" /> A Small Victory: January 2003 Archives

« December 2002 | Main | February 2003 »

January 31, 2003

my vagina is a lethal weapon

I know you all wanted boobies, but it's penis soup tonight.

'Killer tampon' to give rapists the chop

A 72 year old male farmer has invented the tampon of death.

Dr Haumann said the device is designed to be used in the same way as a tampon. "I designed a hard cylindrical plastic core which contains the spring blade, which slices when pressed against.

"This plastic core is covered by soft material, the same as a real tampon. This is then inserted by the woman. When the rapist attacks the woman and penetration takes place, the point of his penis will touch the section containing the blade and it (the penis), or at least a part of it, is sliced off."

So here's the scenario I see for this. Woman dates man. Woman is scorned by man. Woman calls man pleading to have him back, even if just for one night. Woman's vagina is used as a lethal weapon to slice man's dick off for revenge.

Also, would you have to register this thing? Would there be a ten day waiting period before you could pick up the Penis Slice-O-Matic? Would there then be laws legislating where and how and why a woman could insert the chopper?

And, of course, there would be the subequent lawsuit where the would-be rapist will sue the intended victim for chopping off his dick.

I wonder if you could use it as a tomato slicer as well?

For a good time, see all the other penis stories linked on the page:

Cops seek angry lover and severed penis

'Dentist threatened to chop off my penis'

Woman 'breaks' would-be rapist's penis

Tired wife tries to cut off husband's penis

'Nigerian witch steals man's penis'

Mugabe invites archbishop to mediate

Oops. That last one should be filed under "dick" not "penis."

link via my favorite cow

crusts are "Satan’s Scabs"

For James:

smuckers.gif

Yes, you can microwave them. 20 seconds on low. And they taste really good warm.

party on, dude

I hereby commence my weeklong celebration of my blog's second anniversary.

I will start the party rolling with a gratuitious link to Frank.

Why? Well, if I had a reason, it wouldn't be gratuitous, would it?

I'll be taking requests all night tonight. For what? For whatever.

And Mig's suggestion of those bodyprints really isn't a bad idea. Start rolling around in that ink!

save it for later

I just want to save this for posterity so that when we are done with Iraq and go after North Korea, I can point the peace activists to this picture and story when they claim North Korea is not a threat.

nknukes.jpg


From Yahoo News:

A North Korean soldier holds 'bullets' to blow up the Capitol Hill in Washington, D.C., in this poster released by Pyongyang's Korean Central News Agency on Friday January 31, 2003. The Korean Banner reads: 'Ruthless Punishment to U.S. Imperialism.' New anti-U.S. posters have been put up along the streets of Pyongyang and other parts of North Korea pledging to fight American 'imperialists,' the North's state-run media said Friday. Posters of 'high ideological and artistic value' were made by North Korean artists shortly after the communist country withdrew from the Nuclear Nonproliferation Tready on January 10, said the report by the North Korean Central News Agency. (AP Photo/Korea News Service)

Thanks to reader Suze for the link

for better or verse

James Taranto at The Opinion Journal is looking for some good pro-war verse. The one they printed should be on a Hallmark card.

There once was a thug named Saddam
Who desired a nuclear bomb
But then President Bush
Kicked Saddam in the tush
And deposed him with quite some aplomb

I know you all are such profound poets. Give me your pro-war verse and I'll send them all along in one email.

And then maybe I'll start a line of cards just for this occassion. It's the weekend and my Photoshop is begging to be used.

look for the stripper label

The women of the Lusty Lady Theater in San Francisco have ratified their union contract [Exotic Dancers Union, a chapter of the Service Employees International Union, Local 790.]

In their honor, a new version of Look for the Union Label jingle has been written:

Look for the union label
when you are giving your dollars for tips.

Remember somewhere a stripper’s dancing,
our wages go into her g-string, and other spots.

They look great, so who's complaining?
Thanks to Strippers my wife’s still around!

So always look for the Stripper label,
it says they’re able to shake it in the U.S.A.!

(co-authored by my sister Lisa)

an open letter to mark morford

Dear Mark Morford,

I'm so glad you took the two or three minutes out of your busy schedule that you needed to pen your latest screed, So You Wanna Go To War (A young person's guide to understanding ShrubCo's murderous attack on Iraq, and whomever else). It has given me something to point to when people try to tell me that there are no liberal media outlets.

Of course, your words and the rag that sends them through the world wide web for everyone to see go beyond liberal. Oh sure, I write words just as smarmy and sarcastic about your kind, but I am not a paid reporter. I am not a member of the press. You, on the other hand, consider yourself a professional journalist, but I sincerely doubt that anyone who takes journalism seriously would shit out such a steaming pile of crap as you did today and call it professionalism.

The thing that really strikes me about all this is how you tinfoil hat wearers from the far left are so politically correct, you strive for such equality and fairness in everything from schools to strip bars, yet you don't afford that same correctness to those you don't like.

I don't know if you have children, Mr. Morford, but I sincerely hope that you don't. If your column today is any indication, you are the kind of person who will raise your children to be hateful, vile creatures who see the world according to their views, their needs and their wants. Their moral outrage at everyone who doesn't think like them will no doubt fuel their future careers as bitter journalists, just like you.

Your world of peace and love and acceptance only seems to apply when it benefits people in your little circle of life.

Have a nice day, Mr. Morford. I'll write again after we liberate Iraq and all your theories and fantasies are laid to rest by the truth.

Because yes, the truth is out there. And it's not your version.

body bag politics: the life you save will not be yours

When I went to check my mail this morning I notices several emails with the header Urgent: human shields. At first I thought some clever person signed me up to be on the mailing list of Become The Change, just one of the organizations responsible for sending human shields to Iraq. A little ironic joke, perhaps.

After reading through the letter, I realized that they have volunteers trolling the web, looking for email addresses so they can send out mass pleas for human shields.

They call it "A vacation for peace." I prefer to call it "committing suicide for Iraq."

Today's email newsletter was quite lengthy, but I skimmed through it anyhow, stopping when I came to this passage:

Soon we will be posting printable placards on our site, in Arabic, stating our purpose and asking for housing. You might find this helpful to print and keep on your person during your travels. This and the heavy recruiting we're doing for greeting teams of guides, interpreters and host families, schools, hospitals, places of business, and so on for accomodations for shield members will provide a lot of help as we travel.

I'm sure these people will get much more cooperation from Iraqi officials than the weapons inspectors are getting. In fact, they should really just ask Saddam to put them up. I mean, he's got this huge palace and no one's there except that nice fellow Uday, what with Saddam's wife and kids being sent into hiding, probably in France.

I think Saddam would welcome them with open arms. After all, they are trying to keep his country from being liberated. He certainly doesn't want liberation. And, in essence, the human shields are also trying to keep Saddam and Uday alive. Of course he would put them up. In fact, he'd probably throw feasts every night where they would dine on roasted skin of scientist's families, a treat found only in Saddam's palace. Only the best for those who are fighting the good fight to make sure Iraq's people remain poor, hungry, tortured and prisoners to their own leader.

Perhaps the signs and placards of these human shields should say "Keep Saddam Alive!" and they can chant that phrase as they walk down the streets of Iraq.

If these people are welcomed into the homes of Iraq citizens and doors of business and schools are flung open for them, it's only because Saddam has ordered it to be so. After all, these human shields can only help prolong his rule of fear over the people of Iraq.

The next email had travel plans.

Flights depart on the 14th February and the 21st February, however due to the unpredictablitlity of the situation we advise people travel on the14th rather than leaving it to the 21st.

If that doesn't make your brain say "hey idiot, maybe we shouldn't be trotting over to a country about to head to war," then it's pretty hopeless at that point. And then:

You must also send us a personal statement gving your reasons for wishing to join the human shield in Iraq.

I figure a typical letter should go something like this.

To whom it may concern,

My reasons for joining the human shield program are thus:

I place more value on the lives of Iraq citizens than those of my own country.
I am naive.
I put more value into what celebrities say than what the leaders of my country say about the situation in Iraq.
I think Uday is kinda hot.
I wish to die.

Can't wait for more emails from them.

it's either this or wedgie woman

So DJ just told me that today is "Dress Like Your Favorite Book Character Day."

Would you send your child to school looking like this?

I didn't think so.

friday feebleness

Your computer may be killing you

There's a new disease in town and its name is e-thrombosis.

Sitting at a computer for long periods of time could kill you, according to a new study reported in the February 2003 edition of the European Respiratory Journal.

It says there is a risk of developing life-threatening blood clots from sitting for long periods at a computer, similar to a problem that has injured or killed some airline passengers on long flights.

What a modern sounding name for a disease. e-thrombosis.

The report centers on a case from New Zealand in which a young man who spent up to 18 hours a day sitting at his computer nearly died after developing a massive blood clot that formed in his leg veins, broke off and traveled to his lungs, a condition called pulmonary embolism.

If you spend 18 hours a day at your computer - and let's face it, this guy was probably playing Everquest or trying to find free porn, you have other things to worry about besides blood clots in your leg.

For instance:

e-bizmarkie, which is marked by an inordinate amount of weight gain in one's posterior.

e-flashitis - symptoms include crossing of the eyes and a sudden drop in IQ cauesed by watching too many flash movies such as Viking Kitties and Peanut Butter Jelly Time.

e-flamosis - a burning sensation in your fingers brought on by participating in too many online flame wars.

e-colon disease - marked by stomach aches and a slight bloating, this is what happens when you have a steady diet of soda and peanut butter crackers and refuse to leave your computer chair to go to the bathroom.

e-visineitis - a sudden drying out of the eyes; a symptom of staring too long in incredulous horror when reading stories like this.

e-gads - A sudden shut down of the brain that causes you to reach into your "save for a rainy day" file and post drivel such as this.

Give me some time to make it up to you. Don't abandon me just yet.

Now go say happy anniversary to Juan.

January 30, 2003

there's a party in my pants and you're invited!

Kidding about the title. Sorry.

Ok, forget the Nelson Mandela is an asshat post and forget the cryptic photoessay from DJ's party. I'm just about ready to collapse.

While sitting outside smoking and contemplating life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, it occurred to me that next week some time - not sure of the exact date, I just know it was the first week in February - will mark the two year anniversary of this here weblog. From it's inception as a cheesy little Tripod site to what you see now - two years. And they say I never stick with anything I start.

Anyhow, I would like to celebrate this anniversary. I'm just not sure how to best mark the occassion of my decision to spend more time on the computer than I thought humanly possible. I'm sure whatever I do, it will include references to boobies, oral sex and Dick Cheney. Not necessarily together or in that order.

Perhaps a contest is in order. Or....something. Any ideas on how you would like to see me mark this auspicious event (because I am the kind of person who lets no small milestone pass by without a party), please let me know either in the comments or email. I'm in the mood to do something incredibly stupid.

rock over amish country!

I totally forgot I had this link sitting in my bookmarks. The Wesley Willis song generator. To thank Laurence for sitting in for me tonight, I made a song for him.

About 55100 people like amish tech support.
You make the joyride music.
amish tech support really whoops a camel's ass.
You can really rock your ass off.

AMISH TECH SUPPORT!!!
AMISH TECH SUPPORT!!!
AMISH TECH SUPPORT!!!
AMISH TECH SUPPORT!!!

amish tech support is excellent.
You are my special laurence.
You really whoop a snow lepoard's ass.
You really whoop the horse's ass.

AMISH TECH SUPPORT!!!
AMISH TECH SUPPORT!!!
AMISH TECH SUPPORT!!!
AMISH TECH SUPPORT!!!

You are my special laurence.
You are the best in the long run.
You really whoop a llama's ass.
I like amish tech support a lot.

Rock over London,
Rock on Chicago.

American Airlines - we mean business in Chicago.

party animals

Thank you for your earlier post, Laurence. That was quite profound.

DJ's party was, shall we say, enlightening. More on that with a cryptic photoessay later.

Right now, look at my nephew because he's so damn cute.

Going to open presents and eat leftover cake and then maybe if you're lucky I'll discuss what an asshat Nelson Mandela is.

The Powers of Ten!

(No, it's not your imagination running away with you or a tumor pressing up against your cerebral cortex, but you might just wish that were true. It's the Amish Tech Support Blog A Day Tour, here at A Small Victory for DJ's birthday!)

First off, I'd like to apologize to the owner of the site I had told I'd visit today instead of A Small Victory. My excuse is an idiot. I'm working on de-idioting myself. I beg forgiveness.

Now, on to the subject at hand. DJ has just turned ten. Ten is a very powerful number, science-wise. If you don't believe me, then you ought to visit one of my favorite web sites that proves that ten is powerful: The Powers of Ten.

Now that DJ is ten, he has the Powers of Ten. Show him that site, Michele. Let DJ know he has the Powers of Ten. Get him to kick some bully ass with them.

You know, when I turned ten, it was on October 10th. Three tens! Very powerful! Powers that could be used for Good...

Or Evil.

I chose Evil. A bookshelf fell on me. I couldn't get it off of me.

That day, I discovered the Powers of Yelling Really Loud For Someone To Get This Bookshelf Off Of Me.

So, happy birthday to DJ, and watch out for falling bookshelves.

(Thanks to Michele for inviting me here to post on the Tour, and hopefully she'll post a bunch of things to get this to scroll off the page before too many people give her crap about how lame I was.)

intolerance should be the 8th sin

California's new Lesbian and Gay Caucus introduced sweeping legislation that gives the state's 400,000 domestic partners all the same rights as marriage.

Of course, there are people who don't like this idea. And, as usual, the most vocal are the most moronic.

The pastor of the Hamilton Square Baptist Church in San Francisco says he's not against gays and lesbians as individuals, but he's against the bill, because he claims it promotes their lifestyle, which he says leads to AIDS and death.

Promotes their lifestyle? My god, people are loving each other! We must stop this madness! News flash for the good pastor: Being gay does not lead to AIDS and death. Unprotected sex with an infected person does. That goes for gay or straight people.

"If you had just five people in the whole state die from E.coli from one hamburger chain, you could close them down so fast, it would make your head spin. Here we have something where thousands of people die, and we're giving it the protections of law," Dr. David Innes told NBC11.

No. Unprotected sex is not getting the protection of law. Loving relationships between two people that happen to be the same sex, but due to closed minded thinking of too many people , cannot get married in your state is what the "protection of law" is referring to.

Would these two men prescribe the same judgment to straight men and women who have unprotected sex with multiple partners?

They are out of their minds if anyone believes their crap that their opposition to this law has anything to do with the spread of AIDS. It's about non-accpetance of people who have lifestyles different from theirs.

We can't help who we fall in love with. And why would it matter to anyone else? I don't understand why so many people have so many problems with the simple fact that two people are in love and want to share their lives together in wedded bliss. If you can't give them the wedding part, at least give them the right to protect each other through health insurance, the right to file their taxes jointly, the right to be happy in their relationship without living in a fishbowl that homophobes keep holding up for display.

As far as I'm concerned, intolerance is a sinful, hateful act. Especially when that intolerance keeps you from accepting the fact that two people - no matter what their gender - can exist in a loving, legal relationship.


found via decaf mocha

more interesting than the grammies

I knew I forgot to blog something yesterday.

Blogcritics is running The First Annual Blogcritics Award - The Critiquees.

The awards will be broken up into Music, Video and Books and will be posted separately.

First up is the music awards.

For information on the categories and how you can make your vote count, go here.

I can't wait for the 2003 awards so I can vote for Meryl's "Call Jihad" as my favorite song.

on ted, the braves and brett butler

Ted wants the Atlanta Braves back.

Over my dead body.

My hatred for Ted Turner is not new. Although he has done some things recently to fuel the hatred, it goes back to 1983, when I was enamored of the Atlanta Braves.

I have always been - and always will be - a Yankees fan. But in those days before inter-leauge play, I saw no problem in having a favorite in the National League as well as the American League. The Mets sucked back then. Shea Stadium was always empty. So when the Braves came to town, my friends and I would head to the Big Blue Toilet Bowl in Queens and root for the Braves. Not only did we have a whole section to ourselves, we had our own private beer vendor as well.

The Braves were fun. Dale Murphy remains to this day one of my favorite basbeall players ever. The team also boasted another favorite player of mine, Brett Butler.

In 1983, Ted Turner saw fit to trade Buttler. He was sent off to the Cleveland Indians for a player to be named later. But Ted let it leak. That player was Brett Butler. So Butler had to play his time on the Braves out, knowing his days with them were numbered.

In exchange, the Braves got Len Barker. This is where you shake your head pitifully. Such a sad day it was for me when the news of Brett's impending departure leaked out that my friend Chris sent me a sympathy card.

From 1984 through 1987, [Butler] averaged 41 stolen bases as Cleveland's [left-handed] leadoff hitter. In 1985 he led AL outfielders with a .998 fielding percentage, and his 14 triples in 1986 topped the league.

In the few years Len Barker was with the Braves, he was 16-24 with an ERA that hovered around the 4 mark.

Ted doesn't know how to run a baseball team. In fact, Ted doesn't know how to run anything but his mouth.

I still hold a grudge against him and he has only added a laundry list of offenses to the grudge sheet in the ensuing years.

What a sad day it will be for Atlanta when Tomahawk Ted gets that team back.

I still have that sympathy card, by the way. I have a hard time letting things go, I guess.

no answer

answer2.gifThe Workers World Party sympathizers and members came out in (partial) force yesterday at Times Square.

