Where Have You Gone, Bill the Cat?

Posted on by .
Leave a reply

Editor’s Note: Notice the people you knew who slept through high school civics and changed their university major to forestry to avoid college civics have become experts on the Constitution, the Electoral College and political issues of all sorts? They know things. They’re also allowed to vote and drive and birth humans. Yea, your fear is real.

Vote and Vote Often.

Citizens pressed forward to get a glimpse. The front-runner from Cromwell County mounted a contentious, arduous campaign, and with the polls opening in less than 24 hours, his election as state legislator was all but assured. The Bowie Review & Caller was on the scene.

“Helluva a candidate, I say. One HELLuva a candidate,” said Dexter Bottomfeed, long-time political consultant and full-time backslapper, wingman and good buddy. “Bar none. We’re no longer taking names. Gerald P. McGillicuddy will be the finest legislator from Jackson County who’s ever roamed the statehouse.”

“Cromwell County?” said Bonnie Truthfinder, recent graduate of the Texas State School of Journalism and now political reporter. “You just said Jackson County.”

“Didn’t I say Cromwell?  Dang. After 20 years, these elections start to run together. Jackson County was last year,” he said. “Well, no matter the county, we all need a Gerald P. The finest man and the finest candidate I’ve ever had the pleasure of representing.”

“Pleasure, I’m sure. You’re declaration, I’m not sure. How much is he paying you?

“Balderdash and folderol. The campaign has nothing to do with compensation. It’s about providing effective leadership to the most downtrodden of our citizens, the disaffected middle class and the hardworking wage earners desperately clawing their way back from the abyss of social decay and economic calamity.”

Read more →

Writer’s Block

Posted on by .
Leave a reply

Editor’s Note: The following story by Jeff Rembert was posted by Ghost Parachute: A Literary Magazine on its website under Blog on May 20, 2020.

You’re staring at the screen, and you’ve got nothing. Your mind is a void. You type random words and hope a coherent sentence emerges. Still nothing. Your cat gives it a shot with words of her invention and does so with steadfast confidence. Still incoherent, but your cat doesn’t care. Your frustration continues unabated. In your cat’s eyes, you’re simply a dog. Good luck with that.

Futile efforts, cat judgement, emptiness of thought and desire are common. The origin of this state of inability remains unknown to scientists, literary professors and writing coaches. Politicians blame Belgium. Your father blames your mother’s side of the family. Your mother says something about a real father. While theories fail to adequately explain the malady, it continues to rage through writing communities, literary groups and freelance sweatshops.

And no one is immune. You have what some call writer’s block.

Writer’s block affects the young and old, the experienced and inexperienced, short story writers and novelists, romantic writers and fantasy apocalyptic authors (same thing), English undergrads and MFAs. Writer’s block doesn’t recognize borders, culture, race or political parties. It affects those with and without the latest technology. Starbucks patrons are particularly susceptible.

Read more →

Keep Up Tradition

Posted on by .
Leave a reply

Editor’s Note: Writing a goodbye column was a tradition at The University Daily, the campus paper at Texas Tech University. And I probably wrote mine in a huff. Too many ads. Not enough editorial space. Why my editor, Inez Russell, didn’t calf-tie me and leave me in a forgotten barn, I’ll never know. Thank you for not finding the keys to the school van. From the May 4, 1982, edition of the UD, a long-seasoned vanity piece.

HIGHWAY 84 – I guess it’s time to shut the book on an era. The wild and carefree columns of the past will make like my grade point and fade away. No more columns about filling 32 inches of space in the newspaper. No more columns about Tech students going on strike demanding easier courses and less-stringent grading policies. Even Ol’ Dusty may have seen his last Tech-Arkansas football game.

Tradition is dying out, folks.

Despite claims by the Latin faculty, I’m not very old. But when you’re 21 and have four years of higher learning tucked away in a copy of Sports Illustrated, some of the newer students look upon you as if you were Will Rogers’ statue – a Tech fixture. The baseball players can’t imagine anyone but you covering their team, and the other sports writers can’t remember when anyone but you finished last in Fearless Forecasters.

But how old can you be when you’re in college. The life is as carefree as you’ll ever experience. I can remember when Tech had a winning football team. When the basketball team participated in post-season tournaments. When a night of intramural basketball was spent at the Intramural Gym. And when Applause was one of the hottest clubs in Lubbock.

