Really, do not vandalize cemeteries

My third Great-Grandfather, Joseph Plunkett served in the army with the Massachusetts Volunteers during The Civil War. His arm was either injured or blown off during the Battle of Petersburg and he was taken prisoner. He was freed during a prisoner exchange a couple of months later. I’m not certain what POW camp he was detained in, but it would not have been an easy place to be captive.

My Great-Uncle Eddie was killed in action on March 26th, 1945 while the U.S. Army crossed the Rhine River. He was 20 years old and his death had a profound impact on my family, especially that of my Grandfather who was 20 years older and looked after him almost like a son. He is buried in the St. Avold Cemetery in France because my Grandfather wanted him buried there with his buddies. I have not been there but I have photographs of the site that were taken by relatives who went to pay their respects to their Brother or their Uncle.

As you know I have a deep respect for cemeteries and the way we honor and remember our dead. I’ve also gained respect for how we honor our war dead. So when I saw that the Camp Chase cemetery, about a mile from my house, was vandalized last night, it disappointed me.

Camp Chase was a military camp in Columbus, during The Civil War it became a prisoner of war facility. Over 2,000 confederate soldiers lost their lives in the dirty, unsafe and medically primitive facility. Call it the Andersonville of the north.

I honor the gravesites of the war dead of the average soldier. Men who were often threatened by evil governments with death of their own families to enlist for a terrible cause. Win or lose, war is shit. Luckily my family was on the winning side of the wars. Yet, I do not hate Germans for killing my Great-Uncle as I suspect a terrified average 20 year old was probably the one who pulled the trigger in retreat.

The Camp Chase site is rather humble, not very well kept and in a non-vibrant part of Columbus. There is a stone that has an engraving of why the site is there and on top of an arch was a statue of a generic confederate soldier, with the inscription “Americans” underneath. That statue was taken down, after being up there for over 100 years, by vandals last night. I support that the meaning of the camp and it’s origins should be updated for our times. I do not agree that cemetery vandalism and desecration is the way to accomplish this.

So, Guam

Tom Lehrer can provide the soundtrack to the end of the world.



Waving nuclear weapons like a phallus. Sad, sick men.

Akai Hana did not pop out at me

Been ill most of the week, a lingering malaise of various internal organs. Each day I last about a half hour further before a quick fade out that leads into not being able to fall asleep.

At least the taxes are done. After all the financial changes of the past year we had them done professionally and what a relief. Total piece of mind, even if we owed.

It's still autism awareness month, right? Am I still aware? I'll find out more tomorrow afternoon.

It seems Brew Dog have sold a chunk of themselves to a capital firm. Looks like that's how they're going to fund the hotel on the Canal Winchester property. Things are getting weird now that the punk founders are multi-millionaires.

All of this could be a moot point if this administration starts blowing up more than runways.

April is national poetry month too. The less said about my writing, the better.

Instead of continuing, it might be time to get into that strawberry parfait.

You know who else did that?

To maintain a presence on social media means a near constant solicitation by others known and unknown. If it's not a kickstarter type campaign, there is someone out there needing money, asking you to buy their book, music, like their business page and on and on. For the most part I'm fine with this, it's easy to scroll past, to acknowledge or even donate to the cause on occasion.

It's the guilt trip that irks me. Do not try to make me feel guilty if I do not vote for your pet salamander as the cutest in the midwest. Do not say I am not a real friend even after I notice you did not offer any sympathy after my Mother died, you will not get my vote. And if you threaten to unfriend me if I do not click like, well guess what? It's already been done.

April is National Poetry Month with means that many poets will be attempting a thirty poems in thirty days project. I wish all of them well. I will not be doing that this year. Taking off in the middle of the month will not give me enough time to commit to it daily. Plus, I am not feeling confident. Done it before, along with other projects. Even had an idea in mind for this April, but winter sapped my spark. My idea is still with me though.

2004, repeated?

A quarter of the the games of the current NHL season have been cancelled due to the owner's lockout. The Winter Classic, the All Star Game, heck the whole season is in danger of being called off due to greed and an inability to share.

Yet on the twitters and local media it seems like there is little wrong. The Blue Jackets are updating the Springfield Falcons games as if they are just as important as a real game. They're all mercilessly tweeting every ice related event at Nationwide Arena as if Ryan Johansen had scored a hat trick against the Red Wings.

I'm not buying it. The players and owners are not even talking, not even on the same planet and another season is probably going to be lost.

What is going to bring me back once the inevitable is announced, in another week or two? Nothing. I'll be done with the NHL.

The Everton/Liverpool match was quite the exciting match this morning. The first half was a thrill. Liverpool goes up two goals then Everton roared back to even the score. Players were fighting, hard. I think they ran out of gas because the final 45 minutes was not as passionate. There were a lot of yellow cards, a lot of gnashing of teeth, but no goals. Liverpool had a goal disallowed because of a phantom off sides late in the match. Such is life in a world that is often cruel and unfair.



After a couple years of fits and starts, it is great to finally see the Goodale Park Fountain operating. It looks much better working than dry but I still think the elephants should be firing in opposite directions.

Hey Mister, can we have our ball back?

Oh to live on the west side, where your neighbor's buddy brings over his car which has a stereo that rattles the upstairs furniture around. This happened several times yesterday afternoon. Classy, like the new overweight patriarch standing on the back patio, talking on his cell, wearing only boxers.

I'm talking bets on when the inflatable pool makes its annual appearance.

Then again, they're not the ones with 3/4 of a crappy Sauder computer desk sitting in the backyard.

There are at least three kids who live there. Last week my wife was doing some gardening and they all came up to the fence to talk to her. She had an audience.

The other day one of the asked me why I locked my car door. Yes, it happened again.

For my wife, and for me as well, it's a bit odd being asked questions by a child. We're not used to it. I'm certainly not. Nine years in and my own son still does not ask questions.

I was reading in the back room a couple of days ago when he came in, stood by the back door, said, "Outside."

I told him he could go out if he put his shoes on. He leaves. A couple of minutes later he shows up, shoes on the right feet, velcro not quite tight enough. He got to go out.

The neighbor's kids keep asking about him. What do we say? They know he's different.

They also keep throwing their balls over our fence, which does not bother me. When I was around their age we had asshole neighbors behind us who were total dicks when we asked to get a ball that went into their yard. I vowed to not be like them.

In other news I'm doing a short feature at 10:30 on Friday night at Kafe Kerouac to benefit the Writers' Block Poetry Slam team. Admission is free.