The Free Mumia-Worship Ramsey Clark-Defend Milosevic and Saddam- -Anti-Semetic stalwarts paraded around the city with signs promoting their favorite organziation, A.N.S.W.E.R.

It's no longer guilt by association when you are fully aware of the organization's backing and goals and you still carry their sign around as if it were your flag.

Everyone has the right to protest. Everyone has the right to voice their own opinion. But when you embrace the policies and ideals of ANSWER, you become decidely anti-American. You become a terrorist sympathizer, an anti-semite, a protector of dictators.

ANSWER may organize your rallies and get you on those buses, but that doesn't mean you have to protest with them. If you are a peace activist who does not subscribe to ANSWER's ideology, you are doing yourself and your dignity a serious disservice by carrying their signs around in exchange for a ride and a cause.

If you do support ANSWER and all their ideals; if you embrace them as a group to get behind and fight with and for, I would not be able to look you in the eye without wanting to spit in it.

you say it's your birthday

My baby turns ten today. Ten. That's two numbers, no longer single digits, no longer little. Yet ten is such an odd age. Too big to admit you still watch Pokemon, too small to be taken seriously by the skateboarding teens down the block. DJ flits between the two, one minute asserting his independence by refusing to hold my hand when we cross the street and the next crying for me to keep the light on his room because he just saw a scary commercial.

The kid is terrified of the clown from It yet fearlessly faces down an opponent twice his size sliding into third base. He crouches, blocks the plate, puts his shoulders down and his chest out and that runner is going nowhere. And then we get home and he runs from my uncle's Jack Russell terrier as if Cujo were after him.

DJ is a bit of an enigma. Just when you think you have him figured out, he pulls another trick out of his pocket and leaves you scratching your head. He's at once incredibly cocky, talking like Snoop Dogg and all up in your face with his ego and then so unsure of himself that won't try out for the school play out of fear of failure.

He's sweet and kind and generous to a fault, but he is also a ten year old boy, which means he is antagonistic, bold and a huge pain in the ass at times, especially to his older sister.

He wants to be a baseball player, but he figures he could always be a scientist as a backup, in case he gets an injury early in his career. And if the scientist thing doesn't pan out, there's always rap stardom waiting for him. He has it all figured out.

I believe - and of course, I am his mother so I would say this - that he can be any of the things he wants to be. He is determined and resourceful and focused on his goals.

Happy birthday, DJ. One year old, one year wiser, one more year filled with great stories to tell your future girlfriends.


DJ and me


Favorite DJ stories

Lost in New York

A child's thoughts

He said what?

January 29, 2003

best movie about comic books not yet written

We're watching Comic Book Villians, for the third time.

Why do I keep watching this movie when it made my skin crawl the first time?

Don't get me wrong, it wasn't totally bad. As a matter of fact, the first 45 minutes were sheer joy. And then it took this odd turn and kept going. It wasn't bad for a dark, twisted movie but I didn't want a dark, twisted movie.

I just wanted comic books. And comic book geeks.

That's it, I am going to write the ultimate comic book geek movie.

A couple of geeks (not all guys, either), a dirty old comic book shop, a crusty owner, lots of inside comic jokes and not a mention of Ted Rall. But definite mentions of all my favorite comics. Gratuitous shots of Madman figures.

I need a conflict. Oh yea! The damn card playing kiddies keep trying to push out of the comic store for their tournaments. 21 year old guys wearing Yu Gi Oh! shirts and trading their unemployment checks for Magic cards.

I need to start casting the movie immediately! To the Bat Phone! Hey, we should all write the movie together!

I see the NyQuil has kicked in.

tales from the drug store

I cannot possibly keep up with all your comments on the cover songs posts like I was going to - commenting on comments and such. But I am reading and downloading like crazy.

So, today. Two hours in the doctor's office. Two hours. Every single puberty-stricken girl in town (my daughter included) was in that waiting room with a sore throat. The whine level reached decibels previously unheard of.

When the doctor finally saw us, I asked him if there was a cure for teenage girls.

Sure, he said. He offered me some Excedrin. Funny guy.

Another half hour in the small, family-run drug store to wait for Natalie's prescription for Amoxicillin. Natalie cruises the aisles.

I hear her yelling for me from the first aisle. I get to where she's standing and she's staring wide-eyed at the vast array of condoms on display.

OH.MY.GOD! They come in sizes! And...and....mom, what's ribbed mean?

I say nothing, trying to push her out of the aisle and away from the two stock boys who are stifling laughter.

What's this, mom? She points to K-Y Jelly.

Umm..diaper rash cream. It's the first thing that came to mind.

So why is it with the condoms and stuff?

Your prescription is ready, let's go.

But what is this stuff? She's trying to read the box of K-Y as I pull it away from her.

The stock boy looks at me. He's just waiting to see what I am going to say.

Well, I say, it's ummm..

It's for jock itch. The stock boy says.

Oh, Natalie says. She turns red and walks towards the counter.

Stockboy whispers, you owe me.

Please note this is the same drug store in which I heard this conversation.

I may have to start going somewhere else.

get your laugh on

I hate when Treacher makes me laugh and then I feel guilty for laughing. I especially hate when he does it twice.

Oh wait...hang on....

Nope. Don't feel guilty about it at all.

Thanks, Jim!

run for cover!

Ok, kiddies. Time to move on to something fun. I've decided that seething with animosity is not something I can do on a full-time basis. It's break time!

I've been listening to my MP3 collection at work today, skimming through most of the songs that didn't go where my mood wanted to. Then I hit the folder with my cover songs.

There are an awful lot of versions of How Soon is Now and I think I have them all. (For my money, Quicksand does the best version). Did you know that Great White does a cover of the Cult's Love Removal Machine? I've got Earth Crisis doing Cream's Sunshine of Your Love, Mr. Bungle (notorious for cover versions) crooning Hit Me Baby, One More Time, and Helloween doing a fanastic version of Faith No More's From out of Nowhere.

In fact, this whole CD I'm listening to is nothing but cover songs. It's an obsession of mine.

However, this cd is old and and I need more songs.

You know what to do, fill in the comments1 with your favorite cover songs and I'll track down the mp3s and get them on to a cd so I can stop listening to Offspring's version of AFI's2 Total Immortal because it really sucks.3

Footnotes:

1 Please do not include any Me First and the Gimme Gimme songs, as all they do is covers and I have every one of them.

2 Just a small note of interest (or not) that when this site started two years ago, it was called A Fire Inside and named partially for the band AFI.

3I am going to mark up your comments. Hope you don't mind. I'm just going to put a little note in the comment if I have the song already so no one else repeats the suggestion. And maybe add a comment or two.

Now you can proceed.

climb a tree and act like a nut

Laurence suggested, in my comments, that instead of turning the dark side of trollism, I should post a recipe. Well, he didn't mean me specifically, but I took it to heart.

I spent some time thinking about what kind of recipe to post. Most of my cooking -which is pretty damn good, I must say - is done by winging it. I don't follow recipes.

And then I saw something at Andrea's blog that made the old reliable light bulb go on.

It seems one Karen Jackson of Australia doesn't like America all that much. In fact, she is so antagonstic towards this country, that she took the time out of her busy protesting schedule to pen "10 Reasons to be Anti-American." (scroll down a bit). Both Andrea and Tex took care of Ms. Jackson, so I won't go there (yes, hold on..I'm getting to the recipe thing). However, we should note that the gracious Karen did take the time to compose a list of five things she likes about America.

Number three on the list is squirrels. Yes, squirrels. Karen Jackson of Australia loves those cute, rabies infested rodents. I bet she has some cuddly stuffed squirrel up on her shelf and pictures of squirrels hanging all over her room. Loves the squirrels, she does.

Therefore, this recipe is for Amerikkka America hating, squirrel loving Karen Jackson of Australia:

SQ207.jpgCap's Mighty Fine Squirrel Stew

4 squirrels - dressed out and cut into pieces
1 cup white wine
Chicken stock
2 bay leaves

1 large onion-chopped
1 bunch green onions-tops and all-chopped
2 cloves garlic-minced
2 carrots-chopped
2 sticks celery-chopped
1 big potato-peel and chopped

Good shake cayenne red pepper
Good shake black pepper

A red brown roux -I pre-make this at home and pack it with me. half and half white flour and butter.
-The store bought roux works ok also.

Roll squirrel pieces in flour and brown in a little oil-not to long-just till brown - add to DO.

Add white wine and bay leaves and just enough chicken stock-canned is ok-to cover-place Do in coals or on top camp stove-bring to simmer-simmer 1/2 hour-add vegetables and spices and enough chicken stock to barely cover - Bring to simmer - Simmer till vegetables are almost tender - At this time add roux by the spoon full till this stew thickens up - Simmer about 10 more min - Serve with garlic bread - Beer bread is fine - And maybe a side salad.

paging mr. parrot

Think of the Parrots!

Kevin, were you traumatized by the Quizno's Super Bowl ad showing a dead parrot in a cage?

I know I was. All I kept thinking was, Oh gosh, that reminds me of Kevin Parrot and now I'll be up all night thinking of him lying in the bottom of a cage, lifeless!

Do you love Kevin Parrot as much as I do? Then join the force and boycott Quizno's! Don't let them do this to us. How can the be so cavalier and brutal about this? Don't they know how loving and gracious and funny Kevin is?

What a sad, sad day for advertising. I shall never eat at Quizno's again.

What's that? They mean a real parrot?

Oh, nevermind.

creature of the night

Dear Aaron, thanks for the traffic!

I'll be removing your link as you asked. No need to ask you to do the same, as I'm quite positive you would not link to a little shit, creature and monstrosity.

I think he also wished Laurence dead or the nearest thing possible.

Oops, did I just link you in this post? So sorry. What's good for the goose, etc.

I'll be deleting the comments of the trolls you sent this way as they come along.

Thanks for playing!

After googling for something, I realized this lovely person had a blog devoted entirely to me! Yes, there's only a few entries, but I'm quite flattered nonetheless. I hope you are sincerely over your obession with me now, Endive.

west blogging wing

Once again, I've been cast in D's surreal version of the West Wing.

I'm still Philo's assistant. What, no promotion since last year?

Carnival time!

Carnival of the Vanities #19 has arrived, at Dodd's place. Go read.

in which i finally answer the loaded question

I'll get to the SOTU later. There's something I would like to get off my chest first.

I got an email this morning and I would like to respond in depth, the length and breadth of of all the questions, but I have other things to write about today. I will, however, finally cover this one question, because it is something that appears frequently in my inbox.

What about abortion? You have alluded to it, written about it and then backed off the subject. Let me come clean once and for all. Yes, I am pro-choice. To an extent. I believe that up to a certian point in a pregnancy, a woman has the right to do what she has to do without interference from a governing body.

That said, I myself would never have an abortion. While I believe you may go ahead and do that if the need arises, it would not be a choice for me. Not for any religious reasons, as I have none.

There is no question of a religious nature here. I am an atheist. Just to get that out of the way.

I didn't always feel that way. Although I pretty much practiced abstinence until I was in my late 20's, I always figured that if I did have sex and I wasn't careful and the dreaded event happened, abortion was a way out. This from a Catholic school girl.

Of course, as I matured, I toned that attitude down a bit. It wasn't until 1992, when I became pregnant with what should have been my second child, that I turned those thoughts around.

I had a miscarriage at 8 weeks. That's two months. That makes the baby that was inside me just a tiny little thing, not at all viable on its own, having barely developed beyond the blip on a radar stage.

Yet, it was my baby. I told relatives. I picked out a name. I started looking at baby clothes in the store. I made plans. And then it happened, a bit of bleeding, some cramps and a trip to the OB-GYN to confirm what I already knew. A few days later I had a D&C and that little blip in my belly was gone.

Well-meaning friends and relatives heaped the cliched phrases on me: Don't worry, it wasn't developed yet. It wasn't even really a baby. It's not like you heard it's heartbeat or anything. You were only eight weeks.

They dismissed my baby and they dismissed my heart ache and that has stayed with me long past the susbequent birth of my son a year later, long past the time that one usually "gets over" these sort of things. Because it was a mind-changing, if not a life changing event for me. A watershed moment, if you will.

Yet, I remain pro-choice because I know not everyone wants the child forming inside them like I wanted mine. Not every woman will care for a child - or be able to care for a child - the way I would have that tiny little thing. I may not like the decision you make in that matter or even agree with it, but it is not my place, nor anyone's elses, to say what you do with your own body and your own would-be child.

I have a sister who cannot have children. I have very close friends who are going through the same agony and sadness my sister and brother-in-law have gone through, trying to conceive, trying to carry a pregnancy to full term. I can't imagine intentionally removing a baby from its womb.

Then again, I have never been in that situation. I cannot walk in those shoes, nor would I want to.

Yes, I am pro choice. But given that choice, it's not one I myself would make.

I don't know if that clarifies or explains anything for you. I will probably not broach the subject again, so this will have to do as an answer for the inquiring minds.

January 28, 2003

or was her lipstick just smudged?

Ok, a couple of non-serious points.

Justin said that if he was president, he would learn Braille and have the speech written that way so he wouldn't have to look down at the pages every so often.

Towards the end, Hilary looked like she had just finished giving someone a blowjob.

Edward Kennedy was sleeping.

When I noticed that Rumsfeld's head was incredibly shiny, Justin said that was the gleam of pure hatred eminating from his brain. I sure hope he uses that hate like The Force.

And I really wished it was Monday, because I was going to use the line "He's wearing his cornflower blue tie. It must be Monday." But it's not and not everyone would have gotten it, anyhow.

facing the enemy

Your enemy is not surrounding your country, your enemy is ruling your country.

--President Bush to the people of Iraq.

If I took but one statement away from the speech, that would be it.

He really hit his stride with the AIDS in Africa segment. As Stephen said "Bush is not his father's generation on this issue."

But it was the war talk and the outlining of Saddam's offenses where Bush hit the mark. He said the magic words: Iraq/al Qaeda link.

We are ready to bring freedom to the people of Iraq.

Disclaimer: I had a cocktail of NyQuil and Robitussin before the speech, so take this from where it comes. I'll clarify and/or deny my thoughts tomorrow.

SOTU pre game talk

I was going to do some live, up to the minute blogging play-by-play of the State of the Union address, but Stephen is ready to take that on. Not only will he do a better job than I would, he won't have two kids interrupting him to mediate fights over the Playstation.

Now, if this economy-size headache goes away, I will be doing a post-speech analysis.

Perhaps the SOTU drinking game will diminish the pain.

where are they now?

Bernie Goetz - The Subway Vigilante.

Surely you remember Bernie, the man who shot four young men on a New York Subway in 1984? (He may be a victim/hero or a violent racist depending on your view)

Besides his basically unpublicized run at the Mayor's office and some court appearances, Bernie managed to stay out of the limelight that he basically created for himself.

And yet one does wonder from time to time, Gee, what has Bernard Goetz been up to?

That's what I'm here for. To satisfy that curiousity.

Bernie is currently making his living as a pea.

Not just any old pea, no. Penelope Pea. And Penelope wants you to go vegetarian.

penelopepea.jpgGoetz's credibility as a spokesman for the vegetarian cause is somewhat hindered by his legacy as the man who, in 1984, shot four teen-agers with his unlicensed .38 handgun. His only regret, he said later, was that he had run out of bullets. (He served eight months in Rikers Island.) "I would much rather be known for playing a small part in the vegetarian movement," he said.

Don't kill the animals! Kill the people!

A few weeks ago, Goetz made one of his pea-pod appearances, in the city's annual Halloween Parade. That evening, he and some fellow-volunteers gathered in Rice's apartment. After Goetz slipped into his costume, he looked over and nodded approvingly at a cohort dressed in a giant vine-ripened-tomato suit. "Good—we needed this. Excellent! We should have a walking banana, too." He hung a sign around his neck that read, "Give Peas a Chance." "There's magic in this costume," he announced. "The pea pod casts a spell. People react positively to it. They just do."

Later that evening, as Goetz marched up Sixth Avenue, amid axe murderers, Roman emperors, and transvestite vampire hookers, his towering outfit attracted throngs of admirers, many of whom wanted their picture taken with him. "Did you make that costume yourself?" one girl asked.

"I was born in this costume!" Goetz replied in his high-pitched pea-pod voice. "Don't eat the animals!"

The big tomato, who was following Goetz to keep him supplied with pamphlets, stumbled and almost fell. "Careful, Tomato!" Goetz called out.

I do not make this shit up, folks.

I have this recurring post-apocalyptic dream where I'm running around shouting "Soylent Green is Vegans!!"


Thank you to my supplier Carol for this story.

the ultimate retreat

All you see are silhouettes
And all you hear are castanets
And no one cares how late it gets
Not at Hussein's Hideaway...OLÉ

Hey all you pro-Saddam activists? Looking for a nice vacation, a little time away from the drudgery of peace marches and window smashing? Well, my sister Lisa has found just the spot for you.


click for bigger

where were you?

Juan reminded me that today is the anniversary of the Space Shuttle disaster. Like he said, it's one of those "where were you?" moments.

Seventeen years ago today, I was sitting in my parent's house (where I still lived) playing a full simulated season of Major League baseball on my Commodore 64 with some friends.

This is how the news appeared that day:

The American space shuttle, Challenger, has exploded killing all seven astronauts on board. The five men and two women - including the first civilian in space - were just over a minute into their flight from Cape Canaveral in Florida when the Challenger blew up.