Now my catalog tells me I have enough hours to graduate, so I should leave Tech and make something of myself. Administration said I should grow up while I was at it. I was grown up when I entered college. I just regressed as the years progressed.

Read more →

Why Start A Literary Group?

Posted on by .
Leave a reply

Editor’s Note: The following story by Jeff Rembert was posted by GHOST PARACHUTE – A LITERARY MAGAZINE on its website under Blog on December 20, 2019.

You’re new to the writing game. Someone in your past said you had talent, but life got in the way. Family, career, bills and discouragement kept you away from the keyboard. Only recently you made the commitment to sidestep obstacles and put your thoughts on paper. You’ve a laptop, ideas and a dream. You’ll carve out time. But the quest can be lonely, frustrating, mind-numbing, for anonymity and solitude lay in your path. You need a community of like-minded individuals.

It’s common for newbie writers to seek guidance from the experienced and support from those also getting started. But getting five minutes of productive conversation from authors at book festivals is problematic. Holiday meals with family, after bringing up your burgeoning writing career, results in encouragement yet no real understanding. Aunt Gracie is impressed but her writing career fizzled high school senior year. Rather than retreat crestfallen to your study and labors, perhaps you form a community. A hybrid. A combination writing group and an open mic.

After a career in journalism and public relations, and years away from the keyboard, I discovered a friend was a closeted writer. No one knew outside his family, and his efforts focused on fictitious holiday updates. We learned in the ensuing years he’s a talented comedic writer with a gift for dialogue and off-beat characters. But at first, upon learning of each other’s desire to write, we spent coffee hours simply discussing the craft and sharing our efforts. And once we learned all we could from one another we sought the input of other writers. Those writers seeking a group where we could share ideas and inspiration. Perhaps collaborate.

Read more →

From Here to Isolation

Posted on by .
Leave a reply

Editor’s Note: While for many the following unfortunately is not the case, those in my world remain well and the experience of isolation, surreal for sure, has been an observation of human behavior. Whether it’s folks in denial while shopping without masks, or protesters defying social distancing on the steps of government buildings. Whether it’s reruns of the 1978 MLB season or Katy Perry’s wardrobe on American Idol At Home. The mind wanders. Hey, I just organized my sock drawer by color.

Is it strange I schedule my day around the evening news?

CENTRAL FLORIDA – Self-exile. We’d think I was an embattled Shah or Justin Bieber, but no. My county has stay-at-home orders with a broad definition of essential services. Only massage parlors, tattoo shops and barbers, the only true essentials, are closed. I’m simply home and working remote because I’m on the low end of the at-risk category and somebody out there loves me. But it hasn’t been without raised eyebrow.

The learning curve has been steep. And I’m either annoyed or hungry. Then again I’m always hungry. Bottom line? People are nuts. How anyone survived outside the womb is beyond me. Perhaps people survived childhood by eating paint chips, perhaps THEY were correct about fluoride in the water. No matter, everyone is nuts. And Dr. Anthony Fauci will save us.

Clothing. Or do the goldfish make me look fat?

I haven’t worn pants in six weeks. Not Terry Bradshaw full nude around the fish tank, but rather shorts versus jeans. And I’ve discovered cargo shorts can hold three dog leashes, collars and treats. Four unused environmentally friendly doggie poop bags. Seven used fabric sheets for the dryer. Two remote controls. One bottled water. Seven days of mail, and one Hunter S. Thompson paperback. A stapler, wrench and double-sided tape. One package of peanut butter crackers. Double A batteries, chicken bones and nail clippers. Did I mention I forgot how to tie my shoes?

Read more →

No One Puts Salsa in the Corner

Posted on by .
1 Reply

Editor’s Note: I wrote the following a couple of years ago, but before I posted, the furor died. And I lost interest. Then a pandemic struck. And with it came idle time. So I dusted off the piece and considered recently acquired context. A fall trip to Pigeon Forge, TN, and a visit to a souvenir shop filled with “I Stand Before the Flag, and Kneel Before the Cross” merchandise. Some folks don’t let go. And they had baby goats.

Can I Pet the Goats?

You’re watching the NFL on television and see players kneel during the national anthem. Or raise a fist. Or discover some remained in the tunnel or locker room. Your blood boils. You’re miffed. You’re insulted. Those pampered athletes, with perfect abs – that’s what’s really in your craw – who make seven-figure incomes, adored by men and women alike, who play a child’s game, are insulting those who serve in the military.

