bring the noyz

here's to the new year

2012-01-01T01:16:00.000-06:00

It's two minutes to midnight. Literally, really it is. And while the hand may not currently be threatening doom, it is still surely making a very exciting night at my house.

Outside the darkness bangs, whistles, and booms. Fucking redneck urban hillbillies and their gahdamned fireworks. At least I hope they're fireworks. . . Although in my part of town. . .

Those bastards. Sounds like a gahdamned war zone. I might as well be Edward R Effing Murrow phoning it in from some rooftop in London. Fuck it. It's New Year's Eve. I'm breaking out the bourbon.

All the creatures in the house save me are in full freak-out mode.

The Boy was quite happy to go to bed. He smiled when I tucked him in an hour and half or so ago. The dogs were also rather content, all snuggled in throw blankets on the sofa. I was just settling down to watch a documentary about the history of television on PBS. Really. Yes, I actually was. I know, I know, how New Year's Eve has changed. Why back in the day we'd. . .

Whoa, getting off course. Back on track.

There had been intermittent bursts of small explosions periodically throughout the night. Perhaps a few more than a typical Saturday night, perhaps beginning a bit earlier than is typical. I mean, the cantinas, clubs, and bars are still open for about another two hours. But such a ruckus is certainly not unheard of in these parts.

Starting about eleven thirty or so, it went up a notch. Fucking fireworks. It started in skirmishes of small arms fire, bricks of black cats blocks away. It got closer, and closer. As the old year waned into the new the louder booms of rockets added to the cacophony like small artillery, mortars and stuff. Again distant at first, then close and all around.

Midnight.

Outside it sounds like Fallujah in April of 2004.

The dogs are glued to my ankles and The Boy shakes and vibrates in his bed as I pace around the house impatiently waiting for his damned iPod to sync so I can set him up with music to drown out the bangs and booms raging all around.

Finally. Ah, sweet Brandi Carlile. Your voice sure is some kind of sonic soma for The Boy. His eyes widen when he hears it. He almost immediately relaxes, and within a few bars his respirations begin to relax.

Well, primary crisis resolved. Like I said, I'm breaking out the bourbon. . .

2012 enters with a bang. Let's hope the Mayans had it wrong and we do this again, same time next year, ok?

Until then my dear reader and friend, raise a toast to the new year! And one for the brothas who ain't here to celebrate it with us.

And always remember my dear reader. . .

All For The Love Of The Boy

i'm just saying. . .

2011-09-11T10:11:00.001-05:00

um, this is kinda neat:

Did they just do that?

But again, I'm just saying. . .

I take some comfort in the knowledge that I am not alone in my thoughts on this morning. Many Highly Credible People also have many unanswered questions about all the crazy bad shit that went down that day.

So either we are all crazy, or the gods must be.

I'm just saying. . .

it's the economy stupid?

2011-07-14T01:16:00.003-05:00

So I'm just sittin' on our new couch, because after seven years of being the prime daytime spot for The Boy. . . well, let's just say it was time for a new one.

Stewart and Colbert are over. As a brief aside, tonight's Daily Show bit with a Seinfeld cameo about Michelle Bachmann's husband damn near had me in tears on the floor. Beautiful. Brilliant.

The Wife and The Boy are snug in their beds, so I'm just channel surfing. I land on FOX News. Hannity. As a rule, I avoid Hannity because for me anyways he has this nails on the blackboard way that best exemplifies the arrogant self-important douche-bags who pass for news people and journalists nowadays. Okay, with Beck currently off-air in reality it's probably a toss-up between him, O'Reilly and Olbermann's new old show on the Al Gore channel.

As you are surely aware, my dear reader, I am a media junkie who just can't get enough of the 24 hour cable news cycle. Not because I wish to be informed. I have the internet for that. I like cable TV news because it amuses me.

I'm freaky like that. We all have our hobbies.

I am fascinated by the different news networks ability to take complicated issues, such as the current debt ceiling discussion, and distill them down to sixth grade level sound bites with flashy graphics designed to appeal to their core demographics. Whether they are "conservative" (FOX) or "liberal" (MSNBC) or try for a more "moderate" (CNN) approach, there is one common characteristic that judging from their predominant advertising most of their viewers share: erectile dysfunction.

But I'm watching Hannity for a few moments because I notice that his hair is getting grayer. Recent photos of his nemesis Obama have shown a similar trend towards more gray on the ol' noggin, so I'm guessing Hannity is just trying to keep up. I see from the guide on our digital cable that Family Guy or something comes on the Cartoon Network in few minutes so I leave it because I need something to pass the time.

In the corner of the screen in that big scary block letter font: THE DEBT DEBATE or some such nonsense. Hannity has a panel of guests to discuss this issue of grave importance to our nation. There is an old white guy and a bald black dude. In all honesty, the sound was down because I received a phone call a few minutes prior and the remote that handles our surround sound was slightly out of reach on the other end of the couch. So I will admit that I am going with stereotypes and just guessing. I'll bet you dollars to donuts that the old white guy was playing the "conservative" role and the black dude was the "liberal" on the panel. You know, to keep things fair and balanced.

There was a another person on the panel: Miss America 2008.

Wait. What? Who?

Miss America 2008? I am skeptical, but not so skeptical as to be motivated to lean over two feet to grab the remote and turn the sound up. Perhaps she studied economics in college and is currently comparing and contrasting current policy to the theories of Malthus and Adam Smith.

Cut to commercial.

Cialis. Because you never know when it will be the right time.

There she is, Miss America.

in regards to the shire

2011-07-12T10:17:00.000-05:00

Many, many years ago, before the Google gave us the way to instantly connect and hyperlink to all human knowledge, I remember reading an article about J.R.R. Tolkien.

Anyways. . .

I read about this FAMiLY group in Iowa, and this pledge they created for Presidential candidates to sign to earn the support of their organization. It's full of lots of crazy sounding shit about "Humane protection of women and the innocent fruit of conjugal intimacy" whatever the fuck that means. I mean really now, in some circumstances the innocent fruit of conjugal intimacy could be referred to as Santorum.

Okay, I'll link to that because it's funny. Almost makes me want to start a contest. What's a Bachmann?

Back to the pledge. The rejection of Sharia Law. What the fuck is that? Where did that come from? Because the President is a secret non-American muslim? Because our nation was founded on The Ten Commandments of Jewish law? Because we should base our lives on and our laws on one ancient mythology and not on another? It almost makes me want to start bitching that all the trouble in our nation today is caused because we have turned our backs on Zeus. You don't want to slight him. Nope. He's not one one to trifle with. Ask Odysseus. And Zeus was as kinky as he was vengeful. I'm not talking just the standard whips, chips, chains, and dips type of stuff. I'm talking hardcore, like beastiality. He banged Europa as a bull, and Leda as a swan.

But I am really digressing. . .

Back to Tolkien.

For Tolkien the hobbits and The Shire were a metaphor for the English people. Not the Williams and the Kates nor the Harper Sevens of England, but the people of England. The hardworking, honest, and sensible people that made (and presumably continue to do so) the majority of the country, just the people living their lives in the hamlets, villages and hillsides. The hobbits and The Shire represented the fellows who got up every morning and did their job without complaint so long as they could enjoy a pint with a friend at the end of day, the salt of the earth folks.

Some might say Springsteen paints a similar picture of America for our times: "I had a friend was a big baseball player back in high school. . . "

Or David Byrne: "People like us. . . we don't want freedom, we don't want justice. We just want someone to love".

Iowa.

Iowa is that place and those people for me. Iowa is my Shire. Sweet Iowa, the land where the tall corn grows, the land of my birth, the land of my childhood, the land of my idyllic Tom Sawyer days running through the woods to the banks of the river.

"Is this Heaven?" "No, it's Iowa." - Field of Dreams
"I'm from Iowa. I only work in outer space." James T. Kirk, Star Trek IV

You know that scene near the end of Lord of The Rings? The books, not the movies. The Hobbits return to The Shire and discover to their horror that it had become the ugly scene that Sam witnessed when he looked into The Mirror of Galadriel.

I feel like that. It cuts me to my core to see the good people of my Shire fall prey to the evil and ignorant, hurtful and hateful speech of such a Wormtongue.

back yard / rear window

2011-07-09T23:42:00.001-05:00

Have you, my dear reader, seen that Hitchcock film where Jimmy Stewart is stuck in his upper floor apartment because he has a broken leg? You know, the one where he passes the time looking out his window watching his neighbors and becomes convinced that one of them murdered his wife? The Simpsons version where Bart sends Lisa into Flanders house is classic.

Well, we're not there yet. But some shenanigans are going on at the house behind ours.

First, some background information. Our house sits on a large corner lot in a neighborhood that was a country subdivision a few miles from the city when it was built in the fifties. Now it is prime centrally located real estate. Our yard is half a block deep. The back of our yard abuts the back yard of the corresponding corner house on the street behind ours. When we moved here in 2006 an elderly couple lived there. Last May I noticed the house was on the market, and within a matter of a week or two somebody else moved in. The new resident immediately replaced a decades old chain link fence with a large wooden fence. No big deal, right? I personally kinda like it as it adds to the privacy of our own back yard.

It was soon after that I began to notice things that seemed odd, but I fancy myself as a great neighbor in that I keep to myself and mind my own business and don't give a rat's ass what you do so long as you do the same and don't bother me. I was curious as to why I saw cars coming and going from the backyard at all hours of the day, what is going on over there? But again, it don't bother me so it ain't my business.

About a month ago, one afternoon there was a knock on the door. It was our new back neighbor. He introduced himself, an Asian fellow, said his name was Vinny. He asked me about the neighborhood, and asked a curious question about if we had a problem with complaints from the neighbors for entertaining guests. While we have frequent visitors, therapists, case managers and what coming to see The Boy, perhaps a friend or two stopping by for an after work beer, we rarely have gatherings at our house that involve more than a few cars. They are easily parked by our house. On the maybe once a year occasion we have a real party, well honestly no, we've never heard a complaint from a neighbor about the parking, traffic or the noise.

He told me that after being in our neighborhood for maybe a couple of weeks, he had already received complaints about all his guests and their cars, that is why he turned his back yard into a parking lot behind a large wooden fence. While I must admit, at first it was an odd sight to see the lights of multiple cars shining through the wooden slats driving around his back yard on those nights where I sit on my patio having a nightcap, playing on the internet at two in the morning, I never heard a peep of noise. So ya got no complaints from me, mister.

The conversation was friendly but strange. But again, your business is just that. You mind yours, I'll mind mind, never the twain shall meet.

Until one night a week or so ago, sometime around midnight.

I let our little dog out one last time before going to bed. Beasty. A yippie little Yorkie. He was a stray The Wife and The Boy found in February. He's misbehaved and ill-mannered. I can't count how many iPod earbuds he's chewed up. But he is cute, sweet, incredibly good natured, and great with The Boy. He's small, shaggy, adorable and endearing as all Hell. I never wanted a damn yippie little dog, but that is a story for another time.

Anyways, Beasty starts freaking out. He's going ballistic at the side of our back yard. I come out to see what is going on and I see two cars, running with parking lights on sitting on the side street. I approach. It's two police cars. What's going on? I am standing there, flashlight in hand in my jammy shorts and shoddy t-shirt when two of my town's finest walk up the side street from the direction of the new neighbor's house:

"Good evening, sir."
"Everything okay officers?"
"Yes. Have a good night."

They get in their cars and drive off.

Hmmm. . . Most curious. . . Police hanging out beside my house in the middle of the night? Can't say I'm exactly a fan of that. What's going on?

Well nothing, at least not then. But I began to take more notice. I'd go by the house and wonder, "I don't remember the garage windows covered with foil when the old folks lived there?"

All the while I resisted the temptation to just go to the back end of my yard and peer over or through the fence. Because again, I wish to respect the privacy of all my neighbors with the expectation that they do the same for me.

That ended around eight Friday night.

There was a knock on the front door. I open. Two cops stand there, the badges pinned to their uniforms were shinier than I thought they would be, more golden less brassy. That scene with Eddie Murphy from "Trading Places" pops into my mind, "Is there a problem, officers?"

They were very polite and cordial, but guarded in their conversation and answers the way police officers are. The asked for permission to enter our back yard to get a better view into the neighbor's.

While it is my general rule that with all due respect officer if you wish to enter my property uninvited well then I wish to invoke my rights so show me the warrant, these guys were clearly on a mission that didn't involve me or my household. So what the heck, hold on a sec, meet me around back and I'll unlock the gate.

As I let them in my back yard they asked me general questions inquiring about my knowledge of the new neighbor. As I spoke one of the officers, the one that appeared younger and the more junior officer jotted down notes on a small pad. They walked in and spent a few minutes at the fence line. They asked if they could use the ladder from The Boy's still not set up above ground pool to get a better view. Sure, go right ahead. I stayed back by the gate, not wanting be viewed as meddlesome or interfering. The younger officer continued to jot things down.

After a few minutes they came back to the gate and politely thanked me with an apology for interrupting my evening. When I asked more directly what was going on, one of them used the phrase "an ongoing investigation." Then they got in their cars and drove off.

What the Hell were they looking at? An ongoing investigation? Of what? Overwhelmed with curiosity, The Wife and I went to have a look for ourselves. There were at least a dozen cars parked in the back yard. Why? What is going on in that house?

I recalled a conversation I had with a street-savvy former coworker five years ago when I told him we were looking at buying a house in this neighborhood: "Be careful, that part of town is controlled by the Asian gangs."

It still feels uncomfortable, as though this is politically incorrect and smacks of racial profiling, but my mind began to wildly speculate as to what was happening behind us. Asian gangs? Drugs? Guns? Prostitution?

Well early this evening I learned the alleged truth and it blew my mind just a little. A fellow resident posted this to our neighborhood's Yahoo! news group: "I wanted to make the community aware that a new owner has taken over the property & is now operating an illegal gambling operation. He turned his back yard into a parking lot & gamblers arrive almost daily from as far away as Oklahoma."

Wow.

Last night at this time there were still over a dozen cars parked in the back yard. Tonight there are zero.

Never a dull moment in the big city.

Wow.

to boldly go

2011-07-08T01:26:00.002-05:00

Author's Note: I have delayed publishing this little rant for a couple of days because I wanted and thought I needed to say more. Upon much reflection and re-reading I have decided I have said enough. I rest my case.
__________

(While The Wife is as gorgeous as she is generous, caring, empathetic, and kind; there are somethings about her amazing husband that even after a decade together she just doesn't get. This late-night mild to moderately drunken rant is an attempt to explain. Or maybe because she is working an all-nighter for some extra cash, The Boy is snug asleep, and I just feel like rambling on a bit . . . )

Join me now my dear reader on a journey, as though we just used the gravitational pull from the Sun to accelerate our humble plastic starship to such a high rate of speed that we slingshot around our fair star and travel back through time. . .

High School.

In a moment of sad irony John Lennon is gone but Reagan survived an assassin's bullet and is in the latter half of his first term. We are deep in the heart of The Sprawl. It is a different world from the one in which we now reside. The internet as we now know it exists only as a vision in an about to be published William Gibson novel. Computers are just beginning to leave the realm of sci-fi and scientists. If you were lucky you got to play with an Apple II in school.

DVDs? Nope, not yet. The Beta/VHS war is beginning to rage. As we are in an affluent suburb, most of the homes had one or the other machines. But there was not yet a Blockbuster on the corner in the local strip mall to provide content to watch on the new marvelous invention.

Hundreds of digital TV channels on demand? Nope. Pink was Bob Geldof, not a spunky tatted-up pop star. When he sang "thirteen channels of shit on the TV to chose from" you were jealous because had like five more than you did. Really. Cable TV had not yet expanded to The Sprawl.

A gallon of gas and a pack of Marlboros both cost around fifty cents. You'd buy one of each. With the other of the two dollars your dad gave you each day to buy lunch in the high school cafeteria you'd buy a Big Gulp and a bag of Skittles at 7-Eleven on your off-campus lunch break. If it was a lucky day, a friend supplemented your soda from a Jif jar filled with a collage of booze stolen from a parent's liquor cabinet. You'd giggly sit as quietly as possible in English class that afternoon, holding your breath whenever the teacher drew near.