The astronauts' families, at the airbase, and millions of Americans witnessed the world's worst space disaster live on TV.

The danger from falling debris prevented rescue boats reaching the scene for more than an hour.

In 25 years of space exploration seven people have died - today that total has been doubled.

President Ronald Reagan has described the tragedy as "a national loss".

The Challenger's flight, the 25th by a shuttle, had already been delayed because of bad weather. High winds, then icicles caused the launch to be postponed from 22 January.

But Nasa officials insist safety remains their top priority and there was no pressure to launch the shuttle today.

The shuttle crew was led by Commander Dick Scobee, 46. School teacher Christa McAuliffe, 37, married with two children, was to be the first civilian in space - picked from among 10,000 entries for a competition.

Speaking before the launch, she said: "One of the things I hope to bring back into the classroom is to make that connection with the students that they too are part of history, the space programme belongs to them and to try to bring them up with the space age."

President Reagan has put off his state of the union address. He was meeting senior aides in the Oval Office when he learned of the disaster.


We will never forget them

US President Ronald Reagan


He has called for an immediate inquiry into the disaster but he said the space programme would go on - in honour to the dead astronauts. Vice-President George Bush has been sent to Cape Canaveral to visit the victims' families.

This evening, the president went on national television to pay tribute to the courage and bravery of the seven astronauts.

He said: "We will never forget them, nor the last time we saw them this morning as they prepared for their journey and waved goodbye and slipped the surly bonds of earth to touch the face of God."

We weren't paying attention to the television. My mother, ever the space buff, was watching the launch. I heard her gasp. I looked up at the tv. I froze.

Nobody moved for a long time. Nobody spoke. It was one of the most horrifying, saddest moments of my life. To witness that, to see the flames and sparks and the smoke, and to know that you not only just watched people die, but you were witnessing a depressing piece of history - the moment was overwhelming. I have never forgotten it. I don't even need to watch the video because it is so firmly etched in my mind.

what would rall draw?

I figured it was time for another Bitchslap Ted Rall Day, but someone beat me to it.

Explained in the words of Treacher: Rall agreed to do a Maakies strip, drew it, and submitted it. But Millionaire pulled a switcheroo on him. Millionaire and Hellman even concocted a "feud" for added flavor.

Poor, trusting Teddy.

My gleeful laugh for the day. I actually cackled when I saw it.

Thanks to Jim for sending me the image when Maakies was blocked from my work server. Yea, and I stole the title of the post from Jim, too.

(this post has been edited for clarity)

couldn't the money used on this ad have fed some hungry children?

My sister Lisa (who is a great source of information and blogging material and should have her own blog) called me this morning to relay something she saw on Fox and Friends.

It was an ad for TrueMajority.org, featuring everybody's favorite socialist, Susan Sarandon. It was a simple ad, called Win Without War, with Sarandon speaking. (see ad here)

Susan Sarandon: "Before our kids start coming home in body bags, and women & children start dying in Baghdad, I need to know... What did Iraq do to us?"

Edward Peck (Former US Ambassador to Iraq) replies: "The answer is
nothing. Iraq had nothing to do with 9/11, nothing to do with Al Quaeda. it's neighbors dont even think ts a threat. invading Iraq will increase terrorism, not reduce it."

Black background w/white letters: WHY RUSH INTO WAR?

Black background w/white letters: LET THE INSPECTORS WORK.

While speaking, in the backgrounds are images of military cemetery, Iraqi woman and child, bombs, shelled buildings, and fire....

Let's leave that question alone for a minute.

True Majority seems to be an offshoot of Priorities, Inc., which itself is the parent of Entertainers for Sensible Priorities, which boasts as one of its members that paragon of truth and virtue, Ted Turner. You know, Ted. The guy who married the woman who embraced our enemies in the Vietnam war; the guy who said the hijackers of the planes on September 11 were "brave."

True Majority itself was founded by Ben Cohen, the hippy who founded Ben & Jerry's Ice Cream and the man who has spearheaded a campaign to let a cop-killer go free.

Now that you know about the people behind this "public service announcement," let's address the words in the ad.

Just as the left is crying for proof that Iraq has weapons and that Iraq has ties to al-Queda, they should offer proof that Iraq does not have ties to Muslim terrorists or that they had nothing to do with September 11.

However, it is widely known as fact that Saddam himself pays the families of Palestinian sucide bombers. But that does not matter to the very people who embrace these terrorists and the families who praise their terror as victims.

True Majority wants world peace, wants to end poverty and hunger, wants the world to be a wonderful place full of happy, shiny people.

Yet they ask the questions "What has Iraq done to us?"

A bit isolationist, no?

Let's ask instead what have the leaders of Iraq have done to their own people. I think we all know the answer to that.

Why doesn't Susan Sarandon care? Why doesn't TrueMajority.org want to free the people of Iraq?

Or perhaps they do want to free the people, but in their simple minds, they think we can just ask Saddam to stop - maybe if we ask real nice - and he will.

Well we did. 12 years later, we are still waiting

UPDATE: Nick Gillespie at Hit and Run blogs that the spot is supposed to ad before the State of the Union address tonight.

there once was a girl with a heart

The second annual Feral Living Valentine's Day Limerick Contest.

Of which I was a winner last year with this ditty:

Best limerick about the dangers of premature ejaculation


I once was in bed in New York
with a man who popped his cork
But he popped it too early
Which in turn made me surly
And I killed him off with a spork.

Think you can do better? Go enter

Tuesday Memo

To: Anti-war activists, Weapons Inspectors, Democrats

From: Me

Re: Smoking Gun

It is advised that you stop using the phrase "wait for the smoking gun" or any such phrase like it, as a smoking gun would imply that it is too late; a gun does not smoke until it has been fired.

Unless, of course, you think we should wait until the gun is actually smoking before we do anything about it.

But no one thinks like that.

Have a nice day.

Mgmt.

lord help me, I'm cat blogging. Does it count if I'm just saying cats are evil?

Where's PETA when you really need them?

A couple in Oregon had 500 dogs in their house, while a woman in Nevada was found to be living with 60 cats. Not even close to the 200 felines the Cat Lady of East Meadow had, but still, even 60 is a lot of cats.

What does one do with 500 dogs? Where do you put them? Where do they all sleep?

When I first read the story I had this weird vision that the woman was actually the pet and the dogs were the masters. They sat around playing poker and watching football while the woman fetched them beer and scooby snacks.

Maybe the cops were mistaken and the dogs didn't actually live there, it was just one out of control canine bachelor party.

Hopefully, they didn't find this poster hanging up in the house anywhere.

Now, the cat story is what really gets me. Cats are evil. They are satan's pet. I did not come by this theory without firsthand knowledge.

First their was Lucky. As a matter of fact, I think there were several Luckies. All of them black as midnight, all of them with beady eyes and sharp claws and the ability to hiss on demand. Lucky used to sit on the edge of my bed every night and when I woke up -and I was only a little kid at the time - I would see nothing but Lucky's evil eyes glowing in the moonlight. Sometimes I thought he was trying to control my mind, sending me signals to obey him. I want tuna, I want liver, I want chicken, please deliver. Hissssssss.

Then there was Barnabas. I think there were about three in a row with that name. Either my mother was really bad at naming pets or she just couldn't let go when one of them disappeared or ran away to join satan's cat circus.

Barnabas was named for the master of cheesy vampires himself, Barnabas Collins from Dark Shadows. Mom was obessed with that show; still is in fact. I bought her the DVD sets for Christmas.

In fact, now that I think of it, mom was always reading or watching things to do with vampires and black magic. Yes, it's all coming together now. She used to subscribe to this magazine called Man, Myth and Magic, which had stories of satanic cults, ancient rituals and spiritual possessions. I wonder.....nevermind, I'm digressing.

So Barnabas the vampire cat used to spit at me. I tried to love him, I really did, but I thought he would claw my eyes out in my sleep if I gave him the opportunity, so I slept with my bedroom door shut and one eye open while he was around.

There was a succession of Barnabases (Barnabii?) after him and one was as evil as the next. Eventually they all came and went, slithering off into the dark of night to go wherever cats go when it's time for them to turn into real demons.

We went a while without a cat. I think there was a coffee colored Siamese cat in between the black devils at some point. I sort of remember him being mean, nasty and anti-social. Typical cat behavior.

Some time in the 80's, right before I moved out, we got our last cat. Yes, it was black. Yes, it looked evil. So what did my sister name it? Damien.

Perhaps the naming of our cats was sort of a self-fulfilling prophecy. Maybe if we had named them Fluffy or Penelope or Nardo they would have been the type of cats that purred at your feet and didn't mind when your little cousin was dragging them around by their tail.

I have to say that Damien was my favorite of all the evil monsters we owned. He was obnoxious, rude and kept to himself. He reminded me of someone. To an extent, anyhow. Damien liked to go roaming the streets at night looking for fights. I was never into the whole rumble thing. And as much as I had this soft spot for Damien, I thought that he was trying to use the Jedi Mind Trick on me at night.

He would sit on the edge of my bed, right next to Spanky, our semi-retarded half cocker spaniel/half poodle who walked like he was trying to get his hind feet to go before his front feet, and I think sometimes Damien would try to get Spanky to join forces with him, but Spanky was just too lazy to be evil. So Damien would sit on the end of the bed, purring away, and when I would look up at him, he would smile. Yes, smile.

It wasn't one of those Chesire Cat, I'm here to help you but I'm going to make it really difficult for you smiles. It was the smile of evil, that kind of grin that only an animal or person with a 666 carved into their skull would know how to use.

He was trying to get me to join the dark side, to cross over and become one of them, the cat people who roam the night looking for flesh and blood to devour. You could see it in his eyes, in his teeth, hear it in his hiss. I would tell him no, I am not joining you, even if you say you are my father and then I would open the bedroom window and he would jump outside.

Later, I would hear some female cat screeching in pleasure as Damien tried to implant his demon seed in her.

Take my word for it. Cats are evil, which was the point I was trying to make way up there about the lady with the 60 cats.

She's not really a lady. She's a she-devil and those people who took the cats away are going to be mighty sorry when they are sitting in the shelter with the little kitties at night and suddenly they turn into flesh eating monsters.

Really. I saw it in a movie once.

January 27, 2003

make yourself at home..

In the beginning of the month, I made a post about the Laci Peterson case.

3 weeks later, it's turned into a little discussion area between a couple of people.

I just find that weird, like there are squatters sitting in my apartment and going through my fridge.

Interesting comments, though.

war, what is it good for?

I can't believe I forgot to link this today.

War by Bill Whittle.

No comments from me necessary.

101 reasons you are seriously misguided

101 reasons not to go to war with Iraq by Alton Miller

I'll just pick and choose a few here.

16. In a war on Iraq we'll lose friends all around the world.

18: War plans are alienating the French public..

And your point there is...?

22. War will selectively, profoundly disrupt the lives of more than a million family members across the United States

Not going to war will profoundly disrupt the lives of every single person in the United States. Do these people honestly think that if we don't use force Saddam is just going to gently into the good night?

24. Arms inspectors are saying that Iraqi officials have granted completely open access to every site, are permitting the questioning of Iraqi scientists, and are otherwise in compliance with U.N. Resolution 1441.

Time to update number 24. Too bad the author probably thinks Blix is a liar.

25. A war with Iraq would be very costly

Imagine how costly it would be if we let the inspectors have the months more of time they want. Just enough time to complete plans for a nice little terrorist attack on the USA using those Weapons of Mass Destruction that nobody thinks exist.

38. War is also providing cover for political abuse here at home. When licenses to administration cronies for drilling in Alaska can be wrapped up in a "patriotic" agenda, we know we're near the bottom of the barrel.

This, from the same people who don't want us to take poor Iraq's oil. Oil doesn't go on trees, idiot. But if they suddenly stopped opposing drilling in Alaska, then they couldn't have their "it's about the ooooooilll" mantra.

42. War will evoke massive antiwar rallies, further straining citizens' relationships with local authorities, and further draining city budgets.

Maybe if your little rallies didn't include smashing windows and turning over mailboxes, and perhaps if you didn't view the "local authorities" as fascist pigs, your anti-war marches wouldn't be so draining on the cities.

46. Despite claims that they are stalling or lying, in fact Saddam's officials appear to be complying with every request from U.N. inspectors.

Welcome to Bizzaro World.

52. War plans are based on a dishonest history of arms inspections. Scott Ritter, the former chief UN weapons inspector in Iraq says...

It doesn't matter what Scott Ritter says. He is a liar, a traitor and a deranged nitwit.

Getting bored now. Skipping down towards the end.

92. Another insult to our intelligence: "You're with us or you're against us."

That's generally the way it works. Pick a side, stay with it and then regret your choice later on, pal.

The last one is my favorite:

101. Intellectuals and artists are against war on Iraq. Okay, this is my personal indulgence, and it's why there are 101 reasons – you can take it or leave it. My personal favorite opposition comes from the novelist John Le Carré.

The prosecution rests.

i'm a bad samaritan

MG totally kissed my ass in blogwhore today. No, that's not really how it went. He made me feel guilty that I joined BadSam and haven't posted in a year.

Maybe I'll drop in there again. Meanwhile, here's my MG mucha lucha guy.

mg.gifBadSam is a good place to find some excellent writing and thought provoking posts. And don't forget, they're last in line for the Nobel Peace Prize, first in line for pie.

My kind of guy, that MG is. Even if he did make me go to a vegetarian restaurant where I came thisclose to embarassing him and ordering a burger, well done.

Now that that's out of the way, I have a question. Where the hell are all the commenters today? Slowest.Day.Ever. Are you all hungover or have I lost my mojo?

damn technology!

What a strange day. Is it that time of year when all the electronic stuff goes haywire?

The electricity has gone out several times today, just for a flash each time.

After the second time, the kids computer wouldn't go back on. I think it may be fried.

After the third time, the cable modem and digital cable went out. Then the cable modem was giving the good flashing code, yet the internet still would not comply.


Good thing it's all working now, because I'm watching the boobs being flashed over at blogwhore. First day and they're showing cleavage already.

Speaking of boobies, the boobie peeps are winning by a landslide so far, but I promise to cook up a photoshop version of the top three vote getters.

Oh, and I think Juan has officially lost it.

poll vaulting: i want a new peep!

peep1.jpgAccording to Dave Barry - who has a very funny blog now, and whose puppy motif can be blamed on Ken Layne - there is a celebration at hand which I would be remiss in not commenting on.

It is the 50th anniversary of Peeps, those disgusting marshmallow chickies (and other assorted shapes and animal type things) that come in more colors than Jesse Jackson's rainbow.

Did you know there was a Lord of the Peeps movie?

As for official peeps, there are the ubiquitous chicks, hearts, stars, pumpkins, gingerbread men, bunnies, cream stuffed eggs, cats, ghosts, Christmas trees and snowmen.

Ah yes, you saw a poll coming, didn't you? It's time to vote for a new peep.

cutting through the bullshit for you

No need to read listen to long-winded press conferences. Here's the readers digest version of the council meeting:

Negroponte: "He's full of shit and he's never going to disarm."

Blix: "He's out of his mind and won't disarm."

ElBaradei: "I kinda like him. Let's hang around here some more."

Kofi Annan: "We need more time. Not forever, but close to it. Oh, I'd like to give a shout-out to my buddies in France!"

Ari Fleischer: I hope Helen Thomas isn't here.

it's report card day!

Inspectors to give Baghdad mixed grades

My sources have obtained for me an advance copy of Saddam's report card.

click for readable size

Teacher’s Note: It is clear that Saddam has failed this quarter. Unfortunately, because he has failed the same subjects in the past and show no signs of improving or even wanting to improve, we have no choice but to expel him. How we go about that is entirely up to Saddam himself, and whether he chooses to leave the building quietly or not. Should he cause any problems with the expulsion, we will have no other choice but to use force to make him leave.


nothing to see here folks, just an error. you may return.

boiling point

It's Uday or Odai depending on what news source you're reading, but either way you spell his name, it still reads the same: out of his mind.

"The British and American troops will have no choice but to flee or meet the same fate that met their predecessors and that's to return home in plastic bags," said the newspaper Babil, owned by Saddam's son Odai. "The number of these bags will be so huge that neither Bush nor his insignificant sidekick Blair would be able to hide or lie about."

He reminds me of a badly written comic book character. You know, the guy who speaks in cheesy cliches and wears funny looking clothes and is generally made fun of by the other characters.

Problem is, Uday is real and he's hell bent on destruction enough that we should fear him.

Good thing his days are numbered. Perhaps.

The U.N. report is due today and, in my mind at least, it really doesn't matter what that report says. The U.N. is a meaningless, foolhardy entity whose words should be taken with a very large grain of salt.

The only thing we really need to know is that Saddam has threatened the lives of scientists who cooperate. That should tell you appeasement hounds something right there.

Yet, voices continue to be raised in opposition. We need more time, they say. More time for what? To be cut off at the pass at every chance? To be lied to and sent on a wild goose chase? The more time we waste, the more chances that Odie and Daddy will let loose the dogs of hell upon us.

The longer we wait, the more danger stalks us. The realization of a link between Saddam and bin Laden is getting stronger, which makes this story of chemical warfare suits found in a mosque in Britian all the more frightening.

