Human Interest Stories
From nypost.com, edited by yours truly: A Wisconsin woman, Marijuana Pepsi Vandyck, 46, has earned a doctorate in higher education leadership from Cardinal Stritch University. Her dissertation was titled: “Black names in white classrooms: Teacher behaviors and student perceptions.” She embraced her name as a child, although later, as a real estate agent, she used the initials MP so stoners wouldn’t steal her signs. Despite her moniker, she’s never smoked grass and doesn’t drink soda. She left an unstable home at 15 and spent her life trying to prove herself. Her sisters, Kimberly and Robin, got off easy in the name department. She says: “I’ve grown into my name because I am a strong woman. I’ve had to be.” Kudos.
From Yahoo Sports: Burgess Owens, 67, descendant of slaves, played ten seasons in the NFL as a safety. He was a member of the 1980 Super Bowl XV champion Oakland Raiders, and was named to the Pro Bowl in 1980. He had 30 interceptions in his career. Yesterday he testified for five minutes before C Congress, rendering an opinion on reparations. Here are quotes: “this is not about black and white, rich or poor, blue collar white collar. We’re fighting for the hearts of our nation.” “I do not believe in reparation, because what reparation does, it points to a certain race, a certain color, as evil, and it points to another race, my race, as one that has not only become racist, but also beggars.” “I used to be a Democrat until I did my history and found the misery that party brought to my race … Let’s pay restitution. How about the Democratic Party pay for all the misery brought to my race?” “And every white American, Republican or Democrat, who feels guilty because of the color of their skin, you can pony up also. Then we can get past reparations and recognize this country has given us greatness.” Kudos. I expect he will get a lot of flack.
He also wrote this book:
The last time I saw Romania-born, bi-polar artist Andu he was in handcuffs and surrounded by police officers, so I was glad to see him today — until I saw that his dark side was in play. He was shirtless, his big gut an eyesore. He said it felt like he had a screwdriver in his brain. He’s pissed at Taylor Swift for not calling him, and has gone from pro to virulently anti-Trump. He belittled every other passerby and knocked the yarmulke from the head of one of my frequent customers, to whom I apologized. He stayed about a half hour. On pins and needles, I was so relieved when he left. To my chagrin, he soon returned, a thin orange cross drawn on the length and width of his torso. This time he knocked the baseball cap off an old-timer. Again I apologized. Fortunately, he soon left. I saw him a third time, in a shirt and jacket. I wondered if he’d taken his meds. Here’s a picture of him showing Robert, a local porter, stuff on his iphone:
My thanks to Robert and a young man struggling with addiction, who donated several books between them, and to the gentleman who bought instructionals on cars, welding and carpentry; and to the woman who purchased three books in Russian; and to Ira, who selected Gravesend Brooklyn: Coney Island and Sheepshead Bay by Eric J. Ierardi; and to the woman who chose Pope Joan: A Novel by Donna Woolfolk Cross and a Debbie Macomber paperback romance.
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