Category Archives: civic commentary

The Altar Call.

Christian fundamentalism, Christianity, civic commentary, commentary, drama, human behavior, political commentary, psychology, social commentary, sociology, Uncategorized, , , , , , , ,

Well.

Woody Allen is a brilliant storyteller, screenwriter, and director.
And, he’s probably, on some level, a criminal.
Yet, I still love the body of his creative work.
(I mean, seriously. His insights, into American character and human relationship ?) …there is none like him, no; not one.

And, I cannot justify that love. Not with law. Not with anything.
It’s unjustifiable.

Likewise, Hillary Clinton may be guilty. Of many things. So, also, might Donald Trump. Who am I to say?

Speaking only for myself, I must acknowledge that I cannot know.

I can, however, acknowledge that, across all systems in this world of marketing and promotion, there is a level of player, in an anonymous strata, that stops at nothing. It stops at nothing, in the act of promoting its figurehead, grasping, in the hopes of some reward or recompense or even personal advancement. And, through that window of possibility, greed and corruption drop their fecalith. And, in that hardened piece of excrement, a seed is carried. That seed finds soil, and takes root. And, what grows can defy both expectation and imagination.

Now, I also grew up bathed in the shimmer and aura of the Gospel preacher. I learned to believe that the words which poured from the mouth of the great orator were practically inspired by God. I learned to fear the presence of the Holy Spirit, descending upon the throng. And, I learned to shudder, deep within my soul, at the power of the words themselves.

As Americans we’ve all, if our minds were truly unbiased and open, heard the two political gospels this month: the gospel of Trump, and the gospel of Clinton. And, all the little henchpeople, exploited or no, in between. I just hope that God preserves our individual capacities for comprehension, reason, and clarity of thought long enough for us to make our very powerful decisions, each of us distinctly, when the time appointed arrives. May we consider all of our choices both wisely, and informatively, with prudence, humility, and internal calm, for the next rightful leader of the free world. And, if we cannot, then I pray God Almighty makes the next move on our behalf. Lord knows, we’ve never needed Providence like we do now.

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© Ruth Ann Scanzillo  7/29/16    All rights those of the author, whose commentary it is, and whose name appears above this line. Thank you for your respect.

littlebarefeetblog.com

“Wherefore Art Thou, Comey?”[edited] (yes; now I know what “impunity” means, and even how to spell it).

civic commentary, Deep Questions, political commentary, psychology, social behavior, sociology, , , ,

 

*Note to prospective readers:  This post was published shortly after the Oversight Committee Hearings on Hilary Clinton’s emails. A couple days later, for a number of reasons, I pulled it; however, given today’s press release, I am moved to re-publish. Readers may (and, will) draw their own conclusions.

******

Watching the Oversight Committee Hearings, I can’t help but think – and, who is with me, here? :

Why is it that, every time Comey is questioned ( at times with remarkable candor and clarity and logic and penetrating insight by more than one Representative), he makes frequent declarations that attempt to dogmatically assert his motivations. But, these assertions sometimes contain bold disclaimers regarding, well, the very things he actually did! And, when he is pinned, he hands off responsibility to another entity, with equal fervor insisting that said entity should claim responsibility for specific act.

Why does he passionately assert that he and his organization (the FBI) are committed to non-partisanship, possessing no “inside the beltway mentality”, when the facts suggest precisely otherwise?  Why does he declare: “If I did that, it would be  [ the very thing about which he is accused ]!” (But…..that….IS  what he did!)

Is this whole show intended to render some kind of cosmetic legitimacy to his actions, to leave in the hearts and minds of oblivious Americans some sense that the issue has been “officially” addressed so that it can be put to bed?

Because, to my ears and eyes, this is what is really happening: Committee Representatives are asking all the right questions, laying out sound and solid arguments. THEY are making the case!  But, what will the outcome be? Will Comey ever, throughout the course of these proceedings, ever bow to any of the arguments or questions they present? No!  He’ll just prove to those in power that he can hold up under an inquisition. There he goes again: “It is my intent to treat everyone fairly; my goal is to aspire to [ this] . ” He will only prove that he knows how to skirt and/or neutralize any question that, when actually answered, would indict his actions.

This reminds me of that other legal loophole that one finds within the creative property licensing industry. Agencies declare that they “do not accept unsolicited material.” This is their legal position. In this way, should some dumb bunny send a screenplay without being invited to do so, said created work can, in fact, be eagerly devoured, parsed out, and completely marauded with impunity. In short – no legal case can be made against the agency, because said agency “does not accept unsolicited material.” See what ahm sayin’, heah?

So, FBI Director Comey sits before his accusers, his investigators, all of whom are defeated even before they open their mouths. All of this, in the interests of “preserving public perception of our system of justice.”

I call bull puckey.

The sticky kind.

I do, your Honor.

Anybody share my perceptions, in any small part? Please – weigh in. I have all day.

Thank you!

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© Ruth Ann Scanzillo  7/7/16   All rights those of the author, whose name appears above this line. Thank you for weighing in, using the Comment option below.

littlebarefeetblog.com

 

 

 

The Bronze.

civic commentary, family history, gratitude, memorials, photo essay, photography, political commentary, sociology, WWII, , , ,

DAD'SBRONZECLOSEUPDAD'SBRONZECERTIFDad'sBronzeStar

Dad, always full of fascinating stories, remembered these details consistently every time he recounted them.

Surrounded by “Krauts”.

Snowing.

A tickle in his throat.

A sugar cube, passed down the silent line, to cut his cough.

Orders: “Infiltrate. Take nothing with you.”

Three days, in the snow.

Three.

Days.

Cpl. Anthony Scanzillo, part of the forward observing team.

Hodges, the commanding officer; General calling the play: George S. Patton.*

The rest, profoundly, history.

I am still not quite sure how to thank my father for all this. Thank him…..for enlisting in the US Army when, as a 20-something vagabond orphan, the military service might have been the only place he could go for three square meals and a bed?….Thank him…..for sticking it out once the war hit, promising his new wife he’d come back to her from Germany?…….Thank him…..for enduring abject fear, horrifyingly explosive sudden death all around him, the demand of primitive conditions and unending misery?…….Thank him…..for using all his internal resources to survive, to come home, to open his barber business, to marry mum twice so that I could be brought into the world.

Thank you, Dad. They tell me that what you did saved the world from an oppressive dictator whose mentality could have overtaken freedom itself. I hope they’re right.

I’m just glad you came home.

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*Footnote:

[ He bit his lip, and kept trudging. And followed orders, and kept breathing, and kept holding his breath, and never closed his eyes (I knew my father. He never closed his eyes, mark that.) and kept watching, and kept looking, and kept listening, and kept trudging, and stood stalk still, and liked to have died, and then the orders came down, and the German prisoners were lined up, and shot dead, and then more trudging, and straight ahead, and no thinking, and then suddenly the orders came down, and surprise attack, and blood, and heads being blown off right beside him, and ear splitting booms, and meemies, screaming, and carnage, and more shooting, and then the orders came down, and they all turned, and back they trudged, and trudged, and trudged, and then they were clear. And, the end. Of that. And, probably peeing and drinking, and eating, and smoking, and finally sleeping.

Dad came home with PTSD that never left him. He was 95, and it still haunted him. My one, retrospective relief is that he died dreaming, in feverish sepsis, turning his left wrist like he was still playing the bones.]

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© Ruth Ann Scanzillo 7/3/16  All rights those of the author, including the photographs, whose story it is, and whose name appears above this line. Thank you for your respect.

littlebarefeetblog.com