Things are coming to a head. I can feel it, the world can feel it. We are in a very physical game of tug-of-war and soon, very soon, one side is going to fall face down into the mud.

Who do you want it to be? Who are you rooting for? Are you a human shield? Are you crying for peace or appeasement? Are you still looking for root causes and blaming George Bush for creating fake terrorism?

If you answered yes to any of those questions, you are on the wrong side and I address this to you:

You think Iraq is complying? Think again. It's just wishful thinking on your part, so you can pontificate some more about how evil Amerikkka is and how we are arrogant capitalist pigs who are about to engage in a war for oil.

When all is said and done, you and all your socialist cohorts will be hiding your heads in the filthy ground you walk on once you know what lies behind those palace doors of your beloved, saintly Saddam. Go. Go be a human shield. Tie yourself to the pillars of the palace, strap yourself to Uday's back, straddle an unused nuclear warhead. If you believe so much that the Iraqi people do not want to be free, if you believe so much that Saddam is a misunderstood, benevolent man who builds daycare centers, then go be with him. Be there as we take him out and uncover all the sordid truth about tortures and murders and a regime that ruled with fear and death.

That said, let's for a moment imagine what happens if Bush does back down, if we don't go in and liberate Iraq. Read this. Read it again. Think long and hard about it.

To hell with France, to hell with Germany and to hell with any other pansy, leftist, shrunken balls country that does not want to take part in this. We don't need you. But god damn, you can be sure that those countries would be the firs to cry "help me!" like a fly stuck in a spider's web if Uday and Daddy decide to unleash those dogs on their soil.

War is coming. It will not be pretty. People will die. Innocent people will die. But in the end, a previously fearful people will learn to thrive again. A path will have been cleared to make way toward peace in the middle east region. A great threat to our world, and the funding to another great threat to our world will have been erased.

Imagine again what happens if we let Saddam reign on.

Which blood do you want on your hands? The blood of innocent victims of a war for freedom, democracy and safety, or the blood of thousands, if not millions, who will die in the ensuing years if we let Iraq remain as is?

The time has come. The time is now.

monday memo

Ah, Monday.

This is going to be a big week on all fronts - news, personal and blogging.

The U.N. report is due today, State of the Union tomorrow, DJ's birthday on Thursday and Blogwhore 2: Electric Bugaloo begins today.

Kidding, it's not called Electric Bugaloo.

I had so much fun with Blogwhore last year, that I'm back for more, this time in the peanut gallery where I get to talk trash on the contestants.

BH2 runs until the end of February, so if you are interested in what kind of mayhem and debauchery I am stirring up over there, you'll be able to find the link in my sidebar.

Coffee, and then on with the news.

January 26, 2003

is it baseball season yet?

Well, yay Tampa Bay. I hope you all aren't sticking around to watch Jon Bon Blowme.

And please tell me you're not going to watch the Jimmy Kimmel show.

That's all the fun for today, folks. Not that any of you were around much. So now that the game is over, you can back through all the posts I made today, because I took so much time out of my day in an attempt to entertain you.

There will be an oral test tomorrow.


Hey Robyn, Stacy....what time does the rioting start?

your virtual remote

The game is quickly approaching Cowboys-Bills status (see January 31, 1993).

I'm here to help in case you were looking for something else to watch.

Planet of the Apes (the orignal, not that other drek) is on Fox Movie Channel.

There's two anti-war socialists in action: Woody Harrelson in Kingpin on Showtime and Susan Sarandon in Stepmom on TBS.

But why torture yourself with those movies when you can watch The Pet Psychic on Animal Planet?

Oh wait, it's 34-15 now. Maybe it will get close.

Nah, animal psychic, here I come.

Oh, don't forget to vote!

now that's a halftime show

My god, do you see Shania's boobs jiggling?

She looks like a superhero in that outfit. Glitterboob Girl.

Dayum. Yeeha.

Yea, this girl loves her some hot boobies.

Gwen has no boobies. But she has nice abs.

*update* John Madden has man boobies. They do nothing for me.

football fun 4: blogger superhero bowl

Here, I provide you with halftime entertainment.

Oh, and I won $75 the first quarter. Football has been very, very good to me.

The Weapons Inspector Superbowl is over, with Hans Blix prevailing over Scott Ritter.

Now, for your halftime extravaganza amusement (I mean, besides looking at Gwen Stefani's ass), I present the first ever Blogger Superheroes Superbowl.


(final results below)

Final results:

amishman.giftreacher.gif
Amishman v. Treachercreature

Treachercreature (29) 45%

Amishman (36) 55%


Seki has agreed to take on the winner, so she will fight Amishman to the death tonight.


Wrestler type guys made with the Mucha Luca machine, found via that Electric Bugaloo guy with the good tagline and Julie, who would know what I mean if I suddenly yelled Squee!.

hey, who turned out the lights?

Are you going to let the Weapons Inspector Superbowl end up in a tie? I should think not. Go vote for either Ritter or Blix.

Now, should I bother posting the rest of the fun I had in store or have you all left the building?

football fun 3: SB XXVII, a memoir

sb27logo.jpgSuper Bowl XXVII
January 31, 1993
Dallas Cowboys 52 Buffalo Bills 17

I can tell you exactly where I was as I watched the Buffalo Bills get trounced and humiliated in what would be their third straight Super Bowl loss in a string of four.

I was in Winthrop Hospital, Mineola, New York. The previous evening I had given birth to DJ and I was resting uncomforatably, as these things go, awaiting my discharge the next day.

Winthrop is a nice hospital. I had DJ in the room with me most of the day, snug in his little plastic bassinet. They had a cute blue index card with his name - Daniel Joseph - taped to the bassinet. Just in case I forgot his name, I guess.

I managed to drag my ass into the small hospital shower that morning and primped and preened, awaiting my visitors.

Wait.Wait.Wait.

The nurse comes in and sees me looking a bit sad. She explains that the birth of a second child is often a low-key affair, as the novelty has worn off. I bet they still didn't even smoke their cigars from Natalie's birth three years ago, I think. Bastards.

So I attempt to get the hang of this breast-feeding thing as I wait for someone, anyone, to come visit me. DJ latches on and I scream in pain. The nurse comes running back in. I have a breast infection. Lovely.

There I am, in some ratty old bathrobe and dirty t-shirt because my husband* has yet to show up with the new nightgown he forgot to bring the day before, and I have this ache in my tit and a baby who still wants to suck on it and no one has come to see me.

I turn the tv on. Oh, silly me! It's Super Bowl Sunday! Explains a lot. Everyone is too busy making appetizers and shopping for beer and taking a pre-game nap. Who the hell wants to go see a woman with aching breasts and a sore vagina try to nurse a fussy kid when it's the god damn national holiday?

Yea, I was a bit cranky. My sister showed up eventually (I just had to add that in there so she didn't bitch at me for not saying she was there).

So finally 6:00 rolls around and one of the most uninteresting games in Super Bowl history is about to begin. Not a sign of my husband all day. Not even a phone call.

I decided to take my frustrations out on the Bills by rooting hard for the Cowboys to kick their asses all over the place. That was fun for about ten minutes.

Halftime. Still no sign of the husband. I figure at this point that he's already either a)sitting at home getting a hard-on over the score because he probably called his bookie and took the over bet or b)sitting at home putting his fists through the walls because he took the teaser bet and was losing his shirt.

Hint: We needed to respackle the living room wall the next week.

No sooner does halftime start then someone walks in the room. Could it be? A....a....visitor?

Of course, it was my best friend Barbara, a sack of McDonald's in one hand, chocolate shakes in the other. She stayed with me for as long as the nurses would let her, gave me a quick lesson in breastfeeding while you have an infection (no, not that kind of lesson, you gutter head!) and got DJ to finally stop fussing. We watched Michael Jackson do his thing -whatever that thing was - during halftime. I'm pretty sure there was a spaceship involved. It was then I realized that what I needed was a wife, not a husband. Or just a better husband.

The Cowboys won, the Bills were humiliated and DJ saw the whole thing from my arms. I swear, he kicked up his legs in glee each time the Cowboys scored.

*for the uninitiated, referenced husband is a previous husband, not the gem of a partner I have now.

football fun 2: the weapons inspector bowl

All football, all the time. Sort of.

Everything in the world should be decided by Super Bowls or polls. I can't stage a Super Bowl in my living room, but I can make up stupid polls.


Our first matchup is the Weapons Inspector Bowl, pitting Scott Ritter against Hans Blix.

Final results below:

wip.gif


Read into that what you may.

football fun: the idiotarian all stars!

stupor.gifIt's Super Bowl Sunday, the nation's only unrecognized national holiday.

The real football doesn't get underway for another ten hours, but I have some things to fill your time.

Introducing the starting line up for the Stupor Bowl All Star Team - The Idiotarian AllStars! (cue applause or boos, as may be your case)

CAROL BROUILLET.
Brouillet comes to the AHC by way of The Women's International League for Peace and Freedom. Brouillet's contributions to the AHC team include a grass-roots movement to get George Bush impeached for his "crimes of 9–11."

Favorite saying: Regime change begins at home
Fun fact: Wants to abolish money and work towards a "gift" economy.

KEN NICHOLS (representing human shields for Iraq)
Ken, a special teams defenseman, has organized a contingent of misguided morons to head over to Iraq to play ring-around-Saddam in an attempt to protect the dictator from being attacked by American troops.

Favorite saying: The biggest threat to world security is George W. Bush.
Fun Fact: He has publicly announced his intent to burn a US Flag before the US Consulate in Amsterdam if/when the US begins the invasion of Iraq.

ARIANNA HUFFINGTON (representing both the limousine liberals and Alternet)
Arianna once played for the other team, but switched sides when she decided she could get more play from the press as an anti-American. Her main strength is her hypocrisy, which she uses to bully the other teams into giving up luxuries that she herself uses daily.

Favorite saying: If you drive an SUV, you support terrorism
Fun Fact: Huffington lives in a 9,000 square foot house and uses a private jet to fly to all her speaking engagements. I guess only the oil that goes into making SUVs run supports terrorists.

MICHAEL RIVERO (representing Whatreallyhappened.com)
Michael leads the league in conspiracy theories. His theories about September 11 have given way to a whole new genre of urban legends and propaganda.

Favorite catcphrase: fake terrorism
Fun Quote: My hope is that the present government of the US will simply collapse from its own rot as did the USSR and we can all leave to our children a nation free from crushing debt-slavery.

SENATOR PATTY MURRAY (representing bin Laden apologists, leftist politicians and brain-dead people everywhere)
Senator Murray is today's team captain. She made this team the hard way, with a grit and determination that even the most stalwart idiotarians find hard to muster. Her belief that bin Laden builds day care centers, and her allegiance to the root causes of America-bashing has made her the star she is today.

Favorite saying: (I think you all know this enough to chant along): Why is bin Laden so popular around the world? He's been out in these countries for decades, building schools, building roads, building infrastructure, building day care facilities, building health care facilities, and the people are extremely grateful. We haven't done that."
Fun fact: Senator Murray will be introducing the new team jerseys today.

Well fans, that's all we have time for now as we have to cut for a commercial break. Don't forget to stick around for the half-time show, where Barbra Streisand, Sean Penn and Michael Moore will lead the crowd in a chant of "No War for Oil," and Sheryl Crow will perform her new smash hit, "Why Can't We Be Friends."

Feel free to add on to the roster of this all-star team - there's always room for more!

January 25, 2003

my name is tim, i'm a lesser known character

I was reading a Henry Rollins book and was reminded of a dream I had last night, because Henry was quoting John Wayne in Alamo.

The quote was very good: There's a lot of pretenders to the throne here, we can't stop them from coming on, but we can arrange for them to limp home.

Anyhow, in my dream, after we started bombing France (yes, France!), I was called to duty in the capacity of helper to an undercover terrorist fighter. He was dressed like the Lone Ranger and talked like John Wayne.

I never wanted to be a hero. I just wanted to be the smart-assed sidekick.

I had a dream I was a vigilante's side kick
My name is Tim I'm a lesser- known character
I had a dream I was a vigilante's side kick
Fighting crime in the streets together

Down in Oakland
Off of West Grant
St. Joseph relief poor program
A good place where good people get food
Help your fellow man a good thing to do
Government agency said be afraid of me
I'll shut your doors down and it won't phase me
Wolverine came through left the agent for dead
Put the doors back up, everyone was fed

I had a dream I was a vigilante's side kick
My name is Tim I'm a lesser- known character
I had a dream I was a vigilante's side kick
Fighting crime in the streets together

Do not build them abandoned buildings
It's nice to sleep when you got a ceiling
Neighborhood watch said we gotta put a stop
Can't have people living for free call the cops
Here come the swat team and the M-16
Shoot the walls in and destroy the building
Wolverine was sad and it made him mad
Every single cop got a bullet in the head

I had a dream I was a vigilante's side kick
My name is Tim I'm a lesser- known character
I had a dream I was a vigilante's side kick
Fighting crime in the streets together

Rancid - Sidekick

Who wants to be the hero to my sidekick?

over

Please take note. I do not want to talk about the bloggies anymore. It's done, it's gone, I said what I had to say and I really don't feel like wasting any more time on it. I already wasted enough. Any email sent regarding the subject will be deleted and not replied to. Move on, folks.

musical stroll down memory lane

Via Blogcritics: The Recording Academy has bestowed GRAMMY® Hall of Fame Awards on 21 recordings, including Led Zeppelin's single "Stairway To Heaven" and Fleetwood Mac's "Rumours" album.

aja.gifAh, a subject I can dig into without causing controversy other than the usual Stairway to Heaven is the best song ever created flame wars.

Let's dig in to the new entries into the Hall. I'm not really commenting on the merit of the nominees, as much as I'm taking a stroll down memory lane. Ya'll can tag along if you'd like. (Did I spell ya'll right?)

Pop Albums
"Aja," Steely Dan (1977)

Stephen has a nice post up about Steely Dan today. I was a novice punk rocker when this album came out in 1977. I had this soft spot for Steely Dan, though, and this album formed the background to my first big romance. Every song on it is crafted perfectly. Deacon Blues and Josie are particular favorites of mine.

"Still Crazy After All These Years," Paul Simon (1975)
The song 50 Ways to Leave your Lover was a huge hit off of this album. I have a cousin named Stan and we tortured him by constantly singing "make a new plan, Stan," to him.


Pop Singles
"Blowin' in the Wind," Peter, Paul & Mary (1963)
"Both Sides Now," Judy Collins (1968)
"Days of Wine and Roses," Henry Mancini (1963)
"Downtown," Petula Clark (1964)
"It's Too Late," Carole King (1971)
"Up Up and Away," The 5th Dimension (1967)

Blowin in the Wind reminds me of my cousin Francis and the night she came home from some protest covered in gooey egg guts, courtesy of the old men in the VFW who showed up at the protest and pelted the hippy college students with fruit, vegetables and other assorted food stuff.

Both Sides Now. Ugh. We had to sing it in chorus in fifth grade and there was no way I could carry those notes. The music teacher smacked me upside the head with a ruler and kicked me out of chorus. That was about 1972. That same woman is DJ's music teacher today.

Downtown I love this woman's voice. This song is summer, bare feet, freshly mown grass and hopscotch.

It's Too Late I never liked Carole King much except when she did a musical version of Maurice Sendak's Chicken Soup With Rice. It's Too Late gives me this weird feeling in my gut, so I'm sure I have some bad memory attached to it that I'm repressing.

(interjection for a moment: It's really odd for me to sit here and say that I don't like these songs when I'm listening to King Diamond. Taste is subjective, I suppose)

"Up, Up and Away" When I was little, the only friend I ever had came over for dinner one night. She was wearing a shirt with a picture of a hot air balloon on it. My parents proceeded to mortify me by singing a duo of Up, Up and Away (in my beautiful balloon). I can only hope to force the same embarassment upon my own kids some day.

Rock Singles
"Hotel California," Eagles (1977)
"I Shot the Sheriff," Eric Clapton (1974)
"Proud Mary," Ike & Tina Turner (1971)
"Stairway To Heaven," Led Zeppelin (1971)

"Hotel California" I cannot put into words how much I hate this song and every single thing that ever happened to me while this song was playing. I swear I did not break Donna's nose with the frisbee on purpose.

"I Shot the Sherrif" Another song I hate with an unexplained passion. And I thought at first he was singing, I shot the Sherrif, but I did not shoot him dead, you see. And I thought, well good for you! So why did he shoot him, anyhow?

"Proud Mary" You know, I love this song. Great piece of music. But it's another one of those embarassing moments for me, where my parents thought they had rhythm or something and danced to it at some party as if they were Ike and Tina themselves.

"Stairway to Heaven" Contrary to popular belief, this was not the greatest song ever made. Not even close, folks. It's just a bunch of crazy words strung together through the haze of drugs. And I was a huge Zeppelin fan back in the day. But now, the song just seems trite.

I'll cover the rock albums tomorrow. Right now, I'm going through the channels on Netscape Radio and I have to get up and sing along to Strawberry Letter #23.

Feel sunshine sparkle pink and blue
Playgrounds will laugh, if you try to ask is it cool, is it cool
If arrive and don’t see me
I’m gonna be with my baby.

Now that is a great song.

Ok, done dancing and being laughed at by my husband. And the hamster. Oh he should talk, the rodent. That hamster dance crap isn't anything to be proud of, you know.