Any change that was left was plunked into the Spy Hunter machine in the nook where the ATM machine now sits.

It was a different place and a different time, but sadly, yes very sadly indeed, not all that different from the Planos and Round Rocks of the world that still vapidly exist.

It was like a John Hughes movie, but before John Hughes fully defined and described it for us and posterity. If it was like a John Hughes movie, we imagined ourselves as Judd Nelson and envied Emilio Estevez. We lusted after both Molly Ringwald and Ally Sheedy although both were out of our league because we were the Anthony Michael Halls.

So what did you do? What did we do?

We watched Star Trek. Because we were the Anthony Michael Halls. We watched episodes recorded from syndication on our new VCRs. Over and over and over again, until they were engrained and we could recite them line by line from memory. We watched Star Trek and talked about music like Rush, U2, Pink Floyd, The Who. We watched Star Trek and we drank dad's Natural Lite beer and smoked his Merit cigarettes. He was a cool dad and didn't really care so long as we left him a couple of each. We watched Star Trek and imagined that we were Kirk and that new girl from the other high school just hired at the grocery store or burger joint where we worked was the bikini-clad green chick.

Star Trek's utopian egalitarian vision of the future stood in stark contrast to the consumer caste system suburban society that surrounded us. It was an escape that helped to soothe the unattractive truth. And that was (and remains) precisely its appeal.

Period. The end.

am i the only one that hears scary movie music playing in the background?

2011-06-07T01:41:00.009-05:00

So I read that President Perry. . . yes. . . President Perry. . .

(Remember to say it with me now Say so that when it happens you will be acclimated and will be able to say it out loud without throwing up in your mouth just a little. Good.)

Anyways I read that Ol' Pointy Boots, Mr. Perfect Hair, Pandering Perry is giving up on using human creativity, ingenuity, imagination and knowledge to solve and resolve our problems and punting with a plea to the Patriarch Upstairs.

(another "p" word comes to mind, but I shall refrain from using it. Meow.)

Texas Governor Rick Perry to host prayer summit that calls upon Jesus to solve America’s problems

Wait.

What?

"Gov. Perry also urged fellow governors to issue similar proclamations encouraging their constituents to pray that day for unity and righteousness. . ."

Oh, I see. As long as he's praying for righteousness. Thank God somebody is. There's not enough righteousness lying about just waiting to be offended these days.

President Perry is calling God on August 6?

Ok.

"Given the trials that beset our nation and world, from the global economic downturn to natural disasters, the lingering danger of terrorism and continued debasement of our culture, I believe it is time to convene the leaders from each of our United States in a day of prayer and fasting, like that described in the book of Joel," Gov. Perry said.

If we're half as fucked as you seem to think we are, President Perry, why wait until August? I mean given the continuing debasement of our culture, can we afford to wait for two more months? Hell, Miley was only a scance this side of legal when those bong and tattoo photos started leaking out. Shouldn't we act now, to save the daughters of Texas. . . just like you did in 2007?

On August 6. August 6?

There's something familiar about that date.

Ah yes. . .

Hiroshima.

Maybe if the folks of that formerly peaceful and pristine town all gotten together and placed a called to the Big J on that day we wouldn't have murdered them by the thousands.

We all know those jap bastards deserved it. Don't question American Exceptionalism. If you do your a commie or one of them ay-rab terrorist types.

But I digress. . .

So good for you, you hardcore posh Austin neighborhood coyote killer. Good for you, Gov. Praying Perfect Hair Pandering Pointy Boots Perry. Yeah. Have fun. Enjoy God-o-Rama, Prayerfest, Christstock or whatever you wanna call it. Empty vessels ring so loud.

However, there is something about the photo with the story. Something haunting, I have this strange feeling I have seen that image before. . .

Perfect. Wouldn't surprise me a bit.

perhaps it's not so nutty after all

2011-05-17T18:02:00.002-05:00

Last November, I had this thought, more of a nightmare really.

Well sometimes even bad dreams come true. Let's just be glad it hasn't, yet.

Rick Perry Presidential Push Quietly Gains Steam

um. . .

2011-05-11T23:43:00.000-05:00

Look man, I don't want to jump into the middle of the whole we got Osama did we or didn't we mess. I don't. I really don't. I got better things to do with my time.

And I want to believe and believe in my government. Really I do. I want to believe in the America my father told me about when I was a child. Freedom. Equality. Opportunity. All that shit. That whole "truth, justice, and the American way" thing that even Superman has now disavowed. I remember Watergate and my dad telling me that the system worked. Nixon was a devious rotten lying bastard. America found out and we kicked his pale wrinkled sorry ass to the curb. Score one for the good guys, right?

Through the years I have learned about great events involving ships: The Lusitania, The USS Maine, The Gulf of Tonkin, maybe even Pearl Harbor. Hmm, interesting how it seems like sinking some fella's boat is a sure fire way to get him to go to war on your ass. As it turns out, maybe things didn't quite go down like like they were described in the press at the time.

And I learned about things with "Operation" in their name: Northwoods, Mockingbird, Paperclip. Hmm, interesting how it seems that those most entrusted to protecting America have little problem coming up with plans that seem most un-American: plans that involve lying, treachery and deceit.

The phrase that most comes to mind involves ends justifying means.

So let me just say, that although I still fervently believe in The American Dream that is both my father's and Dr. King's, I am seriously concerned that it is only that, a dream.

So I read this:

Diary: Bin Laden eyed new targets, big body count

He kept a diary? Wow. Who knew the world's Most Wanted Man had so much in common with tween American girls? Did they find it under one of those blood-soaked mattresses? How long did it take the CIA to find a paperclip to pick the lock?

Reading. . .

Strike smaller cities, bin Laden suggested. Target trains as well as planes. If possible, strike on significant dates, such as the Fourth of July and the upcoming 10th anniversary of the attacks of Sept. 11, 2001. Above all, kill as many Americans as possible in a single attack.

Boo.

Still reading. . .

bin Laden never yielded control of his worldwide organization, U.S. officials said Wednesday. [T]wo officials. . . described the intelligence to The Associated Press only on condition of anonymity because they were not authorized to talk publicly about what was found in bin Laden's hideout.

Not authorized? But they did! Hagh! Releasing classifed information!?! Bastards! Hunt them down and treat them like Bradley Manning.

No wait. "U.S. officials". . . oh, the government, the good guys, our side. . . For some reason that whole end justifying the means thought keeps popping back.

Keep reading. . .

In one particularly macabre bit of mathematics, bin Laden's writings show him musing over just how many Americans he must kill to force the U.S. to withdraw from the Arab world. He concludes that the smaller, scattered attacks since 9/11 had not been enough. He tells his disciples that only a body count of thousands, something on the scale of 9/11, would shift U.S. policy.

Yeah, I'm sure Jerry Bruckheimer already has the script written. He's in contract negotiations with both Will Smith and Matt Damon for the lead role.

Reading more. . .

The communications were in missives sent via plug-in computer storage devices called flash drives. The devices were ferried to bin Laden's compound by couriers, a process that is slow but exceptionally difficult to track.

Oh, that's how he did it. Thanks AP for explaining it to me. . . like I am six.

I mean really now, I know I'm not the only one who thinks this is crap. I can't be. It's just too freaking ridiculous.

Keep reading. End this lame-ass article and put me out of my misery.

Intelligence officials have not identified any new planned targets or plots in their initial analysis of the 100 or so flash drives and five computers that Navy SEALs hauled away after killing bin Laden. Last week, the FBI and Homeland Security Department warned law enforcement officials nationwide to be on alert for possible attacks against trains, though officials said there was no specific plot.

Um, okay, disregard the admission that there is really nothing here to be afraid of. Wait! That just shows the treachery of our enemies who hate us for our freedoms. There is no specific plot. Nothing specific? Hell, They could be anywhere, anytime! Quick, look under the bed!

For Chris'sakes man, Stan Lee wrote better plots for the X-Men.

really?

2011-05-07T00:17:00.003-05:00

NEW YORK (AFP) — Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad skirted a question about the treatment of homosexuals in Iran on Monday, saying in a speech at a top US university that there were no gays in Iran.

it's not quite uncle walt

2011-05-06T23:33:00.004-05:00

This would be really funny if it weren't true:

Close allies of Iran's president, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, have been accused of using supernatural powers to further his policies amid an increasingly bitter power struggle between him and the country's supreme leader, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei.
Several people said to be close to the president and his chief of staff, Esfandiar Rahim Mashaei, have been arrested in recent days and charged with being "magicians" and invoking djinns (spirits).
Ayandeh, an Iranian news website, described one of the arrested men, Abbas Ghaffari, as "a man with special skills in metaphysics and connections with the unknown worlds".

Invoking dijinns? Who got Robin Williams? Please tell him he doesn't have to be "on" all the time. Mork calling Orson, it's been what, thirty years?

Hell, it's even funnier when imagined as a Disney movie.

the doctor is in

2011-05-05T23:47:00.003-05:00

testicless

2011-04-21T09:56:00.001-05:00

My long Easter weekend began, in a terrible accidental way, a day earlier than most folks. Tomorrow may be Good Friday, but now an Okay Thursday will suit us just fine, thank you very much.

This morning, this Maundy Thursday, the Thursday of Mysteries, whatever you wish to call it, began for me in a hospital room. Yep, as the clock crossed midnight into Thursday morning I was in a room at the children's hospital. My folks were there, my dad was nodding and sleeping in a rocking chair on the far side of the room. My mother, The Wife, and I sat huddled around the rolling hospital bed table on the other side of the room. We ate cold turkey sandwiches recently purchased from the sparce late-night fare in the hospital cafeteria.

We tried to speak in hushed tones, but the emotions of the moment were still running quite high.

As for The Boy. . .

Remember dear reader, now and forever, All for The Love of The Boy. . .

He was, as is typical in such situations, the reason for our predicament.

On Tuesday afternoon, a strange lump appeared on the left side of The Boy's groin. We presumed it was one of his testicles, as they are retractile they frequently hide out there. It's just another one of The Boy's endearing biological quirks. He is nearing the end of precocious puberty. It's not uncommon in kids with serious neurological disabilities. It began a couple of summers back when we noticed things were growing and getting hairier than is typical of a seven year old. Monitoring downstairs had become just another thing on The Boy's checklist.

Clearly something's not right, but what? There were no other symptoms. No indication of sensitivity or pain, no inflammation or redness, no fever nor any other sign of possible infection. And as there were no other symptoms, there was no reason to rush of to the after-hours clinic. So we watched and waited.

Wednesday morning, while the lump had grown significantly, it was still more curious than frightening. It looked like someone somehow shoved an avocado up there.

The Wife got on the phone. Lucky break! An available appointment with the pediatrician that afternoon.

The pediatrician did what he typically does with The Boy in novel situations. He punted. While I have no doubt that the good doctor sincerely and genuinely cares for The Boy, I think that The Boy scares him. Consistently rated as one of the best pediatricians our fair city has to offer, the unique medical challenges posed by The Boy I think push him well past the boundaries of his knowledge, experience, and comfort zone. Little Blake fell of his skateboard, Sara has an ear infection, Dylan has a rash, Kaycee ate what? That is the bulk of his practice. When it comes to a kid like The Boy, well that pushes things to a whole different level. As he is a thoughtful and cautious man, he refers and defers to the specialists.

A phone call later and we are off. Another lucky break! The urologist has agreed to see The Boy last minute. So it was that we found ourselves in a urologist's office looking at ultrasound images of my son's testicles. What did you do Wednesday afternoon?

Somehow the left one had become twisted, "torsion" I believe was the word written down on reports. Apparently, with all of this this testicular dancing it was virtually inevitable that this would happen. Veins had become kinked, blood flow cut off. The words "appears mottled" and "necrotic" were used. It had to come out. Now. Now? Now!

Fuck.

Surgery.

Really?

Fuck.

I didn't cry then, although please give me a moment if I do now.

We make the short walk across the parking lot from the doctor's office to the children's hospital. Grandparents are called. I put on a brave face and try my best not to break down on the phone. Surgery is the scariest thing in the world.

Two nervous hours. . .

Two hours can be a very long time. . .

To have to wait. . .

And feel helpless. . .

And wait. . .

Did I mention the desperate feeling of complete utter helplessness?

Still waiting. . .

"Prayer, the last refuge of a scoundrel." - Lisa Simpson

The waiting room door opens, a nurse appears, she calls my boy's name. . .

Finally, in the recovery room. Sigh. All went well. Things are good, better than anticipated.

A few hours later and we are back where this story began, Thursday morning, after midnight in a scene I have witnessed too many times. The Boy is in a hospital bed, connected with tubes and wires to machines that beep, whir, and go ping. He peacefully sleeps in the comforting embrace of the waning anesthesia.

6:30 am. The Boy is discharged from the hospital. The Wife is amazing in these situations. Really, she is. She speaks the lingo, and she's charming as all Hell. She had worked a deal to get us out of there before the morning shift change. We are home before 7:00.

Now a few hours later, the morning clouds are beginning to burn off in the mid-morning sun. The Wife is snug asleep in bed. She pulled an all-nighter up with The Boy. Yes I know, it is further evidence of her awesomeness. The Boy also sleeps comfortably in his own bed. Cripes, what a day that kid had.

He has three incisions: on the left and right side of his upper groin and scrotum. Ouch, hurts just to type it. They removed his left testicle, and ended the right's nomadic ways by severing the muscle that caused the wandering and permanently attaching it to his scrotum. Ouch, hurts just to type it.

As for me, well I swear to you I am feeling sympathetic pain, and I feel giddy, almost delirious with exhaustion from the emotional wringer of the last 24 hours.

Soon The Nurse will be here to care for The Boy and I will join my family in slumber.

Until then, I feel no shame in stating that it is five o'clock somewhere and I am enjoying a tasty adult libation. I will most likely have two, both well earned and much deserved.

So good morning to you, my dear reader, good morning indeed.

a postscript. . .

In all seriousness, I must confess that with comic and karmic irony, this is the first song Pandora played when I fired up my MacBook to begin this rant:

"Big Balls" - AC/DC

on resolutions

2011-01-01T09:43:00.002-06:00

While most would agree on the importance of a proper breakfast before beginning one's day of labors, there has been much debate as to what type of breakfast best restores and rejuvenates.

However, none would argue that a toaster oven reheated Jack-n-The-Box Value Menu taco and eggroll qualify in the least. No sir, not in the least. Yet such is the breakfast I am currently having.

And, and, my dear reader, and I am washing it all down with a beer. Yes that's right, a beer. Although I know it is well before noon I admit this without shame. Today is a Saturday! And it's New Year's Day!

I am also listening to The Replacements, we are the sons of no one, bastards of young. . .

Today, as we are all quite aware, is a holiday. A holiday! A day to reflect upon the past year while you look towards the future; planning, dreaming, and scheming about the year that has just begun.

About that whole looking forward thing. . .

Ah, yes. Resolutions. Solemn vows we all make to ourselves that are meant to be broken.

To better fitness, better habits and better health!

Soon I will find myself fully carb-loaded, ready to take on the new fitness challenge: The Wii Fit Plus. Out of the box and set up yesterday. Tried it out last night for the first time. Fun, entertaining, gets you moving in weird and news ways. Any movement in front of that damnedable screen is better than just sitting there melding with the upholstery, right?

We shall see.

While a great many poets and philosophers have written about the cruel and seemingly fickle nature of Fate as a mistress, none have yet ventured into the similar nature of the Wii Fit Plus.

It is brutal in its honesty, a cruel judgemental bitch.

It called me "overweight" and calculated my Wii Fit Age as some number that looked like "57".

57? What the frack?

Oh well, let's just get to it shall we?

I wish the best for all. . . you, me, for everyone.

a chill up my spine

2010-12-14T00:39:00.004-06:00

So I'm staying up a little late tonight, as I often do. Most times I find it easier and more restful to stay up until 1:30 or so, check on and turn The Boy, and then go to bed. This generally allows me 4 or so hours of uninterrupted sleep. The alternative is to go to bed earlier, pre-midnight then get up between 2 and 3, check on and turn The Boy, and then go back to bed.

