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Perry and the N-head controversy: At least a chance to learn geography

The controversy over the seemingly offensive name of a ranch leased by Gov. Rick “Goodhair” Perry’s family has brought at least a little interest in U.S. Geography.

A media search for “Niggerhead,” while unsuccessful so far, has not lacked in intensity. Huffington Post reports news folks scoured the area near Paint Creek, Texas — where Perry grew up — all wanting to score the first “interview with a rock.” The boulder-sized object was painted with the words which was an object of offense to a fellow Republican seeking the GOP nomination for president. That candidate is Herman Cain, an African-American businessman best known for founding Godfather’s Pizza. The stone is is now likely hidden on the ranch, perhaps rolled away by angels. Why not? Perry seems in need of all his base he can gather right now.

The Perry side says the rock was there when they leased the ranch in the early 80s. I take their word for it. A lot of folks in different parts of Texas weren’t very sensitive about a lot of things back then. That is about the most I can say, even though I think Rick Perry is perhaps the worst thing to happen to Texas since Gee Dubya Bush became president.

But at least the awareness of geography from all of this unattractive hoopla is one bright spot. When I speak of an interest in geography, I mean media such as “The Daily Show” pointing out a number of places and land features in the U.S. with names now seen as culturally incorrect. One mentioned on the Jon Stewart fake news show was near where I live in Southeast Texas.

As I have related here before a road was named in our own, rural Jefferson County, for the Japanese rice farmers who settled that particular area. It was once called “Jap Road” but eventually Japanese-American citizens found that name offensive and eventually applied enough pressure that the county’s commissioners changed the name.

Still, plenty other spots exist in Texas and elsewhere with names which might otherwise smack of racial or cultural insensitivity. One place comes to mind when I think of such places — the tiny community of Nigton, in Trinity County — even though it was settled and named by former slaves.

Nigton is the proverbial crossroads town at the intersection of Farm to Market Roads 2262 and 2501. Nigton was about 20 miles from where I once ran a small-town newspaper in the early 90s. I went through Nigton a few times although I can’t remember why. I wasn’t surprised as maybe I should have been, I suppose, that the community was populated by African-Americans.

Former slave and civic leader Jeff Carter suggested the name for the town after it was settled in 1873, this according to the Handbook of Texas Online. At its peak, Nigton boasted a sawmill, churches and a school along with a population of about 500. Fewer than 90 people lived there in 2000.

The name Nigton and how it suggests cultural relativity leaves me about as confused as does the moniker for the Perry hunting lease. Still, past surveys have found high numbers of young Americans geographically illiterate so I suppose us at least talking about places in our country is something positive. Maybe someone can relate to that.

 

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Houston police: Why do you think they call it dope?

A trio of Houston police officers may have finally provided an answer as to why cops like to hang out at the doughnut shop.

A 19-year-old suspect the officers arrested in May claims that the policemen ate his pot-laced brownies during a drug bust. Now a person collared for something of the sort might not be the most credible witness for such allegations. However, the officers allegedly provided their own ammunition for the young man’s claim after they went out to their patrol cars and began typing messages to each other on their mobile computers. Messages which were kept by the police department indicated one of the officers proclaimed he was “So HIGH … good munchies.”

Other messages talked about places to eat still being open once the officers’ shift was over.

Media report say the officers are still on the job but will be investigated by Internal Affairs and will be drug tested. Since this alleged event took place in May it is unlikely the pot they allegedly consumed back then would even show up as positive. Now if they’ve been burning a few lately that might be another story.

Knock, knock, knock.

“Who’s there?”

“Houston police”

“Houston police’s not here, Man. Neither is Dave.”

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Thibodeaux, Fontenot, the place is buzzing … But we’re not wasting time

Once I had this teacher who had a jihad on wasting time. Boy, uh uh, no, did she not like wasting time. She had her good points and her bad points as a teacher, but if you took time to catch your breath she’d claim that it was a breath wasted. On the last day of school I put a bumper sticker on her car — this was in the early 70s now — that read: “Honk if you smoke pot.” Later that day I saw her car parked in front of a store on the courthouse square of our little town. I noticed the sticker was still there. I wonder where she was when she, or someone else, discovered the little prank? I also wonder if she cussed? I never heard her cuss before. Nevertheless, by putting the bumper sticker on her car, I feel as if I did something constructive. I certainly wasn’t wasting time.

