"Butt Cracks R Us" Not My Favorite Store

                There is something beautiful and quaint in the way people used to dress in public.

 

                Remember that great scene in The Natural  where Glenn Close stands up in the seats along first-base, her beautiful flowered dress and magnificent hat surrounded by thousands of fans dressed respectfully in white shirts and neckties?

 

                People actually wore dresses and neckties to baseball games. It's not just a scene from a fictional movie. Look at the highlight reels from the Tribe champion years of 1948 or 1954. The great Connie Mack managed  the Philadelphia  Athletics wearing a suit in the dugout.

 

                Imagine Manny Acta headed to the mound to make a pitching change  wearing Armani!

               

                My Dad passed away just a few years ago at age 96. He always wore a suit coat, tie, and hat to church. You know the kind of hat, a beautiful  black or brown fedora, the type Humphrey Bogart used  wear with a trench coat.  Back in the day,  every well-dressed man wore suits and hats.

 

                Fast forward to 2011. The other day, in courtroom 16A in the Cleveland Municipal Court, Judge Ronald Adrine had  had enough. The young man stood before the Judge facing a serious traffic charge dressed in a T-shirt, basketball shorts, and tennis shoes.

 

                The Judge told him to return to court in thirty days, dressed appropriately for court. Let's hear it for Judge Adrine.

 

                So what happened to our society?

 

                Here's my theory.

 

                We have become so self-centered that our own comfort takes precedence over respect for those around us.

 

                We are sending this message: I don't care what I look like to you as long as I am comfortable.

 

                The "Me"  generation and its descendants have adopted a permanent attitude of satisfying one's self to the exclusion of anybody else's feelings.

 

                Maybe it began with casual Fridays at the office. Maybe it started with the idea that jeans were suddenly considered almost universally appropriate  for the bottom half of one's body.

 

                I know this much. Things have gotten out of hand.

 

                There is a pretty funny website you should check out that loses its humor when you realize that it features real photos of real people shopping throughout America. The website is called peopleofWalmart.com.

 

                Here you will see the fatty grandma wearing hot pink short shorts along with a halter top  exposing more wrinkles and moles than a slideshow at the Institute of Geriatric Dermatology. These people are grotesque not because of their bodies but because of the way they have chosen to adorn them.

 

                Who are these people?

 

     They are all around us in our neighborhoods, in grocery stores and, Lord help us, in our own homes getting ready to go out to expose the world to their bad taste.

 

                So here's my message to all of us. It's not all about you.

 

    Practice some humility and dress in a fashion that shows respect for others around you. You'd be surprised how much better you'll feel about yourself when you reserve the sloppy garb for yard work and present the best of yourself to the rest of the world.

 

                So don't dress down. Dress up.

     You see, I'm heading to the Walmart tonight and I'd like to keep my dinner down.

Constitution Found in the Heart

When the Supreme court says something is unconstitutional, it may be wrong.

 

If you are a state legislator, you have to make your own decision and stand up for what you know is the constitutionally correct position, despite wrongheaded jurists in Washington.

 

Here's the point: if you know a court ruling is wrong, don't cop-out by blaming nine black robes for your inexcusable vote on a piece of legislation.

 

Take the Dred Scott decision from the Supremes in 1857. Here the nation's highest court ruled that a  slave living in a free state  is " mere property"  and accorded no rights whatsoever.

 

 If she had been around in the  Dred Scott era, would State Representative Lorraine Fende  of Willowick have been  able to justify voting down a bill creating rights for  slaves because Dred Scott obligated her to abide by the high court's view?

 

Of course not. Ridiculous.

 

Well,  the equivalent just took place about two weeks ago. Fende voted no on the "heartbeat"  bill designed to protect unborn children from the horrible fate of abortion if their heartbeat can be detected. A News-herald article featured her cowardly defense of her action. She told a reporter from the news Herald that she is pro-life but had to vote no because she and others found the bill  unconstitutional.

 

You cannot vote against this bill and be pro-life.

 

Remember Dred Scott.

 

The bill is constitutional because it grants constitutional protections to all people, including those just beginning life in the womb.

 

Roe versus Wade may be current law but it was as wrong and as unconstitutional as Dred Scott was.

