WYSIWYG came about in regard to computers, referring to the notion that what was displayed on the computer screen was exactly what would be printed out. What you see is what you get. Computers programs did not always produce this, so around 1982, when they began to, it was a pretty cool thing.
Overall, it’s nice to know that when you are looking at something it is what it’s supposed to be. Similarly, when you’re looking at someone, it’s nice to know he or she is what they appear to be. WYSIWYG.
Most often, however, this is not the case. Most often language is coded, ideas are couched in innuendo or inference, and people are not what they appear to be. It’s sad, but it’s true.
So let’s start with the media. News reporters are supposed to be unbiased. That was why the press was protected in the Constitution. When the media are puppets for governments, we in America look at them with scorn and derision. Remember the 1950s and 1960s, particularly regarding the Soviet Union, when we viewed their propaganda-spewing press as despicable agents for the government hiding the truth from the Soviet people? When a coup occurs, the first thing a new power does is knock out the broadcast media. It is only restored when controlled by the new government.
We were supposed to be free of that propaganda stuff here in America. We were supposed to be free of a biased press. That’s why the press was protected from the get-go, in the First Amendment to the Constitution. But the media is no longer WYSIWYG. Most of the media is in the tank for Democrats and these days they make no bones about it. Two newspapers come to mind, The Washington Post and the New York Times, both of which lean really far left. It’s okay to lean one way or the other, but the particular bent is supposed to be expressed editorially, not through the news itself. The news is supposed to be sacrosanct. But it’s not. The first, by the way, is owned by the owner of Amazon. His personal holding company bought it in 2013. Carlos Slim, one of the world’s richest men and Mexico’s major cell phone controller, is the major stock holder in the other. Since he’s a shady character, it’s alleged he became top owner in the Times to prevent negative press about himself.
WYSIWYG NOT.
It gets better. We knew where the real media bias was pretty early on in the Obama presidency. GE owned NBC when Obama invited GE’s CEO into the White House and made him a major player in Obama’s green energy transformation of America. GE got sweet light bulb deals and a lot more, especially some major contracts in China. NBC, a major media player, was fully in bed with the POTUS.
WYSIWYG NOT. But at least Obama was transparent in his corruption.
We now have what we were never supposed to have, the APN, the American Propaganda News. It purports to be unbiased but we know it isn’t. It pretends to be fair, but study after study shows it leans heavily left, and this year in particular it isn’t even trying to hide it much. A lot of it is owned by big moguls whose private interests control much of what it does.
Unbiased, First Amendment protected, free press? WYSIWYG NOT.
By Peter Weiss
The laundry wasn’t open and there wasn’t a rack of uniforms. There was a simple sign on the closed counter that said to knock. Bill gave a gentle little tap three times with one finger and stood waiting.
Millie did not open the counter but she opened the door next to it. Seeing it was Bill, she smiled and ushered him in. Before he could get all the way in, she took his dirty uniforms from him and tossed them into the big bin of dirty uniforms. Then she closed and locked the door.
“Well, morning stranger,” she said. She reached up and kissed Bill on the lips then pointed upward to where mistletoe hung. “Not exactly under it, but close enough,” she said. She reached up and kissed him again. As she did so, she unbuttoned the top two buttons of her house-dress so it fell open slightly revealing her bra. “You like? Brand new purple lace. We got it just for you.”
Bill didn’t say anything. He watched as Millie stepped back a few steps and held her top open so he could see the cups of the brassiere. He saw her lips form a shy-like smile, maybe half trying to be coy and half definitely trying to be seductive.
“Well?”
Before he could answer, she turned her back to him and lifted the dress part so he could see her panties. She wiggled for him and turned to face him without letting the dress part down.
“Matching set,” she said. Still holding the dress, she ran her fingers up her inner thighs and over the purple lace panties.
“I like,” Bill said.
“Come here,” Millie said. She led Bill over to right under where the mistletoe hung and pointed to her breasts.
“Kiss each one,” she demanded.
Bill leaned in and did what she asked.
Millie pointed down.”Kiss there too.”
Bill bent over and kissed there too. He couldn’t help his male reaction but he tried not to indulge it. He stepped back away from her.
“They’re waiting for me in the kitchen,” he said.
