Episode 003: Truth, or Not Truth?

 A contest more deadly than Russian Roulette!

 Available on YouTube, TikTok, and Instagram.

 

TTFN

-Tony 

 

9/11, Looking Back After Twenty-Five Years

Looking back at the last twenty-five years, the most predominant thought in my mind is this:

Do you remember how, in the wake of 9/11, Republican President George W. Bush - for all of his many, many flaws - constantly drove home the message that we were ALL Americans, including Muslims? Do you remember how in his speeches he stressed over and over that all Muslims were NOT terrorists? Do you remember how he spoke out again and again against racism in that dark time, and tried to unify us instead of dividing? 

Now please, look around you, and compare that to all the hate, paranoia, and racism Donald Trump and his propaganda machine are so desperately trying to use the 25th anniversary of 9/11 to promote - especially on social media.

What's happened to us?
_________________________

The following is a letter I wrote to my friends & family in the days after 9/11. The only comment I'd like to make is that while at the time we were told the death toll was 6000, we now know it to be about 2700.
__________________________

I'm sorry that I've been distant lately. I'm sure you can all understand, some even more than me.

I've been scared. I don't like to be, much less admit it, but I've been scared. I was lucky and in Queens, not in Manhattan last Tuesday. No, I wouldn't have been THERE (Though at 2 am I remember that I was working on the roof of a building a block away a month before this happened.) When the towers went down, I walked to the LIE overpass behind the apartment house and stared at the smoke that was in the place of the towers on the Manhattan skyline. Even though I'm one East River away from the close-ups on TV, it was stomach twisting. I called my foreman that night, and he told me how they watched it happen from the windows, 30 blocks away, how 20-50 year-old tough-guy construction workers were shaking, some crying, because they thought it was WW3 and the beginning of The End.

On Thursday, back in Manhattan, I had to walk from 42nd and Lex to 23rd and 1st, because the #6 line was down. (They were afraid of subway vibrations bringing down more buildings) It's not really as long a walk as it sounds, but I passed the recovery HQ on 1st ave- Past all the TV vans, and past a block's worth of pictures taped to plywood sheets. As time has past, these hopeful "have you seen" pictures have become memorials, and they're everywhere. I can't talk on the phone without staring into photographs with tearful notes of hope underneath, knowing they were put there by loved ones who will never ever see them again. I call my wife, and my voice becomes a dull monotone. She asks why and I'm at a loss on how to explain.

One of my friends at work is 40 years old, and he's a kind, good man. Today he suddenly started cursing himself, muttering what a failure he is. When I asked him what was wrong, he admitted it was because he started smoking again after giving them up cold turkey for 10 years. He told me he feels worthless, because suddenly he can't live without them again. I tell him it's an understandable need, but I can tell that my words don't help. I realize the frustration goes deeper than a pack of Marbalo 100s

Again, I'm on a job 30 blocks away from "ground zero", and I can see out the window that what was once a symbol of achievement is still a smoldering hole in the ground. I know it's only been a week, but I wonder when the skyline won't have a haze that has nothing to do with pollution. I walk down the street and I see people that are scared and jittery, no matter what their profession or race. I buy a paper from an elderly Arabic man, who wears a "God Bless America" shirt every day, and shrinks down in his kiosk- which is draped in American flags- like a frightened rabbit every time I, or any other customer approach. I give the little smile I have, but I don't think it does any good. I wonder if he's so afraid, why he stays here, and I realize he probably has no one and no where else to go.

Our shop is working on restoring power to one of those buildings- the same one I was on the roof of not too long ago (The Trinity building, 111 Broadway for those of you with a love for geography)- and being a lowly apprentice I helped the truck driver deliver material yesterday. My drivers license was scrutinized by armed police and National Guardsmen, like I'm trying to get onto a military base, and they make me wait in the cab while they and the driver search the truck. The won't let the truck get closer than a few blocks away and we wind up rolling 3' diameter wooden reels of sj cord down the street. The smell twisted my stomach, when I realized that what I was smelling was death- the death of a great achievement, of that smug "nothing can ever happen to us" attitude we Americans had without giving it a second thought, and, most disturbingly of over 6000 bodies.