 

Being pro-life doesn't just mean you oppose abortion. Being pro-life means you understand that the unborn child  is as much a person as was  Dred Scott when he asked  the nine black robes to recognize his humanity.

 

For years, politicians in the South hid  behind Supreme Court rulings that said "separate but equal" facilities for whites and blacks were constitutional.

 

These rulings protected of the moral depravity of racism.

 

The moral depravity of abortion for the time being has such protection today.

 

Rise above it, Representative Fende. Come out into the sunlight of truth to support truly constitutional measures to halt the genocide of our times.

 

In Brown versus the Board of Education, the Supreme Court admitted it had been wrong for many years in allowing Jim Crow to lurk in our school systems. That was little consolation to those victimized by the race haters of that period.

 

                What consolation will there be for the innocent children already brutalized and murdered before birth   when the nation finally rises up to protect  these children through our courts?

 

Will Fende smile and say, "Oops! I was just following the Supreme Court's view of what is constitutional"?

 

             Look,  Rep. Fende is by all accounts a conscientious and dedicated legislator. 

 

But sometimes you make a deal with the devil when you hide behind those nine black robes. Don't do it Lorraine Fende.

 

 It ain't right.  Your heart tells you it ain't right.

 

Millions of silenced voices are calling from the dumpster-graveyards behind abortion clinics.  They want you to know that the constitution was intended for them as well.

Does Lennon Notice The Stink in Pink?

The Bishop of Toledo just threw a fastball inside and chin-high as a continuing challenge to Susan G. Komen's  misguided association with Planned Parenthood (America's number one abortion provider) and to chastise Komen's refusal to establish an anti-embryonic stem cell  research policy.

               

Millions recognize the tragedy inherent in the loss of innocent life found in abortions and embryonic stem cell research. Bishop Leonard Blair wrote recently that the Bishops of Ohio were directing Catholic fundraising previously assisting the Komen Foundation to be "channeled elsewhere."

 

The bishops want to avoid Komen support, according to Blair, to avoid  " even the possibility of cooperation in morally unacceptable activities".

 

I won't repeat a column I wrote in June demonstrating that your support for Komen aides those who operate the bloody abortion gallows of Planned Parenthood.

 

Blair's letter demonstrates the Ohio bishops don't want to be even indirectly associated with Komen as long as one penny of the foundation's  money goes to Planned Parenthood for any purpose. The dismembered remains of little unborn babies are repulsive garden ornaments found in the front yard of Susan G. Komen. Don't go in there.

 

The leader of the Toledo diocese admitted that Toledo Komen Chapter funds do not go to embryonic stem cell research. However, Blair said Komen refuses to adopt a national policy against this threat to unborn children. The Prelate finds this flaw  unacceptable and urged redirection of Komen dollars to others also fighting  breast cancer.

 

Which leads me to a more local question.

 

Where does the Bishop of the Cleveland Diocese stand?

 

In response to my column blogged in June, the executive director of the North East Ohio chapter of Komen's Race For the Cure implied that Bishop Lennon approved Komen donations as morally acceptable in December of 2010.

 

Is this true?

 

I find it hard to believe that Blair expressed concerns of the Bishops of Ohio without support from he  who leads our state's largest Catholic diocese.

 

Today I am figuratively  knocking on the great wooden door of the  Roman Catholic Chancery at East  9th Street  and  Superior in downtown Cleveland.

 

Please, Bishop Lennon, let the world know you haven't lost your sense of smell.

 

Let Clevelanders know that you share the wisdom of Blair's position and that the foul stench of death is far too strong to allow Catholic dollars be found Komen coffers.

 

Please tell your flock that Komen's good acts  are  tragically poisoned  by policy flaws and a willingness to share donations with  Planned Parenthood, regardless of the intent or final use of those funds.

 

Strike your  holy  shepherd's crook against the forces of evil and watch the good that comes of it.  Whole armies of Angels will lift you up.

What's in a name? Ask any bimbo

In this modern age of marketing research where techno-sleuths track your favorite flavor of Haagen- Daz,  I am stunned that a major corporate entity has introduced a new product brand name in the  U.S.  market with such marked stupidity.

 

 

This name blasted its way into the American consciousness a few months ago when never before seen commercials were unveiled during "Jeopardy",  Alex Trebek  innocently taking us to the break.