“We’ll all go over together,” Millie said.
Millie turned around and bent slightly over. “Last place to kiss,” she said.
Once Bill had done that, Millie reached out and took Bill’s hand. She led him to the furnished room, went in first and kind of pulled Bill in. He was reluctant but entered.
Chloe was sitting on the sofa. She was in a purple dress, he saw, sitting with her legs crossed and her hands clasped in her lap. She was made up and he judged quickly she was pretty much flawless.
“Hello,” she said. She did not stand up.
“Hi.” Bill freed himself from Millie and stepped forward to reach out a hand. Chloe took it and they shook hello. “Nice to finally meet you.”
“I saw you yesterday and of course Millie has told me all about you.”
“All?”
“Well,” Chloe said, “maybe not all, but surely most. Nice to meet you too.” She stood up and smiled. “Maybe we should head over to the kitchen, make an appearance at the buffet the banquet chef put out.”
“I have a lot of work to get done,” Bill said. He looked to Millie. “Have some uniforms for me?”
“Of course,” she said.
Bill carried three sets of clean, starched uniforms over his shoulder as they headed out together back toward the main kitchen. Chloe and Millie veered off when Bill headed toward the locker room.
“I hope we get to know each other much better,” Chloe said.
“I look forward to it,” Bill responded.
Getting to know Millie’s boss better, Bill knew, was not a matter for him. He knew, since she was a boss and part of the hotel’s upper management, that any interplay they would have would be up to her, determined and controlled by her. She was in a different class than him altogether.
He stood a moment and watched them head off then headed off to the locker room to put away his uniforms.
By Peter Weiss
Ar
e you maybe someone who has lost a family member, maybe a son or daughter, because of an illegal alien? Drunk driving incident? Convenience store robbery? In the wrong place at the wrong time? Gang incident?
Maybe you haven’t actually “lost” anyone, but maybe you or someone you know has lost benefits because of illegal aliens, like a disabled child no longer eligible for lunch subsidies because your state has accepted and is paying the benefits to illegal aliens, which, by the way, you, the taxpaying citizen, don’t have a right to know about?
Maybe you haven’t actually lost benefits, but maybe you just can’t get to see the doctor you want to see because he/she is so overworked and overbooked due to the influx of those illegal immigrants on Medicaid (who are not supposed to be receiving benefits but who are despite what they say) that the next appointment which you need now is a month away.
Which Shoes Do You Wear?
Maybe you are an illegal alien who was brought here as a child with no say in the matter, someone who has gone to school, learned the language, and not broken the law.
Or maybe you are an illegal alien who came here on your own and worked here for years and years keeping a low profile and not getting into any trouble, someone who has tried to remain invisible as much as possible so you can stay here and have a better life than you had where you came from.
Which Shoes Do You Wear?
Any way you slice it, this one is a really tough one. Unlike many other issues, this one is truly complex and difficult, one for which there is no one-size-fits-all answer.
But there are some things that are facts.
- Illegal immigration into the United States is a real problem.
- Our government and its illustrious leaders (on both sides) have been derelict in their duties of dealing with this problem, kicking the can down the road, so to speak, for decades.
- Our government and its illustrious leaders are not telling us the truth about illegal immigration, who is coming in, where they are being relocated to, what states are accepting them, whether or not they are getting welfare, food stamps, Medicaid and Social Security benefits.
- The media is not reporting accurately regarding this issue and many others. The media does not report the reality of the problem, choosing instead to promote a left-wing liberal bias leaning toward socialist values.
- Spokespeople for the illegal immigration population do not present an accurate or fair depiction of their clientele and opt for the heartbreaking talking points about how all the “good” illegals who came here by no choice of their own will be deported by this hateful president (the all or nothing argument).
- The left-wing Democrats depict this issue in the same way the media mimics it.
- DACA is not what it seems, and when one reads the reality of what it is versus what it was supposed to be, that becomes evident.
- American citizens should be the first priority of the American Government and no one else’s rights should abrogate or supersede American citizens’ rights.
That last point is incontrovertible. Also incontrovertible is the fact that the government, by its inability or lack of desire to deal with this issue has simply exacerbated it.
So, which shoes do you wear?