Now I'm wondering what songs, years from now, will be deemed acceptable to enter the Grammy Hall of Fame.

I'm willing to bet Avril Lavigne and Good Charlotte will not be represented. But you best believe that Bye, Bye, Bye will.

Who wants to dance?

The U.N: murderers by proxy

Spoons put a hiatus on his hiatus to blog a story, giving the best headline of the week:


U.N. INSPECTORS MURDER IRAQI DEFECTOR, FAMILY

[T]here were unexplained incidents at the U.N.'s Baghdad compound when two men -- one carrying three knives, the other a notebook and shouting "Save me!" -- tried to enter the base.

Both men were apprehended and turned over to Iraqi authorities, U.N. officials reported. It was unclear whether the two incidents were related.

On the two incidents, U.N. officials said that one man approached the hotel's security gate with a metal instrument, before Iraqi guards wrestled him to the ground. He was later found to have three knives, the U.N. said.

About 40 minutes later, another Iraqi man stopped a U.N. vehicle outside the headquarters pleading "Save me! Save me!" in Arabic, according to the U.N. The man, apparently unarmed, forced his way into the driver's seat of the stopped vehicle, as an Iraqi guard struggled to pull him out, while an unfazed U.N. inspector watched from the passenger seat.

Unexplained incidents? I think we can be pretty much explained thusly:

"Help me! Saddam is threatening my life and the lives of my family. He is going to to torture me to death because I know things. See this notebook? It holds the smoking gun you are all supposed to be looking for. Let me in!"

And though we will never know, we can pretty much surmise after the confused U.N. inspectors - apparently given the wrong instructions and told they were working for Saddam - effectively slammed the door in the faces of these men crying for help and in turn, had them killed.

There's a couple of possible scenarios:

They were hung over a vat of acid and lowered slowly into the vat, prolonging both death and agony.

They were skinned alive.

They were tortured with devices so twisted and sadistic that it would make even the most S&M savvy U.N. inspector cringe.

Oh, the possibilities are endless. But rest assured, those scoundrels who wanted to expose their corrupt leader to the world and possibly save their own lives in the process are now dead, and their families - wives, children, parents - have all been systematically removed from their homes, probably without heads.

So, who is the U.N. working for? I thought they were all about human rights and world peace and protecting the innocents.

And for this, Saddam scores a B on his report card for "plays well with others."

Let's get this show on the road, already.

this time it's personal

Over. Done. Finished.

Leaving the previous post here was like giving life support to a patient who doesn't want to live.

I pulled the plug and the poor bastard is dead.

minus the archives

There once was a blogger named Jim
Who went away on a whim
We all missed our Treacher
And his humorous feature
We begged and he has given in.

Treacher's back and he's making a difference.

this is your brain......

Harry Potter on Ecstacy

Well, sort of. Intrepid drug dealers have emblazoned poor Potter's logo onto to their magic beans. This is not a new thing; drug dealers have been engaging in "branding" since the good old days of the 60's drug culture, when Mickey Mouse himself appeared on acid tabs.

I saw that picture (linked above) on Smoking Gun last night before I went to bed. So when I tossed and turned for a while and my brain eventually drifted into the mode of "things to keep you awake," I reviewed my sordid history with drugs. No, I am not going to chronicle the entire pharmacutical laundry list of my rebellious years. Just this one. For now.

In 1980, I went on the senior trip to Disneyworld. Looking back, I still can't believe my parents let me go, given my reputation for causing or getting into trouble. I'm sure they thought the chaperones - teachers from my Catholic high school - were of high moral fiber and integrity and would never let me get into trouble.

On the first night staying at the motel, we caught the typing teacher making out with one of the students. One of the other teachers spent the night in the motel lounge. Another one disappeared for a few hours, but he was spotted in a rent-a-car making out with what looked to be either a really big girl or a guy with a blonde wig.

High moral fiber, indeed. No chaperones, no problems. A bunch of us left the motel in search of a convenience store. We found one down the block and bought more beer and Boones Farm wine than we could carry (The drinking age at the time was 18 and several of my classmates had already turned the magic age). We found an abandoned shopping cart outside the store, dumped the beer and wine in it and then bought enough bags of ice to cover up the goods.

We carted everything back to the motel and didn't even have to sneak around, as no teachers were in sight.

Back in my room, someone filled the bathtub with ice and we put the beer and wine in.

And then it started. I had some ridiculous flavor of wine in my hand - not a glass but the whole bottle. The pot was free flowing; joints were being passed around the room at a pace I could barely keep up with. I was doing shots of something that one of my friends had stolen from motel bar.

Now, let me explain something. First of all, I could not hold my liquor. I didn't even like drinking. Hence, I earned the nickname "One Drink Michele," due to the fact that all it took to get me wasted was one drink. Boones Farm wine to me was what a bottle of tequila would be to a hardened drinker.

So there I was, stoned and drunk and feeling the room spin around me. Voices went in and out of my head; I comprehend none of what my friends were saying. I swayed and slurred and stood on my feet only to fall down again. Who needed the rides at Disney when you had all this?

I developed an intense headache. It was partly from the wine, and part from the tension I was feeling at the prospect of a) getting caught; b) getting sick in front of everyone and c) getting homesick. I was never very good at traveling without my family. Oh yea, I had this cool exterior and a reputation to match, but inside I was just a run-of-the-mill nerd.

Tina was taking care of me, putting a cold towel on my head and rubbing my back. Tina was my best friend at the time, even though I was really starting to hate her slutty ways, her giant breasts and her penchant for getting me into trouble.

Tina pulled a little tin full of white pills out of her purse.

"Take these," she said.
"What are they?"
"Just Tylenol. You'll be better in a few minutes."

In my half-stupor, I trusted Tina and took two of the little pills she handed me. She smiled and patted me on my head like you would a two year old.

Within minutes - or maybe it was hours, I couldn't tell - my headache was gone. Unfortunately, it was replaced with other ailments.

For starters, I was having trouble breathing. My chest was tightening up and I felt like my lungs were going to collapse.

My senses were dulled. I could barely hear anything. I couldn't feel my hands. Everything was a blur, a haze, a slow motion movie of my friends laughing and throwing their clothes around while I was sinking into oblivion.

I felt my eyes roll in back of my head, the way it happens when you are falling asleep while watching tv. I kept trying to snap myself out of it. I was terrified. I was going to die. Right there and then, in some skanky motel room in Kissimmee, Florida, in a room full of half dressed Catholic high school students while my chaperones fucked each other and several classmates in the rooms next door.

I think the last word that went through my mind before I fell on the floor was scandal.

Tina was there first, panic written on her face. I started to say something, but she put her fingers over my mouth to shut me up. She leaned in close and whispered harshly in my ear, "don't tell anyone I gave you any pills."

That bitch. I should have known better than to trust her. Those pill she gave me were not Tylenol.

"What the hell did you give me?" I asked her. At least I think I asked her. Maybe I said it in my head but thought I said it out loud. Everything was so unreal. She didn't answer me, anyhow.

I felt some hands on me and suddenly I was being lifted up and then thrown on the bed. They would make me better, I thought. My friends would make it all better.

They left me laying there. They continued partying and undressing and drinking and smoking. I laid there on one of the twin beds, with that itchy motel comforter scratching my skin like a thousand needles.

And then the scariest moment of my young life happened. I thought I had died.
Tina came over to say something to me and I tried to answer her. I couldn't. I could form the thoughts in my head; I could see and hear everything that was going on, yet I couldn't respond to it. My limbs were stiff. My entire body was frozen in a semi-concious state. I struggled to reach my hand up, to scream at Tina to call an ambulance or get one of the teachers, to make them know I was dying.

I heard Tina scream "OH MY GOD, SHE'S DEAD!"

Shit. They thought I was dead! I tried again to talk, but it was like one of those nightmares where you want to scream, but nothing comes out. A million thoughts ran through my head at once, none of them good. They would bury me alive. They would throw me on the side of the highway and claim that I had just gone missing. My parents were going to be so pissed that I died in such a stupid way.

They were shaking me and poking me, but I just could not respond. I think my muscles had just gone slack and were rendered useless from the wine and liquor and pot. And whatever that was Tina had....

"What the hell did you give her, Tina?" Some voice. A male voice. A panicked voice.

"Tylenol, I swear!" Tina's voice was shaky. Fucking liar, liar pants on fire. That's what was going through my head.

They had propped my head up on a pillow so I didn't choke on my own vomit like Jimi Hendrix. I was watching. Just not responding.

Kerry dove for Tina's purse. Tina tackled her. Tina's little tin fell out of the purse. Kerry grabbed it, opened it, looked at the pills and hauled off and smacked Tina clear across the room.

"What the FUCK?" Kerry screamed. "What the fuck is wrong with you? These are Quaaludes!"

"I just wanted to see what would happen!" Yea, that's what Tina said.

Oh shit. I was going to die, die, die. Overdose. My poor parents.

The rest happened on super speed. Tina ran from the room. I was lifted off the bed, stripped down to my bra and panties, and thrown on top of the ice in the bathtub. They turned the shower on so I had hot water streaming down on my face and frigid ice up my ass.

Finally, a scream escaped. It came from the bottom of my soul, traveled through my heart and gathered momentum all the way.

"Tina, you fucking cunt!"

And then the typing teacher whore was there, telling everyone there was no need to call the police, no ambulance needed. She took me back to her room where she and the music teacher watched over me through the night. I felt like such an ass.

That was the end of my friendship with Tina and her giant breasts. I spent the rest of the Disney trip with the drama club, ignoring those who would rather have watched me fall into a coma than ruin their party by calling for help.

Last I heard, Tina was living out in Mastic Beach, making her living as a crack ho.

That was more than twenty years ago. I still can't look at a bottle of Boones Farm wine without feeling sick. Then again, isn't that the natural reaction to the cheap wine, anyhow?

So, do you want to hear the story about the mescaline laced camping trip or the acid washed 3D movie?

January 24, 2003

admit it, you liked the spice girls movie

I already know I have weird taste in movies. But looking at Jay's latest post, I realized that I go against the mainstream almost everytime.

I hated Forrest Gump. Is there anyone else out there who hated it?

I also hated Castaway. And I've never seen Titanic.

(Very) Guilty pleasure: I loved Princess Diaries.

Oh, shut it. We all have those movies we loved. Steel Magnolias, anyone?

shoving a poll up your ass

I'm allowing you to enter your own answers due to the lameness of mine.

I put it in the extended entry 'cause it's big, yo.


bottoms up!

Guess what time it is, folks? Time for another shot! Name your poison and toss one back.

This time it's the Gleeful Extremist, who has delinked both myself and Rachel Lucas.

And with this post, Rachel Lucas joins a small victory as the only two deleted from my blogroll for idiocy. She gives her spin to the Thacker story by simple contradiction (no facts to back 'em up) and insults (while insulting Thacker herself).

I'm not sure which idiocy it was of mine that Jamie delinked me for, but suffice it to say I didn't notice. She called Rachel an idiot. That means two shots.
This shot's for you, Jamie!


(shotglass from Coop, photoshopping of said shot glass by me)

you know where you can stick that pole...

All day I had the itching to make a poll. But I didn't know what to make a poll about (I even thought about a pickles/no pickles on your hamburger poll - I reached that low).

Taking a poll as to what I should make a poll about would be silly as well as redundant, right? Probably not as bad as taking a poll to find out whether I should take a poll.

All this talk of polls is making me horny.

Is there anything you're dying to know that a poll would help explain for you? Enquiring minds want to know......what?

yard signs i can live with

Thanks to Lane McFadden, you can print out some nifty little signs to put in your yard. Hey, it's better than those "Vote for Al Sharpton" signs that will be cropping up soon.

I'm going to put this one out front until the proper time, when it will be replaced by a yellow ribbon.

freeiraq.jpg

obligatory self link

I'm going to be a rap star, like Eminem.

He starts rapping:

I hate the deli
It's always smelly
But I can rap
better than Nelly

He does his little beat box noises and moves his hands in a way that lets me know he's been watching Jay-Z videos when I'm not looking. The deli kid nods his approval.

DJ and Natalie contemplate career choices - at Raising Hell.

getting over it

For those who asked (and thanks for asking) Natalie did not make the school basketball team. She claims - as do others - that the coaches barely glanced at the shorter kids.

Didn't they ever hear of Spudd Webb?

Anyhow, she was upset for a few hours and then got over it when her best friend called to say that Natalie's boyfriend just sent the friend and instant message that he was going to break up with her.

She forgot about basketball and concentrated on Joe. Joe had given her a bracelet a few days before and Natalie took the bracelet off. Broke it into a hundred little pieces and threw it in the garbage.

Her best friend calls back to say it wasn't Joe who sent the instant message, it was his cousin, being an ass.

Natalie tried to fish the bracelet out of the garbage and put it back together. She couldn't of course, and she ran into her room crying because she felt bad.

I'm sure Joe will get over the two dollars he spent on the bracelet. I don't know if Natalie will get over the fact that she shredded it.

Hey, at least she got over not making the basketball team.

today's required reading

The Rage of Oriana Fallaci

"The point is not winning or losing," she said. "Of course, I want to win. The point is to fight well with dignity. The point is, if you die, to die on your feet, standing up. If you tell me, 'Fallaci, why do you fight so much? The Muslims are going to win and they're going to kill you,' I answer to you, 'Fuck you-I shall die on my feet.'"

I tend not to put people I don't know on pedastals; my only real hero in life has been my father. But this woman comes might close to being raised up on a platform in my mind.

How did she feel about President Bush?

"We will see; it's too soon," she said. "I have the impression that Bush has a certain vigor and also a dignity which had been forgotten in the United States for eight years."

She doesn't like it, however, when the President calls Islam a "religion of peace."

"Do you know what I do each time he says it on TV? I'm there alone, and I watch it and say, 'Shut up! Shut up, Bush!' But he doesn't listen to me.

I'm listening. I'm thinking a lot of people are.

(link sent to me by my personal blogging secretary and Tampa Bay fan, Todd)

don't drop the soap

Hale, Hale, the chain gang's here.

and bring the toilet paper

It seems that a sense of humor is becoming a rare commodity these days.

CHEYENNE, Wyoming (AP) -- The National Park Service is fuming over a commercial in which a park ranger pours a glass of Metamucil into Old Faithful in Yellowstone National Park to help the geyser stay regular.

"It suggests that it's OK to pour some substance into a thermal feature," Park Service spokesman Al Nash said. "We've spent decades trying to educate visitors about the fact that it's harmful to the feature and that it's dangerous for anyone to take an action like that."

Now, what are the chances that some idiot is going to come along and pour a laxative into the geyser?

Then again, maybe it won't be laxative. The hordes of people who don't know the difference between a humorous commercial and reality will come streaming into Yellowstone and throw things like Alka-Seltzer and Kool-Aid into the geyser. And then how long before someone pees in it?

I wonder why the Parks Department hasn't sued Hanna-Barbera for the whole Jellystone Park thing? I mean, if there are people out there who will see the Metamucil commercial and run out to Yellowstone to feed the geyser, there must have been on onslaught of tourists who came looking to feed Yogi and Boo-Boo, right?

It all reminds me of when DJ was little and asked me to lower him into the sewer so he could look for the Ninja Turtles.

Silly boy, I told him. The turtles are rich now. They live in a Park Avenue duplex.

one good apology deserves another

I get mail.

Dear A Small Victory,

Stop being a George Bush apologista.

I almost stopped reading, but I had nothing to write about this morning so I decided to read on and see if there was anything worthwhile in the letter.

You Americans have so much to apologize for.

Ok, good enough. I can work with that.

As an American in good standing (I think), I will take it upon myself to apologize for certain slights against good taste and offenses against the delicate nature of certain countries, but you have to apologize as well. Tit for tat, as they say in some other country where the word tit does not elicit giggles, even from adults who know better.

I will apologize for Who Wants to Marry a Millionaire/Pauper/Hot Chick With No Personality. I will even apologize for such standards as America's Biggest Glutton/Whore/Jerk and When Bears/Babies/Cars Attack if a certain country apologizes for starting the reality tv genre to begin with.

I will certainly say I'm sorry about foisting such stellar acts as Backstreet Boys, R. Kelly and Kid Rock upon the world, but there are countries that need to apologize in return for Avril Lavigne, The Spice Girls and Creed. Yes, I know Creed is American, but I am refusing to accept responsibility for Scott Stapp's ego, so I'll be shipping him off to France. Please fill out his citizenship papers, thanks.

Oh, and Romania? Say you're sorry about the Cheeky Girls. Now. You know I never heard the song "Touch My Bum," and I hope I never have to. But if, by some off chance I am tied to a chair and forced to listen to lyrics like Come and smile, Don't be shy,Touch my bum,This is life! I'm going to send Snoop Dogg over and keep him there until you all start using "fo shizzle" as part of your everyday venacular.

I'll trade you one apology for McDonald's Filet-o-Fish in exchange for a mea culpa over haggis or steak tartare. Ok, ok. I'm sorry about Spam. And White Castle burgers. And Jello salads and Jello molds in particular. Take back your head cheese, Sweden!

I'll trade you one Geraldo Rivera for Robert Fisk, but there's no returns and we get to keep Fisk tied up in a basement with a gag around his mouth. Oh, we'll throw in Ted Rall as well if Geraldo isn't sorry enough.

I may as well say I'm sorry about Carrot Top and the Baldwin brothers, but somebody somewhere better apologize for Gerard Depardieu and Fabio.

