About Me

I am a blogger and an advocacy journalist, though I always hesitate to use that term.  Mindschmootz is exactly what it implies, just a little dirt, a little something, something that I have to wipe off my consciousness…or my conscience depending on the subject matter.  The topics range from life to entertainment to politics.  Though my political leanings are somewhat left of center, hypocrisy has no party affiliation, and I am an equal opportunity lasher of lip service.

I grew up a genesis Generation X’er in Atlanta , Georgia , and though this modern-day Scarlett O’Hara watched the city of my birth metaphorically burn in my rearview mirror, I am still rooted in its sense of tradition and family.  Much of my writing in support of the marginalized and the least among us is fostered in what is so often referred to as the heritage of the Old South, a legacy often built on the legitimacy of the children’s game of telephone and a pedigree more aptly fitting the mongrels hunkered under the porch.

I am championed in this literary endeavor by my partner, my better half who is often times my better three quarters.  She has encouraged (that’s a ‘schmootzism for nagged) me for years to write a book.  I have always refused.  This blog is a compromise of a partnership whose foundation is built on middle ground.  That, and the selective attention years of unrecognized wedded bliss warrants.  And they say all marriage is not the same…

You will see that I love big brains, wordsmiths, couture fashion, and stupid jokes.  I abhor hypocrites, hangers-on, and injustice of any kind.  Through my writing it will become evident that I love my life, the laughter of friends, and the occasional swear word.   Though the mere thought would cause the ladies of my lineage to clutch their multiple strands of cultured peals in abhorrence, I believe when engaged in the war of words, the shock value and affected collateral damage of a well positioned F bomb is more than justified.  It’s all part of the modern era mission of this current day Enola Gay.

Everyone has a story, and mine is no better than the next.  My life, however, has created in me a hopeful cynic.  Before claims of oxymoron clamor forward, let me say that I disagree.  And THAT would be the cynic in me.  Without hope, what would there be?  Without an actual belief that as we know better we will do better in regard to our society, our planet, and our humanity, then what is left except despair?  Of course, I refuse to accept that…