew it was time….

A Cartoon is A Cartoon is A Cartoon, for cryin’ out loud. So grow up and join the rest of the world. Anyone with a shred of sensibility knows that an editorial cartoon’s sole reason for existence is to skewer whatever current controversy will sell more papers (or whatever media). I think that’s called Journalism 101. Oh sorry, wait – I said SENSIBILITY. That’s not a word found the radical Islamofacist dictionary.

Mama King. Poor woman. The things she’d seen and lived through – what a testimony to her integrity and devotion to continuing her husband’s dream. It’s a crying shame that politicos ruined her funeral. If it had been my mama, I’d have stood up and demanded the police escort show the rascals to the door. Their only agenda was to smear our President and get some free camera face time. Shame. Shame. Shame. And shame on her very own children for allowing her funeral to become such a circus. It should have been a celebration of her life.

Me, Myself and I. 9/11 was my wake-up call. It was almost like those time travel sequences you see in the movies – BAM – you’re there. Disoriented. Lost. Confused. But I was never afraid. Just really pissed off that the blissful daze of my middle years had been forcibly taken from me. Since then, I have watched with incredulous disbelief the way most of our elected officials behave, how other countries smile and shake our hands while they stab us in the back and how the media has gone from the less than trustworthy uncle to the downright lying scoundrel and/or pedophile you cross the street to avoid. Its time to speak out. Stay tuned.