Are you paying for the illegal aliens when you can hardly put food on your own table? Are they taking jobs that you would want but can’t get because they are working for lower wages than you would expect to be paid? Are you a victim of their crimes?
Are you an honest, hard-working illegal-alien person just trying to get by? A child who was brought here by no choice of your own?
This one is a tough one. Which Shoes Do You Wear?
By Peter Weiss
Certain things are beyond belief. Especially some things we’re seeing in America today are way beyond belief.
So let’s get simple and start with a simple statement. America was created to be and has always been proud of being run by a government for the people, by the people and of the people.
Here are a few questions to ask yourself to begin to see where we are at and to understand America today.
40 million people are out of work due to this pandemic. Why would anyone put another 10 thousand people out of work for a political reason?
Why is there such a thing in America as a political class comprised of full-time career politicians who now rule us like a group of tyrants?
What is a career politician a specialist in? What does a career politician know or do that a simple layman can’t?
We know about Covid that the elderly and those with co-morbidity are most likely to die from it, by far and clearly demonstrated. Why would anyone not vaccinate their elderly first (not counting health care workers and first responders)?
Why would anyone curtail energy production and call for tax hikes on gasoline when so many people are out of work and hurting economically?
Why would American leaders take us back into energy dependence on the Middle East?
Democracy and government of, for and by the people.
Any logic in what our leaders are doing here here?
Some things to think about in understanding the state of America today.
By Peter Weiss
Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you.
Happy Birthday dear Cassie.
Happy Birthday to You.
Always and Forever, sweetie.
They stood at the counter kissing. He reached up under her robe and helped himself to a gentle feel of her, a feel that was designed not to be sexual as much as intimate, a feel designed to let her know they were close.
As it happened, his mother-in-law walked into the kitchen at that precise moment.
Ain’t it funny how the night moves, Bill thought.
That was always the way it was.
Her mother didn’t flinch or look away or do anything but go about what she had come into the kitchen to do. Bill, of course, withdrew his hand immediately.
“I’m not saying anything,” his mother-in-law said. “You’re married almost getting on a year now.”
“I’m gonna go start the car,” Bill said. He left the kitchen, went outside in just his clothes, opened the car door and inserted the key. He started the engine and waited a moment to make sure it ran without stalling out. Satisfied, he ran back into the house.
The dog was waiting for him. He stayed in the foyer a good moment to play with the dog, big boy German Sheppard that he was. He petted the dog, kissed him on the snoot, petted him some more, tapped his side a few times telling him he was a good boy. The dog wagged his tail happily and followed Bill back up and into the kitchen.
“You gonna get here for dinner?” his mother-in-law asked.
“For sure not,” Bill said. “Even if we close early, can’t see getting back here before 11:00.”
“That’s too bad,” she said. “Maybe next year.”
Bill smiled. He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. “Bet your ham is better than the one I’m serving.”
“I’ll same some for you,” she said.
Bill went back to his wife who was still standing at the counter. While he was out starting the car, she had started some water for tea. The kettle was just beginning to whistle. He kissed her a full kiss and then kissed her a second time before he went over to the stove and shut the light under the tea kettle.
“See you later,” he said. “I love you. Merry Christmas to you all.”
Down in the family room he put on the coat he had never hung up. He didn’t bother to zip it, just wrapped it about him and headed out the front door to the car. Then he was on his way.
Being a holiday, the roads were empty and the ride into the city proper quick. He pulled onto the loading dock as he almost always did and parked where always parked, an away spot out of the way good for the small car he had.
Now that he’d been there awhile, the routine that had been so strange the first day was just that, a routine, a familiar one. He said hi to everyone, punched his timecard and went on his way where he found the back of the house empty and quiet, the normal hustle and bustle conspicuously absent. This was a good thing.
He hadn’t been to the laundry in a couple of days so he needed uniforms. He didn’t know if Millie would be there or not, but if not, he hoped she’d at least have left him some clean ones. It wouldn’t have been like to her not to have done so, so he expected at the very least to find a rack of uniforms with some of them on the rack bearing his name.
Jimmy G was just tying his shoes when Bill got to his locker. Jimmy Banquet Chef and Victor were there too, both already in uniforms and both already having been at work.