And I'm reading the Winter 2010, vol. 31, no. 2 edition, page 22 of the ATPE News, because they send it to me in the mail, and I think I am a member.

The article is about the different issues impacting public education in this state and lays out the organization's stance and legislative priorities. In January the State Legislature reconvenes and all the strip clubs in town reach into deep pockets and receive a little boost of government spending, if ya know what I mean.

I am reading a section of the article describing the somewhat quixotic and paradoxical way that our elected political heroes treat charter schools: "So they're not really working like we thought? Well hmm. . . that's a puzzler. Wait! That one over there! Is it? Yes! It's working! That one is! More money! More charters! More money!"

While it is ironically equal to their frequently taken position "why throw more money at a failing system, bottom line, results, accountability, results, blah de freaking blah" when screaming about the money spent on public education, this is generally lost upon our political classes.

Amusing stuff, right?

I know!

Cracks me up, I could read it all day.

But then I get to this, and this is an actual quote, not like quotes from above, this is real:

"Most recently, the state has shown interest in using charter schools to provide educational services for special education students and students with disabilities such as autism."

Wait, what?

I teach those kids.

My son is one of those kids.

My life is those kids.

Careful.

I read on:

"During a June meeting, the committee heard invited testimony from out-of-state experts on the idea of operating charter schools for students with disabilities in the same facilities as existing public schools."

Hmm. . . A separate school in the same facility.

Separate?

These charter schools will:

"focus on providing high-quality education for students with disabilities. . . "

So separate but, um. . . equal?

Yeah, that worked out great the last time.

shape of things to come

2010-11-08T23:59:00.004-06:00

I just watched Guv'nor Good Hair on "The Daily Show".

Wow.

I've joked about this since I heard local radio talk show host (and legendary former Longhorn kicker?) Jeff Ward say this on his show on election day, "President Perry".

If you start to say it now by the time it happens you will be acclimated and can say it without throwing up a little in your mouth.

I must say, he's as smooth and slick as his hair, a dubya who can speak almost eloquently in compound sentences. He can also out "folksy" his potential rival and the nation's favorite conservative MILF from Alaska.

Plus, while she may advocate shooting wolves from the safety of aircraft, he killed a coyote, on the ground, with a laser-sited pistol while jogging.

I know, I know, but if your asking why you might need to carry a laser-sited pistol when jogging, you've obviously never gone for a morning run in one of the ATX's most affluent subdivisions. It's scary: coyotes, Land Rovers, snakes, BMWs, wolves, Suburbans. . . lions, tigers, and bears, oh my!

Plus, let me throw out this little nugget to the "conspiracy theory" minded amongst us: Guv'nor Good Hair may have already received the blessing of Bilderberg.

I know, I know, crazy talk.

I believe him, and all his rambling about how Government has become too intrusive in our lives.

I'm sure it's just coincidental that the former chief of staff for the guy who mandated a vaccine for every school girl in the state was the chief lobbyist for the pharmaceutical company who makes the drug when Gov'nor Good Hair issued the order.

Right.

What was it Al Jourgensen sang?

Oh yeah. . .

"Thieves, thieves and liars, murderers
Hypocrites and bastards. . . "

That sounds about right.

Perry 2012!

Think I'm joking? Sadly no, but in all honesty I was half wrong in '06.

tough day

2010-11-05T19:08:00.012-05:00

Greetings and felicitations my dear reader! Yes, it has been a while since I last shared my humble experiences. Nothing to share really, just another lost soul busy eeking out a living on the third rock from our Sun. Too busy living life to write about it. Hell, I haven't even been on The Facebook in well over a month, maybe two.

But today. . . today has been a day for the books.

This morning I went to a funeral for a three year old.

Yeah. Damn right it sucked.

Fuck, who am I kidding, it was miles beyond suck. It was brutal. Viscerally, emotionally brutal. To witness and experience so much love turned to sorrow, so much grief. . . excruciating. . . an hour long kick in the nuts.

I must confess, my dear reader, I didn't know the child. Never met him. I think the large photo displayed at the front of the chapel in the funeral home was the first time I saw his image.

Yet I know all about him. I know Lev's story. I know his mother. The Wife and I have worked with her for the past couple of years through our participation with a group of caring and concerned parents who share a desire to change the world to make it a better place for our children with disabilities and serious chronic health concerns. I never met the boy because his ongoing medical issues precluded his ability to attend the few family gatherings we have had.

I went to the funeral to show support for the family. I went out of the greatest respect and admiration for a family who walk a similar road to ours, a life filled with doctor's appointments, medical tests, and endless waiting for the other shoe to fall.

I also must confess, my dear reader, it was very interesting, a first in my 18 years of going to funerals for kids with disabilities. This was the first Jewish service I have attended. The Rabbi sang/chanted several parts in Hebrew. And I believe their was a prayer in Aramaic. I didn't know what the frack he was talking or singing about, but it was melodic, haunting, beautiful and sad. There was something from King David, lamenting the loss of a son, something along the lines of "Lord, why my son and not me? I would gladly trade places."

Because I also would have gladly traded places.

I sat there and felt a tinge of guilt as I thought "there but for the grace of God go I". We have been very blessed that The Boy has been remarkably healthy for the past few years. He hasn't given us a good scare since his last pneumonia in 2007. That was a time I tend not to remember, I choose not to recall how close to the edge we came.

When I think back on that time my first memory is of The Wife basically kicking me out of a hospital room because I was on the verge of punching a doctor who wouldn't listen and didn't seem to care. I remember going outside and walking a lap around the hospital, wishing I had a cigarette, not finding one, deep breaths of cold November air. . .

Cold November air. There is a freeze warning for our area tonight.

As the sun settles into the west the cool air turns cold. I know the sun will rise in in the east in a few hours and the air will warm into a beautiful autumn day. But tonight a family mourns, and I join them.

I can only sit, powerless to help or change the awful reality that this world has lost a remarkable child as I stare into the whiteness of the screen, struggling in vain to find words. . . but as the Rabbi said, there are no words.

cui bono

2010-09-09T00:14:00.003-05:00

So this preacher in Florida won't back down.

Um. . . okay.

So, my dear reader, as my mind began to wander I began to wonder, "Why?"

Why is somebody who claims to represent the divine truth of one guy on the behalf of a couple billion people want to pick a fight with a billion or so people who believe that other guy had it right?

Have you, my dear reader, ever read stories about The Romans?

pleasing burger

2010-08-04T11:26:00.005-05:00

Sorry for the delay, my dear reader, yesterday was a full day conducive to neither writing nor reminiscing. But here now submitted for your approval, the conclusion of "cricket".

When I was in high school I worked at a grocery store in a typical 80's suburban strip mall in the heart of a The Sprawl. You know them, you've seen them, you still shop there. My dearest friend Chris was no longer in the employment of this grocery store and worked at the Burger King on the other side of the parking lot.

Every autumn there was a giant cricket invasion. In the evening swarms of them would descend. Where they came from I do not know. I suspect the great swarms were partially the result of the natural habitats of their typical predators: the birds, lizards, toads, and such; being wiped out on a mammoth scale by the rapid expansion of The Sprawl. But I'm not a biologist, it is only my speculation.

They would descend in the bright parking lot lights and cover sidewalks and storefronts. It was almost Biblical. I remember myself and my fellow checkers and bag-boys taking turns in front of the store with push-brooms, doing our best to stem the encroaching black tide. But you couldn't stop all of them, there were just too damn many. Some got through. You would find them everywhere, at times in the oddest of places, a single solitary cricket wandering lost and confused.

As they could not be kept out of the grocery store, they could also not be kept out of the Burger King.

And now the point of the story (allowing for the errors of memory and the embellishment of time). . .

One night when Chris was working the drive-thru, a non-favorite but familiar voice placed an order. It was an officer of the local police, grabbing a quick bite. I feel as though we knew this particular officer, possibly because he was one of those who moonlighted as undercover security at the grocery store, or perhaps we had previously made his acquaintance in less than pleasant social circumstances. With the passage of a quarter century or so I am no longer certain.

He ordered some sort of cheeseburger. Now Burger King may advertise that they old-school flame-broil all of their burgers but at least in the 80's they added cheese in a more modern way: the microwave oven.

Chris was preparing this officer's burger. He saw a wayward cricket. There was a slice of cheese and a microwave oven.

Yes, my dear reader, you know quite well where this is going.

Moments later, it was wrapped up and served to one of The Sprawl's Finest.

A "pleasing burger" is what Chris called it. Apparently that scene in 'Waiting' isn't far from the truth.

As far as we know, the officer ate it without noticing, as nothing happened afterwards.

cricket

2010-08-03T01:28:00.008-05:00

Earlier tonight I crunched a cricket with a flip-flop after it flew in its crooked cricketly way, careened into a wall and crashed upon the floor.

I told you that so I could tell you this.

As you may or may not recall, my dear reader. . .

Two of my oldest and closest friends killed themselves in 2005.

During the 2008 - 09 school year I went to four student funerals. And yes I loved, cared and fought for each of those children with a love like they were one of my own. It's the only way to do the job really, just throw yourself 110% balls in. Anything less is insincere and you're in it for the wrong reasons.

An average year has two, maybe three student funerals. I'm about to start my eighteenth year teaching. You do the math. Last year was a good year, there was only one to attend.

Let me just say I have some unresolved grief issues and leave it at that.

I have been doing some light summer reading, Neal Peart Ghost Rider. He writes of the Freudian notion that in order to fully accept and come to terms with grief and loss you must first revisit and re-examine every memory of every moment with the lost one and of your life.

This reminds me of a portion of one of my favorite quotes, an excerpt from a preface Walt Whitman wrote for Leaves of Grass, ". . . re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss whatever insults your own soul; and your very flesh shall be a great poem. . ."

Re-examine.

For the past couple of days I must confess to spending a fair amount of my vacation time strolling down memory lane. The cricket reminded me of the story that follows.

Or rather more accurately, that story that will follow tomorrow, as the hour is late and I grow weary.

i dreamed a dream

2010-08-01T08:58:00.010-05:00

Last night I had a dream. I was young, brash, full of the arrogance of an arrested adolescence -- a rebel without a conscience, a martyr without a cause. It was two decades past, I was in the Sprawl, at a celebration of the sort that was common in those days.

Jon, Simon, Matt, Spew, Mike and Mikey, Dave the Artist, Dave the Drummer, and Dave aka Sid. The whole gang was there. The cases of Red and Blue Beast were flowing in smoky rooms and the conversation was boisterous, exuberant, loud.

We were dressed for all the world like the cast of "Les Miz" in that cafe scene. I vividly recall seeing the glow of a cigarette in the tattered fingerless gloved hand of Dave the Artist as he held it to his scruffy face and thoughtfully took a draw. And yes, there were empty chairs at empty tables: Chris and Curtis were conpsicuously absent.

It was one last hurrah before we set out on our next adventure. This time we were going to war. I do not remember which war, whose war, or why. Our rifles leaned upon tables, chairs, and walls. They were as locked and loaded as we were becoming. In the morning we were heading out, going to join the Fight for the Great Cause.

The scene shifts, it is the next morning. I am in the back seat of a small white car. Is it my car? It is cramped and crowded. So crowded I can't see who is driving. Somehow most of us squeezed our drunken asses into this car. I look down and our rifles lay in a stacked pile across the floorboards beneath our feet. They are rusted. We are making our rounds, saying our last goodbyes to those we shall leave behind in a few hours.

The car pulls into the parking lot of a typical Sprawl apartment complex. We amble out part like clowns at the circus and part like Spicoli on the first day of school. Somebody says, "Hey, don't forget your rifle." Guess you wouldn't want to leave a gun in the car in this part of town. I half accidentally half intentionally, meaning I make myself forget, walk away from the car without mine.

We enter a generic white-walled beige-carpeted apartment. A time-shift of dream. The Wife is there, as are a small handful of other women whom I consider the most trusted of confidants and the closest of friends. These are the women I love. Be it the reason I'm not in Mexican jail, my other wife, or a dear friend who I confess to not speaking with as often as I should -- she frequently loaned me her vacuum cleaner because I had not one of my own at the time. They were there, with a few more. There is beer, banter and balling. Of the tearful sort. Get your mind out of the gutter, this wasn't that type of dream.

I remember looking around at my friends, hugging the women and one another. We put on our bravest face, clinging for one last moment to the precious little we still held precious. We gest and toss barbs, boasting and toasting imagined future exploits. We are ready to go forth to Fight the Great Cause.

I have a eureka moment, "We are fools! We have not a clue what we are about to do. This is not our fight. We have been deceived."

It is time to depart. As the fellas head out to the car I make an excuse to linger for a moment, "No it's okay, go ahead without me, just give me a minute or two. I'll catch up."

The guys leave the apartment. The door closes behind them. I am fearful. I am not going. I am not going.

And I know that I will not see them again. The shock of that thought wakes me up.

now, who'd a thought

2009-12-18T02:24:00.002-06:00

that she'd ever turn out to be right?

'cuz this really is a black fly in your Chardonnay:

How the US Funds the Taliban

don't you think?

this is not a movie

2009-09-27T09:41:00.002-05:00

and this is not America

scary, very scary

2009-09-21T20:47:00.001-05:00

but also really freaking cool. . .

UPDATE 1-VeriChip shares jump after H1N1 patent license win

wait no don't tell me

2009-09-11T08:46:00.002-05:00

I know you didn't forget.

Nor did I.

Now, please take a moment and think very deeply.

Good.

And from the bowels of Christ I beseech thee (and Lord knows I haven't done that in quite a long while) to spend freaking 20 moments asking yourself 20 freaking questions.

Ask yourself, "How?"

Ask yourself, "Who?"

Ask yourself, "Why?"

Don't take my word for it. Check it out for yourself.

. . . . . . . .

I am no more a right wing teabagging conservative conspiracy theorist hillbilly wingnut now than I was a dirty dope smoking FM radio-listening leftist liberal Birkenstock wearing tree-hugging hippie then.

Or maybe I am a little bit of both. Either way. . .

You don't need a weather man to know which way the wind blows

While they are no longer made in this country, I still proudly sport my Chuck Taylor's and cherish the vintage pairs I own with the still barely if at all legible "Made in the U.S.A" slogan on the tag at the base of the heel.

And God dammit, I still drive a mutha-freaking Ford!

I love apple pie and I am way more American than baseball and Chevrolet are today.

I have questions searching for answers.

And I have the churning gravel in my gut sensation that something is horribly awry.

. . . . . . .

"The drinks flow
People forget
That big wheel spins, the hair thins
People forget
Forget they're hiding
The news slows
People forget
The shares crash, hopes are dashed
People forget
Forget they're hiding.

Behind an eminence front
An eminence front - it's a put-on"

- Pete

Yes. Yes it is.

so the phone rings

2009-07-26T22:46:00.002-05:00

during the middle of this afternoon. I see from the caller ID it's my school. Curious. My Principal would be the only person calling from there on a Sunday afternoon. I wonder what's up? My hunch is she's putting in a couple hours working on assignments and issues for the upcoming school year, now less than a month away and she had a question or something to discuss.

I could tell from her tone when I answered that wasn't the reason.

Hello! What's going on?

- Lamiria died.

Wait. Who? What?

- Lamiria died, sometime during the night Friday. They found her Saturday morning. They think she died in her sleep.

Oh fuck.

She was only 12 years old.

As is typical of the students I work with, she had significant chronic complex health issues. I mean, that's the reason these kids come to my school.

She had been hospitalized a few weeks back, but by all appearances she was on the mend, on the upside of getting over another serious issue. She was back in class last week full of smiles and beginning to act like her music-loving happy wheelchair dancing self again.

Guess she wasn't over it.

She had only been in town and a student at my school for the past couple of years. Because she was younger and for the past several years I have been working with high school age students she wasn't one of my regular students during the school year. She was a student in my summer school class.

So I knew her, but I didn't know her all that well.

I was really just getting to know her, just beginning to understand the nuance of her expressions and her gestures, just starting to truly admire and appreciate all the gentle subtleties of her personality.

I was impressed with her spirit, her joy that shown so brightly despite her physical and cognitive obstacles.

