Dude: Don’t let your libido turn you into a predator.

predator

It seems like every day some celebrity or journalist is accused of sexual misconduct and loses his job. It’s too bad the same can’t be said for outed pervy politicians. The whole thing seems like a witch hunt, but the witches are real, and they’re libido-driven predators.

And they must be stopped. Stopping predators starts with convincing them to respect others and exercise self control. Like this:

Dude. Stop thinking with your pal downstairs. He’s a selfish little jerk who only wants what he wants when he wants it. And he wants it all the time. Don’t let it be a case of he says, you do.

Stop listening to him, and start listening to your heart. This is the organ that contains anything that’s morally good about you. Your brain checks (or should check) with it before you do or say something you shouldn’t.

Dumb and dirty

Things you shouldn’t say or do?

1. Copping a feel during a photo op
2. Muttering dirty suggestions to a female co-worker
3. Answering the door to a fake business meeting in a robe

You know, senseless, foolish things you somehow think will be as much of a turn-on for your victims as for you in your endorphin-drenched and hormone-addled mindlessness.

Do you think that Matt Lauer and Charlie Rose and Harvey Weinstein still think their actions were a good idea? Trust me—they’re thinking what in the world was I thinking? Wrong thinking is what got them in trouble. They didn’t think rightly because they couldn’t think clearly. Which begs the question:

How does one think and act morally when to do so requires a strength of character that is either nonexistent or overcome by hormone-powered and misplaced desire?

Doing the right thing—not cheating on your spouse or harassing a subordinate into submission (or worse), requires a no-compromise, zero-tolerance standard of opposite-sex interaction. You know, like the kind Vice President Pence lives by and for which he was pilloried by arrogant journalists, Hollywood types and others.

This foolishness prompted an interesting observation from a writer friend of mine. He noticed that nowadays the test for sexual misconduct has everything to do with consent and nothing to do with morality.

Sea change?

Yet many talk of accusations, outings and firings as part of a “sea change,” a heralding of a national course correction. As if these sad, silly, sordid—and often criminal sexual incidents are cautionary tales that can somehow alter our fallen nature or prevent other potentially horrible men from making the same “mistakes.”

Sexual predation has been happening for centuries and will continue to happen because that’s how men (and women) are bent.

Some act this way because they are this way. And I’m not just talking to and about men. Trust me, women can be predators, too. I know because a few have preyed on me. I relate the experiences below not to illicit sympathy, but to offer a mere sliver of semi-qualified empathy.

So here are some of my #MeToo moments:

As a 16-year-old busboy at a four-star restaurant, some randy twenty-something female bartenders and cocktail waitresses repeatedly groped me. They also told me things they wanted to do to me and would do, if I wasn’t “jailbait.” And on occasion they tried—two of them drunkenly invited me into the bar storeroom, and while they fumbled around to remove my belt and corduroys, the kitchen manager walked in.

While waiting tables during college, I asked some guests what they’d like for dessert. An especially wine-soaked, middle-aged woman slurred, “You!” She then tried to pull me onto her lap to the delight of the others.

Green M&Ms

While working as an aerial photographer, I was subjected to sexually suggestive comments from a female boss and a gift of seven green M&Ms. I told a friend, and she urged me to talk to her about it. Reluctantly, I did. She freaked, and her bosses found out.

The next thing I know corporate flies to our Dallas branch from Phoenix, and I’m invited to a sit-down, tape-recorded meeting. I tell them that I’m quitting soon to go to grad school, and they offer me a healthy severance package in exchange for my signature on a legal release.

In a world filled with Weinsteins, Lauers and Roses, I can’t pretend that I know how women feel, but I’ve experienced feeling like a piece of meat, of being wanted in a fleshly, predatory way. It’s a cheapening sensation and can be disgusting.

Women aren’t guiltless, but making others feel cheap is primarily perpetrated by arrogant, selfish men.

The good news is that the national focus on this issue du jour presents a wonderful opportunity. We men can act like men and let our consciences (our hearts) be our guides instead of taking orders from our members.

lechers

Acceptable apologies

Matt Lauer seems to be listening to his conscience. Finally. Here are his words for which he has no words:

There are no words to express my sorrow and regret for the pain I have caused others by words and actions. To the people I have hurt, I am truly sorry ….

This is a good start. If only others would own their misbehavior like Lauer. It’s refreshing to read a fairly genuine apology rather than the typical non-apologetic apologies offered by others. If I have offended anyone, I am sorry and apologize. (If I haven’t, I do not.)

There are way too many butt-covering, damage-control responses like these, but Kevin Spacey’s is the ultimate mis-apology. In response to allegations that he sexually abused a 14-year-old actor, he tweeted:

“I honestly do not remember the encounter, it would have been over 30 years ago. But if I did behave then as he describes, I owe him the sincerest apology for what would have been deeply inappropriate drunken behavior, and I am sorry for the feelings he describes having carried with him all these years.”

