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Instead of standing in the dark when the sirens screamed death the day 

after Pearl Harbor happened and those who were cheering for Hitler would 

never forgive the president FDR for his trick to defeat the 

isolationists but he too was fooled thinking the Japanese attack would 

be against the twenty soldiers or so he had in the Philippines protected by 

thick jungle and not Hawaii where many did die and those great haters of 

“the cripple” as they called him saying he betrayed his class that talked funny and 

felt compassion for the riffraff who were only good enough to shed their 

blood for the more valuable commodities called oil, power and greed, and 

then given a medal as payment to their families for having defended a 

nation’s self-interest. 

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by David Todd McCarty | Friday, July 15, 2016

I’ve been a lot of thinking lately about a certain corned beef sandwich, preferably grilled with butter, on a nice sturdy rye, with mustard and melted swiss. There’s a perfect pickle there as well. It’s a fantasy that is currently knocking about in my head.

I’m on day six of what is a planned two week fast. I say planned because with these kind of things, it’s like the people in the rooms say, “You have to take it one day at a time.” I recognize the truth in this statement. I can’t think about tomorrow or next week. I just have to get through today.

No food. No alcohol. No caffeine. I gave up cigarettes almost five years ago and never picked them up again, so that’s one less thing. I currently subsist on a concoction of water, lemon juice, maple syrup and cayenne pepper. It’s a recipe developed by some nut who named it the Master Cleanse. It’s a thing. It’s not new. I’m not a disciple, just using it at the moment.

The first time I fasted was almost five years ago. I was on a shoot in Miami and at the end of the shoot the producer met me in the bar of this beautiful steakhouse we’d been shooting in. I was having a vodka, my third or fourth, and was getting ready to switch over to wine before ordering my steak dinner right there at the bar. He had a beer. He began telling me that he used to be fat. Had health problems from it. Then he discovered this juice fasting concept and lost fifty pounds. Got off his medications. Felt great. I was listening with half an ear, like you do when someone is telling you about their dreams, or trying to recap the plot of a book they just finished.

“That’s nice,” you think. “Why are you bothering me with this?”

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by David Todd McCarty | Wednesday, July 13, 2016

“So she looked at it and said, ‘What the fuck is that supposed to be?’ And I said, ‘I don’t know, this was your idea,’” said Dave.

The guys laughed.

Dave, Frank and Carl sat together at Fred’s on a Wednesday afternoon. They’d known each other since grade school. Sometimes they met for lunch and even though it was the middle of July, Fred’s was cool and dark. Frank had always complained that it was like a cave but in the summer when you worked outside all day, it could be a welcome relief.

The guys continued to chuckle as the bartender walked up.

“You guys need anything?” she asked.

“I’ll have another,” said Carl.

“Yeah, me too,” said Frank.

“Might as well make it three,” said Dave and he finished the beer he’s holding.

The bartender pulled three beers out of the cooler, knocked the caps off and put them down in the center of the bar. Each guy reached in and grabs their own then sat quietly as she cleaned up the empties and walked away again. Bob and Claudio both watched her walk away.

“Dude, you’re sister is still smokin’,” said Carl.

“Yeah she is,” said Frank.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” said Dave. “She has good genes.”

“We’re not just talking about her jeans,” said Frank.

“No, we are not,” said Carl.

“Mm-mmm,” said Frank.

“I still can’t believe she’s a lesbian,” said Carl.

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by David Todd McCarty | Tuesday, July 12, 2016

Back before the accident we’d always go surfing on Sunday mornings. He called it going to church.

“Come on, let’s go to church,” he’d say. “I’ll call you in the morning. We don’t want to be late.”

Then he’d laugh and slap his knee like he hadn’t said that a thousand times before. He was big knee slapper.

I can still see him, riding along in the passenger seat of my old pickup, drinking a Red Stripe, the wind in his hair, the wrinkles in his face from years in the sun even more pronounced when he smiled and he was usually smiling. He always said Red Stripe was a breakfast beer.

“It’s a little fruity,” he explained. “You know what I mean?“

The thing is, I did know what he meant. It is a good breakfast beer.

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by David Todd McCarty | Wednesday, July 13, 2016

When my stepson was very small, he liked to talk about things that he had experienced, sometimes as recently as a week before or even a few days. It’s not like he could remember very far back. He didn’t have years worth of memories. It was more like weeks or months. A few weeks was a lifetime to him.

He would say, “Remember that time when we went to the beach, with you and mommy?”

“Yes,” I’d say. It had been just the previous weekend.

“That was fun,” he would say and smile.

He just wanted to relive the memory with someone. I think it was his way of looking at the world in a romantic light. His daydreams of what had been. He was always a romantic; always creating costumes, and imagining himself as other people.

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 by David Todd McCarty | Tuesday, July 12, 2016

You see the sign before you see the motel most times. It’s a big neon one of the type of place that still advertises air conditioning and television as if these are recent inventions and worthy of bragging about. The Shady Palms Motel is not the worst place I’ve ever stayed, but I can see it from here.

The carpet has cigarette burns and the hangers don’t come loose; the televisions are bolted to the wall, the Spanish guys blast their music till all hours some nights. People fight and scream. Drunks vomit. Truth be told, the place could use a decent scrubbing and a coat of paint, but it’s cheap and quiet in the offseason, plus the owner lets me live rent free so long as I handle the handyman work. I’m not quite sure who’s getting the better deal, but I suspect it’s not me.

This town used to be quite something back in the day. The boardwalk was the place to see and be seen, with rich folks walking the boards in their finest duds. It was a quaint seaside resort for the rich. I’ve seen pictures over at the Convention Center. A real fancy place it was.

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by David Todd McCarty | Tuesday, July 12, 2016

I don’t think it will come as a shock to most of you that I’ve been a big Bernie Sanders fan since day one. I wanted to see a true Progressive win the White House with the possibility of changing the course of our nation towards a direction that felt human again. I agreed with his policies of affordable education and healthcare, and end to private prisons and subsidized insurance companies. I wanted to see him fight to wrest back control of our country from billionaires and oligarchs.

More than 57.6 million people, or just 28.5% of estimated eligible voters, voted in the presidential primaries – close to but not quite at the record participation level set in 2008 for Obama’s first term. And that wasn’t enough to defeat the Democratic Party machine’s appointed nominee. For all the crowds, and Bernie captured the hearts of 18-24 year olds to the tune of 80% of voters, but he never made any in-roads with Black, which he lost to Hillary by as much as 80 percentage points in the South, and Latinos, who he lost by an average of 32 percentage points. That’s a crushing defeat in very important voter blocks for the Democratic Party. So forget all you heard about electoral math and super delegates. Bernie was never close, he was just popular with you and your friends, most of whom I’d guess are white and well-educated, or young.

So what now? I see all the posts about Never Hillary, or a campaign to write Bernie in, which are pure fantasy. If Bernie couldn’t win the popular vote in the primary, which he did not in case you’re still not clear about that, there’s no way he could win with a write-in vote in a general election. If you believe that, you clearly do not have even a small understanding of how our political system works.

But forget all that, because the candidates in the race have been decided.

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