She loved music. That was evident when I met her a couple of years back. It was a common thread that cut through disabilities and connected us as people, as human beings.

Just play something with a good rhythm, whether me on a guitar or some top-40 song on the radio. Play anything with a beat, and when she was feeling well it was like you wound her up just to watch her go, rocking and bopping in her wheelchair.

Ah cripes man, will it ever end? Three students in the past six months. So far this has been a tough year for me, my coworkers, my students, my school.

Tonight I just sat on the couch, hugging and cradling The Boy in my arms, counting my blessings. Yes, feeling the loss sorrow and sadness, but also feeling an almost numb hollowness because I did not know her better and some guilt at my selfishly thinking "there but for the Grace of God. . . " as I looked at The Boy.

Ah sweet little Lamiria, I hardly knew ye. . .

So please my dear reader, by now you know the drill. Raise your glass high and join me in a toast to another sista who ain't here.

Here's to another fallen angel sent to test our compassion.

the other side of the world

2009-07-15T01:12:00.004-05:00

"I got a letter today from Tokyo
A little Japanese girl that I'll never know
She's eating pizza and singing 'Let My People Go'
On the other side of the world"

- The Rainmakers

Wow.

I got kind of the equivalent of that moments ago.

Really I did.

And oh, what a crazy feeling.

I logged into this humble ranthole a few minutes ago. I had been watching Olbermann, and Lordy can he sometimes get me riled up, for good or ill. My perspective seems to strangely shift at times.

But that is not the point of this. At least it is not the point of this anymore. It originally was going to be an arrow-shot accurate analysis of some current event as seen through the filter of a somewhat satirical if certainly cynical eye.

I mean, most likely.

I no longer remember the original intent, but I'm sure my dear reader, you will agree, that is typical of the type of thing you generally see on this humble page.

I logged in (blogged in?), and I saw this:

1 Follower

I have a follower? What is this?

Who?

Wow.

Please my dear reader, join me in welcoming another soul sharing a

Small Portion of a Life's Journey

i'm not so sure

2009-07-09T01:30:00.003-05:00

So I'm justa sitting on the couch, bidin' my time, ya know; because I gotsta turn the kid in about 30 minutes. Then to bed.

Channel surfing with chicken salad, a small midnight snack.

I sees this here thing come on the tube:

The Fox Nation

Freaky. What's that saying about repeating a lie so much it gets repeated as true?

Scary. What choir are they preaching to?

Well, the ad that followed answered the second question.

Hoveround.

yet again

2009-07-06T11:57:00.002-05:00

I mourn the loss of a friend. . .

Rebecca L. Craig

Death Notice

CRAIG, Rebecca L., 52, auditor, of Austin died Thursday. Survived by husband Steven. Visitation 5 p.m. Saturday, Cook-Walden/Capital Parks Funeral Home, Pflugerville.

Published in the Austin American-Statesman on 7/6/2009

She was the mother of a former student.

I first met the Craigs in the summer of '94. Their son was a student in my summer school class. His younger brother was in a class down the hall.

I worked with their eldest every year since, just in the summers at first, but then year around from Fall '99 until he graduated in what was it, 2004?

They are a truly remarkable family. Their two sons both shared the same undiagnosed syndrome causing significant physical and cognitive disabilities, leaving them nonverbal, mostly non-ambulatory and for the most part forever unable to individually meet their basic daily needs.

You couldn't tell it by looking at 'em.

The boys were both amazing. I have never seen such spirit, such enthusiasm, such zest for exploration and living.

Well it was easy to see where the boys got it.

Steve and Becky Craig are quite honestly the most amazing parents I have encountered thus far in my 17 year career. They bubble with positive energy and enthusiasm and are 110% balls-out committed to their two wonderful boys. At the same time, they possess a laid-back old-school Austin hippie vibe that at times seems almost zen. There wasn't a damn thing wrong with those boys, don't try to tell them otherwise. Anything you could do, they could do. They just did some things a little differently than most folks. This simply made them more unique and truly fascinating to be around.

They were and remain my role models for how to best parent a child with significant disabilities. They probably are not yet aware of this, but the Craigs persuaded me to take the plunge and try my hand as a parent. I saw the love they all shared for each other, I was blessed to be allowed a window into the world of an amazing family, awestruck and inspired by what I saw.

The moment came. I looked at the Not Yet Wife. I looked at the Not Yet Our Boy. The choice was clear.

And five years later here we are.

Sadly, this family has known grief before.

A few years back the youngest son suddenly got very ill and passed. Again I was awestruck and inspired by the strength of the family and the things that were said that day.

Sigh. . .

Here's to another fallen friend. . .

And to one helluv'an amazing mom.

a creepy story from the morning news

2009-06-07T08:07:00.004-05:00

Ah, a dog! What a wonderful role model for today's youth. How frackin' cute is that?

PISD police force brings a new member to the team

"While he's excellent at sniffing out narcotics, and basic obedience, there's just one more thing his partner wishes he could do."

Hmm. . . .

"excellent at sniffing out narcotics"

Good, very good, it knows how to sniff out and take down other dogs.

A kid's gotta know how to do that.

That, and they gotta learn how to pick out the easy meat with their eyes closed.

"excellent at. . . basic obedience"

Just as our children will be train- er, um, taught, will learn to be.

Wait. What?

What was that last thing again?

"If I could get him to clean his kennel one time, he'd be a perfect dog," Soliz said.

Right, and if you could get him to dress up in a skimpy little Nazi costume and beat you with a warm squash he'd be a perfect woman.

This is sick.

this begs the question

2009-05-27T18:48:00.002-05:00

Dem Senators Open To Allow Innocent Chinese Detainees To Live In U.S.

Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid (D-Nev.) had taken a hard line on detainees earlier last week, saying that none could be transferred to the United States, not even to prisons. He dialed that back a bit in a recent interview with the Las Vegas Sun.
But the best he would do is say the Uighurs "probably" don't belong in maximum security prison.

"There's no question that a number of these people who are there are not guilty of anything. The Uighurs, these are a group of Muslim Chinese who are guilty of nothing. They were arrested, put in there. They are there. They are doing nothing. We're going to have to find someplace to put them. We can't send them back to China. Should they go into a maximum-security prison? Probably not," he said.

There's no question that a number of these people who are there are not guilty of anything. The Uighurs, these are a group of Muslim Chinese who are guilty of nothing.

What the frack?

Guilty of nothing?

Well again, what the friggin' frack are they doing there in the first place?

Scary.

You think it's a:

"Oh I'm terribly sorry. Yes, yes, I know you've done absolutely nothing wrong. Yes, yes, innocent and all that. Hmm? Yes totally. But you see, now we rather have sort of a problem. We have reason to believe that despite of, or most probably because of, your innocence. . . um. . . You seem to be really, really pissed off. No, no, wait just one moment, sir. Those scatalogical references are completely inappropriate. But angry, um. . . yes, righteously so. And as such, so sorry to tell you this, but we can not now possibly ever let you go because we fear how you may someday vent your anger."

Sort of thing.

Or something like that.

another sad day

2009-05-21T10:33:00.005-05:00

Terrance
April 7, 1987 - May 21 2009

It was with much shock, sorrow and sadness that we learned this morning about the sudden and unexpected death of another student. He passed away sometime during the night, while he slept. Why? What happened? At present we do not know. We learned of this from his bus driver, who was told this by the staff at the group home when they stopped to pick him up this morning.

While Terrance was not currently in my class, he is a kid I have known for sixteen years. He was one of the first children with significant disabilities I met way back when I was still only considering a career in special education. He was one of the kids that drew me in, stole my heart and inspired me to become a teacher.

Terrance, sometime in the mid 90's.

I've said it before and Lord knows I will say it again: this just plain fucking sucks.

well neither do i

2009-05-09T01:36:00.002-05:00

"I don't see (dancing and rock music) as immoral acts."

That being said. . .

Haven't we seen this movie? Wasn't Kevin Bacon in it?

Ohio Christian school tells student to skip prom

we're doomed

2009-04-30T08:16:00.002-05:00

If the swine flu doesn't kill me, all the endless inane discussion over it surely will.

everybody look what's going down

2009-04-27T16:58:00.006-05:00

Swine flu is new flu virus combining strains of human, bird and swine flu.

- Swine Flu Fears Close Numerous Schools in Several States

_______________

The move indicates the world body has determined the virus is capable of significant human-to-human transmission. . .

. . . The outbreak is a particular concern because of who it is hitting hard, United Nations Secretary-General Ban Ki-moon said Monday. "We are concerned that in Mexico, most of those who died were young and healthy adults," he said.

- WHO raises pandemic alert level; more swine flu cases feared

_______________

But Lezana said the presence of Eurasian swine flu genes in the H1N1 virus makes it unlikely that the disease originated in a Mexican pig farm.

- First Mexico fatal flu victim sought help for day

_______________

So where'd it come from? Anyone got an idea?

Just askin'.

eeyore reflections

2009-04-27T00:30:00.002-05:00

Another one of the annual Rites of Spring has come and gone. As long as my fair city continues to hold this hedonistic holiday some hope remains for the future. All is not yet lost.

It was the usual scene of hipsters and hippies of all generations, in various stages of dress and undress. Some truly marvelous sights to behold. Others, not so much. Everyone dancing, drumming, drinking beer after beer after beer, surrounded in a fog of patchouli, sweat, and plenty of Mother Nature's finest.

Good times just like the old times.

But what struck me most, and has lingered the longest of the events of yesterday happened after the party.

Following the festivities, I donned my iPod, cranked up a U2 playlist ("Haven't seen you in quite a while / I was down the hold, just passing time") and trekked back to the bus stop on the edge of The University. Ain't nothing like riding the city bus on a Saturday night. I'm generally not the only passenger avoiding a DWI.

I checked the schedule and sat down on a low wall to wait. . . only about 15 - 20 minutes.

There was a homeless fella sittin' there, I mean I presumed from his dissheveled and dirty appearance that it was a homeless fella, but hey, I'm not judgemental or nuthin'.

Hey man, are you waitin' for the bus?
What?
Are you waitin' for the bus?
Oh, yeah. It should be along pretty soon.
Not me. I'm just hangin' out.
You're just hangin' out.
Yep. Saturday night and I'm just hangin' out. I'm not waitin' on a bus or nothin'.
Well, that's cool man.
Just hangin out. . .

He proceeded to tell me his version of the hard luck story that brought him here. His speech was animated although his demeanor calm, relaxed, sleepy. His fractured and incongruous thinking told me he'd been out there for quite a while. He was punch drunk from life if not literally so from liquor. We talked music and shared tales of our favorite bands. He saw the Stones play at the Detroit Lions old domed stadium in 1977. Cool. He was hopeful that he would get up early enough in the morning so that he could catch a bus to go to where he could use a phone. He was going to call his friend so that his friend could pick him up and take him to church. That is, if he could just get up early enough. He had a problem with getting up early enough.

For all the world he reminded me of a dog that's been beat.

My bus pulled up. I wished him well as I handed him my last three dollars and a handful of cigarettes.

To my new friend, fifty-one year old homeless Greg from Ann Arbor, Michigan. . .

I hope you made it to church on time.

if ricky gervais

2009-04-16T19:48:00.002-05:00

were an angry animated Texas man. . .

an exploding shot of pleasure

2009-04-16T17:51:00.003-05:00

. . . is what I've got for you. . .

or something like that.

Perhaps the reconnections via The Facebook have given cause for reminiscing, and dallying into the nostalgic arts.

Whatever the reason, I find myself enjoying this immensely. . .

oh crap

2009-04-15T20:22:00.002-05:00

The sorry-flat-bummed globalistic tool bastard is out making a ruckus.

Freakin' hirsute hillbilly.

Texas could secede from the union, governor says

Great, he's out there stirring the pot to a boil. Don't be fooled. He's doing the bidding of his fascist masters. Setting you up for a fall.

People are going to get hurt, for some it will be worse.

Pointless.

dispatch from the department of irony

2009-04-14T00:28:00.002-05:00

(from the "Nobody with the slightest semblance of a soul could possibly have written this with a straight face." sub-department. . . )

1984 (1984)
George Orwell envisioned a future dominated by a government organization called the Ministry of Love that intrusively monitors the actions of its citizens, political nonsense that spews forth from massive TVs, and songs that are written by computers. Instead we have the Department of Homeland Security, 24-hour cable news in high definition, and T-Pain. Thank God we dodged that bullet.

- from Yahoo! Movies Top 10 Inaccurate Movies About the Future

the ignorant redneck of the week award

2009-04-09T10:52:00.005-05:00

goes to. . .

Betty Brown (R- Terrell) of the Texas State Legislature for her comments during a House Committee hearing on a voter ID bill:

Brown suggested that Asian-Americans should find a way to make their names more accessible.
"Rather than everyone here having to learn Chinese - I understand it’s a rather difficult language - do you think that it would behoove you and your citizens to adopt a name that we could deal with more readily here?" Brown said.
Brown later told Ko: "Can’t you see that this is something that would make it a lot easier for you and the people who are poll workers if you could adopt a name just for identification purposes that’s easier for Americans to deal with?"

whoa

2009-04-06T00:58:00.002-05:00

Okay, so I was headed straight to bed, right?

And then I found this:

Japan child robot mimicks infant learning

Uh, huh.

Wait.

There's a Japanese Society of Baby Science?

Cool. I think.

In coming decades, Asada expects science will come up with a "robo species" that has learning abilities somewhere between those of a human and other primate species such as the chimpanzee.
And he hopes that this little CB2 may lead the way into this brave new world, with the goal to have the robo-kid speaking in basic sentences within about two years, matching the intelligence of a two-year-old child.
By 2050, Asada wants a robotic team of football players to be able take on the human World Cup champions -- and win.

Scary.

Now good night. And sweet dreams.

zombies on the lawn staggering around

2009-04-06T00:31:00.003-05:00

The tub runneth over

Justice Dept under microscope after Stevens trial

Time to duck and cover

UK cop arrested for arms dealing

The doors are coming off the hinges

Texas judge indicted on charges of fraud, bribery

Disorder in the house?

You're damn right.

empty vessels ringing loud

2009-03-23T10:31:00.004-05:00

And all the preaching voices -
Empty vessels ring so loud
As they move among the crowd
Fools and thieves are well disguised
In the temple and market place
- Neil Peart

Cripes man, sometimes it is embarrassing to live in this Great State:

Bill in Texas would allow creationists to grant Masters of Science degrees

Texas School Board Set to Vote on Challenge to Evolution

Idiots.

What next, will the Legislature dictate that medical schools resume teaching that the cure for most ailments is a bloodletting to resume the proper balance of bodily humors?

Not just idiots. Fucking idiots.

God is a concept by which we measure our pain
- John Lennon

the high life

2009-03-18T16:06:00.002-05:00

Okay, so I've finished my labors for the day on the "not so master" bathroom, that tiny converted closet sized room that I am shaping with my labor and my very blood into a functional space.

So happy Spring Break. How was your St. Pat's?

I still have lots of details to go before it's tile ready, a fair amount of standing in awkward positions fastening hardibacker to the wall.

But for the day I am done. I didn't quite meet my goal. I never do. I am always overambitious in my intentions. But it is only Wednesday, and my ultimate goal is to be tile ready by the weekend; two days to go, plenty of time. Right?

I am in my element, my office, on the back patio, comfortably seated in a dusty old office chair listening to the sound of old T. Rex. Despite my underachievement I am proud of the day's effort, and I have a plan for tomorrow. Overambitious again, I'm sure.

I just washed down three Advil and a Pepcid with the Champagne of Beers.

Yeah baby, that's right. I'm still living the high life.

It just hurts a lot more than it used to.

it was 20 years ago today

2009-03-10T20:10:00.013-05:00

Sgt. Pepper brought the band to play. . .

And five years ago today. . .

I became a dad with like an hour's notice.

Most folks have eight, nine months to plan and prepare. Hell, even if you didn't mean for it to happen, you still know when the damned thing, er, sweet child is coming.

We had an hour, maybe an hour and a half.

"How so?" you may properly ask, my dear reader. Well, here's the short version. . .

