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  • February 27, 2017

    Lyrics, Poetry and Prose II

    A place to share some words of beauty, inspiration, and fun. Click on the name of the piece to get a video or more information. You have some favorites? Please share…

    And it’s knowin’ I’m not shackled by forgotten words and bonds
    And the ink stains that have dried upon some lines
    That keeps you in the back roads
    By the rivers of my memory that keeps you ever gentle on my mind

     Gentle on My Mind composer and singer John Hartford

    Papa loved Mama
    Mama loved men
    Mama’s in the graveyard
    Papa’s in the pen

     – Papa Loved Mama composers Garth Brooks & Kim Williams

    you boys can keep your virgins
    give me hot old women in high heels
    with asses that forgot to get old.”

    —  One of the Hottest poet Charles Bukowski


  • What I Don’t Stand For…

    I would like to get it straight once and for all. I am not a conservative and I am not a liberal. But people keep wanting to put me in one of those boxes, depending on whether I agree or disagree with them on specific issues. I am me. Some of the things I believe in are in line with conservative thought; some are in line with liberal ideas. Many of the things I believe are neither one.

    Who I’m Not

    Like most Americans, I am not pro-life or pro-choice. I am somewhere between those two extremes. I also am not willing to see children go hungry, no matter how irresponsible their parents may be. Children are entitled to love and support. Not so with their parents. Adults need to get off their asses and help themselves.

    I am also tired of people who claim to be on the side of working people, but who walk by janitors and tradesmen as though they are invisible. I am disgusted by politicians who take big contributions from the people who work for me (public employees) then grant those same people extravagant salaries, pensions, and job security whether they work hard or not. I want the politicians I vote for to represent me, not the people who work for me.

    I don’t smoke or take illegal drugs, but I think people should have the freedom to do so if they wish. I think prostitution is a terrible way to make a living, but I don’t think it should be illegal. Shooting heroin to get high, riding a motorcycle without a helmet, eating fatty food or being a couch potato may all be both stupid and unhealthy, but I don’t think they should be crimes. Some of these things should be regulated to protect children and the general public, but none of them should be illegal.

    We look down at Mexico for supplying illicit drugs, but we’re the ones consuming those drugs. American drug buyers are the ones responsible for the blood bath south of the border.  Mexico should be angry with us for destroying their country. Blaming Mexico for our drug problem is similar to busting hookers, but letting the Johns go free. It doesn’t compute.

    My bottom line is this: You can believe what you want and still be my friend. Just don’t insist that I walk in lockstep with you to stay in your good graces.

    Friends like that, I can do without.

    — George Cunningham


  • February 20, 2017

    Back in the Saddle Again…

    I never planned to be a writer. When I was a kid, I loved to read, but when it came to my hopes and dreams, they did not include sitting at a typewriter for hours on end while the sun was shining outside and there were adventures to be had.

    I fantasized about being a fighter pilot, a soldier, a good-guy gangster, an explorer, a private eye, a race car driver, a secret agent, and sometimes a deadly assassin, dispensing justice from the barrel of my gun.

    In my boyish daydreams, I wouldn’t write about other people. Other people would write about me.

    But at some point all that changed. I think perhaps it was my love of reading that finally did me in. Because when you keep reading about stuff and thinking about stuff, pretty soon you start having your own ideas about stuff. And you want to share those ideas.

    You see life going on around you and it’s sometimes ugly and sometimes beautiful, sometimes funny and sometimes sad, sometimes stupid and sometimes incredibly smart. So I ended up working as a journalist and I did it for more than 25 years at various newspapers.

    Some of it was lots of fun, especially in the early years, and some of it was terribly frustrating. An editor told me one time that the reason journalists became frustrated was that they are creative people in a semi-creative job. They are constrained by the facts, and by an artificial standard imposed by their employers to be “fair.”

    Forget objective. There’s no such thing. You write about a dispute between Smith and Jones. Do you tell Smith’s side first or does Jones get to go first? But when you work for a newspaper, you are supposed to at least be fair – even if Smith is a sweetheart and Jones is a jerk.

    As a journalist, you meet a lot of people – rich and poor, powerful and powerless – and they share their stories with you and you write about them. Through it all, you develop a sense of what’s real and what’s bullshit.

    I left daily journalism in 1995, and my wife Carmela and I spent the next 15 years publishing an electronic newsletter on West Coast ports. It was fun. Then I wrote a couple of novels and then the Port of Long Beach commissioned Carmela and me to write a history of the port. All those books are available for sale on Amazon.com

    A year and eight months ago, I had a minor stroke. I’m fine now, but I have to admit that it shook me up. It was a cosmic tap on the shoulder, a reminder from the universe that life does not go on forever, that the wolves are gathering in the tree line, and if there’s anything you want to say or do, you better get to it.