And France? Say you're sorry for being France. Or just get the hell out of the way.

January 23, 2003

it's a hormone thing

The Girls Green Machine PAL basketball team (coached by moi) is now 3-0.

I'm dead tired and there's a million things I want to write about right now, but the only thing resonating through my brain at the moment is this:

If, someday in the future, you have the ability to choose the sex of your children and you decide that it's something you would like to do, please heed my advice. Do not choose FEMALE.

If you do, I can assure you without a doubt that about 13 years from the day you make that choice you will be pulling your hair out in frustration and wishing you had hit the MALE button instead.

Someone tell me it gets better, please.

going...going......

So. Right after the Super Bowl or the next day?

My bet is on late Sunday night.

check the list, laurence

Nell Carter died.

Oh shut, up. I loved Gimme a Break!

sad, sad world

Via Instapundit:

Parents shocked after scout camp features Nazis chasing Jews

I had someone actually tell me the other day that anti-semitism does not really exist, that the Jews just have "persecuted personalities."

What would one call this, then?

COPENHAGEN, Denmark - Parents of more than 100 Danish scouts were outraged over a game of tag at a scout camp in which children acted as Jews wearing yellow Stars of David and tried to escape from adults pretending to be Nazis.....The school yard included a sign with the German words "Arbeit macht frei," or "Work will set you free," the infamous inscription over the entrance to the Auschwitz concentration camp in Poland.

The game was organized by the Danish Christian FDF scout organization. Jes Imer of the locacal chapter of FDF in Copenhagen said:

"I don't know whether I should apologize..I didn't want the game to hurt anyone."

What's really appalling is that this is not just the work of one person, but of an entire chapter of a scouting organization.

Anti-semitism doesn't exist? Please, not only does it exist in spades, it's more widespread and accepted than you ever imagined.

PSA

When you sign a contract with Sprint, you are signing on with the devil.

Evil lurks in the bowels of the Sprint home office.

bad choice

He has referred to AIDS as a "gay plague."
He has referred to homosexuality “deathstyle," not a lifestyle.
He thinks gays can be rescued by Christ.

He is Jerry Thacker and he has been appointed to the Presidential Advisory Commission on HIV and AIDS.

In September 2001, Thacker returned to his alma mater [Bob Jones University] to give two “Chapel Messages.” The speeches, summarized on the university Web site, focused on the “sin of homosexuality” and his family’s struggle with AIDS.

“When he and his wife discovered in 1986 that they had contracted HIV, the most horrible thought was that it was a disease connected with the sin of homosexuality,” according to the summary. “They didn’t want anyone to think they were homosexual because they knew what the Bible said about homosexuality.”

Granted, AIDS is not strictly a gay disease. But in order to be able to deal with the realities of AIDS and its victims, you have to be able to deal with homosexuality. A man who believes gay people are evil, vile and sinful cannot effectively help a gay person stricken with AIDS if part of his agenda is for those people to repent and conform.


update Thacker has withdrawn his nomination.

save our libraries

Thanks to Mac at War Liberal, I came across saveourlibraries.org today.

Does it not say a lot about our society when we have to fight to save our libraries?

When I was young, the library was a weekly ritual. A bus came on Saturdays, stopped right at the corner in front of my house, and took us to the library. I spent all day there, thumbing through books, writing reports, doing research and sometimes attending the storytimes and special events they had.

On Wednesdays we had the bookmobile with Mr. Bill at the wheel. Bookmobiles have come and gone and my kids have no idea that such a thing even existed. And now, libraries may be headed for the same extinction.

The internet will never replace the physicality of the library. Sure, you can find all the information you need for your footnotes and bibliography and research with your mouse and keyboard. But what can replace the feel of a book? The quiet calm of the libary? The reference librarian who is so easily thrilled when he helps you find that elusive reference book?

Public libraries all over America are being forced to cut their hours and services. It's become an alarming trend for cities and town to turn to their libary first when it comes time to crunch the budget.

The American Library Association has launched a Save Our Libraries campaign.

"Librarians and our users cannot afford to be quiet about drastic cuts forcing libraries to close their doors earlier, lay off experienced library staff, eliminate periodical collections and reduce programs and services," Freedman said. "These cuts are deeper than those sustained even in the Great Depression, and they are affecting library services in schools, college and university campuses and communities everywhere."

In California, Governer Davis has cut library funding in half. As if that's not enough, Davis has the grand idea of charging patrons to take out books. That goes against everything the public library is about.

It's been noted that when the economy goes down, public library usership goes up. Public libraries offer for free what some people would not otherwise get.

Who wants to live in a world without libraries? I never thought I would see the day when libraries and their services would be considered expendable.

What a shame.

(all links via Save Our Libraries)

the last word(s)

Just to clear things up:

I never meant to imply that the nominees themselves are flawed; only that the voting process is, and that some of the judges - not all - have acted in a truly revolting manner.

Besides, Choire sent me this today and I accept it without reservation and with tongue firmly planted in cheek:

bestblogger.jpg


That is all.

venezuela blog day

Today is Venezuela Blog Day.

From the people of Venezuela to the world:

The current Venezuelan Constitution is based on the following Simple Principle:

Power Resides in The People.

The People are asking for elections—That can't be undemocratic
The People are asking for freedom—That can't be fascist
The People are asking for peace—That can't be violent

Why is President Chavez afraid to listen to The People?

We are The People and we are asking for bread—not hunger
We are asking for solutions—not problems
We are asking for votes—not guns

Why doesn't the president hear us? What does he fear?

Elections in Venezuela, now!

From The People of Venezuela To The World

Read Venezuela's Liberty Blogs

analyze this

I dreamed last night I was on a playground, surrounded by kids dressed like the characters from Dick and Jane. Old time kids, with ancient hair cuts and patent leather shoes and girls wearing dresses instead of baggy jeans and half tops.

They were playing marbles on the blacktop, even the girls in their pretty pinafores kneeling on the dirty ground, their knees blackened and tiny little pebbles sticking to their skin. The boys would flick the marbles around and the girls would cheer.

They saw me standing there and stopped the game. I must have looked strange to them, dressed as I was in a football jersey and torn jeans, Converse All-Stars on my feet. I thought at first they were frightened, but then they gathered together and formed a circle around me, holding hand, skipping to the right and then to the left and singing:

I see London
I see France
I see Jamie's underpants

I looked around for Jamie, whoever he or she was, but didn't see any little kid crying at being singled out. And then the kids pointed to the sky.

The sky had darkened, not with clouds or rain, but with thousands of helicopters and planes. Here and there a flame would shoot across the sky like a comet, followed by a loud bang.

The kids circled me again. Skipped to the left. To the right. And sang.

I see Germany
I see France
I see Saddam's underpants

I giggled nervously and then joined hands with kids as we circle around a flagpole, the stars and stripes waving in a hot wind brought on by fire.

And then the damn alarm.

January 22, 2003

thanks, but no thanks

There's so much talk around the blogging world today about the bloggies and hardly any of it is good talk.

There's significant evidence that the voting is rigged. Judges themselves have stepped forward to say they got together with other judges to decide on who in their circle should win. One judge said that she didn't bother to read the blogs she didn't know and just voted for the ones she read regularly.

Please do not blame Nikolai, creator of the bloggies for anything untoward that has taken place. It is not his fault if judges get creative in their voting, or if they rig the whole process to favor their friends.

I don't know how I ended up in the mix. The only thing I can think of is that, because this site is pretty big in terms of hits per day, it's probably a recognizable name. And that's all.

Back in high school, I was voted most likely get arrested. Of course, it was all a fix by a friend who thought it was funny. And it was.

This isn't. This isn't even mildly amusing. It's an affront to people who were nominated deservedly, as well as an affront to people who did not make the finals and probably would have if the voting was done in a better manner.

I mean, it's a blog award. You're asking, why do she care so much? I just do. I don't want to win something that is tainted. I don't want to win something that by all rights should have gone to someone else.

And regardless of how the judging was done, I don't want to be a part of something that is causing so much anger, resentment and divisiveness amongst different circles of the blog world. Even if there wasn't a doubt as to the integrity of the judging, I would still be pulling out because I do not need the all negative vibes that have come my way just 24 hours after the nominations were posted.

I am withrdawing my name from the ballots. They can give my place to someone else, or just leave it blank. I don't care.

I do want to thank everyone who voted for me and I apologize that you have now wasted your time and a vote on me.

It's just the way it is. My mom always told me to play fair. And that's what I'm going to do. I thought this would be fun. I was wrong.

Back to your regularly scheduled blogging.

Joe $543.12

What could be better than Joe Millionaire? How about Joe $543.12? (blogspot archives - suprise! - not working)

NAY NAY: Sugah Testicles, how'd a simple country man like yourself evah get ahold of all that money?

EBBEN: My Deddy decided he didn't want no Vasectomy after all, so he give me all he scratched up towards it.

Someone get Kevin Parrot a job in television.

in the parking lot

A emailer wanted to know how much cock I sucked to get where I am today in the blogging world.

37. I sucked 37 dicks.

so very unsafe for work, small children and other living things with high moral values

Reminds me one of my most quoted Faith No More lines: I deserve a reward, 'cause I'm the best fuck that you ever had.

Bill has awarded me with quite the honor.
Not.Safe.For.Work. VERY not safe for work.

I am so freaking honored, I almost wet myself.

Click here if you want to see the award and you are alone.

This all led Bill (who is female, I should add) and I to come up with the idea for the American Idol of Blowjobs TV Show.

Use your imagination.

i'm a bad poet and I know it

Yes, another bad poetry contest.

Andrea discovered this piece of drek by Harold Pinter:

Here they go again, The Yanks in their armoured parade Chanting their ballads of joy As they gallop across the big world Praising America's God. The gutters are clogged with the dead The ones who couldn't join in The others refusing to sing The ones who are losing their voice The ones who've forgotten the tune.

The riders have whips which cut.
Your head rolls onto the sand
Your head is a pool in the dirt
Your head is a stain in the dust
Your eyes have gone out and your nose
Sniffs only the pong of the dead
And all the dead air is alive
With the smell of America's God.

Of course, I entered. I didn't go for stellar poetry. I just tried to take Pinter's meter and rhythm (sort of) and turn the words around:

An ode to protesters

Here they go again,
The skanks in their violent protest
Chanting their ballads of peace
As they gallop across the D.C. mall
Praising Amerikkka’s enemies.
The streets are clogged with the youth
The ones who always join in
The others prodding Saddam
The ones who are losing their clothes
The ones who've forgotten to shave
The dissenters have bricks which smash
Your mailbox rolls onto the street
Your litter is a pool of dirt
Your chants are a stain in air
Your fashion has gone out and your nose
Sniffs only the stench of the hippie
And all the deadheads are alive
With the smell of patchouli and pot

In addition to the poems posted at Andrea's, Emily has one posted, as does Tim Blair.

homework

My new friend Zander needs some help with a school history project. Basically, it's a public opinion poll on the impending war in Iraq.

Help Zander get a good grade on this project. It will just take a minute of your time.

Thanks.

speaking of fattening hamburgers....

The decision should have simply read:

Parents are responsible for their children, not fast food companies.

Three cheers to this judge for making the right decision instead of giving free reign to litigious crackpots to blame their ails on every segment of society except for themselves.

on my knees

This is the third year of the Bloggies and thus, I'm sure, the third year that people are bitching about the nominees.

Last year it was the Wil Wheaton backlash. Yes, I was part of that, mainly because Wil was nominated in every single category. I think he was even up for best Asian weblog.

I see that a few people are not happy with the nominees this year. Specifically, there are some people who are not at all happy with the inclusion of yours truly.
Laurence is pissed and Richard Bennett is boycotting the awards. Mr. Bennett also thinks that I run a pretty thin political blog and shouldn't have been nominated in that category. Then again, judging from Bennett's comments on Dawn's bloggie post, I don't think he really likes any of the nominees. Better luck next year, Richard.

Then there's Bruce the Anonymous, also on Dawn's blog who says:

Michele gave someone a slobbery knobscicle? I'd say more like 20 to land in the untouchable clique of little yellow different and the other high schoolers. Call me huge.pink.pissed off over this unvictory.

I think Bruce is just pissed because he wasn't on the list of people I needed to give blowjobs to in order to get nominated.

Basically, what I thought was a pretty neat thing to happen to me has progressed from something that made me smile to something that has made me feel cheap and meaningless. You can bet every god damn dollar you have that if Glenn Reynolds or Stephen Green or Ken Layne (all of whose blogs I read religiously) were nominated, half the people who are whining right now would not be doing so.

The blogosphere is bigger than your little corner of the world, people. Thousand of blogs out there - your clique isn't the only one in existence.

Yes, awards do tend to get silly and controversial and to most people, they mean nothing and may as well not exist.

I didn't nominate myself. I didn't whore myself out. I certainly did not give head for votes, as I save that favor for more important things.

But I will tell you this: If I win, I am going to be live via cam or whatever from my house to accept the award, and I'll be wearing Lara Flynn Boyle's pink tutu and ballet slippers and I will say something like "I'd like to thank all the dicks I sucked to get this award."

those damn yahoos

Is anyone else having problesm with Yahoo mail today, or do they just not like me?

If you sent me mail to my yahoo account today, please resend it to michele@asmallvictory.net so I can read it before it's six years old.

good wishes needed

Please, go over to Dean and Rosemary's blog and send your well wishes to Rosemary, who is in the hospital.

Dean and Rosemary are good people and could use our good thoughts.

burger wars

How much would you pay for a burger?

Expensive burgers are all the rage in New York now, and chefs are in an all out burger war to create the most mouth watering and, seemingly, the most expensive burger.

At $41, the Kobe burger at the Old Homestead steakhouse was the priciest cow sandwich in NY, until db Bistro Moderne (what a snobby name for a steakhouse) unvieled its $50 Burger Royale, which comes with shaved truffles.

These are not burgers. They are overpriced steak sandwiches. If I'm going to throw down 50 bucks for some meat, its not going to come on a bun with a side of fries. Hell, I could get a tasty filet mignon smothered with sauteed mushrooms and onions an nice glass of wine for less than the price of a Kobe burger.

Real burgers come from diners. They cost about 7 dollars and they are served on an oversized sesame seed bun with lettuce, tomatoes, onion rings and fries. If you're feeling daring, you add some cheese and bacon. Maybe a side of brown gravy for the fries. Add a chocolate egg cream to the mix and you've got the food of the gods right there in front of you for less than ten dollars. And, if you're in the proper kind of diner, you're sitting next to your own personal jukebox that's playing some long-forgotten rock tune from the 70's (most likely Foriegner) and your waitress calls you "honey."

That, my friends, is the burger experience. You do not eat burgers at stuffy restaurants with stuffier names and french chef who shaves truffles and probably has a white flag tucked into his pants, just in case of war.

ass kissing, ass baring, ass for peace: the whole ass post

Programming notes of the day:

I've updated the bloggies post to give mad props (as the kids say) to the people I love, adore, stalk and are most deserving of their nominations. Not to say everyone wasn't, but I tend to be partial to people whose wives I am having a steamy affair with.

Carnival of the Vanities #18 is up and running and Meryl (a bloggie nominee, by the way) has really outdone the rest of us CotV hosts by showing lots of ass. Well, you have to go see. My first attempt at protest porn is up there, as I am incredibly proud of that dubious feat.

January 21, 2003

wanna cyber?

So, this guy keeps emailing me and Bill asking if we want to cyber.

Maybe you should all go leave him some comments. I don't think he takes rejection too well.

bloggies

The finalists for the Bloggies are up.

I thought I didn't care about these awards but obviously I do because my heart went pitter-patter when I saw my site listed on three ballots.

I'm not excited about the awards, per se, but that people actually voted for me. [breaks out into Sally Field impression]

I'm in for best American weblog, but I'm up against two of my favorite people, Baz and Christine; best weblog about politics - and my vote is going to Charles for that one; and weblog of the year - the competition there is too steep for me to win and I am going to honestly say that old cliche - I am honored just to be nominated, especially in such company as the other finalists.

Congrats to everyone who made it to the final judging. I have some difficult choices to make.

I'm going to whore all my nominated friends tomorrow with proper links.

Some people may think it's silly for me to feel a certain amount of pride at being nominated, but when you've spent most of your life wanting to be a writer and have gotten nowhere and then people want to honor you for the words you write every day - well, it feels great. Thank you.

Now, I'm gonna go buy me some Bazima Wear.

I would like to send a hearfelt congratulations and kisses laced with good luck to the following nominees:

Bazima
Meryl for They Don't Get Blog
Jason for Blogrolling
Shauny
Lia
Francis
Dave
Mike
Rannie
Christine
Mikey
Chris
Choire and Philo
The Zilla
Blogcritics
Charles
Chris Pirillo
Shel for Blogwhore
The lovely Jill Matrix
Crazy Tracy
Kymberlie
Erika
Jay
Ciscley

Special thanks to Melly for calling me last night. It was so good to hear your sexy voice.

Pocket pool for peace

Now, if I was a peacenick, I suppose I would get into this movement:

Masturbate for peace: Touch Your Sack, Not Iraq.

Alternative mottos include:

Get peace fever, rub your beaver!
I'm going blind for Mankind
Don't enlist, use your fist!
You Can't Beat Off with Nuclear Arms

Who thinks I need to write more protest porn, this time with a self-love slant?

and the award goes to.....