To be honest, The Wife and I were in the process of adopting The Boy, then two years of age. We had known, loved and cared for him since he was a baby. He was a ward of the state, his biological mother voluntarily terminated her parental rights as soon as he was born. His biological father is listed in court documents as "Chris LAST NAME UNKNOWN". When he was 10 days old, the state placed him in the group/foster home where The Wife (then still girlfriend) worked.

This group/foster home for children with complex chronic medical needs was run by a woman with Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy. I only wish I was joking or exaggerating. She ran this home like something out of a Dickens novel, predominately for the benefit of her public accolades and a twisted Catholic desire to demonstrate her martyrdom more so than for the good of the children. She put on a good show when she needed to do so.

We had completed the state mandated foster/adoption parent training and orientation class. At times it was entertaining, mostly just really annoying. But we made it through. We were waiting to move the paperwork process slowly forward through the bureaucracy. Realistically, we were told it would be several more months if all the papers were pushed appropriately.

Then something happened.

Ms von Munchausen learned we were out to take The Boy away from her. The evil crazy bitch. We caught a clue, played a hunch, and made our move. We shared our concerns for the health and safety of The Boy with our newly appointed and previously unmet CPS caseworker. There was a clear pattern. Whenever kids were about to leave the group/foster home to be adopted out they suddenly got very sick, and the adoption was delayed for weeks if not months.

The caseworker thought we were crazy but we were credible.

As if on cue, three days later, She almost killed him.

Again, the evil crazy bitch.

Time stopped for the restless, anxious and edgy eternity of a day or two, maybe three. . . until the phone rang, our adoption caseworker was on the other end of the line:

"Hello."
"Go get him."
"What?"
"Go get him right now."
"Really?"
"Yes! Go! Now!"

and I woke up the next morning to this.

As I sit now five years down the line, on the couch with The ever-growing Boy nestled snugly in my lap, I marvel at what a long strange trip it's been. He is an amazing creature, truly an angel.

And yes, I am still quite blessed.

a hazard avoided (for now)

2009-02-22T01:56:00.004-06:00

Well, my dear reader, I must confess. . .

And yes, to some degree I do feel like I have been cheating on you.

I have spent my online time away from the familiar comforts of this forum and in the virtual arms of another.

Facebook.

Forgive me.

Okay? Forgiven? Okay.

Good. Now let's move on.

"I have this disease late at night sometimes, involving alcohol and the telephone, I ask the telephone operators to connect me with this friend or that one, from whom I have not heard in years."

- Kirk Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-five

Facebook has removed the telephone operator. The connection is only a click away.

The immediacy is frightening, the potential and the temptation for drunk dialing is ever the greater.

'Cuz really now, don't you just wanna send her a message and ask her why she really dumped ya when you were 16?

update

2009-02-09T13:57:00.004-06:00

Caleb
December 8 1992 - February 9 2009

This sucks.

deathwatch

2009-02-08T01:05:00.008-06:00

I am typing these words partially as simply a way to pass the time waiting for someone that I love dearly to pass away.

Lest you be alarmed dear reader, let me reassure you now. It is not The Boy.

Yes, my last significant posting was about The Boy, and his tonsil/adenoid-ectomy. And while it contained the usual and expected amount of the every year and a half or so "The Boy in The Hospital" drama and anxiety, there was never a major level of alarm or fear for his safety and eventual well-being.

I am quite pleased to report that three weeks after his surgery The Boy is better than new.

Really, he is. (I said with a grin.)

And it is with somewhat of a sad sense of irony that the current drama I find myself embroiled in began the week The Boy had his tonsils out.

Yep, that very week. I learned of it that Tuesday, that very afternoon.

All just further evidence in my mind that God is either non-existent or one really sorry-assed sick twisted fucker.

That was the week the inevitable downward spiral we all face accelerated to warp fucking speed for someone that I hold quite dear.

It is another for whom my heart is currently breaking.

Caleb.

He's sixteen. I know this because I was at that party. He sat in his mother's lap and drove her Miata with the top down around the block, while Journey or Kansas or some such classic rock shit blasted through the stereo as they hit the gas and careened away.

He's a student. He has been a student of mine for about the past two and a half years. He has been a friend and a part of my life for about the past eight or so years.

And now he's dying.

Literally and truly he is. He is down to about twenty pounds. No significant amount of food or water for around a week now. And no amount will save him. Lest you become too alarmed at the news that he is sixteen and weighs a scant twenty pounds, I must tell you, that at his largest most healthiest and fittest he weighed a whopping forty-six pounds.

Never been a big guy.

His descent into the downward spiral started gaining steam last summer. He had a typical teenage growth spurt. Because of his scoliosis and kyphosis his growth spurt caused him to grow pretty much like a corkscrew.

Really.

And that can't be good.

Sure enough, it is not, and it has been, I feel, the main reason as to why we find ourselves where we do today, my dear reader.

Basically, his little body has collapsed in upon itself to the point where his internal organs are cramped and compromised. His bowels have shut down, twisted and compressed. His little lungs cannot properly expand to breathe. This has left him vulnerable to the antibiotic resistant pneumonia that is currently drowning him slowly.

And those are just a few of his problems.

He is also quite cognitive, and aware of his situation as you and I are right now. He is ready and accepting of his eminent and impending fate. He is tired of the pain of being trapped in an always profoundly broken and now rapidly failing Judas body.

He is beyond all hope of salvation at the hands of man.

Poor kid.

I know, heckuva way to go, eh?

But he's going at home, hospice is what they call it. You know, from the Greek for "sucks giant ass". He is surrounded by his family. All his friends are coming by in some sort of grand parade down the flowered streets of memory lane. He is loopy from love and morphine as he's gasping his last breaths.

He is Absolute King of a Finite World.

We can only hope to be so lucky someday.

Right?

It is no longer a matter of if, but when?

And that question torments me, leaving me in a daytime drunken stupor and sleepless through the darkness of the night.

Why?

When?

What lessons do you still have left to teach?

I saw you earlier today. That spark has left your eyes. We both know what that means. You have my blessing and I have told you so. See you on the other side, my brother.

What are you waiting for? For the sake and sanity of your withering mother who has lived in this twilight for three fucking weeks, I beg of you to say good-bye and let it slide.

__________

life you had

. . . for Caleb (and Melissa)

I would bear your burden
I would help to ease your load
But I don’t fit inside your shoes
And I can’t find the road
Yes I would take your torment
Like your morphine eases pain
But I’m not behind your baby blues
So I guess I can’t complain
You know you need not worry
‘cuz I’m telling ya it’s really not that bad
Don’t mourn the life your leavin’
Celebrate the life you had

I would ease your burden
I would help you bear your cross
But I can’t feel the way you do
I can only feel the loss
Yes, I would take your torment
Like your morphine grants relief
But I’m not behind your baby blues
So you can’t know my grief
You know I will not worry
Tho’ I’m tellin’ ya, that feeling’s really sad
I celebrate the life your leavin’
As I mourn the life you had

i love my hometown

2009-01-29T11:07:00.000-06:00

el nino sin tonsils

2009-01-19T21:41:00.002-06:00

Is how I would say it in poor Spanish if I were to say it at all.

I am pleased, and secretly slightly pleasantly surprised that all went very well today. The Boy's surgery went off without a hitch, and I think also without a stitch, although neither The Wife or I are sure what exactly they do after they cut the blasted things out.

As a typical post-op precaution for a child such as The Boy, he is spending the night in the PICU (that's Pediatric Intensive Care Unit for those less medically acronym inclined). The Wife is with him tonight. When I left the hospital about 30 minutes ago she was changing into her jammies and preparing to snuggle up next to The Boy. He was all hopped up on codeine and sleeping relatively comfortably considering the surgery and the requisite post-op IV and gastrostomy feeding tubes and the wires connected to the monitoring machine that goes ping in the never ending twilight of the fishbowl hospital room.

The ENT doctor (that's ears, nose, and throat for the less medically acronym inclined) that performed the surgery mentioned the possibility that he may discharge The Boy tomorrow if all continues to go well. Given the usual odd by normal standards but not for The Boy things he will most likely do tonight, such as his occassional bradycardia, combined with moments of an extremely slow respiratory rate and seizure like behavior he generally exhibits when he is stressed by medical shit, The Wife and I remain optimistic if not hopeful that that will be the case.

[Ah, it will indeed be a miracle if I can watch the coronation, oops I mean inauguration, tomorrow from the comfort of my own living room.]

True to form, he has already been doing all of those things. Cause for concern, yes, and close attention but not alarm, at least not for us. We pray that the PICU staff remains calm and does not display a medical version of an itchy trigger finger.

So far, so good.

I came home to take care of our dachshound, the poor thing is a little freaked out after having been outside since we left for the hospital around 5:30.

As for me, well my dear reader, I am unwinding on the patio sucking down a mega tall-boy of the Steel ("If you're only gonna have one beer, make it a big strong one."), taking deep breaths and contemplating the long strange journey we've been on since our first real experience with The Boy in the hospital all those years ago.

He is my world. Plain and simple.

Soon, very soon, a shower and then off to bed. It's been a very long day. I will be back at the hospital by 6:00 in the morning.

We shall see what the morning will bring.

update

2009-01-18T01:22:00.004-06:00

Okay, so it's been a while since my words have graced this humble screen. Yes, my dear reader, it has been much too long since I sat forth and ranted about the topics of the day.

Why?

Well, James McMurtry is right, it's just life.

Just life, yeah, but to be totally honest my leisure pursuits have been somewhat dominated by that blasted game I avoided like the Plague for years. If you ever come across an Elf hunter named Sprydl just smile and say "Hey man, did you bring the Noyz?" and I'll know it's you.

That and as I previously mentioned I've discovered Guitar Hero. The upside of that is that it has lead me to also spend more time playing the real thing.

As a non-sequitor. . .

Today is the year anniversary of the day my dog died.

For whatever that's worth.

Anyways. . .

As The Wife and The Boy blissfully visit the land of slumber I sit outside, listening to Rush on Pandora with a cold Lone Star and a generous pour of Wild Turkey, reminding myself that Freud was right and it's just a cigar as I suck the tip of a smouldering Macanudo.

It ain't exactly living the high life, but it'll do.

In news of The Boy:

He continues to be an amazing creature. He is the axis upon which my world revolves. Doubtless, my dear reader, you enjoyed the photos of Christmas morning I posted a few weeks hence. Seven years old, around 50 pounds and a couple of inches over 4 feet tall. Or would be tall, if he could stand.

He will celebrate MLK's birthday on Monday by having his tonsils and adenoids removed. My stomach churns with anxiety just to type those words. The Wife and I are gearing up for a several days hospital stay. The doc told us to plan on at least two nights. I remain optimistic that the doc is correct, but things tend to not be so simple when it comes to The Boy and hospital visits.

So wish The Boy well, my dear reader, and please keep my family in your thoughts and prayers over the next few days. I promise to post updates as time permits.

merry christmas from the family

2008-12-29T23:27:00.004-06:00

no, no, no

2008-12-06T01:24:00.003-06:00

There's this story. . .

"If a student was upset, then it was a bad idea," said Superintendent Brian Monahan of the North Rockland School District in New York City's northern suburbs.

Say what?

"We encourage our teachers to deliver the curriculum in a variety of ways, to go beyond just reading the textbook," the superintendent said. "We don't want to discourage creativity. But this obviously went wrong because the student was upset."

The student was. . . upset?

Cripes, man. You don't want to upset the students now, do you?

Whatever.

And what the fuck?

Okay, I'm willing to concede that in this particular instance the teacher in question may not have made, um, the best choice in terms of the methodology behind the delivery of that particular lesson.

Which is to say that perhaps the binding their hands and feet with tape thing could've ya know, been presented a bit differently. Generally it is considered to be in extremely poor taste to tie or bind your students. Hell, even every freakin' rookie knows that because it is, at least here anyways, illegal.

However. . .

That whole "mustn't upset the students" vibe that permeates the piece is highly disturbing and holy shit is it ever wrong.

An upset student is a challenged student, pushed to the brink of learning. The task of the teacher is to guide the student towards and through the lesson to be learned.

And to accept that the lesson to be learned may not always be one of our own choosing. We all go down a different path.

To accept anything less in our educational system is to accept serfdom over citizenship.

To accept anything less is to be one of the few:

When you're one of the few to land on your feet
What do you do to make ends meet?
Teach.
Make them mad, make them sad, make them add two and two.
Make them me, make them you, make them do what you want them to.
Make them laugh, make them cry, make them lie down and die.

No, it ain't me babe. No, it ain't me.

in case you missed it

2008-11-17T16:51:00.008-06:00

Like many others, my dear reader, I have little doubt that you are sitting there in drunken despondency lamenting the fact that you missed the past weekend's celebration of all the really dyn-o-mite things that happened in 1978.

First and foremost on the list, was the birth of The Wife.

Well, to ease your pain, here's a little taste of what you missed:

"Heineken? Fuck Heineken!"

Unless of course, you'd like to try the cruel shoes.

Le freak, so chic!

"? ? ?"

a post coverage post script

2008-11-05T01:09:00.002-06:00

(whoa)

What the fuck was that? Green screen shenanigans?

Apparently not.

Oh, and by the way. You also, my dear reader, are a "terrific hologram".

We have just seen the future, baby, and its murder.

be this an omen of good fortune. . .

2008-11-05T00:42:00.003-06:00

. . . or somehow related to the delusional idealistic fantasies of a slightly drunken cynical man. . .

Either way.

Within moments of finishing my previous post, this song came on Radio Paradise:

And yes, I still hope it's not just a whisper.

election night

2008-11-04T23:41:00.003-06:00

Wow.

I'll leave all the "truly historic blah blah blah" for the pundits, pollsters, and aspiring politicos.

For tonight I'll even suspend my cynical misgivings and dabblings in "conspiracy theories" and alternative views of reality.

For the moment I'll share the dream that when it comes time for us as a nation to shift from "yes we can" to "yes we will" I can count myself squarely on the side of the willing and the doing.

I want "change" I can believe in. I want to believe. I do.

You'd have to have a heart of stone not to also be moved to tears watching Jesse Jackson, a man who was with MLK when his life but not his dream was cut short by an assassin's bullet, weeping in the Chicago crowd.

But I've always been a cynical irreverent bastard. Cripes man, I supported Bill the Cat for President in my first Presidential election. I don't know, maybe I just have higher expectations for those that claim the mantle of our nation's leadership.

Anyways, that's not what I want to rant about now.

I want to write about this. . .

I vividly remember a Sunday morning, five or six years ago, around this time of year. It was football season, a post tailgate Sunday morning. Following a night of what was I'm sure was filled with excessive celebration and alcohol consumption, I found myself sitting in my living room flipping the channels on the television.

Matt was there. As was Curtis. The Wife was still the girlfriend and soundly sleeping in our bedroom in the pre-Boy era.

It was well before noon on a Sunday. Through a hangover cloud we were still feeling young, decadent, and invincible. We drank a few beers and passed a bowl or two around. In between music videos we would browse the cable news channels and the Sunday morning talk shows.

There was a story about a young up and coming state Senator in Illinois.

And I remember this as clearly as though it happened yesterday.

Curtis turned to me and said, "That man is going to be the first black President of the United States."

So tonight my dear reader, please join me and raise two toasts. Raise the first to the next President of the United States, because, well um. . . not to raid a phrase, but because we can.

Then raise the second to an intuitive and insightful brotha who ain't here.

You bastard.

You were right.

Sweet Jesus, do I ever miss you now.

t - minus 90 and counting

2008-11-03T22:30:00.002-06:00

Soon, yes very soon my dear reader, it begins. The sights, the sounds, the smell and the spectacle of The Election.

First town weighs in at midnight

You ready?

Are you ready, my dear reader, for the promise in the year of election?

So who's gonna win? Love? or Money?

ouch

2008-11-02T02:02:00.000-06:00

not with a bang. . .

2008-11-02T01:18:00.004-05:00

the end of an opus

Sweet dreams.

. . . but a whimper

october surprise

2008-10-30T00:17:00.002-05:00

Well, there's only two days left until the Saints come marching in and this cursed month is over. Ain't a game changer happened just yet.