That was a long way of saying I wasted a bunch of time this afternoon reading Cajun jokes. On the other hand, I feel as if I was continuing my cultural awareness of the Cajun-French. I live in Southeast Texas but a bunch of Cajuns live here. Some even consider this part of Acadiana. Others call it “Cajun Texas.” Here is a joke I found that takes place where I live, in Beaumont:

Boudreau and Thibodaux are walking down the street in Beaumont, right over the Louisiana line in Texas , and they see a sign on a store which reads:

  Suits $5.00 each!      Shirts $2.00 each     Pants $2.50 each

Boudreau say to his pal, “Look here, Thib, we could buy a whole mess of these linge there, take ’em back to Lafayette, sell ’em to our friends in the bayou, and make a fortune.  Just let me do the talkin.’ They hear your accent, they might think we’re ignorant Cajuns, and won’t wanna sell that stuff.  Jes watch now. I’ll talk real smooth so’s they think we is from Lufkin or somewheres else over here in Texas .”

They go in and Boudreau says with his best fake sophisticated Texas accent, “I’ll  take 50 of them suits at $5.00 each, 100 of them there shirts at $2.00 each, 50 pairs of them there pants at $2.50 each.  I’ll back up my pickup and…”

The owner of the shop interrupts. “Ya’ll Cajuns are from over by Mamou, New Iberia or somewheres, aren’t you?”

“Well…yeah,” says a surprised Boudreau. “How come you knowed that?”

“Because this is a dry cleaners.”

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Measuring campaign giveaways of elections past

The Barack Obama presidential campaign has probably one of the most clever pieces of merchandise I’ve seen in recent races for the Oval Office. That would be the “Made in the U.S.A.” coffee mug which features the president’s picture above “Made in the U.S.A. on one side and a copy of Obama’s Hawaiian birth certificate on the other. Says the Web introduction for the listing:

 “There’s really no way to make the birth certificate conspiracy completely go away, so we might as well laugh at it — and make sure as many people as possible are in on the joke. Get your Made In The USA mug today.”

At $20 a pop, the joke is certainly on the GOP whose mantra is “Obama is socialist.” Not at those prices. It might be considered a campaign contribution were I to buy one and I am unsure whether my part-time job allows it. It’s good excuse to not pay $20 for a coffee cup, anyway. My birthday is coming up on Oct. 28. Hint. Hint.

What kind of saddens me are my heart strings — cheap as they might be — being tugged from the previous century. I was born in the middle 20th century during a time which, no matter how fast man could fly or broadcast a radio show on TV or annihilate a city with a nuclear bomb, was still as steeped into the past than as in the future or even the present.

Local pols, where I was raised, in East Texas would give away nail files to the ladies and maybe a snort of whiskey for the men if no one was looking. After all, we didn’t have legal booze in our Bible-Belt town until alcoholic beverages were partially voted in when I was 18. My Dad was a very funny man whose profession, and or art, was painting signs. He made up a sign for the wall in my room that read: “Vote dry — For your bootlegger’s sake” when that “wet/dry” election campaign finally brought legal liquor, beer and wine to town.

Actually, I never knew any politicians who offered a drink in exchange for a vote but stranger things have happened.

Such were the times which brought simpler campaign trinkets and were given away to potential voters and were not sold to raise campaign funds. A county commissioner or county clerk might give away buttons, bumper stickers, yard signs, hand-propelled fans, pencils, fountain pens or just about anything which might or might not have been useful but visible.

I still have somewhere another very clever piece of campaign paraphernalia given to me by a very pleasant and interesting man about whom I wrote a story on his very long-shot candidacy for the Democratic presidential nomination and the just as long-shot simultaneous candidacy for Congress. Fred Hudson Jr. was a Harvard-educated attorney who also happened to own a True Value Hardware store in Center, Texas. He was on the Texas ballot only, running both for the presidential nomination against Bill Clinton and for Congress against the legendary Charlie Wilson of “Charlie Wilson’s War” fame. Personally, I knew Mr. Hudson had a snowball’s chance in both candidacies but he had some interesting ideas and it kind of made me glad to know someone who wanted wanted their voices heard could run for president or congress. That is even if they only owned a hardware store and a small-town law firm.

Back to the campaign goodies, Mr. Hudson gave me a yardstick which advertised both his True Value store and his run for the White House. I value that stick as if it was given to me by Honest Abe or FDR.