And there's this feeling that grips me, this feeling that there's nothing I could ever do to protect myself, my wife or my son (I know that's a MCP attitude, but I'm sure Jen feels the same way about Joey and me.) And I wonder every night if tomorrow some new insanity will strike. I jump every time a car backfires. I run 2 miles a night (yes, frightening but true. This started a while before all this happened and I'm down to a not-quite-slim-yet 225lbs, thank you very much) and every time a plane flies overhead I flinch. I watched President's Bush's speech on TV tonight, and every time the picture flickered a little (I don't have cable, so 2 is really the only reliable channel- the others are coming and going- for those of you not in NYC, the WTC had all the broadcast antennas for the area except channel 2, leaving those of us cable-less with only CBS ) I thought "oh shit, what's happening now?" Every time I hear a siren, I wonder what's happened. The QM4 bus got held up at the Midtown tunnel yesterday (connecting Queens to Manhattan) because there was an accident. Of course, everyone seeing a bunch of flashing lights and emergency vehicles as we approach a tunnel, we instantly look around like caged animals, wondering if stage 2 had begun.

I feel guilty. Part of me tells myself that I have no right to feel so hurt or so angry- my family and my friends are all safe, and I'm alive and healthy. I'm a civilian now, I don't have to worry like so many others do. Who am I to feel so much? There are some without homes, without jobs, without their wives/sons/husbands/dads/daughters/brothers/sisters/fiancées... oh, you get the picture. I feel like I'm just whining.

I can't help being angry. We have the freedom of religion, but we jump out of our skins if someone says a prayer before a graduation ceremony or a football game. We have the freedom to own firearms, but we curse any law abiding citizen who owns one, while passing more and more lenient laws against criminals who use them. We showed the world that our presidency is a joke, that we don't care about our own history, our pride. We have a popular culture that demands more and more freedoms, but damns those who give/gave their lives and personal freedoms to protect the ones we have. I watched the speech, saw Democrats and Republicans give up their petty bickering that's been tearing the country to pieces, for the first time since WW2. It gives me a boost of hope, and I pray the sentiment lasts longer than this week, and reaches further than military resolve- into fixing our school system, into caring more about our OWN country's welfare, into bringing back production into this country so people can have jobs and learn trades to feed their families. I hope our politicians will stop trying to convince group A that everyone in groups B, C, and Q hates them, just to get their block of votes, then running around like idiots and asking "why?" when that hate turns to violence. I hope we learn to accept and love each other because we're Americans, despite our preference/denomination/color/sex. God, two weeks ago, that statement would have sounded so corny, wouldn't it?

We're at war, but we don't really know against who. There's no clear enemy, no one knows who will attack or when. Will it be us or them? Will it be "Us" or some nut like McVeigh, thinking we'll blame foreign terrorists instead of domestic? I realize I live on an island, and the only way to the rest of the world is by crossing another island (either Staten Island or Manhattan) Am I going to worry over every bridge and tunnel I cross for the rest of my life? And if it's "them," what form will it take? Watching 6000 people die as the WTC go down in flames is one thing. Watching millions in a city die from Anthrax in our water supply is another.

I'm sorry if I see this as just an NYC thing. It's hard to grasp that this is affecting the whole country.

It's an uncertain time, it's become an uncertain world. I just want you all to be certain that I love every one of you.

Those of you who've been forwarding bits of editorials, news items, letters, etc. Thank you, but it's you who's opinion I'm interested in. Let me know what you're thinking & feeling, if you'd like- you're more important.

Love each other, stay safe, and live your lives, for yourself and for each other.

-Tony

_______

Here is another post I wrote years ago, entitled "Two Days After"

________


The subway from Queens, unreliable at the best of times, crawled along at ten miles an hour. It grinded to a halt every few hundred yards. Some riders jerked their eyes back and forth. Others hung their heads, swaying with the movement of the tracks. One woman choked back sobs, wiping her eyes every few minutes with a mascara-stained tissue.

I worked at 23rd street, which is about a mile and a half north of “Ground Zero.” When the train from Queens entered Manhattan, a crackling loudspeaker informed me that my connecting train was out of service. I exited into the sunlight, passed a cordon of police and soldiers, and began my thirty-block trek downtown. Even from three miles away I could smell the burning. I tried to ignore the fact that what filled my nostrils included some 2600 people. I failed.

The city seemed deserted, empty. Anything south of West 4th Street had been blocked off with military checkpoints, so only a handful of cars were on the streets. Every few blocks, police and National Guardsmen carrying M16s stood ready, but for what I had no idea. To the south, towering above us all, a swirling pillar of smoke scorched the sky, a giant defacing the clouds with charcoal.