Personally, I tend to believe that personally, like all Americans, or all like Americans, or whatever, that the October surprise will arrive four days late in the guise of a giant cluster-fuck that makes 2000 look like your frackin' junior high student council elections.

Or sump'in like that.

Never forget my dear reader, and always remember. . .

The Boogie-Man is dead. (And man, do we ever miss him.)

So is Guy Fawkes. (A penny for the old guy.)

So um, trick or treat?

Choose wisely.

in celebrity news. . .

2008-10-24T23:23:00.005-05:00

'cuz really, does it matter my dear reader? The global economy is tanking and the frackin' army is out there somewhere getting ready for something?

Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.

Besides, we have no more ability to influence the course of those affairs than do a school of fish to alter the current in the ocean as it pushes them ever closer to the nets.

And we all know that all that really matters is what the rich and the beautiful are up to nowadays.

So. . .

Beyonce is changing her persona and her name.

Sasha Fierce.

Hmmm. . . Sounds hardcore, tough, perhaps a little, well um. . . forgive my honesty, but I calls 'em like I sees' em. . . perhaps a little bitchy.

She's married to Jay-Z, right?

You think now he's got a hundred problems?

happy birthday

2008-10-23T06:36:00.000-05:00

to you.

fnord

2008-10-18T09:49:00.002-05:00

A set-up?

We better watch out, man. They are coming for us.

Oh shit, they're already here.

Who are they goin' after first?

That one?

Oh, I see.

Oh, Sweet Blessed Mother of Irony, I pray save us now.

Then what happens?

Probably something like this.

These guys gotta be getting ready for something.

Hey, hey!
Ooh!
The kingdom is ransacked
the jewels all taken back
and the chopper descends
they're hidden in the back
with a message on a half-baked tape
with the spool going round
saying I'm back here in this place
and I could cry
and there's smoke you could click on

What are we gonna do now?
Taking off his turban, they said, is this man a Jew?
'Cause they're working for the clampdown
They put up a poster saying we earn more than you!
When we're working for the clampdown
We will teach our twisted speech
To the young believers
We will train our blue-eyed men
To be young believers

- The Clash

cool

2008-10-13T23:31:00.002-05:00

Okay, so it's been what, like twenty-some years since I first read the words that caused the ground beneath my feet began to slowly shift towards the virtual.

I read the first sentence and something clicked.

The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel.

This is almost as cool and really fuckin' scary if you think too much about it:

Cybercrime Supersite 'DarkMarket' Was FBI Sting, Documents Confirm

divide et impera

2008-10-05T23:34:00.003-05:00

Okay. I get it.

And I have little doubt that you do also, my dear reader.

But let's take a step back and look at the bigger picture for just a moment.

I, for one, find it somewhat curious that for at least the past eight years in this country, We The People as a nation find ourselves somewhat evenly split in our allegiances to our political views. This trend continues to this day. Here's a link to the polls if you don't believe me. As a whole, we basically split right down the middle, give or take a few percentage points to either side of the whole left/right paradigm thing.

Doesn't that make you the least bit curious, my dear reader, as to why?

Obama, McCain, Obama, McCain, Biden, Palin, Obama, McCain. . .

Whatever man. It really doesn't matter if it comes up head or tails if the coin your tossin' has no value.

So who benefits?

Woody knew.

Yes, as through this world I've wandered
I've seen lots of funny men;
Some will rob you with a six-gun,
And some with a fountain pen.

We've been robbed.

this is your brain

2008-10-01T00:22:00.011-05:00

. . . Okay so maybe it's not but then again I ain't no angry young temptress in a tank top, no neither I'm not. So just get over yourself.

But please just listen up and pay attention all the same. . .

Nobody want its, none of the time. Hell, when even a freakin' FOX News poll says the score is 7-3. . .

Poll: Most Americans Against Bush's Bailout Plan

. . . you just know you gotta add at least of couple of touchdowns to our side if you really wanna know the score.

Go us.

So you know that truly ain't nobody wants this thing going down.

But yet it is happening and will most likely continue to do so.

The Senate's pandering their pants off trying to lure House defectors with their wares so they can give it another whack.

Senate to vote on rescue plan with added tax cut

The odds of a senatized bill being rejected by he House are about the same odds as those of a drunk co-ed on Spring Break waking up with her honor intact after a blurry night of Bacardi, Budweiser, and body shots in a beach side motel room.

And what's the use anyways, the Big Guys are pushin' it hard:

Obama, McCain, Biden all to vote on bailout bill

I close my eyes and hear them shouting at each other: "I'm gonna save America." "No I'm gonna save America."

Ain't no wonder we're wandering in a wilderness of sorts, all pissed off, pissed on, and just plain pissed at the whole blasted scene.

But then again, don't fool yourself.

No, just don't.

'Cuz this ain't about us. This ain't never been about us.

It's all about the Benjamins my brotha, and they are all betting against us:

Stocks rallied Tuesday, with the Dow jumping 485 points on bets that Congress will pass a version of the government's $700 billion package, following Monday's crushing defeat.

Following Monday's "crushing defeat" the markets are betting this thing will pass.

And the are troops ready to roll if we decide we don't like it.

Brigade Homeland Tours Start Oct. 1

Any questions?

guitar hero

2008-09-28T23:57:00.002-05:00

Well, my dear reader, it seems as though the time has come for me to make a confession.

And I'll be honest, this is a difficult thing for me to do.

But, in the interest of full disclosure, and continuing what is nothing less than a tradition of total honesty and full disclosure within the confines of this humble blog, I must tell you this:

I have spent much of the past eight hours or so playing Guitar Hero II.

There, I've admitted it.

I wish no more to admit than I did to waste a huge chunk of a Sunday playing the freakin' video game. But both are equally true.

And yes, I rocked.

Damn skippy.

I avoided it for as long as possible. Like you, my dear reader, I have seen the ads on television and thought to myself, "Why, that's just fucking stupid." or "How fucking lame is that?"

Why would anyone waste their time pretending to play guitar, mashing buttons, pretending to rock, when they could be playing a real guitar and actually rocking? As I have several of the real guitars with which to rock, the question seemed all the more irrelevant.

Until the middle of this afternoon.

About a week or so ago The Nurse's kids left the game along with the mini Gibson SG controller at my house when they came over to play with The Boy. It sat untouched on the floor and then on a shelf.

Well, The Wife and The Boy left town for the weekend, leaving me alone to explore, experience, and enjoy my vices. And let's be honest, after a day or so even that gets boring.

I saw it sitting there. I picked it up and plugged it in.

Granted, I took the occasional break to rant and to eat Chicken McNuggets and pound a few post tailgate hangover tallboys of Lone Star (you know, that whole vices thing), but still. . .

I tuned in, turned it on, and man did I ever drop out.

And yes, I rock!

(As if there was ever a doubt.)

'atta boy dave

2008-09-28T22:04:00.003-05:00

Much like you doubtlessly have done, my dear reader, I have been watching Dave for about as long as there has been a Dave to watch, if you know what I mean. Granted, I'm no longer the regular viewer I was back in the '80's, but who is?

In today's TV world I'm much more likely to spend my last couple of weekday waking hours with Stewart and Colbert on the DVR after putting The Boy to bed.

This is an aside, so indulge me please, my dear reader, but thinking of Letterman most always reminds me of leaving "Pitcher Night" at the Tavern in the Union after countless mugs of Shiner Bock every Thursday night to stagger back across campus to the dorm in time for Dave. I'm sure you remember, back in the day when Leno was a guest, not a competitor and still funny. It just makes me want to say to all those buried in the ground, God knows I wish you were around to laugh and cuss about what's going down.

Maybe that's part of the reason why I don't watch him so much anymore.

That being said, Dave's still the man.

wtf?

2008-09-27T10:47:00.002-05:00

As David Bowie sang, this is not America.

". . . asking Missouri law enforcement to target anyone who lies or runs a misleading television ad. . . "

So is Missouri gonna arrest McCain? It's a fucking Presidential campaign. The whole system is based on lies and misleading ads. That's how the game is played.

". . . they will be reminding voters that Barack Obama is a Christian who wants to cut taxes. . . "

Well okay then, Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition.

". . . we don't won't people to get distracted. . . by these divisive character attacks. . . "

No, don't get distracted. Watch the pendulum, you're getting sleepy, very sleepy.

This is crap.

So much for the First Amendment in Missouri.

Obama has turned out to be a big disappointment. "Hope"? "Change"?

My ass. He's a douchebag.

That's right. I just called Obama a douchebag. I had just better not say it in Missouri.

the drinking debate

2008-09-26T20:00:00.013-05:00

Obama vs. McCain.

Live blogging. Trying something new.

Automatic drinking buzzwords:

bailout

Wall Street or for us common folks, Main Street

when McCain says "my friends"

when Obama says "hope" or "change"

as it is supposed to be about foreign policy: "surge", "terror" (including with suffixes such as "-ists" and "=isms"

package

Other buzzwords as they become obvious.

Let's go.

Lehrer starting with an Ike quote, too bad it's not about the whole "industrial=military complex" thing.

Obama speaking.

Drink. Drink.

McCain.

Says Ed Kennedy still in hospital. Wrong. Drink. His advisers aren't watching cable news? Before this debate started the cable news channels all reported that Kennedy was released from the hospital so he could go home to watch this very debate. McCain knew. He's sympathetically pandering. That's an ultimate asshole action. Drink at least twice.

Main street. Drink.

"the end of the beginning of the crisis"? Holy Fuck. It's just getting worse.

Wait, did Mr. Drillmore just say end dependence on oil?

Lehrer: Do you guys like the plan?

Obama, "how did we get here? This is not my beautiful house. This is not my beautiful wife."

McCain saw the trainwreck coming? Wasn't he part of it back with Keating around '85? Called for resignation of SEC chairman? No, said he would fire him. Lie. Drink.

New buzzwords to drink: accountability, responsiblility (and their variations).

So drink like three or four times.

"Fundamentals of economy are sound"? Slam your beer.

McCain, Main Street. Drink.

McCain, America, America, blah blah blah. Shut up and drink.

(pause to pee and to thank the Divine Entity of your choice for the miracle of DVR)

McCain, spending's out of control? How much do the wars you support cost?

Oooh, just tried a lame joke about bear DNA. Didn't fly. Drink. He pulled out a pen as a prop and he's holding it like he's Bob fucking Dole. A prop? He's fucking Carrot Top? Drink.

Obama's turn.

New buzzword for this part of debate: earmarks.

Drink. Drink. Drink.

On McCain like you're Bevis, "He he, he he. He said pork."

McCain was called "The Sheriff", didn't win "Ms. Congeniality"? Lame, lame, lame. Drink once to The Sheriff and again to not Ms. Congeniality.

An observation. Just to buck conventional wisdom. On the stage in this debate, McCain is on the left, Obama is on the right.

Lehrer just told McCain to answer Obama directly. Go Lehrer. Rope and rule these bitches.

New buzzword: pork.

So drink. And then drink again.

McCain changing the subject. Asks Obama to define "rich". Potential new buzzword. Get your beverage ready.

Obama just shifted to healthcare. Isn't this debate about foreign policy? That's lame Mr. Obama. Drink.

McCain just said the word "festooned". That's a slam the rest of your drink word. Why? Because it's "festooned".

Why are they talking about tax breaks for oil companies? Both busy twisting each others words and spinning the context. Bastards.

Lehrer. Back on topic. The "financial rescue plan". (Wait, again, what happened to foreign policy?)

Obama. 1) Enery independence. Drink. I think. I don't remember. 2) Fix healthcare. Fuck yeah, but blah de fucking blah. 3) Education. Go Mr. Generic! We all want smart kids.

McCain. 1) Spend less. Obama's a liberal. So he spends more? Opposes ethanol subsidies? Good-bye midwestern corn state vote. What? Too much defense spending? Ah, too many cost over-runs. Blah blah blah, people went to federal prison. He's said that several times tonight.

New McCain drinking buzzword: federal prison.

Is he projecting?

Obama talking about Medicare. Hmm. . . Government health care issues affects me hard. The Boy gets straight Medicaid. Don't fuck with it.

McCain wants to freeze spending.

Obama gets a zinger line: "using a hatchet when you should be using a scalpel" Boo-yah! Drink!

McCain just called for nuclear power? Are we back in the '70's? Ooooh, first mention of "climate change". That's always a drinking buzzword. So drink.

Lehrer just asked if the financial crisis would effect the proposed budgets when either dude is President. Lehrer takes a hit for failing to recognize the obvious. Drink two.

McCain. Back to Obama healthcare and socialized medicine.

Once again, isn't this the foreign policy debate? Blah blah blah blah.

McCain, we owe China 500 billion. Good point. Let's talk about that. Nope. Drink 500 billion.

Again, McCain said he's not Ms. Congeniality. And he ain't no Sandra Bullock. Drink. Said he was a Maverick. I thought that was James Garner. Drink. His partner's a maverick? His partner's James Garner? Is that a gay thing? Drink at least two. And then one more the possible gay thing.

Lehrer steers it back to foreign policy. Iraq blah de blah.

McCain. Right idea, wrong implemention. Change strategy. Great general, "surge" implication? Succeed. Succeed. Damn Iranian bastards.

Obama. Iraq. I told you no, gah-damnit. We only half-way kicked ass in Afghanistan. First use of the word "trillion". Drink. On the war, not the "bailout". Drink. Oops, I said "bailout". Drink.

McCain. The Obama oversight committee not meeting with Petraeus thing.

Obama. "that's Senate inside baseball".

First mention of America's pastime. Drink and eat a fucking hot dog. Then go buy a Chevy. But make it a hybrid Chevy.

Oooh, Obama's getting testy about McCain's Iraq ideas. "Obama doesn't understand the difference between a tactic and a strategy." Okay, explain it to me. Nope, going to freedom, liberty blah, blah, blah.

This is finally starting to turn into a good bar argument between the two guys sitting across from you at the Horseshoe. Lehrer's backing off and just letting the guys bitch at each other. Fun. Drink. Big fun. Drink again.

Obama understands the difference between tactics and strategy. Will one of them please explain it to me, in the context of Iraq.

Okay, now it's devolved to McCain saying more in Iraq and Obama saying more in Afghanistan.

McCain snuck in the name Osama bin Laden a couple of times. Osama? Obama? Ah! You secret Muslim. Drink.

(pause. pee break and a refill. thank you DVR)

FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK.

Just unpaused the DVR. CRASH. boot. Damn you Time Warner bastards!

The boys were sparring. They was talkin'bout Iraq. They was talkin'bout Afghanistan. Were they gonna mention the simmering border skirmish issue with Pakistan? The Pakistanis have been shooting at our helicopters as they "patrol" across the border for the past week or so. Probably not. But I'll never know. At least not until I watch the highlight cable "news" shows later this weekend.

Again I say, fuck.

__________

Back on. Straight up nine o'clock. Obama's wearing a bracelet? Pussy. Wait. I'm wearing a bracelet. One I bought on the streets of Nuevo Laredo about eight years ago. Pure silver my ass. What did I expect for a dollar?

Huh? Obama said something about terrorists sending out videotapes. You mean the ones from the IntelCenter? You know the place that's run by those former Pentagon/DOD spook guys that have the whole Al-Qaeda logos and shit added at the same time as the IntelCenter ones? Google it, my dear reader. Puzzling evidence.

Now they're scrapping! Drink. Just for the fun of it! This thing is finally getting interesting.

Oh. Now Lehrer jumped in with some good news / bad news thing.

Lehrer: Iran.

McCain. Iran. Nukes. Bad. Don't threaten Israel. No second Holocaust. Who's calling for that? Over dramatic. Drink. He wants a League of Democracies? Didn't Wilson try that like about 90 years ago. Iranians putting IEDs in Iraq. Yeah. Maybe Lieberman can show up and remind McCain about that whole Shi'ite/Sunni thing.

Obama. Iran. They're bad. They're badder because of our last eight years policies. He won't let nobody fuck with Israel.

Call me cynical, but are they both pandering this desperately for Florida?