You don’t buy into civil disobedience. The players say they protest to bring awareness to racial injustice. You say folderol. They say discrimination remains a plague on society and want to use their platform, before millions of viewers, to remind us of its existence. You say anything outside of standing at attention during the national anthem is unpatriotic. Both sides cry out they’re exercising their First Amendment rights.

So you boycott the NFL. Sunday afternoons trashed because your house no longer is filled with family and friends watching their beloved team. Adults who didn’t pay attention during high school civics, who can’t recall the number of stripes on Old Glory, who can’t explain the difference between a crossing pattern and a down-and-out. No more fans staring with contempt at one another. Some with Pat Boone singing “America” as a ring tone glaring at those with degrees in Belgian literature.

Honey? More El Diablo Tango sauce for the wings?

So you’ve made up your mind. No more NFL. No way you’re supporting an organization that stands by while its players insult the military, the flag and Pat Boone. You can’t spell discrimination, much less pronounce it, and deep down know the protest isn’t about the military. But you go with the crowd because everyone supports puppies, the elderly and the military. The POTUS even backs you. And we all know he wouldn’t use cultural drama to distract from his ongoing soap opera.

Read more →

2016: The Election That Never Ends

Posted on by .
Leave a reply
Editor’s Note: The following story by Jeffrey Rembert was posted by FORWARD Florida on its website under Blog on July 19, 2017.

First Meeting of Presidential Advisory Commission on Election

Just when we thought the plot lines couldn’t get crazier. Just when we swore the name Kris Kobach never would trend on Twitter, we get a J. Jonah Jameson dream scenario. The 2016 presidential election results are being called into question. By the winner.

In the words of Kobach, vice chairman of the commission that’s looking into voter fraud, we “may never know” if Hillary Clinton actually won the popular vote. Or so he said Wednesday to MSNBC after the commission’s first hearing. If that’s the case we then may never know if Donald Trump actually won the Electoral College.

Lest we forget, the White House is occupied by a realty television star who uses social media with the zeal of a clique-conscious teen. “Modern Day Presidential” is the way he describes his penchant to tweet when on the attack or on the defense. And though his approach could be described as a shrewd use of the radio and television of the 21st century, our fascination with social media con-tent has led to a precipitous drop in our country’s IQ.

We’re now distracted by fake magazine covers adorning the walls of Mar-a-Lago, comments about a newscaster’s plastic surgery and the president’s professional wrestling greatest hits. What is he going to do or say next? How will the Congress react? While these incidents are extensions of our need to read tabloid headlines while standing in the checkout line, they should give us, as it does our allies, pause and consideration to what’s going on in Washington.

For there’s one troubling issue that is getting too little attention. No, we’re not talking about pageant contestants locking their doors to the leering eyes, groping hands of celebrities. We’re talking about an issue that should cause every-one, no matter their political ideology, to say enough is enough.

Read more →

Journalism: No More Funny Business

Posted on by .
Leave a reply

Editor’s Note: The following story by Jeffrey Rembert was posted by FORWARD Florida on its website under Blog on July 6, 2017.

Trump, Flamingos and Provocateurs

Today’s politics is like a daily trip to the circus with clowns piling out of the car. There’s seemingly no end. A social studies exercise gone awry. The joke keeps on giving, and everyone is in on the joke.

So how does one stand alone?  Set themselves apart when everyone is telling the same joke.  Then it occurred to me.  I was lookin’ for humor in all the wrong places. Lookin’ for humor in too many faces. Searchin’ their eyes. Lookin’ for traces … And that was just a televised White House press briefing.

FullSizeRender.jpg-640x360

Then I heard an all too familiar voice booming from the corner office of the newsroom. And it wasn’t Johnny Lee. And she didn’t need a mic.

“No more mister nice guy. The gloves are off. Call us fake news. Call us enemy of the American people. Body slam our reporters. Well, that party is over.” My publisher was in a touchy mood.

Two things could explain her outburst. One, either the Keurig was broken. Or two, some hapless journalist was caught staring out the window. So I took another sip of my coffee, as I brought my own, and closed the blinds. Hard to concentrate on a black bear cub mauling a pink flamingo yard ornament across the street when files are being thrashed about the newsroom.

“We’ve been playing it safe way too long. Let’s make everyone happy. Let’s bring people together. Let’s support the military industrial complex,” then she took a deep breath. “How about let’s not? No more goody two shoes. No more dear sweet Pollyanna. I want edgy. I want controversial. I want provocative.” Read more →