The Past Sneaks Up

One of my favorite family photos is a tattered black & white shot of my mother, all of nineteen years old and her arms already full of babies. There's only two babies, really, but the one in the foreground seems to be larger than Mom- jesus, I was one fat-ass baby-by the time I was old enough to walk my head was already bigger than Mom's. I had great childhood nicknames like "Lard-O" and "Big Head." It seems kind of funny now, but I can't help but think that being teased like that might be be related to my pathetic self-image and marginal personality disorders.

The second baby is half-hidden in shadows, it seems to be asleep, though it's hard to tell, as it's face is hidden in darkness- the photo is an excellent , if inadvertent study in chiaroscuro , the three humans wearing white and sitting on apparent shadows; the hint of a tabletop, a fringe of a paisley carpet, a potted plant in the background; these are the only visible non-human objects.

I wonder, for the millionth time, who took this picture?
It's not the sort of photograph I can imagine my father taking, although that may not be fair to him. I remind myself that my father was a much different man then ; perhaps that father still had enough of himself left to take such a perfect photograph.
It's a bit difficult to be objective about your own baby photos- in reality the picture may not be perfect and I have no way of ever knowing who took it- but to me it's perfect.


I like to think that my parent's friend Forrest took it. Family notwithstanding, Forrest was probably the last person alive who actually loved both my parents. Forrest, who was queer as folk, had a hopeless, helpless crush on my father- I'll never know how my father felt or how far their relationship went, but I do know that something vital died in my father on the night Forrest killed himself. I felt it die too, but I didn't recognize it for what it was at the time. I was only fourteen and didn't have much concept of life, much less of Death, but Death and I are better acquainted now- we've danced so closely, Death and I, that there's really only one secret we haven't shared- and I'm in no hurry to learn that one.

At fourteen I was just embarking on what was to be a nearly fatal trip through the wonderful world of addiction; at the time of Forrest's death I didn't even know how to smoke pot - I hung out with the stoners and gamely puffed along, gagging on various joints and pipes, but I never really got stoned the first dozen times or so- I just liked being around the stoners because they were misfits - as was I.

We lived in the low-income housing section of the otherwise affluent suburb called Columbia, Maryland- a 'planned community' - a community in name only, the whole artificial city was really a horrifying attempt to establish a sort of new American Caste System on a local level, complete with different levels of Citizenship and corresponding color-coded Community ID Cards; the color of your card announced which bus you were permitted to ride, which clinic you were allowed to visit, which 'community center' you were allowed to swim at, etc. It's since been largely absorbed into the sprawling mess that is the D.C-Baltimore corridor, but in 1980 it was a profit -driven experiment in anti-humanist social engineering that was truly ahead of it's time- and not in a good way. The Columbia Plan talked about inclusiveness and diversity, but to me it's the most segregated, racist and classist place I've ever lived- and I live in Richmond, Virginia- the former capitol of the Confederacy.
Columbia took everything bad about socialism and seamlessly merged it with everything bad about capitalism- the resulting redundancy had a canceling effect, creating the sort of well-manicured oblivion that discourages all the good things about people by denying all the bad things.
The good human things, like the bad human things, are often messy and loud- and if a city could hate, then Columbia hated loud, messy things.

But...Back to Forrest.

I returned home after an evening of unsuccessful toking, hoping that my dad wouldn't smell the pot smoke on my clothes. I was late and would have missed dinner, if such a meal had been served in our household. Dad wasn't really the kind of parent who put food on the table- it's been self-serve as long as I can remember- so I was in the kitchen, scrounging the cupboards for something to eat, when the phone rang.

I answered it.

It was my grandmother, Lucille. (She has long since passed away)

"Hi honey", she said, " let me talk to your daddy."
That is all she said.

I handed the phone to my father.

"Forrest is dead", I informed him.
To this day, no one in the family can explain how I knew this without being told. I just knew. I swear, the world went entirely dark for a split-second- and I just knew.

Forrest had driven his car off a high bridge and into the James River. It was called an accident,
but I knew what is was.
It was a suicide. My father knew it too, as did the Twin.

The three of us huddled and hugged and cried for Forrest and for so many other things- tears for the past , the future- crying for the loss of what once was , and weeping for the things that would never be; and we cried for something else, something I couldn't understand at that age- we cried for my father, who had lost the only friend he still had and who would never have another.
That's the saddest thing, to me, that Dad was never able to make a single friend after that night, that terrible, awful night of knowing and loss.

That was the last time I felt really connected to my father.

After Forrest's death, Dad started drinking even more than usual- he just gave up on everything- himself, his family, the future- everything. As I write this, I'm not even sure exactly where he is, nor do I especially care.
I know that he's drunk, and that's all I need to know.

If there was any hope in my father (I feel that there was) I believe it died the night I answered that call.

I know that someday , any day now, my phone is going to ring; when it does I will know, without being told, that my father is dead.

Make The Best of It

Terra Alert : Code Red

(Note: I hope this finds my friends in the NE high, dry and safely away from the current floods. This post is from 01/05/05 - after the Pacific Tsunami, but well before Katrina. )
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Imagine planet Earth as a living , sentient being; Gaea, or Earth Goddess ,if you will. It's hardly an original thought ( although it may well be the Original. Let's anthropomorphisize /deify the rest of the planers while we're at it. This makes as much sense as any other belief system- maybe more than most.

Let's travel back in time about umpteen billion years. The Sun's having a party and everyone's invited. It's fun for a couple billion years, but eventually the other planets can't help but notice that Terra's getting all the attention. Why shouldn't she? She's a hottie.
It's the blue.
Jupiter and Saturn make their respective moves.

Terra ignores them, so they go somewhere and get in a fight. After considerable time passes, they make up, have a couple beers and start making cracks about Uranus, but that's not relevant to the story at hand...

Mars, being the primordial Alpha-Male, cuts in, all smooth talk and starry promises. Venus drifts away, but Terra is smitten. Poor naive Earth.

What begins as as a cosmic one-nighter turns into a really bad co-dependent relationship, creating the Asteroid Belt as a prototypical example of grand-scale emotional baggage. Mars starts taking little pills that make him very boring and useless, so Terra gets custody of the Moon; Luna being the only good thing to come of their union.

Still reeling from the spiked punch at the Big Bang, Terra takes a long nap. She has uneasy dreams about giant lizards. Ever slept with someone who thrashes and talks while they're asleep? They got nuthin' on Terra.

Anyway, after a while she wakes up, feeling like a cosmic piece of sharphorn shit. She can feel continents shifting in her belly, threatening to become incontinence.

Urp! Kiss Pompeii goodbye.

Braap! Hello Black Death.

Yak!155,000 humans washed away by that first sour mouthful of pre-vomit bile.

Terra feels like she's going to get very sick, very soon.

Nowhere to Run

It breaks my heart to read this headline:

U.N. rights chief says secret terror prisons cause for grave concern

I remember a time, not so long ago, that I would see a headline like the one above and instinctively
think that this must certainly refer to someone else's prisons- not America's.
Secret terror camps are as common as the petty tyrants who create them, and you can't swing El Duce from a rope without hitting a petty tyrant these days.
This is nothing new.

It's just that when I was growing up, I learned to associate secret terror prisons with forward thinking humanitarians like Hitler, Stalin, Pol Pot, Idi Amin and the Gang of Four.
Images of frozen Siberian gulags come to mind.
Secret terror prisons are something that America used to be against.
Now we are the ones running the prisons.