Yes, I know that, technically, it might violate some journalists sense of “ethics” to accept such a gift as a reporter. But as I told a congressman who bought me a glass of tea in the cafeteria in the U.S. Capitol’s basement, if I could be bought for a glass of tea, I’m not worth very much myself. The same goes for taking a cheap yardstick with the True Value/presidential ad given by a really nice, older fellow.

Sometimes the best things in life are free, as well as inexpensive and useful.

 

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Space: The final frontier in proper parking

Here in the “wide open spaces” of Texas is where one finds everything is bigger — excepting intelligence of governors — and that includes larger trucks.

Texans love their big trucks with their big tires and big cargo beds. Drivers of those big ol’ Texas trucks also pay big ol’ dollars for them and their monstrous tires. Let’s look at what Texans really like, both big and luxurious. Edmunds shows the 2012 Ford F-450 Super Duty King Ranch (the latter of course refers to the South Texas ranch spanning five counties and one of the world’s largest) is 263 inches of pick-em-up with a 6.7 Liter engine, V8, 800 horse, with a leather steering wheel, leather trim on the center console and a leather toilet in the back seat right next to a shower with leather curtains. Well those last items I made up, but this 4 x 4 ought to have those home comforts given its invoice price of $63,385. Throw in some Kevlar all-terrain tires and assorted other options and you might walk away for $70,000 You can buy a nice little starter home for that sum in some places.

A Space Hog at work at the Gateway Shopping Center in Beaumont
A Space Hog at work today at Gateway Shopping Center in Beaumont

Despite how huge everything is in Texas, most parking lots are the same size you see at every other super-duper market, or mall or big box store everywhere else in the U.S. of A. There are some places which mark areas for compact cars only. Yet, you still see people in a big truck or Hummer parked in those spaces, usually taking up enough room for three Corollas.

I have nothing against big trucks or SUVs. I have friends and relatives which drive them. I do have a problem with “space hogs.”

Perhaps it is the vastness of Texas that gives some in our state to park however the hell they please. Taking up more than one space, which they call “double parking” in some places, is more of a big deal in big cities and in areas with a high density of population.

In New York the fine is as much as $65 for:

“Standing or parking a vehicle beyond markings on the curb or the pavement  of a street which marks a parking space, except when a Vehicle is too large to fit in that “marked” parking space. Where a vehicle is too large, it shall be parked with its front bumper at the front of the space and the rear bumper extending as little as possible into the next space.”

I am not the only person who gets aggravated by space hogs. Some feel it is merely selfish. Others can be driven to commit some kind of act of criminal mischief when the space hog ends up getting someone’s goat.

As for me, I tend to look at it in more socio-psychological terms. And when I start talking stuff like that, it can be just as annoying as someone slicing your tires.

Sorting out the social aspects are pretty easy. I’ve already alluded to a couple of the issues. The vast space that is, or rather was, Texas gives some the impression that we’ve got plenty of space so it doesn’t matter how one parks. Some folks tend to associate economical cars with environmentalism and get tired of hearing how the atmosphere is getting dirtied-up. So they drive big gas-guzzlers and park however the hell they want as a statement. Then, others see the awesomely big luxurious truck which costs a pretty penny as a status symbol. It’s funny though, you don’t see a lot of people driving a BMW Series 6 convertible, which can set you back around $90,500, with the need to park in more than one space although you may see said Beemer far away from the rest of the cars with two empty spaces surrounding it.

I am sure the shrinks can come up with many psychological reasons why people manifest their anti-social tendencies in the form of a space hog. Maybe they didn’t get enough attention as a kid. They were picked on perhaps. Maybe they had toilet training issues. Maybe they were just a**holes as kids and grew into adult a**holes.

Who knows?

It really doesn’t matter much what I or anyone else says because words alone will not have affect a space hog. No, in their case, action speaks louder than words. I never did like very much the space hog, but I like it even less now that I am more or less disabled from my ruptured disks. I don’t have a disabled placard, not yet at least, because I can still walk for a little ways without feeling like someone stuck a pitchfork in my lower back. I don’t advocate vandalism, but I have left notes on people’s cars chiding them and perhaps trying to embarrass these space hogs a bit. I think businesses should also do more to discourage such double parking, but I doubt many will since they are more worried about the almighty dollar.

About the best one can hope for is a little karma will come the way of the space hog. Perhaps that second space in which the violator parked their big honkin’ truck will have some kind of debris that pokes right through their $300 tire. I admit it would have to be a large and sharp piece of junk. One can always hope.