Along Lexington Avenue, bus shelter after bus shelter were wallpapered with photocopies and print outs. Black-ink faces smiled from white paper copies of wedding photos, family gatherings, and yearbook portraits. Each had a plea scrawled in block letters: “HAS ANYONE SEEN _____?” or, “PLEASE CALL IF YOU HAVE ANY INFORMATION!” In time, as the elements eroded these appeals, it became clear that no one would ever call, that these tattered papers would be the victims’ only tombstones. Watching these desperate prayers disintegrate day after day made me feel sick to my stomach and helpless. This, more than anything, is what I think of when anyone asks what I remember.

I reached the New York University Dental School on the East Side, which was under renovation. The kiosk I bought my paper from was draped with American flags. The elderly Middle-Eastern man inside half cowered at the sight of me, a large, pleading smile on his face. He wore a bright, tacky t-shirt with the Statue of Liberty on it. What was his exact nationality? I had no clue. His pleading, darting eyes prayed that I didn’t think it mattered. I bought the Daily News and offered him the best smile I could muster. He bared his teeth in an empty grin, his head bouncing like a bobblehead.

A long line of construction workers waited for me at the gate. As was now the norm throughout the city, everyone had to be checked in with photo IDs. One electrician who had worked there for six months was not allowed to enter, because he did not have his driver’s license with him. “Everyone must have their papers,” he growled as he left. “It’s like fucking Russia.”

On the tenth floor, my coworkers stood at the windows in silence. I joined them, lost in the monstrosity that blotted out the sky to the south, occasional bursts of red and orange flaring up from its base. “How long ‘till they get that out?” I wondered.

“Who knows?” a fellow electrician named Tom said. He took a drag on his Marlboro. “That jet fuel can gel like napalm. It’s all packed in down there in the rubble. Don’t forget that there was the subway, the PATH station, and a little underground mall down there too. They’re all burning. Pockets of air come up and feed the fire, and the fuel seeps further and further down.” The cigarette was just about down to the filter. He tossed it on the floor, crushed it under his heel, and lit another. “Did you watch Dubya’s speech?”

“Yeah,” I said, remembering the standing ovation he had gotten from both sides of the aisle. “Hilary looked royally pissed he was getting so much love.”

“Mmm,” he said. “Bush. Asshole. Just let it happen.”

“How could he have stopped it?” I asked. “You can’t exactly shoot planes down over New York City.”

“How old are you?” he asked.

“Twenty-eight.”

“You’re young,” Tom said. “Never trust the government- especially Republicans. They’ll fuck you any way they can.”

“Ok,” Jeff the foreman interrupted, clapping his hands. It was 7:30, half an hour after we were supposed to start. “I know it’s hard, but we have to get something done.”

Someone turned on the radio. Lee Greenwood’s “God Bless the U.S.A.” blasted from Q104.3, although it couldn’t by any stretch of the imagination be called classic rock. Afterwards, Ray Charles’ version of “America the Beautiful” came on. Better, I thought. I strapped on my tool belt and tried to pretend it was a normal day.

“Listen to that song,” a carpenter said. “I love that song.”

“It’s a great version,” I said.

His face twisted. “We should just bomb them.”

“Who?” I asked.

“The whole Middle East,” he snapped, as if I was an idiot. “Just nuke them right off the map, that’ll teach them. It stopped World War Two, didn’t it?”

“You can’t do that anymore,” his co-worker piped up. “It’s not ‘politically correct.’”

“You know some kids are protesting us going into Afghanistan?” a fellow electrician named Barney joined in. He was a plump man in his mid-fifties. He lit a cigarette, sucking the smoke down like a man gasping for air. “It’s just like Vietnam again.”

“No, it’s like Desert Storm,” the carpenter corrected him. “Everyone has flags out along my block, all over their car radios, yellow ribbons around trees, the works. But in a year, everyone’s going to forget. Or they’ll just be sick of it. Right now, the Republicans are all saying ‘I told you so,’ and they’re having fun doing it. But in a year or two, the liberals will be back with a vengeance.”

“Yep,” I said. I reached into Barney’s pack and took out a cigarette. He held out his lighter to me and I took a long drag. It burned and tasted delicious. “People have short memories."

“You got that right,” Barney muttered.