We are building detention camps right here in the USA. Giving $385 million to Halliburton to build them. Enough to hold 400,000 detainees.


This biased left-winger mentions it.

This biased right-winger also writes about it.

They both draw the same conclusion: Police State.

Conservative columnist Paul Craig Roberts mentions it at the end of this blistering attack on BushCo and his failed war; which also includes this:

America is drowning in the shame of war crimes. One monstrous slaughter of civilians after another, each denied and covered up until brought to light by photos and eyewitnesses. The once proud US Marines, unable to defeat the resistance that is picking them off one by one, is now a frustrated, demoralized force that is getting even by murdering 3-month-old babies and old women.

The Council of Europe has issued its report on the Bush administration’s policy of kidnapping "suspected terrorists" and spiriting them off to tyrannical regimes to be tortured. US State Dept spokesperson, Sean McCormick, whose job it is to justify the criminal conduct of the Bush administration, said that he was "disappointed" in the report. Sean seemed genuinely puzzled that Europe’s oldest political organization would second-guess the sound judgment of the virtuous Bush administration or protest US violations of international law and human rights.

The only reason Americans can look themselves in the mirror is that they are clueless and have little idea of what is being done in their name...

Formerly conservative, now proto-Nazi, publications such as National Review and the Wall Street Journal editorial page, keep pounding the war drums, as does right-wing talk radio and neocon propaganda organs such as the Weekly Standard and Fox "News."

Remember, not long ago, when it was "news" that the NSA was:

- monitoring outgoing international telephone calls from terrorists
then
- well, a few domestic calls too, still for terrorists- we swear, that's all
then
- OK, maybe some of your calls...but just a little bit of the internet
then
-alright, every call you make, plus a good portion of the internet
now
- every call you make , a good bit of the internet and your financial records.

Where does the line get drawn?


I wonder how citizens of other countries feel about having the USA monitoring their phone calls and banking transactions?

Freedom marches on.

Poison Words

Interesting 14 question quiz- Who said it: Ann Coulter or Adolph Hitler?

I got 11 correct.

Hint: Hitler is the better writer.



Q: What's the difference between Ann Coulter and Adolph Hitler?

A: Hitler only had one testicle surgically removed.

Stop the Presses!

The greatest threat to Freedom is...a free press? Peter King (R-Tartarus) thinks so.
The idea of the government prosecuting the press for reporting on the government's misdeeds seems a bit un-American, if not flat-out unconstitutional. It's a greasy slope, that much is certain... I seriously doubt anything in the NYT would be very useful to al-Quaeda , but at least it's sometimes useful to Americans.

BushCo has been rifling through our personal data ? Man, that's old news. The NYT ain't tellin' Osama bin Forgottin nothin' he didn't already know. Geez, Osama's a multi- millionaire with CIA training- he knows how money moves.

I wonder if terrorists can understand Fox White House Newspeak?

Look what happens when the NYT gets filtered through FOX News and re-spun by the White House-
this is a verbatim paste (with comments added) from Fox- it contains absolutely no useful information to anyone. I think it's just a series of vaguely connected words, phrases and numbers pulled from a hat.

Fox:

Speculation is rampant following Casey's visit that he will call for a reduction of two combat brigades, about 7,000 troops, to be removed from Iraq in September. The New York Times also reported that Casey has drafted a plan that projects five or six combat brigades will remain in Iraq from the current level of 14 by the end of 2007. That's a reduction of about 28,000 troops. Currently, 127,000 U.S. troops are deployed in
Iraq.

Great. Speculation. Let's report on rampant speculation- that's Journalism 101.The only fact I can glean from the rampant speculation above is that an Army combat brigade is roughly 3,500 soldiers- a fact that the Army helpfully confirms. I'm skeptical of the 127,000 number.

Without offering any wholesale numbers, White House spokesman Tony Snow said that a reduction of two combat brigades was among the options being considered, but no recommendations have been made yet.

He might as well have said that mustard is being considered for use as a condiment but lunch has yet to be prepared.

"General Casey proposes lots of things and actually laid out more than one option. And everybody's fastening on one," Snow said. "... Certainly that's under consideration, but I would warn against saying this is what he's saying, this is what he wants."

I have no idea what this means. It sounds like something Donald Rumsfeld would say.

He added that any plans are usually the first casualty of contact with the enemy.

Well, that's a fucking brilliant observation to make three-and-a-half years after first contact with the enemy - in a war that had no 'plan' in the first place.

The general has "a number of scenarios in mind for differing situations on the ground," Snow said, adding "I'm certainly not going to announce in advance anything that he may have in mind for the president or that he may be recommending."

Mayonnaise is also an option, although nothing's on the table yet.

"When he makes a recommendation the president's going to follow it. He trusts General Casey and he's made it clear," Snow said.
.........

Clear like Snow.

Circle of Friends

Loss of community is a topic I've considered quite a bit in the last decade. I know some of it is probably a perception of how life used to be, but I think some of it is real.

When I was growing up as a kid, all the neighborhood kids were out on the street playing almost daily. Community gatherings were fairly common. Today, I still see kids out playing, mine included, but not that many. It's all playdates now - friggin scheduled.

As an adult, I would say we have three couples we see regularly and that I consider close friends. I can't tell you how many people we've had over for dinner but it goes nowhere. (I love cooking and having a group around a table btw) I used to think it must be our personality, but they seem to always accept our invites but never invite themselves. Finally someone told me once that they would love to have people over but they don't want to go through the effort to cook or straighten up a bit. It is work to entertain a group, but to have a house full of talk and children is worth it to me.

This recent update on a study out of Duke University that has been running since 1972 finds "Nearly a quarter of people surveyed said they had "zero" close friends with whom to discuss personal matters. More than 50 percent named two or fewer confidants, most often immediate family members, the researchers said." The study finds that we are becoming even more isolated than we were in the last update in 1985. Researchers also are astounded at the rate of change, since sociological changes of this kind usually take much longer to show change.

Why don't we work at our relationships anymore? Are we content being isolated and interacting only virtually?

The 10 Percent Myth

Ever heard this claim?
"We only use ten percent of our brains."

This might be true if you are in a coma, showbiz or politics ; otherwise it's pure bullshit.
It is the kind of bad science you might find on the internet-on this site, even -yet it's been widely held to be true for decades.
It's not true.
The truth? We pretty much use our whole brain, just not all of it at once.

Right here is where the obligatory hyper-link to some 'legitimate' website making my case should be inserted- but if we let ourselves fall into the habit of shaping our critical thought by chasing weblinks, then the old 10% brain usage myth will soon become reality.

Hmmm...no link. Well, I guess you could sit here patiently and wait for one to appear, thus using about 0.7% of your brain...

- or -

You could hop on Google and take your chances; this probably uses 3-5% of your brain...

-or-

You could stroll down to your local library.
Juggle tennis balls while you walk.If you can't juggle, just use one ball and toss it up and down- the idea is to create a little hand-eye coordination.
It doesn't have to be fancy.
If you can't even juggle one fucking tennis ball, try counting your fingers over and over again.
Do it backwards a few times if you start getting bored.

Search the library's non-fiction section for books that might prove or disprove this 10% brain usage assertion. Do some cross-referencing to help weed out the crackpots.
If you were born after roughly 1990 or so, you may not be familiar with the process of looking for books on shelves- ask the librarian for help.