And the winner of the Movie Name Game is....... (insert drum roll here)

Faith, for Sixth Sense and Sensibility: He sees dead English People.

Faith will be awarded a prize package including, but not limited to, the applause of a few hundred people, a sense of accomplishment, and a brand new shiny penny, circa 2003.

She also gets the grand prize of having her winning entry commemorated by the blogosphere's resident Stripcreator maven, Laurence Simon.

The Sixth Sense and Sensibility Comic

Thank you, Lair and thanks to everyone who entered. I haven't laughed this hard since the Simpsons quotes.

fear and loathing in san diego

I always thought the decision to have Hunter S. Thompson write a sports column was a bid odd. Still I read. And still, it gets odder by the column.

Now, I don't know if Hunter forgot to drop his acid today, or if he has just finally crossed that line between insanity and man-who-thinks-he-is-a-genius, but today's blatherings are blink worthy, even for a man of Hunter's offbeat way of thinking.

Satire? Comedy? The incoherent ramblings of a man who spent a little too much time drinking the Ted Rall flavored kool-aid?

So we should all take a nice long look at the Big Game on Sunday in San Diego -- because it may be the last one we'll see for a while, at least until the War ends ... Ho ho. That is a nasty thought, as thoughts go, but it is the melancholy truth. Certainly it will be the last peacetime Super Bowl for another five years, maybe more ... But by then we will all be wearing uniforms, of one kind or another, and only the "Trusted Travelers" among us will be allowed to come and go as we please -- within reasonable military limits, of course, as long as we don't make waves and never gather in groups of more than three, and don't spit.

From there it descends into something about leeches and the Raiders and military tribunals.

I can't figure out right now if I found that amusing or frightening or just incomprehensible. All I know is that tonight I will probably dream about leeches and pirates waging a fight to the death, winner-take-all-war at the Superbowl.

mmmm forbidden donuts

If I don't get some coffee and donuts, I'm not going to make it through the rest of this day.

Anyone deliver?

I'll take three Krispy Kreme glazed and a large, strong coffee, one Equal and milk.

I'm in beautiful downtown Hempstead.

gaze of death

A judge rules that the X-Men are not human and inadvertently causes me to repost an old entry.

Beware the gaze

Converstation of the day:

scene: Person visiting in my office. We are making small talk while he waits for a file.

Person: You have a very disconcerting habit.

Me: What's that?

Person: You don't look people in the eye when you are having a conversation with them.

Me: Eh, it's that whole "Gaze of Death" thing.

Person: hmmm?

Me: Yea. If I look at someone too long they burst into flames. Just a small, weird power I was born with.

Person: You're a....mutant?

Me: Mmhmm.

Person: So....how's Professor X?

Me: Doing good.

Person: Ok, send him my regards.

Me: Will do.

And once again, I evade a discussion about how I don't look at people when I talk to them.

(originally posted on October 23, 2001)

somebody's watching me...

I've been thinking about John Edward and the voices from beyond. Dangerous stuff, I know.

See, I'm wondering about all these dead people that are supposedly lurking around. If John Edward can really talk to the deceased, then why doesn't he put it to good use?

Ask Jesus what really happened back there with Pilate. Ask Kennedy if he knows who was after him. Resolve unsolved murders - just contact the victims and say "who did it?"

But that's not what really bugs me about this whole thing.

Say John Edwards really can talk to dead people. Say that voiced from beyond exist and they know everything that is happening in our lives, just like on the tv show.

Do they watch us go to the bathroom? Are they hovering around us all the time, my grandmother peering down at me as I go down on my husband, my dead aunts sadly shaking their heads as I let dishes sit in the sink for days?

And if they are around and want to help us so much that they reach out to some lonely schmoe from Long Island in an attempt to set us straight, why don't they do it more often?

Couldn't the ghosts of fashion idols from the past have whispered to Lara Flynn Boyle that she was making a huge mistake the other night? I'd like Ernest Hemingway or Mark Twain to sit down next to me and tell me what I'm doing wrong when I write. I want Washington himself to come over for dinner and help my son study for his test on the Revolution, and then Natalie could conjur up some spirits from the Crusades to help her out with her project.

We could straighten out all this mess with Christopher Columbus and find out which Menendez brother was really guilty get all those long-forgotten recipes from Aunt Rosa.

Unfortunately, it doesn't seem to work that way. The only voices from beyond that want to do any talking are the ones who have the least to say. Yea, yea we know Aunt Mary is watching over baby Johnny and we are real happy to hear that Mr. Rosenbaum was greeted by his mom when he died. I want the good stuff, the lies that people died holding onto, the buried treasure in someone's backyard, and whether or not Joey Ramone and Joe Strummer have started up a band yet.

And, of course, I want to know the answer to the burning question: if the dead are out there watching us, do they follow us into the bathroom? Do they watch us have sex? Do they get to have sex in the afterlife?

The hell with John Edward. We need a talk-to-the-dead psychic who is going to talk to the right people.

so is bush hitler or vader?

From NRO via John Hawkins:

Reesa Rosenberg, a Muslim from New Jersey, came to the nation's capital bearing a sign that read "Bush Is the Real Terrorist." "When it comes down to it, it's all for oil and global domination," she believes. "It's almost like Hitler." Rosenberg contends that people in the U.S. government had advance knowledge of the 9/11 attacks. "Another thing about 9/11 — the United States is like a stuck-up little bitch. They just do and take all of what they please. I mean, 9/11 was terrible, but it was the first terrorist attack on this country. It's like, 'oh, no!' Somebody broke the United States' nail, now the whole earth is going to blow up."

I was going to write a long response to this, but I don't even know what to say to someone who thinks like that.

It is not being isolationist or selfish to feel horror over what happened on that day. To compare it to breaking a nail - let's just say that if I had been in earshot of Ms. Rosenberg when she uttered that idiocy, I would have decked her.

Of course, the tin foil hat crowd was out in full force, too:

Bush "definitely knew in advance," remarked John Bostrom, who traveled to the march from Staten Island. "It was like when Hitler burned down the Reichstag." Why would the Bush administration refuse to act on its prior knowledge of the terrorist attacks? "What they want to do, basically, is build a worldwide planetary death machine that's technology driven, computer run, and hooked up to satellites that cover every square inch of the globe, and allows them to target and eliminate anything they want to wherever they want to," maintained Bostrom. "This is their plan. It's black and white. That's what they've been calling for. That's their strategy and they're obsessed by it."

Been there, done that, Mr. Bostrom. It's called a Death Star and Darth Vader showed exactly how it's done. First Iraq, next stop, Aalderan!

A table display exhorting passersby to defend North Korea's right to nuclear weapons or an activist who cheered in vain for a policeman to fall off a fire-escape ladder 30-feet above a Pennsylvania Avenue restaurant were typical of the happenings at this weekend's rally cast aside by too many reporters covering the demonstration.

Peace activists, my ass. They are nothing but a bunch of selfish, whiny, misguided, misled people who hate the country that they live in. I hear France is nice this time of year, guys. Why don't you head over there where your hate and rhetoric, your anti-semitims and hyperbole can really be appreciated? They hate America, too.

Oh, wait. That's Amerikka, right?

Idiots.

from the desk of saddam

According to news sources, Saddam is sleeping easy at night. He has that whole "don't worry, be happy" thing down to a science.

Said Saddam: "I sometimes can't sleep when there is an idea going around in my head that I haven't put on paper," Saddam said, "but I fall asleep as soon as I've got up to write it down."

Thanks to my inside sources, I was able to obtain a page from the notepad that Saddam keeps on his nightstand for that very purpose.

What the Iraqi leader thinks about at night:

saddamnote2.gif

January 20, 2003

and you were unhappy with the s&m guy?

Scott Ritter: hero to the left, friend of Saddam, pedophile.

what's the buzz

"I've got a bad feeling about this."

That's the quote that keeps running through my head all day. Just an underlying current of anxiety or fear - not mine, but more like a collective anxiety or fear. Something is a-brewing and it smells really rank.

There's been a low voltage buzz in my head all day. Either I'm a) picking up signals from space station; b) acting quite cat-like, in that cats generally know when something bad is going to happen or c) leaning in too close to the microwave when I'm waiting for it to beep and I've become radioactive.

Anyone else feeling it?

Go down a post or two and vote for your favorite movie thigamajigs that I never gave a name to.

lesson learned

School/work holiday today, so light posting. Lots of kids running around the house and an early dinner at Friday's with a whole gang of us and then I'll be back to regular posting tonight.

Meanwhile, try this on for size:

Anna walked around cleaning up the mall at D.C. yesterday after the hypocrite hippie slobs left. She took some pictures while she cleaned. Here's a medley:

hypocrisy.jpg


If you are going to stand around and preach your morals to everyone, try practicing what you preach. All you environmentalists for peace, look at the litter you left laying around yesterday. What happened to being kind to Mother Earth. And the Starbucks cup? Don't you guys think Starbucks is the epitome of the capitalist pig syndrome? How many trees died so you could make those signs? How much oil was used to ship those boxes. And styrofoam cups aren't even biodegradable.

Tsk. Tsk.

protest porn: where i try my hand in the satirical porn genre

Blame this on Kevin. When I wrote about the naked for peace people, he commented: "Man, if you can't get laid at one of these things, you're just not even trying." And then he made a call for protest porn:

What I don't want is your Personal Manifesto, or your heartwarming tale of sharing a moment of silence over a bowl of Tofutti. JUST PORN, PLEASE.

Alas, no one came forward. So, being the kind hearted soul I am and not wanting to see my dear friend disappointed, I offered to make up a story for him. He accepted the offer. And out of that comes:

Anarchists in Love - A soft-porn anti-war love story

(Rated NC-17 for nudity, bad social manners, anarchism and satirical porn)

It was a chilly day in San Francisco when Blaze set off for the rallies. She was wearing a "No Blood for Oil" t shirt and a short skirt made of the finest hemp. She had on nothing underneath. No bra, no panties, not even a reusable, environmentally safe panty liner.

Blaze was about to get naked for peace.

On the other side of town, a young man known only as Smash was on his way to the anti-war protests. He, too was ready to make himself vulnerable for peace by stripping down to his natural state. On his way to the rally, Smash voiced his rage against the corporate machine by knocking down several newspaper vending machines and smashing windows on bourgeouis coffee shops and department stores. The sound of breaking glass turned him on and his hard-on was evident throug his thin shorts as he inched his way towards the crowd.

Blaze felt her nipples get hard as she approached the throng of socialists all gathered together for peace. Rallies were such a turn on for her. Secretly, she hoped to turn the events of this day into a way for her to get laid. The last time she saw any action was at the Wal-Mart protest, when she had sex with a guy from Indymedia in front of everyone, to symbolize the unity of the cause.

Smash stood back from the crowd in order to scan the protesters for hot chicks. Hey, he was a rebel, he was a loner, but he was not without his needs. He realized that most of the women at this rally were not chicks he would normally take home to bed - he preferred his girls clean shaven - but he knew there would be some naive midwestern type girls here, all fresh and young and ready to strip for their cause. And then he saw her.


He spotted Blaze the moment she spotted him. Their eyes met and an electric current of lust flashed between them. At that moment, the leader of the Get Naked for Nuclear Disarmament program, Sunflower Rainbow, was at the microphone, counting down to the moment when the fearless among them would show the world, watching on C-Span, their goods. As Sunflower spoke, the music of Chumbawumba played in the background and when Sunflower finally counted down to one, the clothes started flying.

Women and men alike laid down on the cold ground, forming peace symbols with their nude bodies, dotting their i's with tits and crossing their t's with cocks.

As Smash slowly and seductively lifted his shirt off to reveal the Anarchist symbol tattooed on his chest, he looked straight at Blaze, who was already baring her ample breasts. Smash lowered his shorts, revealing a rather large, swollen cock and Blaze took off her hemp skirt, staring at Smash the whole time. They made their way towards each other, oblivious to the chants about oil and oppression and the price of a bottle of water at the merchant's stand.

As all around them entwined and cheered, forming an orgy of peaceful feelings, Smash and Blaze came together in a frenzy of lust, passion and a desire to rid the world of capitalist pigs.

"Let's do it for anarchy," Blaze whispered breathlessly.

"Let's do it for the children of Iraq," Smash mumbled in Blaze's ear.

Their breath was heavy, their chests heaving up and down as they explored each other's tender skin and unwashed hair.

Blaze laid prone on the ground, her legs spread and arms outstretched. "I am vulnerable for peace, I am vulnerable for you!" She screamed to Smash.


Everyone within hearing distance turned to watch as the two anarchists came together, Smash impaling her pussy with a frenzy he had not felt since the WTO riots in Seattle.

"Give me your weapon of mass destruction!!" Blaze screamed.

And Smash gave it to her, gave it to her good. They rolled around on the frozen grass to the wild applause of the protesters nearby. "Spill your oil on her!" They shouted. "Do it for Che!" Someone yelled.

As Blaze's pussy exploded with several orgasms, she had a vision of peace and love and happiness and she knew that she was being filled with the seed of Smash, the seed of a man who knew exactly what the world needed. She was in love, she was filled with joy and awash in a glowing light of the dreams of what could be in the future with her new Knight of Anarchy.

When she opened her eyes, the crowd had dispersed and Smash leaned close to her and said, "Next time I should come in your mouth, to signify how the Department of Homeland Security wants us to swallow all their bullshit."

Yes, Blaze was in love.

yes, there is a prize

I think after 150+ entries, we can move on to picking our favorite mixed movie.

After all, we do have a prize. Yes, dear readers, a prize. No monetary value, of course, but the fame it will bring you will be priceless. Really. Stop laughing.

Anyhow, the prize comes way of the comedic genius of Laurence Simon. As you all know by now, Laurence took my idea of comic blogging via stripcreator and ran with it, thus leaving me in the dust and leading everyone to believe that he invented the genre and.....nevermind. Off on a tangent there.

The winners will have their movie title/plot ideas immortalized in a comic strip by Laurence. Really, you can't do better than that. I'll post the strips here when all is said and done.

So go read the entries (you can still enter through the rest of today), decided what your three favorite movies are and leave your choices here in the comments. Vote only once, people. This isn't Chicago.

the message is the medium

You may be wondering how bin Laden has penned another screed if he's dead. Surely this proves he must be alive, you say. Well, he isn't. And please don't call me Shirley.

But......, you say.
Shhh. Read on for the real story.

TRANSCRIPT: CROSSING OVER WITH JOHN EDWARD, JANUARY 19, 2002

VOICEOVER: Welcome to Crossing Over with John Edward

John comes bounding out towards the audience, grinning and waving. Suddenly, he stops in his tracks as if he is getting a message from the great beyond. The audience quiets down as John slowly turns and stares at one general spot in the crowd.

JOHN (pointing): Over here....I feel something. Does anyone in this row recognize the letters OBL?

Several people shrug as they turn and look at each other. There is a man who is obviously wearing a fake nose/mustache/eyeglass combo - the kind you buy at the five and dime. He is looking downward. The person next to him - a man with a thick, dark mustache, is sticking his elbow in the disguised's man's ribs as if to prod him.

JOHN: Sir, you with the fake glasses. Do you recognize those letters, OBL? I sense the message is meant for you.
MAN: Never heard those letters! Don't know them!
MUSTACHE MAN: Yes! He does too know! (whispers to fake eyeglass man: Come on, Saddam, this is so COOL! Don't be a chicken!)
MAN: Shut up, you idiot!
JOHN: Hang on....he....I'm sensing he passed on with a great deal of mystery surrounding him.
MUSTACHE MAN: Yes!
MAN: Shhh!
JOHN: I see a cave. And....explosions...He wants you to know he's really dead this time. He says he needs your help.
MAN: Oh geez, not again!
JOHN: He wants you to take a letter.
MUSTACHE MAN: I've got a pen and paper right here!
JOHN: He says.....Muslims must wake from their deep sleep ... and stop being rivals and fire their arrows toward their enemies instead of themselves.

Audience sits in stunned silence.

JOHN: Hey, hey! OBL! I get it now.....

(thinking to himself) I could make millions off of this. I could be more famous than I am now...a new book....an appearance on O'Reilly...I could stop doing this stupid show every day...

JOHN (to the two men): Follow me!

Edward abandons his audience as he leads the two men to the green room for a private reading.

Now you know how a dead man keeps sending us messages.

January 19, 2003

and you can have it all...

Johnny Cash doing Nine Inch Nails' Hurt. (video)

If this does not bring tears to your eyes, you have no soul.

link from the amazing Bill.

raise your cup and let's propose a toast

Hey everybody, take a shot!


delink.gif

shot glass by Coop

clarification: The shotglass itself is from coopstuff. The photoshopping of the inscription was done by me. That is not a real glass! Though if Coop would make one for me I would probably have an orgasm on the spot.

how soon is now?

Mo' weapons, mo' problems.

And now it all turns into a lightbulb joke.

How many material breaches does it take for the U.S. to act on its word?

Eh, can't come up with a catchy punchline.

isn't she pretty, isn't she pretty in pink?

lara.gif

Lara Flynn Boyle does the press tour for her role in Pretty in Pink Flamingoes.

video games don't kill people, etc.

They're closing down internet cafes in Southern California because of violence breaking out among the youths hanging out at the cafes.

Video games have long been accused of sparking violence in youth, and now the hangouts where teens gather to engage in virtual violence online are under scrutiny.