“There’s a buffet table with breakfast stuffs,” the banquet chef said.
“I need to get uniforms,” Bill said.
“Ya,” Jimmy G said, “I’m hungry.”
Bill opened his locker and took out the two sets of dirty uniforms he had left in a ball on the bottom the locker. “See you in a few,” he said.
By Peter Weiss
Are you a payer or a payee? Or are you both?
As the tax bill looms in conference and is being formulated into one bill to be sent to the president, we hear a lot of information about the bill. Most of what we hear from the left side is scare tactics and divisive rhetoric, about how us regular people will pay more in taxes and the rich will get big tax breaks, about how it will increase the gap between the rich and the poor, about how it will decimate Medicare and Medicaid, and on and on. Nancy Pelosi called it Armageddon, as if she, with her more than 115 million dollar net worth has any understanding of what such Armageddon would be.
Most of what we hear from the right side is about how it will stimulate fiscal growth and corporate growth, put people back to work again, put more money in the pockets of us regular people who have been paying taxes, repatriate a lot of cash that is overseas which will in turn help corporations to invest in themselves and grow, thus employing more people, not touch Medicare or Medicaid, and on and on.
Somewhere in between the left side’s rhetoric and the right side’s selling points is something getting toward truth.
Remember balance? The first rule of real research aimed at truth is balance, an honest look for and appraisal of the bonafide research about the issue.
So which shoes do you wear and what do you want to believe?
If you are a payee, and have mostly been a payee, and if you have no real incentive to be anything other than a payee, you can choose to believe the left’s point of view and sit on your sofa and feel angry about those who will maybe pay less and are richer than you while those others go out to work to pay for your benefits. And you can choose to believe the left’s divisive talk about how the rich get richer, which is actually true, while they neglect to tell you that the rich actually work for their riches and employ most of us regular people who make regular wages, which is also true.
If you are a payer, a tax payer, someone who’s been wondering for a long time how come the government takes a good chunk of your modest income and then the state and city governments come along and take another good chunk of your modest income, you might tend to believe what the right’s selling points are trying to show you, that you might have to pay a little less, which, since you are paying for everything for everyone who is a payee, doesn’t seem like a bad thing at all.
So there are some facts out there, that are really facts that give some indication as to what’s actually going on here and what is political BS. who pays taxes latest Federal tax data
The top one percent (1%) of Americans pay forty-three percent (43%) of the Federal taxes. Forty-five percent (45%)of the people pay no federal taxes at all. Those of us at different levels in between pay the rest. The two links show slightly different percentages and so you can see what’s close to real.
Once again, you can cut and paste onto your Facebook page the misleading headline bullet-list points of either side, left or right, and thus be part of the left’s divisive, fear-mongering rhetoric or part of the right’s economic selling points, true or not.
But if you’re one of the ones who pay nothing, receive everything and have no skin in the game, it seems like you should really stay pretty quiet. And if you are one of ones who are giving a chunk of your pension and Social Security to the government to pay for those who pay nothing, then it seems like you really ought to find out what is real and accurate and support that.
Which shoes do you wear?
By Peter Weiss
She was in slippers and a robe when he came down the stairs and into the kitchen. He was in jeans and a sweatshirt. He went to her immediately and kissed her good morning.
“I made you coffee,” she said.
“You didn’t have to do that. I’d have gotten some at work.”
“My pleasure.”
She smiled. He looked at her. She was beautiful, that was his thought. It wasn’t a new thought. It wasn’t an old thought. It was just his thought every time he took the time to look at her.
“I love you,” he said.
“I love you too,” she said. She poured him a mug of coffee, fixed it with the creamer he liked, handed it to him. Then she stood against the counter and watched him sip the hot liquid.
“What’s the day like?” she asked.
“No banquets. I guess mostly setting up. The hams and turkeys are cooked off. Dressing is made. Mostly heating stuff up and finishing it off, then setting up for the service. We’re opening at 1:00 and going till closing. Maybe the jerk will close early. He didn’t yesterday.”
She knew the jerk was Caesar. She knew every name he used to refer to Caesar and they weren’t usually as gentile as “jerk.” They were generally much more colorful, much more gruff.
“Maybe you’ll get home a bit earlier.”