If this is your first visit to a public library, the librarian is the person who is standing where the cashier would be in a store, except there isn't a cash register because everything's free.
Free to borrow, anyway.
Be polite and quiet when you ask for help. People are trying to read.

However, the above is unlikely to apply to you, the reader.
Like most blog-types, you probably already have a well-used library card. You will also probably see someone you recognize at the library. Exchange a few hushed pleasantries with this person.

In any case, make sure you have a few moments of verbal communication with another sentient being before you go home.

When you check out your books, ask how many days until they are due back. Calculate the exact due date in your head, without consulting a calendar.
C'mon, it's not that freekin' hard...

On the way home , stop and have a tasty treat- an ice cream or a nice meal, depending on time, mood and sensitivity to lactose.

Taste that? Good , isn't it?
-Pleasure.
Ow! That tooth is kinda sensitive to cold. Worry about the dentist, but keep eating.
-Pain.
Savor them both.

As you indulge yourself, the ice cream might remind you of something pleasant from your past. If it does, think about that thing for a few moments.
Perhaps you lost your entire family when the plane they were on crashed into the ice cream factory and exploded -in which case you have my deepest condolences- if this happened, you should concentrate on not remembering the past.
The point is to get a little mnemonic activity going. Look up 'mnemonic' in a paper dictionary if you can't remember what it means.

When you get home read for awhile. Read the news. Some articles will make you angry.
Read the cartoons- perhaps you will laugh- or at least chuckle.
Think about someone you love who is dead now.
Be maudlin and sentimental for a short while and then send a silly email to someone you haven't written to for some time.
Giggle with someone you love who isn't dead.
Cry if you have to. There's no shame in it, but it can help you if you let it.
Do something you don't like, such as the dishes. You'll feel better when you are done.

Feel these different emotions and think about how you deal with them. Make a plan to change the things you do not like.

Feed the pets and play with the kids if you got em.

Have sex or masturbate. In either case, be imaginative.

Sleep and dream.

Pretty much a normal day, huh?
Well, look back at all that stuff your mind did. Your mind is complicated and versatile, you are experiencing an enormous amount of both conscious and autonomic brain functions all the time, every day- it's just that you've been thinking and doing stuff for so long that it's become easy for you.
If it's not easy, you've likely found some way, good or bad, to overcome or conceal this difficulty.

Think of all the complex tasks you do that you take for granted today that once seemed almost impossible. Those actions haven't become simpler- you have become more complex.

Look back at all the things you did today.
Yesterday.
Ten years ago.
Anyone who tells you that you did all that with only 10% of your mind is probably also telling you that they use the other 90% of their brain to bend spoons and predict your future for $4.95 a minute - additional toll charges may apply.

If you think I'm wrong, read books by doctors who aren't named Phil.

The Foundation of Good Conduct

- Resolve yourself on the Way.

-Rely on virtue.

-Reside in benevolence.

-Revel in the Arts.






-Confucius, Analects

Lost Patrol to be Found- (And Lost and Found w/ Correction)

Even more good news!
The Lost Patrol will be playing live at WRIR on 29 June , 5 -7 PM USA EST- tune in here and listen.

It's always fun when bands come into the studio and play, not many radio stations have live bands play on the air anymore but we do- and I love doing it. Having the Lost Patrol on will be great. I've only heard a little bit, but it sounded pretty good.

I hear that they are famous in Sweden, which is interesting because I am also famous in Sweden.
Disregard the previous sentence. That's a different Lost Patrol Band (also good). The one coming Thursday is from NYC. Check out their site (above)- looks very interesting- the sort of band that is fun and challenging to engineer for.

Honestly, I've liked almost all the bands we've had over the last 18 months- some of them were pretty awful, but all the members were nice and into having fun. It's much better than doing nightclub sound. At the club you are surrounded by drunks and the acoustics and equipment usually suck.
The bands were often tired , underfed and cranky from road-weariness and/or drugs, and they were prone to being ripped off by whatever sleazy promoter/ owner had booked them.
I was working free-lance, but the bands didn't know that and would sometimes blame me for whatever the owner did to them- guilt by association.
Fun.

It's better now.
The station has a really comfy 'vibe', it relaxes the guests- they play better that way, it's really cozy and intimate and you can hear that in the recordings...there's been a couple 'prima donna' types who complained about our crap equipment, the walls, the lights- everything- but only a couple.
My experiences have been almost overwhelmingly positive, other than said 'rock stars'

I don't keep up with music that much, so when somebody tells me how famous they are, the chances are that I've never heard of them.

If the ego-star notices this , it pisses them off so they start complaining about the stage or the monitors or the traffic ,the food - something.
This sort of thing almost never happens at the station, but it was an almost nightly experience when I was doing club sound.
There's nothing worse than doing club sound for a band that thinks they've already hit the bigtime but never will.

It's much more relaxed and mellow at the station.

After I've worked with a band thereI usually like them, even it's not something I'd normally listen to- it's just that sharing an experience as fun as a live broadcast creates a sort of human bond- it's something special, magical- every party involved- the band, the DJ, myself- we are all there because we love music.
Simple as that.

I've been exposed to some neat stuff.
Balkan marching bands, global grooves , Native American, gospel/soul, punk, folk, jazz- all good.

We aren't getting paid- we're doing it because there isn't anything else we'd rather be doing. Not many people get to do what we do.

Makes me feel lucky.

I really am.

Best Thursday since... I dunno. A long time?





If you feel compelled to hear me speak, tune in Sat ,30 june , 3 -5 usa est. I'll be playing 80's music, some of which might not suck.

Thanks for Asking

I'm riding the bus home, minding my own business, when these marvelous legs walk by- they distract me from the book I'm reading- and wham! I realize there's a whole woman attached to those legs.
The whole woman sits next to me- she's in her 30's I guess, of mixed Asian-African blood -again, a guess. Stunningly pretty and dressed in what I call 'office-fuckable' style; an almost too-short black skirt, sheer stockings that should be red, but aren't and -oh my stars!
Garters .
I violate public transportation etiquette and smile at her as she sits down.
She smiles back.
I'm reading The Last Days of Socrates.
I wonder if I should hide it or make sure she sees it.

"Did you make any money today?," she asks.

Huh?

Fuck no, I was at work- I almost say this, but I see that she's talking into a headset phone.

Man, I hate those things... I don't like being around people who talk to themselves...anyway, she starts asking someone questions- I decide to answer them in my head, since there's no way I'm going to be able to read Plato with this hotness quizzing and babbling next to me:

"Do you need some cigarettes? I can get you some"

No. I don't smoke. See, I read Plato. That makes me too smart to smoke.

"How about beer? I only have two. Do you want some more?"

No, thanks. I quit drinking 10 months ago-besides, I'm only interested in sex, and I'd like to be sober for that. You will probably want to get drunk first , though.

"Michelob? I don't think they sell that. How about Heineken?"

Michelob? Do they still make that pisswater? Who are you talking to anyway?
The 1980's?

"Don't worry about tomorrow night either- I've got you covered for that."

There's going to be a 'tomorrow night' ! Where have you been all my life?

"I said, don't worry about it. Now, what would you like for dinner tonight?"

I want you, in every conceivable fashion. Right here on the bus is fine. Later, I'll cover you with dessert and lick you clean.

" No, ribs are OK with me. I'll call it in and you can pick them up on the way over."

Dump that guy. Marry me. We'll have beautiful riblings.

The bus driver reminds me that I've missed my stop. I have to back-track three blocks.

