Skip to main content

Moore things that make you go, "hmmmmmmmm"

You’ve seen them.

You’ve experienced them.

Those questions that stick in your head and pester you until you can’t sleep.

They’re not profound, life changing ideas, but stuff you just wonder about.

Like the old song says, they are the “things that make you go hmmmmm?”

Such as:



Why do young women wear shorts and sweats with the word “Pink” written across the rear? And why, when asked about the fact that having a word stretched across their butt does, in fact, draws attention to their butt, do they complain because you looked at their butt?



How come the Fox news channel claims to be “fair and balanced” when it’s not?



Why some churches will spend millions of dollars sending groups across the world when people starve in the shadow of their buildings?



Why my children can tell me the last 10 people that called our house, when they called, and what they wanted to talk about and their income level and voting record, but these same children can’t remember to take out the trash.



Why Americans love their animals more than their kids?



Why good people die young, but the evil and rotten seem to live forever?



Why politicians continue to shout on behalf of God, when the Almighty is perfectly capable of speaking for himself.



Why Oklahomans will get all mad because a politician didn’t pay his taxes on time, but won’t say a thing when people can’t get health care and children starve?



Why some politicians will tell you that 80 percent of Oklahomans are worried about illegal immigrants, but don’t tell you who these 80 pecent are, how they got their information and when the question was asked.



Why automobile companies try to sell $35,000 vehicles shaped like a cardboard box, then wonder why they don’t make any money?



Why whether or not Britney is wearing underwear and who Paris is dating are bigger news items than a record federal deficit and the war in Iraq.



Why a returning soldier is forced to fight, once again, just to learn what benefits that soldier is entitled to?



Why my wife and daughter will carry a purse the size of a medium sized piece of luggage filled with stuff, then complain about how heavy it is.



Why we don’t have any more heroes like Jackie Robinson.



Why more and more people watch television instead of reading, then whine and moan because they don’t know what’s going on.



Why my beagle will bark at the wind but sleep through a riot.



Why people don’t talk to their neighbors anymore.



Why documents such as the Constitution, the Magna Carta and the Bill of Rights are not required reading in schools anymore?



And finally, why beginning legislators make more money in Oklahoma than beginning school teachers.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Ex-pastor suing Moore's First Baptist Church

MOORE — A former official with Moore’s First Baptist Church is suing the church for his termination, and for “spreading false rumors about his mental health throughout the community,” court documents show. Jimmie D. Lady, the church’s associate pastor, filed the suit in Cleveland County District Court last week seeking $10,000 in actual damages and $10,000 in punitive damages for “severe emotional distress and mental anguish as a result of statements made about him when his job was terminated.” Lady’s attorney, Andrew Hicks of Houston, claimed church officials terminated Lady for being bi-polar, then spread rumors about Lady in the community. “Although a man of God, Dr. Lady cannot ignore the dramatic, adverse effects these untrue and unfair accusations have had on him and his family,” Hicks said. “First Baptist Moore’s efforts to tarnish Dr. Lady’s reputation have threatened his family’s livelihood. Through this suit, we hope to restore Dr. Lady’s good name.” Church officials denied

If I were a chef...

If I were a chef, I’d spend early Wednesday mornings at the Farmers Market. I’d get there around 7 a.m., when the produce was wet and fresh and the day was young and the people were still drinking their coffee. If I were a chef, I’d wait patiently while the wrinkled granny lady individually fondled all 631 tomatoes on the table in front of her. I’d quietly tap my foot as she sniffed and touched each of the red, buxom vegetables before she finally selected two, and paid for them. I’d do that, if I were a chef. If I were a chef, I buy peaches — boxes and boxes of peaches. I’d buy them from the old, snaggle-toothed man with the radiant smile whose booth sits to the right of the entrance to the fairgrounds building. I’d buy his peaches because I know the old man understands fruit and earth and trees, better than anyone else there. I’d smile as his wrinkled, gnarly hand gently placed peach after peach in my basket. And I’d give him a sly wink after he handed me a bruised, but succulent pea

The Night Shift

  You can tell the ones who work the night shift.             Their bodies move slowly, bathed in the yellowish amber glow of neon. Exhausted by the day and drained by fear, they seek refuge beneath the glass and steel that – at this moment – is their home. Their faces betray them. Their smiles have given way to pain. They are pale and gaunt with dark eyes and hollow, almost lifeless expressions. This is not their true being, mind you, just the mask of wear and worry assigned them by the night shift.             They have no time for fun or laughter. Under the steel and glass there is no smoky jazz club, no the out-of-the way bistro. Here, instead are the operating theaters and the nurses’ stations, their walls covered in drab paint. Here is the worn tiled floor, the proof of a billion footsteps. This is the night shift. Those assigned didn’t seek the task – it found them. Once the decision was made – surgery, hospitalization, medicine – they were placed in the cue like so many oth