May melee: much too much to muse on

Another month has flown by with your increasingly distracted hostess being absent from her Whirled for almost the entire month. It's not that I don't have enough material on which to muse: to the contrary, the problem is that there's too much, and (though this isn't really a problem) there's also the for-pay writing and editing and so forth that are the first priority. But I'm keeping my dogged and perhaps irrational commitment to post at least one offering each month, even if it's a mere stub of a post.

To tell the truth, Scamworld per se hasn't weighed on my mind over the past few weeks quite as much as matters that are far more serious, though sometimes related to Scamworld and scammers. One obvious weighty topic is the May 24, 2022 school shooting/mass murder in Uvalde, a small rural town west of San Antonio. That gruesome and almost certainly preventable incident, which left 19 elementary school children and two teachers dead, plus more than a dozen people injured, once again highlighted Texas' status as the proud leader of both gun lunacy and gun-related deaths in the United States. Talk about Texas exceptionalism... or Texceptionalism, as the case may be.

Of course, gun-nuttery isn't the only shining example of Texceptionalism, thanks to regressive republican Texas politicians and the increasingly crazy and brutal laws they're foisting on the rest of us.

Naturally, right-wingnuts in Texas and all across America are blaming everything but guns for Uvalde and the countless other mass shootings that have dominated the American news cycle in recent years. Included in the blame game are "wokeness" and "critical race theory" -- not to mention the LGBQT community, illegal immigration, "the left," and other rethuglican bugaboos -- but never, never are guns and those who worship them to blame.

Despite the recent carnage in Uvalde, the annual NRA (Nazi Republican Armies) convention was held elsewhere in the state this past weekend, in my former hometown of Houston. Some of the rethuglican luminaries who'd been scheduled for in-person appearances -- e,g., Texas Governor Greg Abbott, Lieutenant Governor Dan Patrick, and assorted other scoundrels -- cancelled their attendance, though Guv'ner Assbutt still managed to be a presence at the gun orgy. (In lieu of wheeling his way into the NRA, the guv'ner opted for another trip to Uvalde, where he was... well... not enthusiastically received.)

On the other hand, loathsome weasel Ted Cruz and #NeverWasMyPresident Donald John Trump appeared at GunCon in the (rotting) flesh -- blaming, of course, everything except guns and the people who cherish them for the horror in Uvalde. Trump's speech was particularly offensive; after feigning compassion by staging a Hunger Games-ish sing-song reading/mispronunciation of the Uvalde victims' names, complete with a gong sound after each name, he did a little dance. As reprehensible as he is, though, he remains a hero among the gun loonies, not to mention the hero and de facto leader of the entire rethuglican party.

To add endless insult to boundless injury -- and here is where my Whirled's original beat and American politix converge in an unholy union -- Trump has expanded his grift by hitting the "motivational" speaker circuit as part of the "American Freedom Tour," as reported by Axios earlier this month. It could be argued that he hasn't been off the speaker circuit since his presidential campaign began in 2015, what with the endless string of fascist pep rallies he has conducted -- but the "motivational" gig goes above and beyond the fascist to-dos.

It can be pretty pricey, for one thing: though tickets for the riff-raff start at a mere nine bucks for the "Satellite tier," which apparently grants the lucky ticket holder the right to watch the program on a TV screen in an overflow room, "Presidential tier" tickets cost nearly $5,000, and the promoters won't even list the price for the top "Patriot tier."

By now I'm far beyond caring about individuals who actually get grifted by Trump. At this point, anyone stupid or willfully blind enough to still admire him deserves to be scammed. I do, however, care about the countless folks who have been, are being, or will be harmed by the ugly stain of Trumpism, which is far more to blame for the mass shootings in America than "wokeism" or "critical race theory." All I can say now, to eligible voters in the United States, is this: Vote blue in November and beyond. The Democratic Party is far from perfect, but the other party is batshit crazy.

I'll be back in June, which is just around the corner. I'd like to say that I hope it will be a calmer month, but I wouldn't count on it.

 

Goodbye to a Texas legend

This really has more to do with my "day job" than with the usual subject matter of this blog, but I wanted to make note of the passing of one of our local heroes, Houston television's "white knight in blue shades," Marvin Zindler (1921-2007). Marvin passed away on July 29 around 6:15 PM Houston time, succumbing to complications from pancreatic cancer. He was less than two weeks shy of his 86th birthday.