It starts raining as soon as I exit the bus.

The Whalanol Debate

There's quite a debate about 'whalanol' (google it) . I find this to be very amusing, since I am the one who invented whalanol.

Until last week, there was no such thing as whalanol. Even a google search yielded zero hits.
Now...well, go look for yerself.

This site actually steals my work, which would piss me off if it wasn't such utter bullshit to start with.
It's funny how the 'reporter' sort of re-writes my post and passes it off as fact.

"According to the commission there could be no energy-source more environmentally friendly than whale-based petroleum additives."

I mean, c'mon people- whalanol ?

Alice Gets Ready

Alice Bradley hated the airport almost as much as she hated her husband, so dropping Mr. Bradley off in front of the terminal entrance and pulling her car away from the curb without so much as a bon voyage seemed entirely natural to her.
Good riddance, she thought. Don't get hijacked.

The respite would be brief. Her husband, Bradley Bradley, would soon be calling her to explain exactly how much it would cost to retrieve their teenage son -his son- from the Utah jail where he'd been held since the previous evening.

Most people- normal people- went to Park City to ski and to rubberneck at celebrities.
Her only child, Bradford Bradley, went to Utah to work as a dishwasher and had managed to break his ankle by falling on ice in the parking lot at the resort where he worked. While her son was in the ER, his manager found a half-pound of marijuana in Brad's locker and called the police. Apparently Brad had been exiting the rear seat of a Salt Lake City pot dealer's car and somehow gotten his left foot tangled in the front passenger seatbelt. His right foot lost it's purchase on the icy pavement and presto twisto , his left ankle snapped. He managed to limp back into the kitchen and stash his newly-acquired dope before the pain and shock kicked in. Young Brad didn't have much tolerance for pain. He passed out on the kitchen floor.

He lay curled on the greasy friction-tape in front of the dishwashing machine for several minutes before one of the busboys called the manager, who called an ambulance( and later, the police).
The elder Bradleys learned about this via a collect call from their incarcerated son, who insisted that the manager had planted the dope in his locker so that the resort wouldn't have to pay Brad worker's compensation.
Alice suspected Bradford's story was bullshit.

How could she have given birth to such a fuck-up? Despite numerous adulterous affairs on her part , there was no doubt that Bradford Bradley was Bradley Bradley's son; only Bradley could have chosen 'Bradford' as their son's name- so people don't get him confused with me, Bradley had explained- and only a son of Bradley Bradley could get arrested for felony drug possession while washing dishes for minimum wage at a Utah ski resort.

Bradford doesn't even know how to ski, she told herself.

Her only son broke his ankle at a ski resort, got arrested, lost his job- and he doesn't even ski.

Jesus wept, thought Alice.

No matter.
Brad would deal with Brad when he got to Utah.

Alice had other things to concern herself with.

Pitcairn Announces New Animal

Scientists in a remote Pitcairn Island
laboratory have announced the creation of the world's first sheep/housecat hybrid.

The new animal, alternatively referred to as a 'cheep' or a 'shat', has limited usefulness as a mouser , as it is very slow and cumbersome.
It's considered to be too small for the commercial production of wool. According to one anonymous scientist it " does pretty much nothing but lie there and go 'baah'."

That's not a problem for lifetime Pitcairn resident Richard Feller, a 47-yr old postal stamp importer.
" I 'spect me wife'll knit a great ball of yarn from the damn thing -and then it'll chase the bloody thing around the garden a bit. Beyond that, I can't see much point in it. Maybe it'll move faster-like after we shear it."

Pitcairn Island is a U.K. territory founded in 1790 by the mutineer survivors of the H.M.S. Bounty. It is rumored to be in the South Pacific.

What They Do

In 1981 I was living with my grandparents in Front Royal, a small Virginia town that was making the rough transition from 'factory town' to EPA Superfund Clean-Up site- this somewhat rosy portrayal of the Avtex plant mentions the loss of jobs, but it omits the fact that for decades the Shenandoah River ( brown stripe to the right in pic) was so polluted that you couldn't swim or fish in it.

( The baseball diamond in the upper-left corner is my old school- the factory is gone, but you can see how large it was)

Owing to an unlucky combination of corporate greed and small-town desperation, the plant operated for several years after it was declared an environmental disaster site. Some of the life-long residents of Front Royal went nearly berserk when the EPA finally announced it was closing it forever- I believe one woman actually chained herself to the smokestack, ironically adopting 'Green'-style protest tactics in her zealous support of PCB emissions and the airborne dispersal of asbestos fibers.

I remember having an argument with Russ, the kid down the street, about moving away from Front Royal.
I was going to move as soon as I could and wouldn't shut up about it.
( In truth, I was to move at least once a year for my 12 years of public school, but I didn't know that then)

Russ was going to get a job at the Plant, just like his dad and his uncles and his brothers- I forget the family details, but Russ' home was a factory home through and through, right down to the wall clock. It said 'Avtex' where one would normally have seen the'Timex' logo.
Clever fucking clock.
Like most factory homes of that place and period, it was inhabited by sick and dying factory employees. I think it was his dad, but it might've been his granpa- maybe it was both.
By sheer coincidence- or perhaps due the excessive amount of PCBs, arsenic and heavy metals in the groundwater- the occurence of brain and other cancers was much higher in Front Royal than other nearby counties- at least until the infamous Winchester Tire Fire of 1983 evened things up a bit. Nothing like millions of tons of burning rubber to boost those disease statistics into the upper percentiles.
Hooray for laissez-faire free enterprise!

When I asked my grandmother why someone would choose to work in a factory that was going to eventually kill them she just looked at me like I was an imbecile. I had clearly spent too much time around city-folk.

"Because that's what people do", she said.

Plain as that.
They work and eventually they die. In between the working and dying, they have kids like Russ.
If you have my grandmother's country-style common sense you bring the survivors a casserole and a couple of pies, because that is what people do. The women busy themselves with making sure everyone gets fed.
Covered dishes and the muted exchange of gossip- the Lutheran wake.

The men's role is to tell the son how sorry they are, but hey, at least the kid's next-in-line to get promoted into his late father's job.
Like father, like son, right?
A golfball-sized brain tumor at age 51.
A pat on the back, a not-faint smell of whiskey and an arm around the shoulder.

He was a good man, you remind the mourners.
Say this even if you aren't sure what kind of man he was.
Tell the bereaved a story about something trivial you and the departed once did together.
Murmur. Mmm. hmmmm.
Another story and then it's time to go.
Firm handshake, because that is how men shake hands.
Your father is dead, son. That makes you The Man.
Real silver lining stuff, that.

Here's fifty bucks in an envelope to be opened later.

Because that's what people do.

Beer and Pizza For Prostate Health

I recently had my first post-surgery exam and my liver and prostate are doing quite well- as are my other bits and parts.
How my liver escaped permanent harm is anyone's guess, but current news might explain my prostate health-

In today's health news: Beer and pizza are good for you. Sort of.

Atkins noted that drinking 17 beers a day can lead to alcoholism and
cirrhosis of the liver, and overdoing it on pizza can lead to obesity and other
health problems.

Atkins is missing a crucial point here- if you can drink seventeen beers in a day , you are already an alcoholic. In my heyday, 17 beers was chump change - just barely enough to wash down 1.75 litres of tequila...

