(Humor Alert: Evidently a few people are taking the Iowahawk story seriously......I'm serious here: ) Where else is there for the kids to go? The moms and dads are already taking up the insane sex, rock'n'roll & drugs space,
(But this is clever humor--check Internet Progress by Googling for Dollywood Values)
We try hard to engage all of our students in fun, healthy activities like Progressive Eco-Action March and Rage Against Intolerance Week," says Lawrence DiBenedetto of Patrice Lumumba Magnet School in Cambridge, Massachusetts. "Unfortunately, there are going to be those who fall through the cracks, into a life of bass fishing and stockcar racing."A curtsey to Glenn, and a nod to LGF, but I really started at
Shrinkette. And yes, I was born in California, and my parents were born in California, and their parents were born in California, and most of their parents were born in California and yes I own guns and yes most years I have a hunting license and yes I've killed things...I am in favor of removing "marriage" from the state and transferring it back to religious organizations, where it belongs, and granting the right to civil union to any two adult human beings who wish to apply, but take notice, if you have minor children I am in favor of making divorce--well, dissolution I suppose it would then be--very much more difficult to get. Oh and I was opposed to the Vietnam War from the beginning of my awareness of it--what danger did those Vietnamese really pose to American interests?--and what really radicalized me is this--the 16th street bombing in Birmingham, Alabama on 15th September, 1963. I was 11, almost 12, and a picture appeared in Life Magazine, of a little girl my age with her eyes bandaged and her face so hurt. I need to find that image somehow--I can see it in my mind's eye like it was today. I think the image was of Sarah Collins, whose sister, Addie Mae Collins, was murdered. Later I heard Richard Farina's elegaic folk tune. (I was also seeing Charles Moore's powerful photographs of firehoses and dignified black people.)
But all you latte-slurpers--oh, wait, I like lattes-- can just go back to the midwest where you ran away from, and you annoying mommies can take your precious little babies back to where ever. My kid's gonna eat dirt and kick butt. She does, too. And she shoots straight. I think being a cowboy is a good thing to be. I think being a literary cowboy is even better (like Buck Ramsey and Caroline Lockhart. Johan Clayton thinks that I'm one of many.
But you know this is just another silly exercise in polarity--you're either an Ikea-loving latte-slurping metrosexual, or you are a Neckie. Give me a break. What is with you people, can't you think of more than two things at once?
And I guess I'm still the girl in the Ranger's Command (only I left off the bitter cup)
When the rustlers broke on us in the dead hour of night
She rose from her warm bed a battle to fight.
She rose from her warm bed with a gun in each hand
Saying, "Come all you cowboys, and fight for your land."
Come all of you cowboys, and don't ever run
As long as there's bullets in both of your guns.
Oh and then there's the Night Rider's Lament--Garth Brooks sang it and I'm going to have to buy it if I can. I think it was written by Michael Burton, and
"Night Rider's Lament"
One night while I was out a ridin'
The grave yard shift, midnight 'til dawn
The moon was bright as a readin' light
For a letter from an old friend back home
And he asked me
Why do you ride for your money
Tell me why do you rope for short pay
You ain't a'gettin' nowhere
And you're loosin' your share
Boy, you must have gone crazy out there
He said last night I ran on to Jenny
She's married and has a good life
And boy you sure missed the track
When you never come back
She's the perfect professional's wife
And she asked me
Why does he ride for his money
And tell me why does he rope for short pay
He ain't a'gettin' nowhere
And he's loosin' his share
Boy he must've gone crazy out there
Ah but they've never seen the Northern Lights
They've never seen a hawk on the wing
They've never spent spring on the Great Divide
And they've never heard ole' camp cookie sing
Well I read up the last of my letter
And I tore off the stamp for black Jim
And when Billy rode up to relieve me
He just looked at my letter and grinned
He said now
Why do they ride for their money
Tell me why do they ride for short pay
They ain't a'gettin' nowhere
And they're loosin' their share
Boy, they must've gone crazy out there
Son, they all must be crazy out there
Maybe I'm a purple person all in one body.