The Skeeter Daddle Diaries

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The man who addicted the world to caffeine says he’s thinking about running for President. Why not? If we can survive a few years with an ignorant but opinionated bullyboy, we can elect just about anybody for another few years. Congress is deadlocked and has been for quite awhile and will be for a lot longer. The government is running on auto-pilot now, the perfect metaphor for an automated future.

Trump ran multiple bankruptcies on his way to announcing he was the Dealmaker of dealmakers. Schultz bought a basketball team and managed to lose the entire franchise when he sold it to an Oklahoma City huckster. Seattle sports jocks will never forgive him, doesn’t matter how much they like his coffee. Schultz thought his managerial experience would shine right through in his tenure as Head Basketball Boy, an egotistical rich guy’s folly, something akin to thinking real estate deals are primers for world treaties. Still, there are plenty of folks out there in Java Land who might think a mocha magnate is worth a shot or even a double.

Me, I’m tired of billionaire politicians. Okay, probably just green with envy. Who wouldn’t want to spend his life on cellphones and in meetings strategizing how to get a hotel built in Moscow or a Starbucks on every corner in Shanghai? If the bizness of America is selling, these guyz ought to be able to run the country like a used car lot in Hoboken, no problem. The trouble is, a lot of government isn’t about capitalism. I know, this sounds like heresy in this new Gilded Age. As executive chairman at STARBUCKS CORP, Howard Schultz made $17,980,890 in total compensation. Of this total $807,693 was received as a salary, $843,750 was received as a bonus, $8,096,499 was received in stock options, $7,893,379 was awarded as stock and $339,569 came from other types of compensation. This information is according to proxy statements filed for the 2017 fiscal year. But take a look at this and then what he paid his employees, then tell me these are the CEO’s we want being President or filling cabinet posts. And the last thing I need is a double shot expresso of that right now.

And yeah, I know, money talks and bullshit walks in corporate America. Although lately it seems like both are doing a lot of talking. Personally I think a politician ought to learn some governing skills, you know, little things like managing a city or maybe even a state, at least do some time in a legislature and learn the ropes. If all you can show on your resume is your big fat bank account, c’mon, you wouldn’t hire yourself as a barista. And you certainly wouldn’t make yourself manager of the joint. Even if you are the damn owner.

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I went shopping this morning. Not a favorite pastime of mine, but a man has to do what a man has to do and if pushing a cart around a box store is required, count me in. Reluctantly. So with gritted teeth I cruised the fluorescent aisles with my other fellow sufferers. Oh, I KNOW some folk enjoy the pleasures of shopping, the surprise of a new sale, the shared consumerism of our neighbors. Call me Curmudgeon.

The first store I needed to hit was mercifully empty of cart-wielding maniacs this early on a Monday morning. The nice couple in front of me had a cute dog, not a service dog, just a pet mongrel they felt bad leaving in the pickup on a cold day, why not bring it in leashless and let it wander with the rest of us mutts. It immediately took a dump right in the middle of aisle # 4. Just like a walk in the park, the hound must have figured. The couple called its name, Jersey or Jerky, something like that and all three left the steaming mess behind.

Even out by me on the scofflaw South End, folks carry a little scoop bag for their critter’s leavings, just a neighborly gesture in these gentrified times. At my park I caretake a few folks understand the ‘poop bag’ concept — they’ll bag it then toss the bag onto the grass before they leave. It must be a harder concept than I figured and maybe eventually they’ll get the hang of it.

The couple in my store, I don’t think they’ll make that leap at all, ever. Someone else can clean up after their pooch, it’s not their problem, it’s not their store, it’s not anything to worry about and anyway they have shopping to do, no time for Turd Patrol. Me, I drift toward the pneumatic exit doors and out to the littered parking lot, my truck and on to the next big box. Like I said, a man has to do what some might not. But I never dreamed shopping included dodging dog doo.

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Is nothing sacred anymore? Is nothing off limits to scrutiny and derision and possible legislative remediation? These are tough enough times we live in, polarized politics, polarized religion, polarized ethnicity, whatever you do, whatever you say, you’re going to offend someone. And lately, offending folks seems to be the modus operandi judging by the Man in the High Tower’s bullying tweets. Name calling, dog whistles, sneaky slurs, it’s okay nowadays.

So when the psychiatrists came out recently with an announcement that a lot of the males of the species suffer from Toxic Masculinity, I guess it should have been no surprise. But down here on the South End, the news was troubling. The news was downright scary. And I don’t mean just for the women folks. Okay, maybe us high testosterone men come off a little far end of the masculinity spectrum. We don’t cry enough, I admit, but geez, if we let loose our softer side, we’d never get squat done down here in the nettle fields, just fall into weeping spells half the live long day. I mean, you don’t think we see how depressing our lives are? How bankruptcy is just a busted axle or a broken leg away? All that bluster and bragging, it’s just a mask. What are we supposed to do, write a blog? Open up our hearts, show our true feelings? Not sure anyone would like to see that …

Next thing you know, the shrinks will want us to turn in our guns and stop socializing down at the tavern and maybe go to church on Sundays with the mizzus. Give up ESPN and kickboxing, maybe even football. What the ??@#? Is this America? Is this how we make it great again? Is this what we want for the South End, a bunch of crybaby yahoos going to prayer meetings and support groups and sensitivity training and AA meetings, our days spent watching soap operas and Oprah? Where does it end? I’ll tell you where it ends. It ends with slavery, with shackles, with emasculation. It ends, sadly enough, with us men having to get a job. A real job. Not writers and artists, not musicians. J-O-B. Job. What used to be relegated to the mizzus. Boys, I hate to tell you, but change is coming if you don’t fight it. You don’t, you’ll be crying all right. Day and night.

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