“Doubt it. But I’ll call and let you know.”
Bill sipped at his coffee. He looked at her again, looked a long time. As he did, the knot came to his stomach. When they were like this, alone together and conversing, kind of just being together as husbands and wives do, the knot came to him regularly now. Guilt. Shame. Guilt and shame. Maybe fear, fear of getting found out and losing all he had. Guilt, shame and fear.
He ran it in his mind. They weren’t even married yet and he was fooling with Mary and Bea and sometimes Alfreda. Then there was the host of waitresses that were ongoing in his life, the last of whom was Arlene down there, the one he had gotten close to because she confided in him about her mother being really sick. Her mother being sick was what did it. If anyone knew what it was like to lose a mother, it was him. So they had an instantaneous connection and of course that connection, well, it led to, well…
Maybe if he’d had a policy. Maybe if he hadn’t been so altogether vulnerable based upon what had happened to him at that demonstration he hadn’t meant to go to in the first place… Maybe, maybe, maybe. Before that demonstration everything seemed simple, clear and easy. And afterward…
He was a bigger dog than the dog that was laying there in the corner of the kitchen. He was a much bigger dog. I’m a goddamn dirty dog, he thought. “You’re a goddamn dirty dog,” he said to himself in his internal voice.
He didn’t quite know what to do about it.
Nothing. That’s what he thought. Do nothing. Say nothing. Go on about this life and just stop what you’re doing.
Yeah, right. He bet Rosie and Edelgarde would have fresh mistletoe.
The goal was to come up here and leave all the messing around down there behind. It was supposed to be easy, simple, a new job, a new place where he didn’t know anyone, where he could just do his work and come home. He wasn’t supposed to have any complications, any involvements except the business ones that dealt with the kitchen and the kitchen’s business.
Yeah, right. Millie in a housedress and slippers like his wife was now right in front of him. Rosie and Edelgarde in their skimpy French maid’s uniforms, jiggling and bouncing and flaunting their wares, openly and overtly coming on to him.
Not simple. Not easy. Non uncomplicated.
Bill sipped his coffee and buried that knot deep as he could within him. He walked over to his wife and pressed against her at the counter.
By Peter Weiss
So it was after one in the morning when Bill got to his in-laws’ house. The house was dark on the first floor and completely dark from the front as Bill drove up. Because it was late and dark and cold and quiet, Bill did his best not to make any noise.
First thing that happened when he opened the door and entered the house was the German Sheppard barked. He met Bill at the front door and because he knew Bill by his smell, his touch and his voice, he stopped barking instantly. Bill tapped himself on the chest and the big boy stood up and put two legs on Bill. Bill petted his head and kissed him on the snoot.
“Good boy,” Bill said.
The dog went back to all fours and Bill patted him on the side. “Good boy,” he said again. “It’s only me. You can go back to sleep.”
The dog wagged its tail. He didn’t go off to sleep. He followed Bill as he went to the family room where he put his coat on the sofa and then went up the stairs of the split level house.
Bill’s wife was up and waiting for him. A soft bedside light was on. She lay in bed reading. She was under the covers with her legs up and the book on her lap. She had a wine bottle and two glasses on her night table.
“Hey baby,” she said.
“Hey,” Bill said. He walked to the bed and sat beside her, leaned in and kissed her.
“How was your night?”
“Slow and tedious. Tomorrow will be busy, they say. We’re open at one.”
“Not much time to rest.”
“It’s okay.” He leaned in and kissed her again. This time his lips clung to hers, felt and tasted the lipstick she had put on. She was made up. He’d seen this immediately and wondered what she had in mind.
“Pour us some wine,” she said.
“I need to take a shower.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Bill poured them each a glass of wine and handed hers to her. “Merry Christmas,” he said.
“It is Christmas already, isn’t it?”
“Sure is.”
From next to her in the bed she pulled a piece of mistletoe. “Gonna kiss me under it?” she asked.
“Where you gonna put it?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“I can guess.”
“I’m sure you can.”
Bill’s wife, being cute, put the mistletoe over her head. She held it there with one hand, held her wine glass with the other.
Bill leaned in and kissed her. This time he kissed slowly, deeply, carefully, allowed his tongue and made sure it did, to meet with and play with hers.
