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The Jacknut Chronicles' Sunday Edition: People Able To Think For Themselves Again!

The rum bottle was nearly empty when I twisted it's lid down tight. The end of the long political season had arrived, and I was thrilled. No more red states vs. blue states, or arguments about whether or not the candidate I supported was a Muslim. The last sip went down pretty smooth as I quietly calculated the remaining days in President George W. Bush's presidency.

And then I heard the shout.

"I'll be damned! Whooda thunk it?!?"

The yell came from my home office, so I tiptoed in to see The Duct Tape Bandit hunching over my computer.

"Lookit this," he said. "Dat 'bama dude was right." He waved for me to come closer to the screen to see what he was reading.

"Sez here, if people do infiltrate their car wheels to where dey should be, we really would save 'bout as much oil a year as we'd get drillin' in America. That Mc-something-or-other guy made it sound like a stupid idear."

The Bandit isn't really a political junkie, so I wasn't sure what he was getting at.

"I think the words 'inflate,' Bandit. And I read the same thing too. Back in August. Why are you interested in that comment now?"

"Dude, durin' the 'lection ya can't hear a goddamned thing anybody says. It's like smokin' a blunt and trippin' off X at da same time. Words float at ya in waves and echos. By the time you hear one dude's comment, dat blond chick on The View is already tellin you why it's wrong. She and Whoopie are gonna throw down soon. Word."

"So I take it you're doing research then. On President-Elect Obama's ideas?" I was still thinking about Whoopie punching Elizabeth Hasselback as I said it.


"Sure, why not? Da dude's my president too, ain't he. I figure dis: I can listen to someone else tell me my opinion, or I can make my own. I'm sorta tired of da soundbites and da quick retorts and how those things just piss people off. Dey make people a-scared, and make 'em angry. And I'm tired of being dat after all these years. So I'm figurin' it out on my own."



I was impressed. "Well, aren't you the maverick. Listen, while you're online, you wanna read some blogs that make fun of Sarah Palin's gaff about Africa being a country and not a continent?"

"Nope, I'm too busy lookin' up Obama's ideas on da capital gains tax. I gots no interest in dat other stuff. Dat's all bullshit, anyway."

Maybe soon-to-be-President Obama's election can heal the divide in this country, after all.

88 Minutes

Dear Mr. Pacino:

Too often in our society, legends are built way too fast and torn down way too early. It's the American way, I think. We recognize what looks like talent, get overly excited about, ride it like a horse until we find it's flaw and then we tear it down. We wonder aloud if the substance was there in the first place, and mock the wanna-be as we kick him or her in the ribs one last time before walking away.

Take Sarah Palin for example.

But you, Mr. Pacino, are the real deal. You've starred in some of the most important films in American history, and given performances that inspired generations of actors into their craft. Your work helped shape and mold the industry, through your diversity, depth of character and commitment to the role. Kids grew up wanting to be Al Pacino.

I know that for certain.

Out of respect for your talent and the incredible body of work that you've produced, I'm trying to give you the benefit of the doubt about some of your recent movie role choices. I'm well aware that, sometimes, films start out as a great idea and go bad along the way. A movie can get ruined in post-production, even. The editing can set a poor pace and turn an audience away. Those types of problems are out of the control of actors, of course, and shouldn't be attributed to their performance.

But 88 Minutes, Mr. Pacino...88 Minutes is something else entirely.

As Forensic FBI Psychiatrist Jack Gramm, you study the really bad guys in our society. The serial rapists and killers who seem compelled to commit horrendous crimes again and again. You study them, give your professional opinion in court so they can be locked away forever and then you teach up-and-coming profilers how you did what you did. Gramm's got some personal demons; he drinks too much and is a notorious womanizer. But he's a rock star in the world of CSI. Gramm's reputation is hard and fast, edgy and decisive, always-two-steps-ahead. Of everyone.

Except in how you portray him, Mr. Pacino.

Your Jack Gramm is slow to act, awkwardly dramatic and a diva. He's surrounded himself with incompetent employees and unstable students, and doesn't seem to notice. Gramm's reputation with his FBI colleagues should be solid based on his past efforts, but their relationship falls apart at the mere hint of a crisis. And Gramm's taste in women leaves a lot to be desired.

The movie was lame, Mr. Pacino. I'm guessing you know that. But most disturbing to me is that your work was lame in it as well. The effort wasn't there, sir. The dedication was missing. I've seen your work turn a bad movie idea into an pretty good popcorn flick, so I know what you can bring to the screen.

You phoned this one in.

The Jacknut Chronicles: A Special Weekday Edition

Some acts of jacknuttery simply can't wait until Sunday to be shared.

Thanks to Stanton for passing this newsclip along. The man knows his jacknuts as well as he knows a good West Virginia-style hot dog.


Woman accused of trying to set father on fire with mouthwash

"Charleston, WV: State Police arrested a Charleston woman accused of battering her parents.

Laura Katherine Joslin, 23, of Asbury Road is being held at South Central Regional Jail. Trooper P.T. Kelly was dispatched to the home at about 8:20 p.m. Monday in response to a domestic disturbance where dispatchers warned that a woman was fighting with her parents inside, according to a complaint filed in Kanawha Magistrate Court. Marilyn and David Joslin told Kelly when he arrived at their home that Laura, their daughter, had physically battered them, according to the complaint.


Laura struck Marilyn across the head with a styling brush and caused a minor cut on her head, the complaint stated. Laura also swung at David twice, then poured mouthwash over his head and tried to light it to set him on fire, according to the report.