 

The commercial was bad enough all by itself, with a white teddy bear bouncing  around the screen accompanied by a syrupy jingle reminiscent of a kids morning cartoon  show from the 1960s.  The only thing missing was a voice-over by Captain Kangaroo.

 

The commercial is weird in its over-the-top fantasy animation.  It feels like one of those Timothy Leary acid trip dreams we used to  read about in  recollections of Haight-Ashbury.  Hey man,  that was beautiful, man.  Viewers might come down with a bad case of the  munchies.

 

So what did the Einsteins on Madison Avenue convince their client to present to the American consumer, backed by a multimillion dollar advertising campaign?

 

Bimbo bread.

Yep. That's the name of this latest product  brand in America.

Bimbo. Bimbo?

 A bimbo, as everyone knows, is a  slang term referring to a  gorgeous young gal a little bit light in the intellectual department. It's an insulting term not normally used in  polite company.

Sinatra used to  use the  pejorative term, "broad".  Even fans of Old Blue Eyes know that The Chairman of The  Board was never one to be concerned with women's rights.

In Mexico,  where the  corporate founders of this baking giant began,  Bimbo  does not have the same meaning.  That's fine South of the Border where Bimbo bread has been trucked to villages from Guadalajara to Cancun for many years.

 

But as the Mexican conglomerate looked North for expansion,  surely someone with just a part of a brain might have suggested that launching a product called Bimbo with that bizarre commercial was a monumental mistake.

 

Out of mere respect for sensible marketing, I refuse to buy this Bimbo.

Out of respect for young women everywhere who have managed to look beautiful and  be cerebral,  millions will avoid this bimbo.

 

 I suggest we focus on the definition of another word.

Bozo: A   corporate sexist who thinks he can impose his disrespect for women  on the American consumer by pouring lots of cha-ching into network programming.

Even a Bimbo can tell this idea came from a Bozo.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Joe Friday v. Cleveland Police Shortage

            This past Saturday night was marked by a wild car chase and I was the pursuer.

 

            It started as I left Whole Foods in University Heights, picking up 271 North off Cedar to head to my home in Euclid.

 

            As I entered Willoughby Hills on the freeway, I noticed the erratic driving of the man passing me.

 

            It was a recent vintage Chevy Trailblazer.  I noted the license and called the Willoughby Hills Police on my cell.

 

            The dispatcher took the info while the offender narrowly missed others on the highway.

 

            I stuck with him trailing 100 feet behind.

 

            The driver became even more erratic in his maneuvers.  I continued the tail as Willoughby Hills transferred me to the Euclid Police, DUI man going along into 90 West through my favorite town.

 

            The speed increased.  This was really getting interesting.  My lwife was riding shotgun.

 

            There we were, Joe Friday and Bill Gannon.

 

            In no time, we were out of Euclid and into Cleveland on 90 west bound.

 

The suspect, one near miss after another, darted off the freeway at E. 185^th  but popped right back on in effort to lose me.

 

He was no match.

 

Again, westbound on 90, he suddenly exited at E. 152^nd Street and there began a cruise through Collinwood where he crossed-over the center line and narrowly missed major collisions.

 

Wild I tell you.

 

My wife didn't complain.  I think adrenaline had replaced blood entirely in each of our systems.

 

At long last, my prey always in my sight, the drunk driver pulled into an apartment parking lot and parked, slumped over the wheel.

 

By this time, I'm talking to the Cleveland Police dispatcher.

 

We stayed a good 200 feet away, parked ourselves in a fashion that permitted complete observation of the rapscallion as he snored away.

 

What happened next?

 

Nothing.

 

Well, at least for a long time, nothing happened.

 

The Cleveland Police, overrun  with shootings and higher priority calls (according to the dispatcher), finally arrived in a zone car to round up the man who could have killed people with the way he was driving.

 

I asked the officers if they needed me to stay.  They said no.

 

I left, excitement over, my good deed done for the day.

 

Gannon and I headed back to the station house for a cup of java with the boys.

 

I mean, Nancy and I went home.

 

Did I do the right thing?  Should I have minded my own business?

 

Oh, by the way here's one more question.

 

Do you really feel safe in the City of Cleveland when you know that a deadly weapon on four wheels can remain at large for 40 minutes without the police showing up?    

 

Ten-four.  Over and out.

David M. Lynch