The Hot Dog War

I don’t love hot dogs. I don’t hate them, either. A few times a year, I actually get a craving for one, although I honestly believe that craving is more attached to sauerkraut, mustard and a good ball game.

Let me tell you this: If I came to your house and you served me a hot dog, I would eat it knowing it won’t have the same life-changing impact on me as a young woman I know.

Let me explain: The biggest impression a hot dog ever left on me was after Hurricane Katrina. On mission trip 4 or 5, working on a roof, we learned our homeowner’s pantry factually consisted of two ingredients: eggs and rice. So, our team leader called and asked for a few more sack lunches to be made and brought out, and delivered them with the invitation to join the crew for lunch.

To thank us, the very next day, these people with nothing but rice and eggs spent whatever small amount they had to purchase and serve the entire team hot dogs. There was a declared vegetarian in our group, and to my astonishment I heard she ate a hot dog. She could have easily said, “No thank you.” No one asked her to change her beliefs for those 5 minutes, but for this young woman, the immensity of the gift outweighed her objection.

Let me point out: This was her choice – I am not advocating for or against. I wouldn’t expect anyone else to do the same, and I do not know how or if her convictions remained or changed. I do know that disrupting an annual well-attended, televised hot dog eating contest isn’t doing anything to support a cause or solve the world’s problems.

Let me ask you this: When was the last time you saw carnivorous humans gather intent on disrupting an animal rights meeting with meat pelting, sausage face-slapping, hot-dog slinging, chicken chucking, egg bombing or storm a vegetarian restaurant blood-splashing, ruining clothes and chairs and livelihoods and profits and whatever else may be with complete disregard?

I Googled it – many different ways. Couldn’t find anything close.

Let me be clear: My objections are not aimed at or around the hot dog industry or animal rights activists. They’re aimed at the outdated media-created notion that any type of publicity is good publicity, and the truth that purposefully hateful and idiotic behavior isn’t going to drive me toward your idealism.

Whoever you are – whatever your point – stop wilding, causing confrontation and property damage in the name of conversion.  You’re just being bullies.

Yep, some of those who cry loudest demanding “respect” for whatever point of view they hold and complain about being bullied for their beliefs see no hypocrisy in attempting to bully others out of theirs.

Want to make a difference in this world? Stop being ridiculous.

Share intelligent information, intelligently.

Patiently, kindly, explain your educated point of view

Be passionately professional, calm and rational.

Remember no one’s perfect; we’re all works in progress.

Love your fellow humans without reserve and forgive them their trespasses.

Maybe then….

Quote for the Week:

2015 07 28 How to Change the World jakorte

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I’m always jotting: ephiphanatic fragments.

Knabbling for bites that may be interesting enough to share.

I’m also always trying to decipher what seemed like obvious notes to clear thoughts.

Sometimes, I can’t remember the point; sometimes texting myself in the dark comes out one-key-to-the-left garbled because I am too tired to slap around for my glasses and afraid that a rare near-sleep state will dissolve if I were to make any miniscule effort above.

The weird thing about this constant comment dialog I keep with myself is that I’m rarely running around doing fabulous stuff. I never really review relevancy until Monday evenings, at which point, most everything I thought was worth thinking seems a bit mundane.

These are my Mondanes; shining a little too much light through drowsy holes in my logic, raising questions instead of reflections. Even if they do hold up, they’re sometimes shelved as inappropriate, anyway. Fear of repercussion holds them back, timeliness runs out.

I file dangerous pulsers away under “if I ever get desperate” on nothing-to-say rainy days. Others slip into the “there’s no way I’ll ever be able to word this wisely” pile, wisely waiting for the someday book of things no one thought I would ever say.

So, while sway doesn’t always strike, tie-togethers don’t always make sense, leaps are left invisible, and I sometimes forget to nurture a Godly nature, I still hope for understanding.

Even if all that can ever be understood is that I’ll never entirely be understood at all.

Quote for the Week:

2015 07 14 I hope for understanding jakorte

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