How long would all this last, I wondered as I gathered up wire reels and arranged them on a pulling rack, this bizarre mixture of patriotism, anger, prayer, suspicion, love, fear, and camaraderie? How long could the government continue its tightrope act, claiming that America is in immediate danger, yet at the same time, implore us that it’s a safe place to “go out and shop?” How long were we going to pat ourselves on the back for our freedom and envious way of life, while at the same time presenting our papers at work while soldiers with automatic weapons patrolled the streets?

The first few lines of John Mellencamp’s “Ain’t that America” came on the radio, and someone cranked up the volume even louder. Across the floor, I could see Jeff raise an eyebrow at me: Was I was just going to stand around all day? I realized that however long it took for things to get back to normal, it would be a lot more than two days. I pushed my cart out onto the floor and went to work.

TTFN

-Tony

__________________________________

 Restoring power on the roof of the Trinity Building (next to Ground Zero) around October 2001.
 

 

Before You Called...

A new PG-13-ish audio sketch comedy series following Sadie and Reggie: Two friends attempting to navigate relationships, politics, pop culture—and, when absolutely unavoidable, real life.

Written and performed by the lovely and talented Isabella Fumoso, (who played the various incarnations of Charlotte in It's Always a Human Error: Turning the Future Off and On Again), and myself.

Available on  Instagram, TikTok and YouTube, not to mention Facebook. Meet Sadie and Reggie and check out the series here. 

TTFN

-Tony

 

 

A Whole Lotta... Something Going On!

Greetings, friends and neighbors. 

First of all, the latest episode of The Egotistical Podcast - 012: Interlude - is out. You can listen to it on Youtube, or Podbean.

Second, the original soundtrack for It's Always a Human Error: Turning the Future Off and On Again is out on Spotify, with other platforms soon to follow! So, if you want to stretch a few brain cells to some trippy electronic background music, why not treat yourself?

Stay tuned for more information on Isabella and my upcoming sketch comedy foray, Before You Called...

Until then, be good to yourselves. 

TTFN

-Tony 

Wowsers!

Holy guacamole, 10k+ views! Thanks again to everyone in the cast for making it possible. If you haven't listened yet, all the links are here (and soon the soundtrack will be available as well!)

The incredibly lovely and talented Isabella, (who played Charlotte among other voices) and I are planning to write and perform a series of PG-13 sketch comedy audio shorts together. The title will be "Before You Called..." It's going to be a lot of fun, so please, stay tuned for more about that!

TTFN

-Tony 

 

 

The webpage for the audio drama is up and running!

 It's Always a Human Error: Turning the Future Off and On Again

 

In a future classroom, an AI teacher guides virtual students through an increasingly strange journey across the history of intelligence, from single-celled life and primitive tools to silicon chips and quantum computing. Told through completely accurate reconstructed documentaries, game shows, and philosophical detours, this darkly comic, semi-educational, science-fiction audio drama explores history, religion, technology, and what happens when computers begin asking the questions humanity couldn’t be bothered to answer.

This stand-alone audio-drama episode of The Egotistical Podcast was written, directed, scored, edited, sound designed, and produced by Tony LaRocca (It's called "Egotistical" Productions for a reason.)
 
Available on YouTube, Podbean, and other various podcast sites, along with short and long trailers. 
 
CAST (in alphabetical order): 
 
Mary Corrales as Crystal.

Waldo Corrales as Alfie.

Bradley Creanzo as Donny Diplexer.  Facebook, IMDb

Ivy D. as Samantha, and The Kumquat Stigmata. Website 

Solveig Feragen as the BIOS.

Isabella Fumoso as Charlotte, Chessy McKittens, Sister Charlotte, and the announcer. 

Amanda and Joe LaRocca as Students.

Anthony J. LaRocca Sr. as himself.

Tony LaRocca the Younger as the Chad I-2-P 5000 & 6000, Charles Babbage, Billy, The Alchemist, Leonard, The Magistrate, Herman the Executioner, and Chadwick the Pig Slopper. 

Stan Lobby III as Melvin, The Assistant, and The Most Illustrious Grand Inquisitor. YouTube

Jerry McMahon as Alan Turing.

Elena Nazzaro as Brava. Instagram

Peter Nazzaro as Tommy. 
 
Sophia Nazzaro as Eliza. 

Heather Pruiksma as Ada Lovelace.

Tony Sarrecchia as Charlie, and The Inverted Cabbage. Website

Crowd Voices were played by various members of the cast.

"Paene Finitum Est" was performed by The Brothers of The Holy Order of the Imaginary Basemen.