Hmmm...come to think of it, I've not ordered out for delivery since I quit the booze. The last pizza I ate was one I made myself - and it was a helluva lot better than Dumbinoe's or Pizza Bucket's offerings... I don't actually recognize Dominoe's as being pizza at all- I mean it's round and it comes in slices, but so does bologna and cherry pie.
Is bologna pizza?
No.
Is Domi-knows bologna?
Depends on how ya slice it.

Net Neutrality

Large telecom companies and their lobbyists are working hard to make bigger profits by censoring the Internet for us. Don't pay enough money, and your site could take forever to open, if at all.

Congress recently defeated an amendment that would have made provisions to ensure what is called 'Net Neutrality'. This topic is now in front of the Senate with S.2917, and you know how hard-working those lobbyists are. There are a number of large companies and grassroot organizations spreading the word and fighting for our Internet freedom. Savetheinternet.com is one of those organizations and their FAQ page explains Net Neutrality beautifully.

(excerpt) "They want to tax content providers to guarantee speedy delivery of their data. They want to discriminate in favor of their own search engines, Internet phone services, and streaming video — while slowing down or blocking their competitors."

They also have a wonderful page on how this specifically impacts you.

(excerpt) "Bloggers - Costs will skyrocket to post and share video and audio clips—silencing citizen journalists and putting more power in the hands of a few corporate-owned media outlets.
Ipod listeners—A company like Comcast could slow access to iTunes, steering you to a higher-priced music service that it owned."

I urge you to read it and then blast some email to your senators to make sure they support S.2917. I don't know about you, but I know much of what we see/hear/read in mainstream media is channeled and censored for us, and I believe that's why so many of us, especially in the blogosphere, congregate on the Internet. We could lose that free press and sharing of information to large corporate interests as well. We will lose this battle with apathy.


Allan adds: Be aware that the Telecoms are waging a disinformation campaign against Net Neutrality - they have clever "populist" cartoons and ads that prey on our natural distrust of the government - "get the gubbermint off the internet etc."
Here is one site: Hands off the Internet
Here are their sponsors.

What they are really saying is: "Get the government regs off the Internet so that we can get our filthy hands on it."

Do you think that your phone company would let you blog for free if they could charge you for it?
They'll charge Google for the access and Google willpass the charges on to you and individual blogs will die- only the sponsored corporate/party shill 'blogs' will remain- and they aren't even blogs, really.

The House already passed the COPE act.
Now it's up to the Senate to stop it- great news, huh?

Get busy.

Whalanol : A Coalition of the Whaling

The International Whaling Commission is meeting later this week , and one of the items on their agenda is the development of 'whalanol' , a gasoline additive derived from whale blubber.
According to the IWC:

"We think there is growing support for whaling in principle and in practice," said its secretary Rune Frovik, " and the IWC and Exxon/Mobile are proud to announce that we've made great strides in the development of overlooked energy alternatives, such as the introduction of 'whalanol', a natural and renewable fuel additive that will work in any engine and burns three times as efficiently as gasoline.

"Whales belong to the animal kingdom. In some cultures they eat frogs, others don't; Hindus don't eat beef, that's their choice, but they don't try to prohibit the rest of the world from eating it; so why should a bunch of non-whaling countries tell us we can't use whales to make oil?

"And we think that you can't find anything more environmentally friendly than whale-based petroleum additives - this is an animal which lived in nature, we are harvesting nature's surplus and you don't have to destroy nature to do that. We just do that because we like to."

This makes sense. Why wait for the whales to die, settle to the ocean floor , decay into the muck and eventually become fossil fuel ( which could take a while) when we can just catch them now? Whaling has been pretty slack for the last 20 years or so since an alarmist moratorium was declared by the naggling naybobs of "extinction" , so there should be a lot of surplus whales to harvest- if global warming is such a big deal, think of all the extra ocean we'll soon have-
we could grow a lot of whales in that water . More water= more whales=more oil.

The international community concurs:

The Marshall Islands, Guatemala and Cambodia have reportedly joined efforts to introduce whalanol in recent weeks at Japan's behest.

What a powerhouse trio. Whale-huggers beware!

The next time you fill up your tank, look for the "whale-safe" sticker on the pump. If you don't see it , ask the attendant if whalanol is used in the product he dispenses. If he "plays dumb", get the company info and start writing letters.

Your Boyfriend Did What?

The following is compiled from actual conversations that I've had with several different women. The settings vary , but the conversation is always the same, if somewhat paraphrased. All the boyfriend stories are true-or at least I was told that they are:

HER: My boyfriend is an asshole. He came home so drunk and wasted that he opened the closet and started peeing into it. All over my clothes! He didn't even know what he was doing, that's how fucked-up he was!

ME: You mean ex-boyfriend, right? That's really bad behavior, you know. You should dump that guy right now.

I know he loves me.

Because he pees on your clothes?

No, because he gets so angry with me he can't contol himself. He hit me once, you know. It's my fault...

(Rage building) He HIT you? Leave him now. You are an incredible woman- no man should ever hit you. It's wrong, it's inexcusable and it needs to stop. It is NOT your fault!

But he loves me.

I love you too, but I don't hit you. Is it a sex thing?

No, I'm not attractive to him anymore. When we fuck, he puts a centerfold on my back and looks at it because I'm so ugly.

( This was such a screwed-up thing to hear that I was almost speechless- the woman who told me this was very pretty and had a great body)

...he does what?....fuck...god...but...you are beautiful...oh...damn... Why don't you leave him?

Because he loves me. He burns me with cigarettes.

What? I thought you stopped burning yourself...

Yeah, I did stop- until he moved in. He caught me doing it and he took away my cigarette and burned me on my tits. He said it would make me stop.

(HORRIFIED) Did it?

( She showed me her arms. It looked like lava had rained on them. I almost cried.)
No.

So you started burning yourself again after he moved in with you?

Yeah. It makes him angry when I do it -because he loves me.

That's why he hits you. Because he loves you- right?

Yes.

But he gets mad if you hurt yourself- also because he loves you, correct?

Yes.

So it's OK if he hurts you, but it's not OK if you hurt yourself- and it's all because he loves you?

Yes.

I don't have the slightest idea what love is, then, because what you are telling me is insane. It makes no sense to me. Why do you put up with that? Why don't you call the police? Shit, for $100 I can have someone ki...

No! He only does it because he...

...loves you. I get that. What I don't get is why you think that is true. I love you- you know that- and I could never do that to you.

I wish I could...

You wish you... ?

I wish I could meet a man like you. Someone sweet who listens to me...

You already have. I'm a lot like me and I'm right here.

I meant, I wish I could meet someone who's like you that isn't you. Do you know what I mean?

No, but what you said will haunt me forever.

(Obviously, this was true)
----------

After the conversation, the woman invariably goes back to the abuser. It never ends well- ever- but they keep going back. Some are still together, others not- one woman ....I don't know. She's just ...gone. I don't know where.
They always go back.

In effect, this is telling me that I am less desirable than a violent and sexually abusive man.
I have a hard time accepting that as true- yet this pattern repeats itself over and over.

I could never love someone enough to burn them with cigarettes. To hit them. To abuse them in bed. I don't have that sort of 'love' in me.

Maybe I'm incapable of love, but I don't think that's the problem - I think I'm drawn to women who have great difficulty with being loved. I'm like that myself- I have no problem with the idea of loving someone, but the idea that they might love me back?
That 's impossible.
It must be.
It's never happened.