McCain can't pronounce the name of Iran's president. Drink. Neither can I, right now. Drink. But he did okay with a bunch of Russian commie sounding names. Drink to show your support of an old man's ability to pronounce foreign names.

Obama just brought up Kissinger as a McCain advisor. And Brzezinski is an Obama advisor. As an aside: I am working on the hypothesis that world events and American foreign policy since World War II is nothing but a game between between Kissinger and Brzezinski. That is a topic for another time.

Sorry, lost my focus. Drink. Now back to the debate.

This section's buzzword: preconditions.

Drink. Drink. Drink. Drink.

Oooh, McCain just said "my friend". It was in reference to Kissinger, but he said it twice. So drink twice.

New question. Russia.

Love the vodka, hate the potential war.

That's my answer. Not the candidates, although they both look like a Stoli shot would do them good right now.

Obama's spouting the whole Russia is the aggressor line. No, Georgia started it. Lie. Drink. Drink again if you think this involves Atlanta.

Oooh, drink just because Obama said "Latvia". Isn't that where the Andy Kaufman character on 'Taxi' came from? Something about nukes and Al Qaeda. Terror! Be afraid. Be very afraid. Drink. Drink your fears away.

McCain. Russian aggression against Georgia? Again, Georgia fucking started it! McCain is a lying bastard. Drink. Twice. Lie. Drink. Looked in Putin's eyes and saw three letters? "K G B"? Groovy line. Wow, didn't Bush see a good guy when he did that? Russian intentions towards Georgia? How would the US react if the Russians put anti-missile systems in Mexico and Canada?

They are both essentially on the same page on this. They are both tools and douchebags, at least in regards to this issue. But that's an editorial opinion and not the unbiased factual reporting I had hoped this long live-blogging rant would be. I apologize.

Obama is still rambling on. Drink every time either one says "Putin". It sounds funny and a little dirty. So drink.

Obama just turned this back to energy and gas prices. Great non-linear transition. Drink for style points.

McCain rambles on about off-shore drilling and something about something with the word that sounds like "Lugar". Senator? Drink.

Two minutes each left.

Another 9/11?

Don't get me started. Too late, I've already been started. So drink. Read back in the archives of this humble blog for more.

McCain talks about the Commission. Why no mention of WTC 7 in their official report? He's a douchebag. Drink. Drink. Drink.

Obama says were safer, airports, potential targets, chemical sites, transits, ports. Transits? Oh, a suitcase nuke is gonna get us. Please save us Keifer Sutherland. Al-Qaeda. In 60 countries. How many are we in? I'll bet we're still winning.

Obama: "Restore America's Standing in The World". Yes, capital letters because it's a great slogan. Meaningless, because really, what does that mean? But is sure as fuck sounds cool and looks great on a bumper sticker.

McCain just said something about "blood and sacrifice from America's treasury" or something like that. Another meaningless jingoistic phrase that sounds pretty cool and looks great on a bumper sticker. So drink.

Then drink again because this whole thing is getting annoying.

Closing remarks?

I hope.

Obama mentioned Osama. Risky. Apparently they are both still out there. Well, one of them is. One's probably not. Again, Google it for yourself if you're curious. We're spending 10 bil a month on the wars? Yeah, and I remember when 50 thou a year would buy a lot of beer.

McCain has been involved in every National Security challenge for the past 20 some years. Brought back up the lie about "Russian aggression". Drink. Just dissed dubya's regime. Oooh, what a maverick. He loves the vets. I'm sure he'll be hugging that guy holding the cardboard sign while he stands at the intersection on the freeway bridge near my house tomorrow.

Obama. Dad from Kenya. Yes, yes, son of a goat-herder. Lame. Drink. Really lame. Drink again. Ramble, ramble, blah, blah.

McCain. I was a POW. Drink. So was Rambo and we know how he dealt with it. So drink again. Wait, maybe McCain is still searching for his Richard Crenna. Drink again.

McCain knows how to heal the wounds of war. Yes, so do I. Drinking together. So raise your glass high and let's celebrate the fact that this bitch is finally in the can.

Oooh. . . next week, the Veep Challenge! America's first and favorite potential VPILF vs. some Abe Simpsonesque rambling old guy.

Post debate/game show starting now. Yikes! Chris Matthews! He just called McCain "grumpy". What was it The Police that sang, "truth hits everybody"?

Time to step outside and go listen to Woody Guthrie.

I too, own a machine that kills fascists.

Let's jam.

"the bailout"

2008-09-26T00:11:00.002-05:00

"Yes, as through this world I've wandered
I've seen lots of funny men;
Some will rob you with a six-gun,
And some with a fountain pen."

- Woody Guthrie

just cut the shit

2008-09-18T23:08:00.005-05:00

Okay, okay, okay. . . so maybe my dear reader you are wondering what has happened to the Good Doctor Polymer Noyz.

Or not.

Maybe you are wondering what has happened to this little blog, that used to be filled with amusing anecdotes, wry observations, and heartwarming tales from my personal life. Maybe you are wondering while all I seem to do recently, and with a seeming greater infrequency, is rant and rave about that whole ugly "p" word: politics; and my indignant need to continue exposing and exploring the expanding injustice and hypocrisy of those who claim the right to rule us. The bastards.

Well lemme tell ya. . .

On the one hand it's due because of, or perhaps in spite of, I am a happily married man with a wonderful child with disabilities, who continues to amaze and astound as he grows increasingly larger: physically, emotionally, cognitively. After almost five years into my current version of life (which basically corresponds with the time this blog began) things have settled down into the quiet complacency of more or less domestic tranquility. Which is to say, on the home front there just isn't as much to rant about. Along with that comes a proportional decrease in time to share the stories as I am busy just living them.

However, when I look outside my window, as you doubtless do my dear reader, I see a world that seems to grow darker and uglier with each passing day.

And that just plain continues to piss me off.

So on to the subject of tonight's little rant.

You may have seen this story:

Dallas Mavericks' Josh Howard disrespects national anthem

My initial response?

So.

Is this really news?

It certainly isn't new.

Granted, I am writing this from my perspective as well, a white man, who grew up and continues to live with all the trappings and modern comforts of suburban society. But despite this upbringing I somehow escaped the myopic vision of many of my peers. I can see plainly that my world isn't the world, if you get my meaning.

Of late, I have spent many hours listening to the blues (thank you, pandora.com). The real blues. The old blues. Robert Johnson, Leadbelly, all the various "Blind" guys.

I came of age when the rap/hip-hop scene was doing so also. While I could not fully relate I could at least on some level understand and empathize with the disenfranchised sentiments of the artists of that era: Grandmaster Flash, KRS-One, NWA, and yes, the master Chuck D:

I got a letter from the government
The other day
I opened and read it
It said they were suckers
They wanted me for their army or whatever
Picture me given' a damn - I said never
Here is a land that never gave a damn
About a brother like me and myself
Because they never did

I fear I am somewhat digressing from the intended point of this rant.

What I find most shocking, surprising, and yes at times offensive to my sensibilities is the general mainstream reaction to such sentiments.

It matters not whether you are a ball player, a blues man, a rap artist, a politician who won't wear a fucking flag pin, or his former preacher. . .

The response is always the same:

Great umbrage, faux outrage, and an over eagernesss to take offense.

And that's just plain fucking stupid.

And that's what bothers me.

Why is there never an attempt to ask a simple question: "Why do you feel that way?"

Why is there no recognition that some have legitimate grievances?

I fear that to to do so would begin a dialogue that is long, difficult, complicated, and can't be summed up in a 30 second TV spot with lots of American flags waving in the background.

Go America. We're number one.

Yeah, right.

Living in a dream is certainly easier than living one.

9/11

2008-09-11T21:49:00.005-05:00

is a joke.

On so many more levels than Public Enemy told us all those years ago.

So get up and get, get down.

And just keep screaming out. . .

I'm still not dead.

To all those buried in the ground,
God knows I wish you were around,
to laugh and cuss about what's going down.

So raise a glass to the fallen, muthafuckers.

That's not a request.

To spite as a reason,

Like dubya said. . .

'You are either with us or against us'

Well then,

I know what side I'm on.

Do you?

And to the confusion of our enemies,
Just keep screaming out...I'm still not dead.

you got that right

2008-08-13T02:12:00.002-05:00

Yes, ol' Georgie boy, we are a nation in distress.

Too bad you'll never understand that your actions are the reason why.

Now sit the fuck down and calm yourself before you knock your beer over on that Kissinger bastard. He's a conniving old fart, you don't wanna piss him off.

somebody please tell me

2008-08-11T01:35:00.003-05:00

just what the fuck is going on?

Amongst his other insightful things, I'm sure, dubya had this to say:

"I was very firm with Vladimir Putin ... I expressed my grave concern about the disproportionate response of Russia," Bush told NBC Sports. "We strongly condemn bombing outside of South Ossetia."

Very firm? Oh, I'll bet Putin cried and called for his mommy after such a scolding.

As for bombing outside of South Ossetia? Hmm. So I guess it's okay to bomb the shit out of the inside of it.

And what's up with this guy? Not to necessarily make a pun here, but really now, why is he being such a big, um, dick?

Is it because he knows those Ruskie bastards have the goods? Perhaps he might find it a little tough to find the irony and explain how a black man in an American uniform wound up dead in the true Caucasian part of the globe?

Or possibly to distract us so that we don't notice when it comes out, because such shenanigans always do (et tu, Mr. Edwards?), that she had them?

score one for our side

2008-08-06T00:22:00.003-05:00

Okay listen up, my dear reader, I don't give jack squat about how you feel about the friggin' death penalty. This isn't about that.

Well, truth be told it is, because the story is all about that. However, the focus of this it is not.

But. . .

Have you seen this story:

Texas executes Mexican-born killer

Good.

That's right, good, an' now don'go givin' me all jack squat about the friggin' death penalty, 'cuz really, I don't freakin' care, Right now, I just don't.

So deal with it, will ya? Iffin' ya need to do so.

Personally, I stand squarely agains'it.

Period. The end.

Unless my dear reader, you choose to disagree and seek discourse and discussion. Then it's game on.

As for this. . . yes this glorious rant my dear reader, is all about the not yet Late if not quite so Great State of Texas. Yee dee fuckin' hah!

I have previously reported on this issue.

It has reached its resolution, and in the end my adopted homeland stood up to the Globalist Bastards.

Sure, those sumsvabitches are carving up our vast landscape with toll roads and the TTC, in support of the nonexistant NAU as not described in SPP agreements. (Googl'em yourself, my dear reader. I'm just not in the mood to provide the links.)

But this is Texas, Gahdamn it! Now gimme some oil.

And we still kill 'em whenever we Gahdamned please!

We might succumb to your rules and regulations, because in our minds we all live in Dallas, try as we might to escape the restless truth and deny it to each other and to ourselves. Yes, yes, yes. We might pay your tolls, stop at your checkpoints, take off our shoes and stand naked on the scanner as you search our bags.

So long as you just leave us the fuck alone and watch us go away on your surveillance cameras.

You know, that whole "you go your way, I'll go mine" scenario.

We just might.

But as I hope, trust and pray; my dear reader, I hope trust and pray you do the same. . .

We may follow their rules, but we will never submit to their law.

yeah sure

2008-07-25T01:53:00.005-05:00

it's as slick as all Hell, and as seductive as a a box of day-old Krispy Kremes in the sights of a late night convenience store shopper with a righteous case of the munchies.

(Or perhaps I'm merely projecting.)

Too bad it is all just a wicked game of Three-card Monte.

blathering idiot

2008-07-24T00:54:00.003-05:00

I am entirely too awestruck and desperately dumbfounded for any other words of explanation.

WASHINGTON — Unaware he was being recorded, President Bush at a Houston fundraiser last week compared Wall Street to a drunk with a hangover and cracked jokes about the ailing housing market.

"There's no question about it. Wall Street got drunk — that's one of the reasons I asked you to turn off the TV cameras — it got drunk and now it's got a hangover," Bush said at a private fundraiser for Republican congressional candidate Pete Olson. "The question is: How long will it sober up and not try to do all these fancy financial instruments?"

The president's blunt remarks were a sharp departure from the more measured tones he uses publicly to discuss the economy and national housing market collapse.

Blunt remarks? Huh? I mean really now, wha'cho talkin'bout Willis?

See for yourself -

The man simply can not speak coherently. Undignified and utterly disgraceful.

it might sound like a good idea

2008-07-17T02:22:00.002-05:00

Department of Peace Bill Has Bipartisan Support in Congress

. . . but. . .

Read this again:

Domestically, the Department will research, propose and facilitate practical, field-tested solutions to reduce and prevent violence. It will provide additional financial and institutional heft to strengthen and complement our current approach to violence, focusing on prevention through multi-layered strategies. These strategies include increased funding for local programs already proven effective at reducing and preventing violence. A Peace Academy, on par with the military service academies, will provide a four-year course of instruction in peace education after which graduates will be required to serve five years in public service in programs dedicated to domestic or international nonviolent conflict resolution.

". . . will research, propose and facilitate practical, field-tested solutions to reduce and prevent violence."

We are naught but guinea pigs.

"A Peace Academy, on par with the military service academies, will provide a four-year course of instruction in peace education. . ."

Guinea pigs in a lab soon to be run by spies, snitches and nasty ass sons of bitches.

Wait jus' a sec, I've heard this all before.

They are combining the best of both worlds:

The Ministry of Peace

The Ministry of Love

The bastards.

Don't believe the hype.

you will comply

2008-07-12T02:42:00.008-05:00

You may recall, my dear reader, an earlier posting on this very topic.

Well, welcome to the dark side of the looking glass, Alice.

". . . a little bracelet, that would serve as a boarding pass. It would track your lost luggage. And it would also shock you with the same power as a taser if you get out of line."

Oh look, a cute little bracelet. Mommy, mommy, can I have a blue one?

Give me back my broken night
my mirrored room, my secret life
it's lonely here,
there's no one left to torture
Give me absolute control
over every living soul
And lie beside me, baby,
that's an order!
Give me crack and anal sex
Take the only tree that's left
and stuff it up the hole
in your culture
Give me back the Berlin wall
give me Stalin and St Paul
I've seen the future, brother:
it is murder.

- Leonard Cohen

two simple questions

2008-07-10T22:55:00.003-05:00

Why isn't this man in irons?

Why does this man have no testicles?

Rove refuses subpoena, leaves country

He left the fuckin' country?

Fuck you. Fuck you both very much.

praise the lord

2008-07-08T01:31:00.005-05:00

So I was, um, reading this article over on Salon.

Interesting. Fascinating.

And what the fuck? (pun fully intended)

"Evangelicals Melissa and Louis McBurney have endorsed oral sex, mutual masturbation and rear-entry vaginal penetration. . . "

Oral? Do you suck it for Our Savior?

Mutual masturbawhat? Sweet! You mean, while she's jackin' it for Jesus, he's crankin' it for Christ?

And as for doin' it doggy? Aaaayyy, oooooh! Talk about knockin' on Heaven's door.

[Insert rimshot and slide whistle here.]

"The Rev. Charles Shedd has declared that he and his wife, Martha, like anal sex just fine."

Good for you, man. That's just great. May you Eternally Bang her Behind in the Great Beyond for The Ever Blessed Glory of The Lord.

maybe two legs are better

2008-06-27T01:51:00.003-05:00

From the original. . .

A well regulated militia, being necessary to the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms, shall not be infringed.

um, hello McFly, it's the Second Fricking Amendment.

All animals are equal.

Thanks, George.

To this. . .

(A well regulated militia, being necessary to the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms, shall not be infringed.) this right is not absolute and subject to reasonable regulations enacted by local communities to keep their streets safe.

That was Barack Obama on June 26, 2008

(All animals are equal.) but some animals are more equal than others.

Again, praise Bob for the wisdom of Mr. Orwell.

So um, pray tell me, my dear reader. . .

What's the diff? I mean really now, please tell me, do, do tell. Because for all I can tell there is some difference in little things, like language and grammar. Perhaps there is a word or two variance between the statements. But heckfire and damnation, for my money the message is the same.

And that will keep me awake for another hour or two.

he is watching

2008-06-25T00:42:00.002-05:00

I'm made of metal
My circuits gleam
I am perpetual
I keep the country clean

AGENT COOPER: "Secrets are dangerous things, Audrey."