    I don’t work for a newspaper anymore, and I am free to write about the world the way I see it. It may not be the world as you see it, but that’s OK. In fact, it’s better than OK – it’s really good. Maybe I can learn a little bit from you and you can learn a little bit from me.

    So I’ve revamped my website – added a bio and other information – and I’m reactivating my blog. My plan is to write about life, love, and everyday events as well as some more serious stuff that just may irritate some folks. In fact, I kind of hope it does, and I hope you email me and tell me about it. I will share your opinion along with your name on the website, unless you ask me not to do so.

    If you would like to receive my postings once a week in your email, please let me know. And if you are getting the emails and don’t want to get them anymore, tell me that as well.

    Your name and email address will not be sold or shared.

    You can email me at george@georgeleecunningham.com

    Until Next Time,

    – George Lee Cunningham

  • Lyrics, Poetry and Prose I

    A place to share some words of beauty, inspiration, and fun. Click on the name of the piece to get a video or more information. You have some favorites? Please share…

    Neon signs a-flashin’, taxi cabs and buses passin’ through the night
    A distant moanin’ of a train seems to play a sad refrain to the night
    A rainy night in Georgia, such a rainy night in Georgia
    Lord, I believe it’s rainin’ all over the world
    I feel like it’s rainin’ all over the world

    Rainy Night in Georgia; Singer Brook Benton; Writer Tony Joe White

    Mairzy doats And dozy doats
    And liddle lamzy divey
    A kiddley divey too, wouldn’t you?

    Mairzy Doats; Written by Milton Drake, Al Hoffman, and Jerry Livingston

    Oh, how we danced on the night we were wed
    We vowed our true love, though a word wasn’t said
    The world was in bloom, there were stars in the skies
    Except for the few that were there in your eyes

    Anniversary Song;  Composer Ion Ivanovici in 1880


  • Never Mind… Another Emily Litella Moment

    My buddy Larry LaRue sent me a heartbreaking story the other day about Judith Permar, a 56-year-old Pennsylvania woman, who died tragically donating old clothes to charity.

    Mrs. Judith Permar (Facebook Photo)

    According to the story, Mrs. Permar, 56, was dropping off some old clothes at a donation bin in Mount Carmel Township, when the stool she was standing on – Mrs. Permar was apparently short – collapsed and left her dangling from the bin for six hours. They found her the next morning with a broken arm and hand, still hanging from the bin, her feet off the ground and her black Hummer still idling nearby.

    Cause of death was blunt-force trauma and possibly hyperthermia – the night was quite chilly.

    My first thought, frankly, was that no good deed goes unpunished, but that seemed both cynical and harsh. The real lesson, I decided, was that as horrible as her death may have been, she died doing something nice for others. There are many ways to die. Plane crashes, car accidents, homicides, heart attacks, pneumonia, and cancer – none of them pleasant. Even dying in your sleep is not that great. You wait decades for that famous final scene, and then when it comes, you’re snoozing.

    At least when Mrs. Permar died, she was doing something kind for others – an act of charity that had to take some of the sting out of her passing.

    I worked for newspapers for many years, but apparently I learned nothing. I am ashamed to admit that somewhere along the line I lost that cynical edge that helps reporters see through the bull and get to the truth.

    According to the follow-up story, the very next day, Mrs. Permar didn’t die donating old clothes to the needy. She died stealing old clothes from the bin for who knows what reason. That’s why she had the stool, so she could reach all the way into the bin to grab the bags of clothes that others had donated.

    Wow, that does put a different spin on the story, but I will resist the temptation to judge Mrs. Permar too harshly. We know from the first story that she was an animal lover. Perhaps she was getting old raggedy clothes to help some of our four-legged friends survive the cold. Maybe she was going to return the other, good clothes back to the bin after she took out the rags. Or maybe not.

    Either way, it’s not exactly the crime of the century.  I certainly don’t think it’s going to keep her out of heaven – and if God is not going to judge her too harshly, why should we. Maybe she was just a whacky, funny mother and wife who once in a while, did some crazy stuff.

    I know women like that. In fact, I’m married to a woman like that. I don’t think she ever stole stuff from a donation bin, but she has done some funny and probably slightly illegal stuff just to make me laugh. And I did. I laughed like crazy.

    I don’t think any of that stuff is going to keep her out of heaven. Me, on the other hand, I’m going to probably have some explaining to do and maybe a few promises to clean up my act before I get past those pearly gates.

    I hope if and when I do, I get to say hello to Mrs. Permar. I’m sure she’s probably a fun gal.

    By the way, if any of you folks don’t know who Emily Litella is, it probably means you are less than 50 years old. Emily Litella was a cultural icon 40 years ago and here is a sample. CLICK HERE

    —  George Lee Cunningham