I don't know how I'd respond if it did, but I know it wouldn't involve violence and abuse.
But- I'm drawn to women who are addicted to abuse, and when I can't give it to them they lose interest in me and go back to the hurting, the burning, the arguments- the hitting and the cutting and the breaking of things.

I can't change how I feel anymore than the women I care about can change themselves...there is no middle ground. I know this, yet I can't help it.
Knowing it isn't enough.
Nothing is. Nothing I've found , anyway. I'm still looking, so I guess I haven't lost hope, it's just...it's hard. It really is. But...

I would rather be alone for the rest of my life than treat a woman the way these men do.

There are worse things in life to be than lonely.

Aren't there?

The Blog of Jim

I was googling one of my fave artists from my long-ago comic-book days - and guess what?
He's got a blog.
I'm not surprised- he's prolific and quite nuts- useful blogger attributes.

Balanced News

The good news from Iraq: Bombs kill people.
The bad news from Iraq: Bombs kill people.

Damn Your I.E.D.s

I think the idea that "road rage" is a disease is pretty questionable, but I'm not at all surprised to read this:

"Most sufferers in the study had other emotional disorders or drug or alcohol problems and had gotten treatment for them, but only 28 percent had ever received treatment for anger."

What that says is: people who are crazy or wasted are more likely to 'snap' and do really fucked-up shit without regard as to the consequences.

I never would have guessed.

I recently saw a video clip on TV which was shot from a State Trooper's dashboard cam. In it, the cop is telling a woman , "please don't fight me, maam, please don't etc" while she hits him-
she clearly says: "why not? I'm already in trouble"- then she knocks the cop down on the hood and goes for his gun.
He has to shoot her, but mercifully, they didn't show that.

I wonder what her story was?

Here's a clip of Ann Coulter having a psychotic episode ...oops, I meant 'intermittent explosive disorder' or IED. ( No shit- that's what the eggheads are calling it- are they not aware that IED is commonly known as an acronym for 'improvised explosive device' , a term for the homemade bombs used by Iraqis insurgents and other bombers? Ironic, huh?)

The Ann Coulter clip can be pretty instructional - if you suspect that someone you love has a problem with cocaine and/or a dangerous emotional disorder, watch the Coulter clip carefully.
Does your person act like that? Pray they don't.

First, she's even skinnier than she used to be. It's funny - she's an Aryan Nazi with the physique of a Dachau survivor. People who do coke don't eat, but they burn a lot of calories, thus a cocaine habit is a sure-fire ticket to weight loss.
Not recommended.
If you get that bad, I suggest a tapeworm. It's cheaper, it probably won't kill you , and you won't have to hang out with people who repeat themselves really fast when they talk. Even a tapeworm is better company than a coke-head.

Watch as she pushes her hair back. I've seen people accustomed to keeping their long hair from dragging on coke mirrors use this move - the palm gripping the entire head and pushing all the hair back, not brushing aside, but pushing it all back as if she's saying, "snnnft...whew".

She gives a two-minute tirade about her being disallowed to speak and then she calls the interviewer "testy" when he tells her that no one ever said she couldn't speak...this kind of obsessive paranoia is very popular with coke heads and meth users.

Or maybe she's just crazy- I always thought she was half-kidding with her hate schtick, but I never really watched her- just read some stuff she wrote here and there.
I thought she was at least partially satirical (in a really unfunny way) , but after watching her totally meltdown on live TV- the studio audience actually gasps in disbelief at her final outburst- I'm convinced she's gone nuts. Snapped. Lost it. Boing!

Could it be over this?

Coulter registered to vote at her Realtor's address when she bought a $1.8 million Palm Beach home last year. But instead of filing a change of address as a poll worker told her to do, she went ahead and voted in the wrong precinct, the Palm Beach Post reported.

Coulter denied knowingly voting in the wrong district in a Fox News Channel interview Tuesday night, and said she actually lives in New York.

She said the reporters who wrote about the case are "all retarded" and accused Palm Beach officials of having a sexually transmitted disease.

She gets New York and Palm Beach mixed up and calls the reporters who noticed it "retarded"?

Classy broad.

Yeah, she even uses the term "broad" in her book. I don't even know any men who say 'broad'- is it like saying 'dame' or something? Bizarre.

How about crazy bitch ? Can I say that?

If You Weren't Sure Before...

I don't think I would call this a scientific approach, but it is one man's quest to determine the existence of a deity nevertheless. Darwin Awards coming to mind...

From Susannity's local paper, the Seattle Times --

Lion kills man who climbed into enclosure

A man shouting that God would keep him safe was mauled to death by a lion in a Kiev, Ukraine, zoo after he crept into the animal's enclosure, a zoo official said Monday.

"The man shouted, 'God will save me, if he exists,' lowered himself by a rope into the enclosure, took his shoes off and went up to the lions," the official said. "A lioness went straight for him, knocked him down and severed his carotid artery."

The attack happened Sunday when the zoo had many visitors.

Susannity!

Endtimes: Postponed Again

Whew! I had a motherpluck of a panic attack this morning- by the time I got my shit together, I realized today was supposed to be the Apocalypse. If I'd known the world was ending I'd probably still be freaked- but I didn't. Whew!

But if you need an EndTimes Fix, here ya go:

If there is a Satan, you know he loves stuff like this.

"You are on a mission -- both a religious mission and a military mission -- to convert or kill Catholics, Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, gays, and anyone who advocates the separation of church and state -- especially moderate, mainstream Christians. Your mission is 'to conduct physical and spiritual warfare'; all who resist must be taken out with extreme prejudice. You have never felt so powerful, so driven by a purpose: you are 13 years old. You are playing a real-time strategy video game whose creators are linked to the empire of mega-church pastor Rick Warren, best selling author of The Purpose Driven Life."

A video game where you get to kill Buddhists? I like video games where you fight dragons and aliens and other scary monsters, but Buddhists?
They are not scary.
Only a real pussy would be afraid of Buddhists, but I guess that's the root of the whole fundamentalist problem: Fundies are, at the core, insecure and paranoid little bullies who are terrified of anything they don't understand- which is everything.

"On the one hand, this video game is anti-American, because it endorses roving death squads engaged in faith-based violence without any regard for Constitutional law. On the other hand, the video game is anti-Christian, because it argues that the Kingdom of God can be advanced by using the methods and tools of the kingdoms of this world, namely guns and bombs."

Amen.

Flag Burning Queers Will Destroy the Universe

cake used w/o permission



Did I get off at the wrong bus stop today?
What year is it now?
1702?
What the hell is wrong with people?

I am dumbfounded that the issue of gay marriage is even an issue at all- to me it seems perfectly reasonable that any two competent adults should be allowed to marry. Why not? A legal union is every bit as much about commerce as it is spirituality or anything else; the same legal rights are afforded to married atheists as to the faithful , right? As long as they aren't gay.
Why should gender preference matter?
What's the threat?

What are they gonna do - have gay babies?

Where do you think gay babies come from anyway?
They come from straight people. I can't think of a rational, secular argument against homosexual marriage, but it's easy to find good, common reasons to support SSM:

-Legalizing gay marriage would be good for commerce. Flat out, weddings are good for business. Lot of money changes hands before, during and after a wedding.


- Gay parents could then legally adopt children, who would have full familial rights , including love, family and inheritence
What? You think a child raised by queer folk will "turn" gay?
By what logic?
We've already established that gay folk are created by straight people-there are exceptions, of course, but straight folk are the indisputable #1 source of gay babies.
Why couldn't gay couples have straight babies ?
What difference does it really make anyway?