I honestly don’t remember … but if I did what he says I did, well …

Either Spacey sexually abused so many children that his crimes blur together and/or he was so drunk that he really doesn’t honestly remember. There’s no denying the charges from Spacey, just a hiding behind a supposed lack of memory and an admission of alcohol abuse. And then he tried a diversionary tactic: coming out. And no one was surprised—or congratulatory.

Okay, guys—now what?

We have a sexual behavior problem that’s really a power and ego problem. Everyone has a libido. Some think they can satisfy it at the expense of others. They need to know that they can’t. We should not and cannot allow lecherous men or women to selfishly abuse others.

But let’s be sure not to try and fry the accused without compelling evidence. Let’s not turn a lech hunt into a witch hunt. We need to teach boys and men to treat everyone with dignity and respect and correct those who cross the line.

I say boys and men first because we’re the ones who need help the most. Girls and women will be fine, if we, the primary perpetrators, learn to think and act like gentlemen instead of arrogant and selfish predators.

With race-baiting opportunists like Frederica Wilson, nothing is too sacred.

Frederica

Tell me, what is RACIST about calling an attention-seeking, political opportunist and Trump hater an “empty barrel?” Does the person flinging the racism bomb know what the expression means? Maybe Frederica Wilson does now. Yet she’s sticking to her guns and has picked a fight with the wrong man.

Frederica, Donald Trump is an easy target and not worth your time, but your fight is not with John Kelly either. And if you choose to train your empty barrels on him, you will lose—and not because he’ll return fire, but because you’ll look even more foolish if you tangle with a person of Kelly’s character.

The brouhaha

Back to the original cause of this imbroglio: Trump, against White House Chief of Staff and former Marine Corps General Kelly’s advice, called Gold Star widow Myeshia Johnson, friend of Congresswoman Frederica Wilson, to express his condolences for the death of her husband, Sgt. La David T. Johnson, in an October 4th terrorist attack in Niger.

Here’s the portion of the call that inflamed Wilson: while discussing Sgt. La David T. Johnson’s sacrifice, Trump said, “He knew what he signed up for … but when it happens it hurts anyway.” This bothered Wilson and angered Myeshia Johnson. But when taken in context with the rest of the call, it strikes me as much less insensitive than at first blush.

As a veteran, I can tell you that all servicemen and women know what they’re getting into when they sign the contract. It’s not just a job. This is what Frederica Wilson apparently doesn’t understand. And it’s what many media members don’t seem to get. Serving in the military is not like volunteering for the Peace Corps. Again, it’s not just a job.

Because we know what we’re getting into makes the commitment to such dangerous service that much more meaningful and praiseworthy. Trump, in his typically ham-handed way, actually elevated Sgt. La David T. Johnson’s sacrifice; Wilson lowered it to an attention-seeking opportunity to vent her Trump hatred.

Grief is personal

The Gold Star widow says Trump’s words upset her. That’s okay. She has a right to feel any way she wants in her grief. Wilson does not. She’s a United States congresswoman and should know better than to seize on a cheap political opportunity and then double down with absurd racism claims about empty barrels.

Frederica, your hats are goofy enough—you don’t have to act like a doofus.

And now she claims that the Niger attack is Trump’s Benghazi and is demanding an apology from John Kelly for “character assassination.” And this after calling him a “puppet of the president.” Wilson is also questioning whether our forces in Niger had the equipment they needed. No, Frederica, the Niger terrorist attack is no one’s Benghazi. It’s a different animal altogether.

How low can you go, congresswoman?

A better question is this: How in the world were you elected to Congress? You’re a bigmouthed, partisan hack. And worse, you’re playing the race card because a former Marine Corps general with two master’s degrees called you out for what you are—a loud, empty-worded politician who pursues political and ideological gain over respect and propriety.

Frederica

Poor service record, Frederica

Frederica Wilson, for all her concern for Sgt. La David T. Johnson’s grieving family, has a poor record of voting against measures that would help veterans and their families.

In 2013, Wilson voted against a resolution that would ensure benefits to the families of four slain soldiers in Afghanistan would be paid in spite of a government shutdown in October that year. According to the New York Times, the families were denied burial benefits and up to $100,000, among other benefits, because the measure failed.

Wilson has also opposed numerous bills designed to improve the Veterans Administration. Instead of honoring the service of veterans and their families, she spends her time (and your tax dollars) sponsoring bills like the one in 2015 that was introduced on what would have been Trayvon Martin’s 20th birthday to press “any State legislature to reject or repeal Stand Your Ground legislation.”

Apparently Wilson is all about honoring criminal teenagers rather than those who have risked life and limb serving our country. Yet now that there’s political hay to be made against an impulsive president, Wilson is front and center and is suddenly fighting for the families of slain servicemen. She claims she has “mentored” the Gold Star widow, Myeshia Johnson.

Please, Ms. Johnson, don’t emulate the congresswoman. She’s as foolish as the president with whom she’s at war. And she’s as beneath the character and dignity of his chief of staff as an empty barrel can get.