And from time to time they can also be very compelling. This is both really scary and really freakin' cool:

Photographer Documents Secret Satellites — All 189 of Them

go lloyd

2008-06-22T02:40:00.003-05:00

Mike Cameron: I don't know you very well, you know, but I wanted to ask you - how'd you get Diane Court to go out with you?
Lloyd Dobler: I called her up.
Mike Cameron: But how come it worked? I mean, like, what are you?
Lloyd Dobler: I'm Lloyd Dobler.

Yes! Yes you are.

(And that, my dear reader is the small piece of driftwood you cling to as the sharks circle and you float sleeplessly in the dark of the night.)

So Lloyd Dobler, go.

it's late

2008-06-21T03:29:00.002-05:00

got what you wanted
lost what you've had

pshaw

2008-06-21T02:11:00.004-05:00

. . . now everybody smile and say "boo".

And don't you dare say I di'n't try to warn ya.

Huh, that was funny. I totally got ya.

Or did I?

I tried to warn ya, sound the alarm, you know my dear reader, yell fire in a crowded movie house.

Ah, I fear we are late. Now, they are here, with us. They will soon be amongst us, in or theaters, subways, coffee shops and grocery stores.

I wonder what they're gonna do next.

I know, I know, it is a crazy idea.

Do not submit to intimidation", "Assert your rights", "If you do not assert and support your rights, you are helping to deny or disparage rights which it is the solemn duty of all citizens and residents of the United States to retain."

But still, it is the law.

. . . when a nation is at war many things that might be said in time of peace are such a hindrance to its effort that their utterance will not be endured so long as men fight, and that no Court could regard them as protected by any constitutional right." . . .

The question in every case is whether the words used are used in such circumstances and are of such a nature as to create a clear and present danger that they will bring about the substantive evils that Congress has a right to prevent.

The danger is clearly present if not yet presently clear.

I fear that it no longer matters if one potential reason or possibly the cause turns out to be a fraud.

And that's just plain fucked up.

very sadly it is

2008-06-19T00:23:00.005-05:00

This should be in giant banner headlines on the front page of every paper in the land.

But it won't be.

Here it is:

General who probed Abu Ghraib says Bush officials committed war crimes

Um, one word: duh.

Here's a sample:

"After years of disclosures by government investigations, media accounts and reports from human rights organizations, there is no longer any doubt as to whether the current administration has committed war crimes," Taguba wrote. "The only question that remains to be answered is whether those who ordered the use of torture will be held to account."

It's not like it's new news or anything.

This is not America.

Go Dennis, go!

oh and by the way

2008-06-17T22:40:00.006-05:00

We are successfully and safely back from our Grand Adventure.

The Boy held up amazingly well. I mean amazingly, remarkably, and most impressively.

On most days he displayed greater enthusiasm, eagerness and stamina to continue the fun and experience The Magic than The Wife and I.

My anxieties about air travel were mostly unfounded, although today I learned that in Orlando the TSA acronym has a whole new meaning: Total Shithead Assholes.

They tested The Boy's shoes and his wheelchair for explosive residue for Chris'sakes. They were rude about it, the cocksuckers, and violated their own posted policies by momentarily separating The Boy from The Wife and I. They then proceeded to scold me for violating unknown rules about getting all his gear and supplies through the security checkpoint.

I hated it, I hated it, I hated it, and I had a song by The Police playing in my head the entire time:

Billy's joined the National Front
He always was a little runt
He's got his hand in the air with the other cunts
You've got to humanize yourself

I recognized it was a situation where I needed to simply smile and nod and walk away as soon as I was allowed to do so. So I did.

Ah, fuck 'em. Let it slide, let it slide.

We are home, we are safe. It was an amazing journey.

Cripes man, is The Boy ever one amazing kid.

Details and links to photos of the glorious affair will follow soon.

like being struck by lightning

2008-06-17T19:55:00.010-05:00

I was struck by lighting
Walkin' down the street
I was hit by something last night in my sleep
- Danny Elfman

While the Good Doctor Polymer Noyz has had on multiple occasions drunken delusions of knowing all the answers to life itself and everything, somewhat sadly this is not one of those times.

No sir, no siree. Like yourself, my dear reader and fellow traveller, I am also on a quest for some sort of truth. While oft times it is universal, the answers I seek today are somewhat more mundane and involve an incident that has been much in the news recently.

My question, succinctly put, boils down to this: "What are the odds?"

Given the following as reported in the press, both statewide and local:

- only one state trooper was on duty when normally there should have, would have been two.

- the infrared motion sensor security sensor system was not working.

- video which they will not yet release (why? somebody get caught with their pants down?) shows a possible twenty-something physically fit guy scaling a fence and tossing "an incendiary device".

Again, let me be quick to say that I am not making any accusations, only raising a question, but again I must ask, what are the odds, the truly random odds of probability, that there was only one trooper on duty and the security system was broken on the very same night that a person who "seems to possess some degree of fitness or strength, since he was able to scale a barrier into the Mansion grounds, throw an incendiary device with enough force to cause it to create a fireball, and flee the scene in the dark without being apprehended or injured" set the Texas Governor's Mansion on fire?

Ask yourself who has the skill-set to do that? Why that night? Coincidence? Dumb luck on the part of the arsonist? Politically motivated or not? Why the change of tune?

Wait a sec, hold up. . . reading and/or watching on. . .

He may be known to get angry and express strong opinions about the Government, Governor Perry himself, the death penalty, the renovation of the Mansion, or other political issues. His feelings of anger and frustration will be noted by people who know him.

Cripes man, that could be me on a sober night.

Great. Now I'm a friggin' suspect.

My plan and my practice is that The Boy and any future sibling(s) will grow up with the belief that "Fucking" is part of the title of an elected official, i.e.: "Fucking President, Fucking Senator, Fucking Governor, Fucking Mayor, etc.".

His skill in deploying his incendiary device suggests he has practiced constructing and throwing these devices. . .

Skill? Hmph! Okay, I'm off the list.

But still, ask yourself questions my dear reader, yes ask.

And then sit back and go "hmmm".

A Lone Star Reichstag fire?

t minus twelve

2008-06-11T01:20:00.007-05:00

hours and counting. . .

. . . until The Wife, The Boy and yours truly find ourselves somehow seated on a Southwest flight bound for Orlando. I say "somehow" because The Wife and I are still to some extent going back and forth on what to do about The Boy's seating situation on the plane.

I spent eight or so hours Sunday googling

(eech, please save us Word Nazi,"google" is a verb now isn't it? Or rather more accurately for the purposes of this sentence assuming I correctly remember my grammar from the diagramming sentences days of Mrs. McKenzie's 7th grade Advanced English class, a gerund.)

the most arcane and mundane of FAA websites searching for the exact rules and regulations regarding CRS (or Child Restraint Systems otherwise known to the less acronym and bureaucratically inclined as a "car seat") and all of The Boy's required medications, supplies, and equipment. We've got the rules and regs on our side, but we're still not sure if we want the hassle, both bureaucratically and physically of lugging a car seat around. All I can tell you for sure is that we are going to hit the airport tomorrow morning loaded for bear and better prepared and equipped than an infantry unit being deployed in Iraq. I've got about hundred or so printed pages covering everything you can imagine to back us up and will have the video camera at the ready if somebody dares to try to tell us "no".

"What's that? You say we can't bring this on the plane. My son has significant medical, physical, and cognitive disabilities and this is medically necessary to maintain his health, safety, and well-being. Surely you're not discriminating against a handicapped child? Well hold on just a sec. . . okay. Now please say it again nice and slow and this time try to smile as you look in the camera. We'll need the documentation for our attorney and you wanna look your best for the local TV news."

My personal goal for tomorrow is to make it through the day without being tazed and put on a no-fly list.

"Why?" I hear you asking yourself my dear reader.

Well lemme tell ya. . .

WE'RE GOING TO DISNEY WORLD!

Yes, Disney World. For a one week all expenses paid stay at a Disney resort, complete with unlimited park access and even a meal plan for goodness sake.

This whole trip is courtesy of my recently retired father and mother. It was a Christmas gift. Along with the 38 foot fully loaded RV that is now their home, my parent's have dreamed, planned and schemed of one last big family vacation. They are taking themselves, us, my sister, her husband, and two kids for a final family "hurrah!" before they drive off into the sunset of their lives and spend their glorious golden days traversing this great nation.

There should be some tales of brave adventure, pics, and possibly video (if I can finally master the art of YouTube) in a week or so.

I need to go to bed but am feeling a little hyped and more than a little anxious.

So wish us well.

strange but true?

2008-06-08T02:32:00.002-05:00

just strange?

or just true?

seven

2008-06-05T10:24:00.005-05:00

His eyes are the eyes that
Transmit all they know.
Sparkle warm crystalline glances to show
That he is your leader
And he is your guide
On the amazing journey together you'll ride.

- Pete Townshend, "The Amazing Journey"

Today is The Boy's birthday. As you can probably discern my dear reader from the title of this posting, he is seven years old today. It seems quite remarkable that I have known him and been involved in his life since he was just a couple of weeks old.

What began like this, has miraculously and marvelously grown and evolved into this:

So at some point during the course of your day, my dear reader, please join me and raise your glass high, "Here's to The Boy! Happy Birthday!"

historic?

2008-06-03T23:56:00.005-05:00

We are quite fortunate, my dear reader, if every once in a great while we are blessed to live in such a time when a small yet geometrically perfect diamond blocks the passage of sand through the hourglass of the days of our lives. We suffer a moment of cultural constipation and everything stops. We societally grunt and groan as we strain to wipe past the moment and briefly pause to sit and reflect in quiet contemplation.

Yes, yes, yes, while the tragic death of Bert "Mr. Television" Convy certainly qualified as such a moment (how can we ever forget his escape from Devil's Island), it is sadly not the focus of tonight's rant.

Would that it were, my dear reader, would that it were.

However. . .

With a little Luck, a dose of Slack, and the Guiding Hand of Divine Beneficence the movement and the memory will go down in History like the Crowning Moment of one of the Three Kings.

Not of Rock nor of Rodney, but of Martin.

So I wish you all the best, Mr. Obama.

And Godspeed.

And so Mr. Obama, if I may be so presumptuous as to address you directly on this night of your one little victory, I pray and I beseech thee that you are not a scorpion song and that my heart is not yet so hardened by cynicism that I see you keep the promises you make.

Good night, and good luck.

i like these guys

2008-05-31T00:45:00.003-05:00

This is the video for their first big single (sorry, but they won't let ya embed it):

Flobots - Handlebars

Socially conscious and politically aware live band no-sample hip-hop from some Colorado boys.

Kinda reminds me of the good ol' days.

The Good Doctor Noyz says "check 'em out."

Not yet convinced?

Well then try this and I think you'll agree, these fellas might be going somewhere:

obamaybe or not

2008-05-20T22:02:00.008-05:00

(pseudo live-blogging tonight's Kentucky / Oregon Democratic Primary)

I just finished watching Obama's non-declarative victory speech live from Des Moines, Iowa.

I must tell you this one thing, right now, and without a moment's hesitation.

It was the whitest crowd I've seen at a presidential candidate speech all campaign season. This, my dear reader, if you are cynically inclined may lead you to suspect some campaign media tweaking shenanigans, especially since Obama got trounced so hard by the hillbillies in West Virginia and Kentucky.

Let me reassure you, my dear reader, lest you fear racial manipulation of the crowd for the sake of the television cameras, it's just Iowa.

Please don't be shocked and I urge thee to take no offense, but I only half joked to a dear college friend from an ethnically and culturally diverse background that until I moved to The Sprawl I thought people of color were a Hollywood special effect.

And as you may or may not be aware, my dear reader, Iowa is the land of my birth, the land where my ancestors tilled, plowed, played, and prayed while eaking out a living in the windswept fields of the grassy plains. It is the land where I was born and raised and taught what it means to be a citizen in one of the states of the great totality that is the United States.

(Cripes, I am so sorry about that flowery rhetorical shit. Le'me just come clean now and admit that I'm on my third double gin and tonic since I started watching the news coverage an hour or so ago.)

I do think it quite interesting that in all the bombastic yet guarded talk about issues of race and gender there is an 800 pound gorilla in the room that no one seems willing to address or even acknowledge. Not even Pat Buchanan, and we all know he is as crazy as a loon and just hope someone drives him home in time to take his meds.

(To Pat Buchanan, the Abe Simpson of presidential campaign political coverage!)

Back to the topic at hand. . .

In all this talk about black and white for some reason nobody is mentioning the brown. What happened to the brown? Has Lou Dobbs suddenly achieved total victory? Problem solved? Game over?

I think this is most interesting given that one week ago, scarcely 100 miles from where Obama stood by way the corn stealing crows fly, ICE conducted the largest raid in the history of the state.

So why no mention? I guarandamntee there was not one person in attendance at tonight's non-victory celebration who didn't know about it or hasn't recently discussed it over pie and coffee or a coupla cold ones with their friends, neighbors and half the danged town.

I could be cynical and suggest that it is a no-win for the aspiring if not yet officially declared Democratic Party nominee. But as I have "hope" and I desire "change" I will not give into my cynicism. No, not tonight.

Hmm. . .

So anyways.

In all honesty, I rather proudly do have an idealized and somewhat romanticized memory of my youth in that fair state. They were my "Evel Knievel" days, they were my "Tom Sawyer" days.

This might be the gin talking, but it would not be unfair to say that my almost mythologized feelings towards Iowa are not unlike what many have speculated as Tolkien's creation of The Shire to describe his feelings towards the English.

Given that. . .

Please tell my my dear reader, how come when I saw Obama walk out through the adoring crowd towards the podium I had a terrifying visceral flash that made me feel for all the world like Sam looking in the Mirror of Galadriel?

nation of snitches

2008-05-18T18:58:00.002-05:00

Down on your luck? Can't afford $4.00 a gallon gas? Need a little extra cash?

Well, then spy on your neighbors and rat out your friends!

As Prices Rise, Crime Tipsters Work Overtime

"as callers turn in neighbors, grandchildren or former boyfriends in exchange for a little cash."

Just in case you were wondering or perhaps a bit confused, this is not a good thing.

well then

2008-05-15T21:24:00.005-05:00

I had originally intended to further ramble on about this whole dubya gave up golf mess. I somewhat cleverly (I thought) had planned on ranting about this now oft repeated and endlessly looped quote:

“I don't want some mom whose son may have recently died to see the commander in chief playing golf,” he said. “I feel I owe it to the families to be in solidarity as best as I can with them. And I think playing golf during a war just sends the wrong signal.”

I was going to opine brilliantly about it being dubya's finest "Let them eat cake" moment.

Then, of course, I remembered the eventual outcome of that incident.

I wish to in no way suggest or otherwise imply that I, somehow, someway, under any circumstance; would ever encourage, advocate, or even entertain an inkling of such a notion.

That would be a very wrong interpretation; and it could, if given the proper set of Orwellian or Brazilian circumstances be construed as a terroristic threat, if on the oft chance any hypersensitive humorless black suit with shiny black shoes type happens to stumble upon this posting because some darpish internet scouring filter lead them to the writings of this humble correspondent.

And that would be bad.

Very bad indeed.

So instead I shall pose a question.

Given the whole aforementioned dubya golf fiasco and dubya's odd remarks today while hanging with Yahweh's peeps in Israel, I most humbly inquire. . .

Does the current office holder of the President of the United States of America now more closely resemble either:

a) your drunken uncle who staggers around family gatherings saying questionable, outrageous, or outright offensive things but is tolerated by everybody because we all know he he ain't never been quite right in the head and besides he's family so ya just gotta smile and nod and make sure somebody sticks around to drive him home?

or

b) that really annoying kid who lived down the hall in the dorm during your freshman year. You remember that guy, the guy who thought he was the shiznit because he was from a slightly more affluent suburb. At parties he tended to spill drinks and dominate conversations with cock-blocking ignorance and comments that were inappropriate, inconceivable, or incomprehensible?

I can see it either way.

So please my dear reader, discuss.