They kissed a long time. This was nothing new for them, nothing unusual. While they kissed Bill took her wine glass from her and set both her glass and his on the night table. Then, both of them with a free hand, they hugged and kissed even more.
“I love you,” she said.
“I love you too.”
“We had a nice time at my aunt’s. Maybe next year you’ll be able to be there. You were missed.”
“Remember when we were broke? Dead broke? Better I work if I can.”
“At least you eat well.”
“Ham and turkey tomorrow,” Bill said. “Mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, stuffing. Bet the ham won’t be as good as your mother’s.”
“It’s just another Christmas here. We’ll open presents, eat, everyone will do what they do. Me, I’ll help my mother.”
“I’ll be gone all day.”
“What time you have to leave?”
“Nine. Thereabouts.”
“Better go take your shower so you can come to bed.”
Bill took the mistletoe from her hand and held it over them again. He leaned in and they started kissing again, kissed the same way, a long time.”
“Come on and shower with me,” he said when they finished kissing.
His wife lifted the covers a little. “I don’t think so,” she said.
Bill saw that she was all dressed up for him.
By Peter Weiss
“I want what Rosie got,” Edelgarde said.
Shortly after Bill had walked part-way down the ramp and stood leaning against the wall smoking his cigarette, she joined him, leaned against the wall next to him and helped herself to his cigarette.
“You can have it.”
“Really?”
“Why not?”
“Great. When?”
“Whenever. Just not tonight. I’m tired and on top of tired I’m really beat. I have to drive over to my wife’s parents’ house which is a longer drive. Jimmy G ain’t doing shit and I just wanna finish up and get the hell out of here.”
“I hear you, baby.” Edelgarde had been holding his cigarette all the while he spoke. She took another drag on it and handed it back. “Can’t say I’m not disappointed,” she said. “But I understand.”
Bill didn’t say anything. He took his cigarette back and puffed on it. When he was done with it, he dropped it and stepped on it to put it out.
“Anything I can do for you?” Edelgarde asked.
“Not really,” Bill said. “Let’s close this bad boy down and get out of here.”
Since they had not been out of sight and had not done anything wrong, they walked up the ramp together. It was common for the Rosie and Edelgarde to walk down the ramp and join Bill to cop a hit off his cigarette. No one thought anything of it just like no one thought anything of them coming up the ramp together.
With no orders and nothing happening, the night dragged on. Bill did all the breaking down he could do without leaving himself unprepared for orders if they came in. Jimmy G stayed out by his aunt. He had not done much work all night and wasn’t about to do much. Worse, as it seemed, he didn’t care.
Kalista was apologetic. She didn’t actually say anything to Bill, but she pampered him more than she normally did. Normally she took good care of him, but this night, with nothing going on anywhere, she delivered his espressos, made them all doubles and fixed him nice plates of pastry. Bill thanked her, and once, under the piece of mistletoe the girls had taped in the kitchen doorway, he kissed her on her cheek.
Bill made the first trip to the main kitchen by himself. This was after Caesar announced that he was closing on time in case someone, anyone, came in and wanted to eat. Caesar told Rosie and Edelgarde that they had a responsibility to be there during the regular hours and they would, at least on this night, live up to it. After all, it was Christmas eve and if someone wanted to be there, they should be allowed to be.
The main kitchen was totally deserted and closed down. The only bright light was in the chef’s office and Jimmy Banquet Chef was in there with beer and whiskey. Bill peeked in on his rounds and was invited in for a drink. They each had a shot of bourbon and a beer chaser. The banquet chef walked along with Bill as he made his rounds and helped him put away all the things on his truck. That done, they had a second drink before Bill went on his way back to The Falstaff Room.
Best news was that they could all get out on time. Jimmy G and Bill had their truck ready to go and were all set to cut out when Caesar announced they were closed. The girls had completely set up the dining room for the next day. Kalista had put her things on the truck and had shut down here station.
They were opening early Christmas day and running a special menu with turkey and stuffing. No rest for the wicked.
Rosie and Edelgarde each took a last kiss with Bill under the mistletoe. Bill and Jimmy G said good night to Caesar, and then along with Kalista they were gone.