Laura Joslin was arrested and charged with two counts of domestic battery."

Is "Audacity" Spelled With A "C"?

For now, I'm tired of talking about red states vs. blue states, mandates, flip-flops, socialism, taxes, Joe the Plumber, whether he'll be tested in the first 6 months, Reverend Wright, campaign promises and even Tina Fey's impersonation of Sarah Palin. (Although that still makes me laugh so hard I snot.)

Here's the campaign promise that's making me smile most this morning:

“You have more than earned the puppy that is coming with us to the White House.”

The Jacknut Chronicles' Sunday Edition: Getting Caught Up In The Hype

I Do It For Your Love

Happy Halloween!

Poor Priorities

I think I know how young Christopher Bizilj felt.

I grew up around guns, and lived within a culture of guns until I was an adult and moved away to college. My father hunted regularly, and one of the biggest thrills of my pre-teen life was carrying a 12 gauge shotgun stride for stride beside him as we hunted along a nearby ridge for squirrels. My grandfather, a sometimes-County Constable, often held shooting matches on the outskirts of the farm on which we lived. It was fun for this 8-year-old to switch out targets for the old men, and listen to the lies they told each other in between gunshots.

Something powerful happens when one shoots a gun. It's thrilling. Dangerous. It elevates the shooter above what he was just seconds before he picked up the gun. Watch any kid with a BB gun shooting birds, if you doubt that, and catch the I-feel-omnipotent gleam in his eyes. It's a powerful feeling. And it's seductive.

I think I know how young Christopher felt at that gun fair in Westfield, Massachutes. The excitement when he first picked up that Uzi.




The anticipation that swept through him as he squeezed the trigger.

Most 8-year-old kids I know would feel the same.

"Police said Christopher was with a certified instructor, and they called the incident a 'self-inflicted accidental shooting.' The boy's father and older brother were also there at the time, a gun club member and school official said."

"The weapon was loaded and ready to fire," police Lt. Hipolito Nunez said. "The 8-year-old victim had the Uzi and as he was firing the weapon, the front end of the weapon went up with the backfire and he ended up receiving a round in his head." The boy was taken to Baystate Medical Center where he died."

Tragic.

And unnecessary.

What does it say about our American society, when we know that: kids in the U.S. are 16 times more likely to be murdered with a gun, 11 times more likely to commit suicide with a gun, and nine times more likely to die from a firearm accident than children in 25 other industrialized countries combined. (Centers for Disease Control).

It says we Americans value the intrinsic thrill that comes with picking up the gun over the faceless 3,000-plus children killed every year by gun violence.

To me, that means we have our priorities out of order.

The Jacknut Chronicles' Sunday Edition: Purple Fingers

I tried to vote early. But when I clicked on "Obama," the electronic polling-thingee changed my vote to "Goldwater."

Something's amiss in The Mountain State!



Voting problems --of the jacknuttiest variety--have been popping up across West Virginia for days. Roger Belozier, of Martinsburg, had his electronic vote changed five times. Five. In a row. According to news reports, others in that precinct have had difficulties, too. Tracy Lopez said: "When I pressed 'Barack Obama,' it checked off 'John McCain.' I de-selected, and instead of taking any chances, I chose straight Democratic ticket rather than go through the whole thing and have any mistakes." [She thought] "Maybe I had just been clumsy. But my husband confirmed that he had the same exact thing happen to him. He was on a different voting machine, voting at the same time I was."

That American citizens, in this age of technological advancement, cannot count on their votes being tallied correctly is an embarrassment. It's the sort of pattern, however, that looks a little too perfect to be a random occurrence.




It's as if there may be a gremlin at work...

Oh, To Live On Sugar Mountain

Zela Elementary School is, as those in the know will tell you, located in the heart of Nicholas County, West Virginia. The rural school --which was a wooden frame when I attended in the 70s -- was directly across the road from The Country Road Inn, one of the best Italian restaurants in the state in it's day. Being a Little Bear from Zela offered up some good experiences: in 7th grade our basketball team played for the county championship (we lost); school fairs were fun, and came complete with an old-fashioned cake-walk (I won, once); and because we students were always together from first through seventh grade, there was a real sense of camaraderie among us.

The best part of my Zela experience, however, was the influence the teachers had on my life. It was long-lasting. It was in that period of 4th through 6th grade that I recall learning about religions other than Christianity. In 5th grade I learned about yoga, vegetarianism and using guided imagery to relax. And in 6th grade Mrs. Suiter taught us how to understand the NFL Playoff system, which had recently moved to a Wild Card system.

It was a fun period of learning.

One teacher had a significant influence on my life. Steve Creasey, who was my Math teacher and the coach of our basketball team, was at Zela for only one or two years. Right out of college, Creasey was still finding his way as a teacher, and worked hard to develop relationships with students. The first male teacher I had, Creasey modeled for me the importance of intellectual curiosity, how to think critically and the value of education. He left Zela way too soon to teach someplace else, and we lost touch in 1976.

Until yesterday, when the now-Dr. Steve Creasey showed up at and participated in a workshop I held as part of my job.

32 years is a lifetime. But for the hour and a half that I spoke to the crowd in which he was sitting, I felt a little like I'd been asked to walk to the blackboard and complete an equation. But overall, it was a very enjoyable, really pleasant experience to show my former teacher that his efforts with this kid, at least, weren't wasted.