NOTES:

 I've always loved radio shows and spoken word albums, especially the Firesign Theatre and The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. (Did you know it started out as a BBC radio drama?) I am also a fan of Big Finish and their continuing classic Doctor Who adventures. I've often toyed with the idea of adapting a few of my short stories for audio dramatization. The only problem is that they are extremely visual and would require narration. I'm not a fan of that, as it always takes me out of the story. 
 
I have, on occasion, toyed with the idea of starting something completely new that was very dialogue heavy, aimed with an audio drama in mind from the get go. Then, quite a lot of real life got in the way, and that idea was put on the back burner. 
 
I've also considered writing a nonfiction book, sort of an amateur self-proclaimed guru's guide to life, along the lines of the late great Robert Anton Wilson. I wrote a few chapters while riding to work on public transportation, and eventually began a chapter about AI.  
 
Why AI? Because for the past year, it has suddenly dominated the news and our daily lives. But how to approach it? The first step was learning as much as I could about computer science in general. We all use computers, we all have one in our pocket that we rely on. But how do they work at a basic level? How does the flow of electrons compute, store memory, and mimic human thoughts and personality? 
 
An idea began to form. Each chapter could be an episode of my podcast. We are currently wallowing in worldwide catastrophic turmoil. And as much fun as it is to rant and rave about the current political situation, it's also becoming extremely negative - not only for myself, but I'm sure for everyone around me. I wanted to start talking about other things. 
 
At first, I thought I could just take on the persona of a futuristic AI professor, teaching a class of virtual students about the history of computing and AI, including quantum computing. Maybe I could get a friend or two to play students asking a few humorous questions to break up the monotony. I mentioned The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy radio drama earlier. There is a fantastic bit in "Fit the 11th" (S2E5) where an AI teacher tries to teach a belligerent student about an inevitable galactic catastrophe known as The Shoe Event Horizon. I imagined an entire episode along the same lines. 
 
As I also mentioned above, I am a huge fan of The Firesign Theatre. Set at a futuristic world's fair, I Think We're All Bozos On This Bus contains a few ridiculous parodies of documentaries, as does their album & film Everything You Know Is Wrong. The late great Stan Freberg's Presents the United States of America albums famously contain comedy sketches very loosely based on American history. Inspired, I began to write sketches about the history and science behind computers and AI, but I wanted them to be more educational than parody. 
 
Before I knew it, I had a handful of sketches, and a story that would tie them all together. Going back to the Firesign Theatre again, I wanted to create something that was layered and slightly surreal that people would want to listen to more than once to try and get an idea of the whole picture. I left some things deliberately ambiguous so that people could form their own ideas and opinions. 
 
Next came casting. People didn't want to hear just me attempting to do different voices for over an hour. I asked various family members and friends to record voices for me. Some had casted me in their own productions, so I wanted to return the favor.

 

My original intent was to reverse the phrases “Inverted Cabbage” and “Kumquat Stigmata.” I figured it would be more interesting, and if people wanted, they could reverse them, and find the clues to their origins within the story. I had everyone pause before saying them. Then I reversed them, and found that they were very hard to differentiate. To the ear, they were just backwards phrases, with no real discernment between them. So I removed the pauses, and left them au naturel. There is one place where I left Donny saying “Inverted Cabbage” backwards as a curse –see if you can find it.
 
Melvin, while played wonderfully by Stan Lobby III, is obviously me. I can nerd out on quite a number of science fiction books, shows, and movies, much to the kind suffering of everyone around me. 
 
The computer game Charles Babbage envisions is a nineteenth century version of Doom. 
 
Versions of the original Eliza program can be found online. I fed in the exact questions asked in the script, and wrote in its responses verbatim. 
 
Alchemist Why is - obviously - a parody of Doctor Who. The line about reversing the flow of quantum supposition is a throwback to the Third Doctor's catchphrase, "Reverse the polarity of the neutron flow!" There is a tickling in the back of my mind that I would someday like to do more with that...  
 
Just about every cast member recorded the crowd lines, laughter, and applause individually, which I then layered and synched on top of each other. Crowd background noises were created by having each of them mumble a paragraph from my short story "Ad-Aware," and then similarly layering them. 
 
Back in the 70s, sitcoms often began with the declaration that they were "recorded live in front of a studio audience" rather than using a laugh track. I tried my best to do a Tom Bosley impersonation ala Happy Days. 
 