I'd wager that growing up as an institutionalized Ward of the State increases the odds of learned homosexual behavior much more than growing up in the average same-sex home; certainly less chance of abuse.
Most pedophiles are hetero, so that whole " protect the children" argument is spurious.
Are they really better off in an orphanage or loveless custodial care?
How heartless to think so.

-I'm going to go out on a limb and suggest that the qualities that make up a good home have nothing at all to do with the gender preference of the occupants; that the odds of a gay home and a straight home being dangerously dysfunctional might be roughly, um, er...exactly the same.
Crazy swings both ways, ya know?


- Why can't people just let people be happy for a while?

You might have noticed that the world has some bigger problems. For instance, the polar ice caps may soon melt and drown us all, rendering debate over changing social conventions moot. Maybe there's a particular war, cause or disaster that's caught your eye- some horrible wrong that cries out for justice and passion - pick one from a list, no shortage of real troubles to choose from.

Do something real.

I wish someone would tell these guys (below) that. They seem to think that the only problems we face are gay marriage and flag-burning. Once you get past the flag-burning , all the world's troubles with sort themselves out. It's like magic. It's crazy , is what.

(I'm the red)

Sen. Bill Frist (R) of Tennessee, who is retiring from the Senate at the end of the current term, also may run for president, and so his advocacy for the Marriage Protection Amendment is also seen through the lens of his own possible ambitions. Senator Frist has also scheduled a vote this week on a constitutional amendment banning flag-burning, another measure seen as highly political.

For Bush, after a flurry of action this week on gay marriage, the question could be, what next? If the amendment fails in the Senate, as presumed, he will face continuing pressure to push for this and other measures important to religious conservatives.

"Marriage is the most fundamental institution of civilization, and it should not be redefined by activist judges," Bush said.
-Christian Science Monitor

I'd argue that there's a case for the master/slave relationship being the most fundamental institution of civilization and I will also argue that it's a very, very good thing that this particular institution was 're-defined ' , thus dispensing with this BS about civil institutions being immutable, 'sacred' and whatnot.

- abc

Flag burning? Who the hell is burning the flag?
When was the last time you actually witnessed a flag-burning?
Ever?
We need a Constitutional Amendment to stop it?
What bullshit.
I don't know anyone who wants to burn the flag, but hey, if someone wants to burn Old Glory , isn't the inevitable public ass-kicking punishment enough?
Besides, passing a Flag Amendment just gives the anarchists and demagouges more reason to actually burn flags and use the high-pub lock-up photo-ops as a platform for their ravings- proving that all the crazy-sounding 'police state' ranting wasn't so far off mark...
It will be a pyhrric victory for the crazy ranters.

The flag that the BushCo bastards should really concern themselves with is the flag that's sewn onto the uniform of the troops who are dying and killing every day for a cause that no one can even explain.
That's real.
Let's protect that flag first.

"One , two ,three- what are we fighting for?"

Sorry, but that old 'fighting terror' line has all the credibility of a UFO sighting at the Burning Man Festival...and the 'freedom' angle is a bit hard to swallow- considering we don't even follow our own rules .
Here's an idea:

Why don't we have a Constitutional Amendment that says we start honoring the Constitution and the Bill of Rights that we already have?

The whole fucking Iraq War is an end-run around the Constitution- the Constitution is designed to prevent sitting Presidents from assuming powers such as the right to unilaterally declare wars just because...well, no one's really sure why we went to Iraq...but the point is- Congress bent over and gave up it's Constitutional power to prevent Bush from starting his crazy-ass war.
The world is going to hell and our Republican leaders are busily re-writing the Constitition to protect us from queers and flag-burners.

Feel safer?

Getting Used To It

Gosh.
It's late.
Two a.m.
I'm just getting home. I'm clean awake, stainless sober and all alone.
I'm in an really good mood, which is something I'm starting to get used to.

I haven't stayed out this late since I quit drinking, which was about nine months ago. It's been difficult adjusting to being sober in public- hard for me and hard for the people who knew me when I was drunk all the time.
Wow. I was drunk all the time, so much so that I'm not quite clear on where the booze stopped and the transfusions and endoscopies began. It's all kinda blurry to me, but in a day or two I'll get another hospital bill that'll remind me of the exact date and time , etc.

Eh, so what? It's only money and fuck it, I'll just have to earn more. I can do that. For now I'm OK, so let's just roll with that instead.



There's this really rare ( for me, anyway) feeling you get at the beginning of a romance, when you look at each other and say, "I could get used to having you around."
Do you know that feeling?
It's sweet, beautiful and so distant to me I can scarcely believe it exists, but it does. It really does.
I have a crush on an emotion. I'm smitten by the idea of being cheerful and loving.

To people who knew me when I was drinking, this is really startling behavior- when I meet someone I've not seen for a long time they invariably do a double-take and then tell me how great I look. This happens to me every time I go out, and I must say I enjoy it a great deal- although it's not so much a matter of me being good -looking now as it was a matter of me looking like thrice-dipped soft-horned shit then.

What's the change, they ask?
No more beer, I reply.

There's a pause while they wait to see if I'm going to start ranting about how I found Jesus and then hand them a Crayola manuscript with my babbling interpretation of Revelations, Various Damnations and Sundry Horrible Secrets , complete with charts, illustrations and diagrams drawn with a Magic Marker and my own blood.
Nope. None of that.

Well. Perhaps I'm going to launch into a lecture about the evils of drink and drugs, forcing my sobriety down their throat with all the delicacy of a stomach pump.
Nope. I don't do that either, although I probably should sometimes... frankly though, I think a little bit of getting fucked-up is good for most people .
I'm not most people.

My big secret is my experimentation with unaltered states of consciousness, such as being in a good mood for hours, even days at a time. It was weird at first, a bit awkward and fumbly, but my mood and I seem to have established a groove. Tentative, but we both want it to work and that is the important thing.

It began as a brief , casual fling with my good mood, and it was so much fun that we had to get back together again. And again. I found myself counting the hours at work, longing for that seemingly unreachable time when my cheer and I might once more be united.
Oh! the longing!
I feel like I'm cheating on my bad mood, making up excuses to slip away and and bask in the warm sunshine of Not Hating Everything.
I feel all bubbly and benevolent and not the slightest bit guilty at leaving Mr. Grumpy to stew in his own briny juices.
My bad mood sits alone at home, watching reruns of bad TV. My bad mood hates all television but he still watches it- my bad mood is an idiot . He's lucky I'm a football fan and Daily Show/Colbert junkie or he wouldn't even get basic cable.


Tonight I took my mood to a gallery opening- a really cool multi-media installation by Alyssa Saloman which features some audio ( a wobbly version of 'Blue Skies" played on an accordion) recorded by me. Lots of people there. Alyssa is beaming- the place is packed. There's am image of Sea Monkeys projected on a flat screen that seems to hover in mid-air. The actual, living Sea Monkeys are part of the sculpture. Beneath the murmur of the crowd I hear "Blue Skies" wheezing in and out of key on the radios Alyssa has placed along the east wall- she's got a pair actual FM transmitters at one end of the gallery- one broadcasting accordion mangling and the other playing a loop of disturbing news soundbites .
It's a beautiful thing.
I am really happy to be part of this.