Cali Crazy: A Texan’s take on the Golden State–part 7–Cali cannabis kookiness

cannabis

The little ol’ California county I now call home is neck-deep in controversy concerning the wacky weed. And the way I see it, the hubbub is entirely self-inflicted—like what happens when a city slicker monkeys around with a gun and shoots his dumb self in the foot.

How we got here

Because California lawmakers saw fit to legalize recreational marijuana last November, counties have until January 1, 2018 to wrangle their own cannabis ordinances in order to regulate the stuff before the state steps in and regulates it for ’em. It’s all about local versus state control. And from what I’ve seen around here, California counties need all the control they can get.

Anyways, our local county government, made up of five “supervisors” began the ordinance crafting process in good time and in good order in September of 2016. Problem is that after soliciting applications for folks to be on their “Cannabis Working Group,” the supervisors settled for five people, four of whom are growers.

Poisoning the pot

And to top it off, our supervisors defend their lopsided group by pointing out that their application process was open to folks of all marijuana persuasions—yea or nay. They say that it’s not their fault that only potheads signed on. Now why do you suppose that happened?

Is it because normal everyday folks are kinda busy … I don’t know, working jobs, taking care of their youngsters and generally going about their lives? And that maybe, just maybe, those who love weed and claim it cures cancer and wanna sell it for big bucks were locked and loaded and ready to jump right in?

Hey, there, supervisors—let’s leave off the blame dodging and butt covering and take responsibility—Texas style. Y’all were elected to come up with ordinances for all issues your county will face. Don’t shift blame; do your dang jobs.

Deciding whether to allow cannabis cultivation, dope dispensaries and everything else unleashed on us by the knuckleheads in Sacramento in our county is your responsibility. If you wanna kick the work to a working group, that’s on you, but make sure you do it right by balancing the representation. And a working group with four marijuana growers and one wanting to grow ain’t balanced.

Duped by dopers

In fact, it’s a bit like signing up a bunch of foxes to design a hen house. And the whole silly show has played out just about like you’d expect. The working group shot for the moon by writing virtually everything they could ever want into a pipe dream of a pot ordinance only to shoot themselves in the foot with their greed, arrogance … and incompetence.

And then they couldn’t see through the smoke to realize they woke up the bear ’til it was too late. The opposition formed, letters and emails flooded the supervisors’ mailboxes, and the local paper began printing opinion pieces from citizens who DO NOT want commercial cannabis cultivation in their county. Same goes for dope dispensaries.

And then there’s this wannabe rancher/farmer who keeps harping about all the jobs commercial cannabis is gonna bring to the county. Hundreds, he says. This from a poser who’s got a reputation for cheating investors and lobbing lawsuits. At the cannabis meetings he goes on and on about pot plants being nothing but farming. “It’s just agriculture,” he mutters when things look like they aren’t going his way.

Mister, marijuana ain’t tomatoes. And you know it.

Working group ain’t working

So here we are with less than three months to go and no ordinance. And the supervisors and their working group have been “working” on the silly thing for over a year now. And this while most other California counties have either passed theirs or passed moratoriums to give them more time.

So, now the next step is a “public hearing” where people—yea or nay—can tell the supervisors why we should or shouldn’t vote on a moratorium and why commercial cannabis should or shouldn’t be banned in our county. This is when the growers will again go on about how they want to come out of the shadows and get all legal and regulated. And that if the supervisors pass a moratorium or ban commercial growing, they’ll be “forced” to grow illegally in order to feed their families.

Hey, grower—no one forces anyone to break the law. You could always do something else to feed your family. You know, a career choice that doesn’t allow you to work the system and grow up to 99 “medical” marijuana plants because some shady doctor prescribed that many to a patient. How about getting a gig in which you need not be a “caregiver” who supplies sick folks with weed?

Sick spliff

Now, lemme say right here and now—I’m not against genuinely sick people using pot to help them get through chemotherapy and deal with the ravages of other diseases and conditions. What I AM saying is that medical marijuana, granted by California way back in 1996 and refined legislatively since, has been and is being abused like it’s nobody’s business. And caregiver—you know this good and well.

Now some of you growers may truly care about sick folks. And maybe your hearts are in the right place on this issue. But c’mon, now—prove it to me and to your county by obeying the law and being realistic and sensitive to your neighbors concerning this high-stakes issue.

Go ahead and keep growing your medical weed. But be sure to keep the stinky commercial grows outta this beautiful county. Folks here love the clean, non-diverted lakes, rivers and streams and the piney, fresh air.

They don’t want more crime, more joblessness, more environmental damage, more dead wildlife from poisons, guard dogs, ugly fences, private security and transient and seasonal weed workers. And they don’t want marijuana evenmore accessible to their youngsters with dope dispensaries on main street.

I gotta admit it—I love this nutty, crazy county. And I want it to stay the way it is—or maybe even get better. No commercial cannabis would go a long way to that end—says this California cowboy.