With very few exceptions, I find modern sitcoms extremely unfunny. Some of them are cringe-inducing and painful to watch, but then the laugh track just goes wild with hysteria.  
 
"Trash-80" was the tech-world's universal nickname for the TRS-80 line of home computers back in the 80s. We had a Model 3 growing up, and despite all of its many, many limitations, it will always hold a place in my heart. 
 
As I watch everything happening around me, Samantha's point is constantly on my mind: When we little people use one of the AIs available to us, they always have some morality guard, and for very good reason. If you asked one of them, "How could I screw over everyone around me, manipulate the markets, cheat, lie, and foster fear, hate and division so that I always come out on top?" it would tell you that it couldn't tell you how to do that, and furthermore, that you shouldn't do that. But I have absolutely no doubt that the governments and corporations of the world have much, much more powerful AIs available than we will ever see, and they absolutely do not have any morality guards whatsoever. 
 
"Paene Finitum Est" is listed in the credits as performed by The Brothers of The Holy Order of the Imaginary Basemen. When we were kids, we used to play kickball all the time. But if we didn't have enough players, we would use imaginary basemen to hold our places after getting on-base. I gave mine names - Herman and Harold. A lifetime ago in Herman Takes a Dive, I wrote a barber shop theme song, recorded myself singing all three parts, and credited it to The Imaginary Basemen Trio. Likewise, I wrote a Latin faux-Gregorian chant in three-part harmony, and recorded myself singing each part ten times. So the "Imaginary Basemen" credit line is just an extremely inside joke to crack myself up. 
 
The translation is as follows: 
"Thank you for listening to all of this. Don't worry, it's almost over."  

Actually, all of the music in the episode are original compositions. I’m planning on a Spotify soundtrack album, so stay tuned!
 
Again, I thank the cast for all of their hard work, and my friends and family for being so supportive. I hope you enjoy!

 

TTFN

-Tony 

It's Always a Human Error: Turning the Future Off and On Again

 

In a future classroom, an AI teacher guides virtual students through an increasingly strange journey across the history of intelligence, from single-celled life and primitive tools to silicon chips and quantum computing. Told through reconstructed documentaries, game shows, and philosophical detours, this darkly comic, semi-educational, science-fiction audio drama explores history, religion, technology, and what happens when computers begin asking the questions humanity couldn’t be bothered to answer.

This full-length audio drama was written, directed, scored, sound designed, and produced by Tony LaRocca.

Starring: Mary & Waldo Corrales, Bradley Creanzo, Ivy D., Solveig Feragen, Isabella Fumoso, Amanda & Joe LaRocca, Anthony J. LaRocca Sr., Tony LaRocca the Younger, Stan Lobby, Jerry McMahon, Elena, Peter, & Sophia Nazzaro, Heather Pruiksma, and Tony Sarrecchia.

Runtime: 1 hour, 18 minutes
Genre: Science fiction / dark comedy / educational/ philosophical audio drama.

 

Listen to it on YouTube or Podbean.  

 

If you would like to know what you are getting into first, check out the trailers here: short and long.

 

Thanks to everyone in the cast for all their hard work.

  

TTFN

-Tony 

  

Let Freedom Ring

When I was a kid back in 1976, my father draped flags on the side of the house for America's bicentennial. Now, here we are at its 250th birthday - and at 94, he's been around for more than a third of it.

We live in a nation with a beautifully written constitution. A nation that was created to stand against tyranny. A nation whose strength against tyranny has been tested and proven over and over. 

You see that strength every day, it endures. People continue to stand for freedom of speech and the press's ability to inform us of the truth. For all to be treated as equal, and for equal protection of law. For due process. For the ability to pursue life, liberty, and happiness. For us to be ruled by democratically elected representatives as opposed to a dictatorship. People who fight to see their children and their neighbors' children be happy, healthy, and educated. People who take pride in the vision of a better future for all. America has been tested time and time again, and those who believe in her will always give her strength to remain standing.

To quote the first line of The Godfather, "I believe in America!"

 

TTFN

-Tony 

010: The Evidence Before Our Eyes - Renee Good and America’s Turning Point

In the face of the Renee Good shooting and its ongoing aftermath, your intrepid podcaster asks the questions that refuse to go away: What kind of country do we actually want America to be, and how much are we willing to excuse?

YouTube

Pod Bean

Homepage 

TTFN

-Tony