But I have other business to attend to. A local band has actually sought me out and asked me if I'd be interested in being their soundman- will I come to their show?
Hell yeah!
So I get there and the show is for a PBS production called 'Music Seen' (Palominos is the band name) . This is cool. Look for it- I was told it plays in 13 markets .
I meet the band and they are decent guys who really do need a soundman so it's all looking up when -wham!- it gets even better.
There's a woman who's happy to see me- she's working a PBS camera, but I know her from the radio station. She goes out of her way to hang out with me during her breaks. She's so pretty that normally I'd have to get drunk just to talk to her, but tonight I've got a good mood-on.
Talk is easy tonight.
She knows a lot about music.
She keeps touching my arm as we speak.
I decide I'll ask her out if she touches me again.
She does.
I do.

Her eyes actually light up. Glow, I mean.
I have said a Right Thing.
She rests her hand on mine and suddenly she's sad- not the fright and revulsion that I was accustomed to when I was making loopy drunken passes at all the wrong women ; but sad- and not the slightest bit offended or disgusted.
She's moving to Boston in two weeks- if she was staying, well yes... she likes me but she thought I had a girlfriend... (?) -but she's not staying in town, so it's moot.

That's too bad, but it's OK- she'll do well. I watched her work tonight and I can tell she's good, someone who cares about their work. It's a very sexy trait and it's exceedingly rare.
That a woman of this quality would even entertain the idea of dating me indicates that perhaps I'm not such a wretch after all.

I mean:

a) The opening was a big hit.

b) I found a band as a client - maybe two, as I chatted up one of the other bands that I considered good and they were very receptive. My 18 months at the station has been great for my local rep but I never really noticed it until recently. I assumed everyone hated me, but they don't. Where did that thinking come from?
If I could find three/four steady bands to work with I could quit my shit job and make five times the pay for doing something I love. I used to do music stuff for a living- before my alcoholic break from reality.
Sober, I can do it again.
This is not impossible- not at all.
Keep trying.

c) This is really the most important to me- I can actually attract women- beautiful, smart , and creative women who wouldn't waste five minutes with me if I were drunk. I can be smart and witty and say nice things at the proper moment- and manage to accept 'no' gracefully.
All new skills for me. I am starting to like me.

So nothing is hopeless tonight, except maybe sleep.
I could get used to this.

Grotesque Workplace Behavior Pt. 98,458

If you've run out of reasons to loathe lawyers, look no farther than this post.
I've already mentioned in earlier posts that I've caught one of the Partners leaving the bathroom stall and going directly to the exit- bypassing the entire hands-cleansing ritual- twice I have witnessed this!

I'm glad I don't have to handle his documents...

Today I got a double-dose of gross. First, I walked into the men's room and I saw a pair of expensively-shod feet disappear upwards. Someone was in a stall and didn't want me to know they were there. I'm familiar with this sort of thing- I used to hide in stalls and slam booze and drugs back in the day- it's been a long time , though. Years and years.
Anyway, after I was done with my business, I opened the restroom door and let it shut so that it sounded like I left the room, only I remained standing where I was.

Sure enough, the feet dropped back down- what was this guy up to?
Then I heard a faint ' schwicka-schwicka ' sound from within the stall.
It sped up. Oh, godzilla- every man knows this sound...
The guy was jerking off! Amazing, simply freaking amazing.

The worst thing was, I was trapped in that toilet. I couldn't leave without the guy in the stall noticing that someone was there- what if it's a boss? What if he saw my shoes when I was peeing and knows that I know his secret? He'd probably arrange to have my brake cables cut or something...

Another attorney entered at this moment and I took the opportunity to dash into the corridor.
Whew!
But curiosity prevailed. I lurked near the breakroom , waiting to see who the mystery wanker was. A couple minutes passed and a well-dressed, older- 60-ish - man walked out with a newspaper tucked under his arm. I didn't recognize him, but I couldn't help feeling bad for the guy, even if he is a disgusting old man.

I mean, what's the point in being a wealthy old fucker if you have to resort to wanking to the Wall Street Journal in a corporate toilet? Man, if I ever get to be old and rich I'll make damn sure I have a trophy wife or groupies or a mistress or something-anything, anyone-
because the idea of Grandpa pulling his wrinkle-neck in a public stall is absolutely appalling.

Later, I had to use a different stall for a different reason. The little stainless steel platform where I usually place my wallet and book was covered with empty candy wrappers.
Somebody was sitting on the toilet and eating Tootsie Rolls.
Please don't make me explain just how revolting that is.

Goddamn, I'm glad this week is over. This place makes me ill.
Goodbye work, hello weekend!

My weekend is gonna rock- I'd say more, but I'd only jinx meself by doing so- and I prefer to jinx myself in private, if you don't mind.

Wanting City

Wow. This was going to get really nuts, real borderline psychotic stuff about ??? who knows?
But...
But then I read about Chicago. I read about Chicago tonight- on the blog of a red-haired Scorpio- and the mere mention of Chicago calmed me down. Made me hungry.

The fact that I was able to type the phrase "red-haired Scorpio" without breaking into a cold, trembly sweat is quite a testament to the calming power of Chicago-ish thoughts.

I went downstairs and grabbed a banana and I'm fantasizing that it's a Polish sausage w/ spicy onions and mustard. (Spare me the puns, please)
Foods that would be deemed lethal if served in California are quite wholesome in Chicago, it's as if the whole city's population has diplomatic immunity from cholesterol.
I love the Chicago Diet and only regret that I can no longer swill Old Style while I play pinball, which used to be Chicago's favorite aerobic exercise. Swilling, I mean- although pinball is popular too...

Here is a photograph of one of my fave sources of 3 a.m. grease. Their cheeseburgers are healthier than oatmeal, so I always order two. I believe in eating well, you see.
I've never eaten there sober.
Hmm...I'd forgotten that part. I wonder how a 3 am cheeseburger tastes when one is sober? I will find out on my next visit. Nighthawks at the diner-whoo!




Here's a picture of Chicago in the spring, down by the lake. This was a few years ago and the weather was freaking perfect- look how pretty it is. Notice that there are no people. Chi-town is a huuuge city, but it's amazingly easy to be alone in it if you choose.

I forget the name of the bridge below, but I like to stand on it. It's interesting how the left side is a sort of quiet island, complete with forest, raccoons, hoboes and other nature-type stuff; and the right side is all industrial wasteland, with rail yards and large rusting metal constructions that look like they used to move about in some useful, industrious manner- but haven't done so for many years.
Some of the bridges still go up and down. Watching them is fun unless you're watching it from behind the steering wheel. Then it sucks, because it means that you are stuck in traffic with nothing to look at except the up-ended bridge in front of you. After a while you will notice that the bridge looks a lot like a road, only vertical.
Then you will get bored.
Will this bridge ever go down?
Eventually it does and things get better, so just relax, wouldja?
It's only a bridge, you know?



Even baseball is interesting if you watch it in Chicago. I suppose there are people in Chicago who hate sports , but I shudder to think of the lonely, loveless and deprived lives they must lead. What do they talk about? The weather? Chicago weather is actually interesting, so maybe a sports-free life is possible after all. My heart goes out to those who try. Tough town for that.
Even the homeless guys wish the Bears would get a decent quarterback- it's that kind of city.




Goddamn it! I have fruit, yogurt and oatmeal in the house. I want a sausage with peppers and hot relish - *sigh*- eating healthily is sometimes dull, but I do it anyway.
Unless I'm in Chicago.
Then it's bratwurst and kraut...mmmm.