Marvin is perhaps best known nationally for being the inspiration for the Best Little Whorehouse In Texas franchise – the Playboy article that became a stage play that became a movie. But he was so much more than the man who closed down the cat houses in LaGrange and Sealy, Texas. Since 1973 he had been a fixture on Houston's ABC affiliate, KTRK-TV Channel 13, initially reporting on consumer fraud and later expanding his beat to include, among other things, dirty restaurants. His "Rat and Roach Report," with the rallying cry, "Slime in the ice machine!", was a welcome dinnertime staple on Friday evenings. Mmmm, tasty! Not that Marvin confined his activities to the Houston area. He also traveled the world on "goodwill missions" to help people who needed helping. For the most part these were medical missions, and he was accompanied by doctors and other professionals, "Marvin's Angels," who donated their time and their services to his good causes. And almost until the day he passed away – he even continued to broadcast reports from his hospital bed – he remained the "loudest man on television." Love him or hate him – and most of us loved him – you just couldn't ignore him.

There are so many ways in which Marvin Zindler differed from the New-Wage/self-help/pop-spirituality gurus I love to skewer on this blog. True, Marvin had an ego that could easily have put the lot of the New-Wagers to shame. From a very early age, he was an inveterate publicity hound and would do just about anything to get his name and picture in the news. But he wasn't just another fame whore. The man had a heart that was even larger than that ego of his, and he touched countless thousands of lives – not by selling vague promises of enlightenment or unlimited wealth via self-help books and DVDs and weekend workshops, but by actually solving everyday problems for everyday folks.

Marvin had several signature mottoes, but the one that made him a hero among so many people was, "It's hell to be poor." Unlike the current crop of New-Wage entrepreneurs who are getting so much mileage out of being "formerly homeless" and now wealthy beyond belief, Marvin himself was born into affluence and lived a life of privilege. But he wasn't one to flaunt his wealth, at least not in the way that my favorite targets on this blog do, though he never hesitated to use his considerable resources and connections to help those in need. More importantly, he knew, and cared deeply, how "the other half" lived, and he spent much of his life fighting for the poor and disenfranchised. As well, he helped thousands of ordinary middle-class people fight back against shoddy business practices, tangled bureaucracies, or just plain bad luck. (I would have loved to hear his take on Secret creator Rhonda Byrne's "let them eat cake" philosophy.) For decades Marvin was also a fierce crusader against prejudice and racial discrimination, a cause that surely must have raised more than a few eyebrows in certain circles back in the day.

Ron and I were privileged to take part in the creation of Marvin's authorized biography, White Knight In Blue Shades, which was penned by Marvin's plastic surgeon and long-time friend, Dr. Joseph Agris, who accompanied Marvin on many of his worldwide medical missions. Doc Joe, a hero in his own right for several reasons, was a delight to work with, and clearly had a fondness for his subject matter. Instead of seeking a trade publisher, Doc Joe chose to self-publish, and proceeds went to the charitable organization he and Marvin had founded, The Agris-Zindler Children's Foundation.

The original working title of the book was an accurate though somewhat uninspired one: Marvin Zindler. It was Ron and I who came up with White Knight In Blue Shades, a title Doc Joe loved. The title referred not only to Marvin's status as a local hero (and his fondness for wearing white suits), but to his trademark blue sunglasses, which he wore in his later years to protect his eyes from the bright glare of the TV studio lights. It was only a couple of years ago that we found out Marvin himself never really cared for the name we had so lovingly bestowed upon his biography. But he did approve of the book, for the most part, and I guess that's what really mattered. (And I suppose it was a tribute to Marvin's stature in Houston that the Houston Chronicle book editor suspended his usual policy of snubbing self-published books, and actually did a write-up of White Knight In Blue Shades.)

In the days to come, Houston media will no doubt be saturated with tributes to Marvin Zindler. I usually get pretty weary of this sort of thing after a few hours. But Marvin...well, he was someone special, and I can't seem to get enough of the tributes. And even though I didn't know him very well, except through working for so many months on his biography, I'm truly going to miss him.

As will, I suspect, the vast majority of the people in this realm of rats and roaches, this blessed plot of dirty politicians and shady merchants, this precious stone set on a murky bayou, this quirky town, this Houston. It truly will not be the same city without Marvin Zindler.

One of my favorite columnists, Ken Hoffman, pays tribute to Marvin in this piece.
Marvin Zindler's son tells of his father's final night.