They're blaming it on violent video games.

In Garden Grove, gang fights, baseball bat beat-downs, and even a deadly stabbing have occurred at cybercafes. Groups of teens playing violent games online, sometimes betting money on the results, and other gang activity around the cafes are primarily to blame, legislators say.

Key words: gang activity. If these kids were playing "Let's Hunt for Blues Clues," they would still break out in fights.

After one teenager was followed home from an Internet cafe before being shot and killed, and another boy was shot outside a cafe in Los Angeles, City Councilman Dennis Zine filed a motion for the Los Angeles Police Department to assess how many incidents have occurred, according to Kim Friedman, director of media relations for Zine.

"There are virtually no regulations on cybercafes in Los Angeles and that's the problem," said Zine. "We need to find out what rules and restrictions will be appropriate so we can maintain safety and it's all about safety.

Hey, here's an idea. Why don't you control the crime taking place outside of the cafes, like...on the streets? Why regulate cybercafes? What about any place that has arcade games in it, like movie theaters or pool halls?

If it's all about the safety, crack down on gang activity because it seems like that is the basis for this problem, not violent games.

Gangs are not born out of video games. Have you ever seen a gang called the Vice City Crips? The Everquest Bloods?

Gangs are made on the streets and then they move in to wherever they can find trouble. Take care of the gang problem, you take care of the violence in the cybercafes.

shall we play a game?

I said we would play a game today, and so we shall. No, it's not called Global Thermonuclear War.

But it does have to do with movies. (And this idea is obviously not original. I played it on someone's site about two years ago).

What you do is you take two movie titles that share a common word and put them together. For instance, American Beauty and Beauty and the Beast. Together, they make American Beauty and the Beast. Sure, sounds easy enough, except you have to come up with a plot line, too. Other examples are When Dirty Harry Met Sally or A Few Good Men in Tights. Get it? Good.

Depending on how many submissions there are, I may turn it into a prize-winning contest.

To quote our favorite singer, "All I wanna do is have some fun."

So...two movies. One Title. Plot. And if you can get more than two movies in there and make it work, go for it.
Have fun.

I'll put mine up here as I think of them.

Funny Girl, Interuppted
Babs suffers a nervous breakdown when she realizes no one is paying attention to her.

Veggie Tales from the Crypt
Trilogy of horror stories about animated veggies that preach satanism.

Mrs. Doubtfirestorm
Howie Long in drag

what kind of fool?

I've been asking this question of the far left for a while: What is your solution for obtaining peace?

And now we know the answer. You obtain peace through violence, of course.

(And yes, I am aware that the people forming the "Black bloc" were part of a well planned, well organized break off the more peaceful march. This is addressed to them and the people who believe in that way of protesting and the people who think A.N.S.W.E.R. is the....answer.)

Wait, isn't that what they are protesting? The use of force to get the end result of peace? How interesting that these protesters think that defying the police, breaking the laws and destroying public property is just fine and dandy when it's for their own cause.

The high point of the demonstration was in attacks on the building that houses the Federal government's Immigration and Naturalization Service. Numerous windows were broken and a cement pylon and a newspaper box were thrown through the INS building's glass front doors.
As they moved along, more and more newspaper boxes were knocked into the street, and through the windows of a Starbucks and a Victoria's Secret. The energy built up as protestors chanted "What do we want? CLASS WAR! When do we want it? NOW!" and "What do we want? PEACE! How we gonna get it? REVOLUTION!"

You get it now? Don't you see how drawing grafitti on a lingerie store will bring about peace? No? Neither do I.


Here we see the red flag brigade destroying the front of the INS building with their anarchist symbols.

Yes, I'm sure that MLK, whose name and ideals you co-opted for your protests yesterday, would be so proud of your destruction and violence.


lies1.gifWhat was that about supporting the soldiers? You support the troops, but not the war? Pray tell, what does this mean?

Of course, when the vandals were arrested (and resisted the arrest, ensuing a minor struggle), the protesters cried out No Fair!

Comment on Indymedia:

i thought it was illegal to attack people in the street and beat them? i cant believe those charges. they are way overboard. hopefully theyll get reduced and dropped. and they will get out unscathed.

fuck the legal system and the laws. we want our freedom!

Gee, I thought it was illegal to spray paing buildings and break windows. You want to circumvent the legal system and the laws to get your point across? This just proves how idiotic you people really are. Laws are fine when they work in your favor, but when they get in the way of your violent march for peace, all of a sudden you want to fuck the legal system and the laws. What freedom do you want, oh wise one? Freedom to destroy? Freedom to vandalize?

Fortunately, you do not have those freedoms here. And you will get arrested if you do those things. However, this being a relatively free country, you certainly have the freedom to be a raging asshole in public and boy, have you carried that one out in spades.

Saddam thanks you all for your support.

(all pictures taken from Indymedia)

And now, I vow to take a break from politics today. It's going to be all fun, fun fun!!

break windows for peace!

Does no one see the irony in what is billed as a March for Peace including acts such as smashing windows and graffitting the SF Chronicle, British Consulate, CitiCorp, the INS building, Starbucks, and Victoria's Secret?

Much more on this later, after I've had several cups of strong coffee.

January 18, 2003

scumdogs of the universe

It looks like we all misjudged Sheryl Crow. Apparently she wasn't saying "War is not the answer." Her jacket was just covering up the extra letter the whole time.

gwarcrow.gif


I think it was this song she had in mind when she made her sequined shirt:

I at the time was a communist Lived on a collective farm She was a part-time anarchist Our sex went off like a bomb Living the life of a terrorist Looking for the man Saddam, Who gave me a gun as Iran to the sun If you die like a dog then you are then you are Saddam They shall drown in their own blood! Hail Saddam a go-go! Going to Saddam a go-go Everybody is there Business of strange bed fellows Makes you dance around like a bear Ein, Schwein, kick him in the eye Teamed up with the Asian eye They were the ones Who could rise with the sun As they lived in their planes And they died [repeat a lot!] How they died... Hail! The running paper tiger chases its own tail Hail Saddam a go-go He was someone who was there for people like me Hi there Saddam, loved the party Yes they're all here with me Bloody Saddam Loves you always, always a kick Bloody Saddam Even though the smell is making me sick As we sit on our roofs And cheer as your scuds fall like rain Here at the ancient ziggaraunt Saddam is presiding there Running around with a saxophone Where is the president, where? Here it comes, the black tornado Let's have a cheer for Sarajevo If you survive what falls out of his mind You'll make the political world

Me, I've always determined that Gwar is the answer for some things.

Thanks to Fredo for the revelation.

note from the editor

Hey people? From now on, if you are going to take me off your links list, just do it. Please don't send me an email detailing all the ways in which I have disappointed you. If you don't mind, I'd rather not read your thesis on why I am a terrible person.

I don't care about the reasons because frankly, I am through apologizing for who I am and what I believe. If this weblog has changed over the past two years, it's because I've changed. If you'd rather not link to it, then don't. Don't send me a press release about it if all it's going to say is what an ass I am.

I don't know what the hell you people want from me, anyhow. I can't bring things back to the way they were because I am not that person anymore. More has changed than my politics. If you recall, I've taken care of some neurological needs, medicinally speaking, and that had a lot to do with getting me where I am now. Guess what? I like it here.

This is the last thing I am ever going to post on the delinking subject. I would appreciate it if everyone who has been thinking about taking me off their links list or sending me an email about how much you agonized over the decision or how you can no longer view me as a friend because I don't think the exact same way and therefore you can't read my site anymore or how you read my site but don't want to link to it because for some stupid fucking reason you think that means you must be promoting my agenda - (deep breath) - then please just do it now and get it overwith delink me, write me a lenghty discourse about it, publicly announce it on your blog, so I can be done with all this nonsense.

Fuck you and goodnight.

you talking to me?

Bill says I'm a two-bit whore.

Please go over there and tell him how wrong he is.

I'm worth three bits, at the very least.

rally roundup

Lee of Right-Thinking went to the San Fransisco rally and took some pictures.

Especially revealing was the sign that said "I want you to die for Israel." I know I came away from the live coverage thinking there was a definite feeling of anti-semitism in full force at the rallies.

Glenn has a very revealing picture of the "peace loving" protesters carrying a rather mean spirited sign.

The Bitch Girls report that ANSWER has scheduled a "massive" rally for New York City on February 15. They have a lot of nerve scheduling protests on my daughter's birthday. I guess we'll skip the city that day, which was on our list of possible ways to celebrate her 13th. I don't want to deal with Long Island Young Punk Socialists on the train. More on those February rallies another day.

Bitter Bitch has some stellar commentary on today's rally. It looks like my vision isn't skewed at all, like an emailer said to me today. BB saw the same exact things I did.

Juan Gato gets into the flow of the day with some haiku.

Do you people think I'm talking out of my ass when I say Saddam appreciates the efforts of the protesters? "President Saddam Hussein (news - web sites) hailed worldwide anti-war demonstrations Saturday and said the protests showed that Iraq had international support for standing up to the United States."

Anna the Bunny took some pictures and regales us with smarmy commentary.

I reiterate my stance that this was not a rally. It was a giant recruiting station for ANSWER. Kids, you are being duped.

onward

I watched the speeches until the repetiveness of them put me to sleep. But I was left to wonder one thing; wasn't this supposed to be a rally against going to war with Iraq?

As speaker after speaker approached the stage, I heard a lot of talk about the poor and racism and free Palestine. I heard about welfare and homelessness and the unemployment rate. I heard, over and over again, how Bush is a bad, evil man, how the real axis of evil lies right there in D.C., how much Amerikka sucks.

Not once did I hear the words Saddam or Hussein mentioned. I didn't even hear the word disarmament. I heard the ramblings of actors and actresses and professional protesters who used their pulpit to evangalize about their agendas and close with a half-hearted chant of No War in Iraq in case you forgot why they were supposed to be there.

I heard a word or two about peace, but it was in reference to Palestine. I certainly did not hear any alternative solutions to the possible war. I didn't hear anyone give ideas on how peace can come about.

I saw signs that depicted Bush as the devil, a terrorist and a shrub. I saw the obligatory No Blood for Oil signs, the Get out of Iraq signs and the Not in My Name signs.

So was this an anti-America rally or a pro-peace rally? Was it just a big publicity stunt/fundraiser for A.N.S.W.E.R. or was it an anti-war demonstration? Had I not known ahead of time what I was watching, I would never have assumed it was a protest against the war in Iraq. I would have assumed that it was a large group of people who despised their country. And I would have wondered what they were still doing living here if they cannot find anything good about it.

To address some comments, I did not explicitly state that everyone who is against military action in Iraq do not support our armed forces.

But I've been to enough pro-peace websites and I've been to one too many forums of the anti-war crusaders and I've heard it all. Our soldiers are assasins, baby killer, murderers for hire. They are stupid, gullible and brainwashed. Perhaps I should have stated more clearly that I think the majority, but not the whole of, the anti-war movement feels this way.

And about the phrases anti-war and pro-peace. Nobody is against peace and nobody is really pro war. They are catch-all phrases that perhaps do not speak the intricacy of what they really mean.

I don't like war. War is ugly, war is deadly, war is costly. But war, often times, is necessary. If it were not for war, think of where we would all be now. Think back to 1700's and work your way up and tell me what kind of country we would be in right now if we never fought for our beliefs or used might and power to take down tyranny; if we never stood up for those who could not go it alone.

I do think Saddam is dangerous. I do think he would not hesitate to use whatever weapons he has to destroy us. I do think he has supplied al-Queada with money and/or weapons and I do think, in the deepest part of my soul, that Saddam was grinning on the morning of September 11, 2001. I think I cannot in good conscience trust a man who pays off terrorists that kill innocent men and women and children. I cannot trust a man who kills his own people daily, who has no sense of human rights, who will starve children to death and think nothing of it.

I believe we can change the world. Not through protests or speeches, not through anarchy or socialism or turning on our own and calling each other terrorists for the cars we drive. We can change the world by changing the way countries like Iraq are run. When Iraq falls, Iran's leadership will fall, too. It will be a start towards freedom around the world.

But that is just my opinion, which does not matter one iota in the long run. The fact is, we are most certainly going to war. I am not going to question that decision because I think it's the right one.

What I will not do is stand around and decry the motives of our government while my relatives and neighbors are being shipped overseas. I am not going to let the leader of the country we are about to go to war with look at his satellite tv and see me waving in a sign that, in all essence, supports him.

I will wish our troops luck. I will think of them daily. And I will hope for the best.

You say give peace a chance, but you don't tell us the way to attain that peace. You say war is not the answer, but you don't tell us what is.

It's easy to make up chants and go along with the crowd and despise everything your country stands for. I would have more respect for you if you came up with some viable alternatives for making this world safe.

the answer is....

I'm watching live coverage of the demonstrations on C-Span. I know that somewhere within these speeches lies a great drinking game.

Right now someone is holding up a bucket with A.N.S.W.E.R. written across it. He wants that bucket filled with money - not just money but paper money - after it's passed around the crowd.

Just so you know what ANSWER stands for look no further than this mouthful of a URL:www.authoritarianopportunistswhocozyuptogenocidaldictators-forpeace.org (thanks to Instapundit for the link):

International A.N.S.W.E.R. is a post-9/11 creation of the International Action Center, one of many front groups for the Workers World Party.

Read it all. Click the links. I'm sure thousands of the people that are right now chanting "Impeach Bush!" as they put their dollar bills in that ANSWER bucket have no idea where that money is going to.

Whose peace do these demonstrators want? I'm beginning to think it's not ours.

in my name

counterprotest1.gifAs busloads of would-be socialists head out to protest military action against a dangerous regime, our troops our being deployed.

Mothers, daughters, husbands, fathers, sons, lovers, sisters, brothers and friends are making their way across the ocean in order to protect the world from tyranny, to free a people from the grip of a madman, to make the world safe for everyone; even for those who profess to hate the country they live in, yet reap the benefits of it.

The greatest benefit you get from living in the United States of America is the freedom to disagree with your government. That freedom comes at a price, that freedom comes hard fought and not without its share of tears and pain and death.

Since this nation was formed, countless numbers of soldiers have died so we can live free. Your friends and neighbors have fought valiantly to procure our liberty and that of other countries. Today's war brings tomorrow's liberties.

As the protesters converge on Washington, D.C. and San Fransisco and points in between, as they raise their fists in defiance and pledge their support to opposing the necessary force needed for the removal of a very dangerous man and his regime, the rest of us will be thinking of our soldiers as they head out to do their job; the job that gives those protesters the very right to raise their fists in defiance.

This is my counter protest.


(Thank you to Vincent Ferrari for allowing me to use the words from his petition in making this image)

when i say happy, you say.....

A friend is someone who tolerates your procrastination to the point that he still loves you even though a year has passed since you promised to send him the package with Optimus Prime and Filler Bunny and all the Zim episodes.

Happy Birthday, Dave. You're a great friend.

To my readers who are not Dave: If you have never read Dave's blog before, you should. He has a wicked sense of humor, great taste in horror movies and is so smart that it hurts my brain to talk to him sometimes. Go look around his place, say happy birthday to him and tell him I sent you.

some run on thing about the bands i've seen

So maybe I didn't get drunk, but between the pixy stix and the Mountain Dew and Justin's need to make coffee that's strong enough to keep you awake for six days, I've been flying all night.

We have digital cable. The last 40 or so channels are devoted to digital music - 40 stations of varying genres and they list the song and artist and relevant facts about them.

We play this game. I turn away from the tv and Justin flips through the music channels and I have to guess the song. I realized tonight that I know the lyrics to way too many songs. I'm talking everything from Mitch Miller to Jay Z. And I think I freaked my poor husband out when I knew all the words to The Defranco Family's Heartbeat is a Love Beat, which he knew only from it being referenced in Resvoir Dogs.

So all that led to the discussion of how many bands I've seen in my lifetime. I'm figuring roughly between 300-400. I could never sit here and name them all as some of those bands (anyone remember Split Enz?) have come and gone and I only remember they existed when we play the "flip through the music channels" game.

My first concert was David Cassidy. I screamed like a little girl because, well..I was a little girl. I saw Kiss after that and I screamed like a shrilly teenage girl in love because....yea.

I fell asleep at a BTO concert. I started at David Lee Roth's crotch during a Van Halen concert. During REM, I had on my headphones because the Yankees were playing the Mariners in a playoff game.

The scalper I bought Grateful Dead tickets from got busted right after he sold them to me. I got caught selling shirts outside of a Rush show. I went to see Marshall Tucker in the middle of an ice storm.

I saw Twisted Sister at an amusement park before they ever had a record contract and I saw Joe Jackson play in a movie theater. I saw Bill Nelson, a musical genius, in some dive in Roslyn and it's one of the shows I will never forget.

I saw Local H open up for Stone Temple Pilots, and they grabbed some kid out of the audience to play drums for them. I saw Missing Persons on my birthday one year, and the next year on my birthday saw Echo and the Bunnyment.

I saw Billy Bragg open for someone at the Beacon Theater and was completely blown away by his performance. I threw up all over the seats at a Neil Young concert and I spent most of the Emerson, Lake and Palmer concert in the bathroom.

I know I saw Genesis at Madison Square Garden on July 31, 1978. I have no idea why I remember the date or that we saw The Hobbit at some huge theater in the city that day.

I passed out on the train on the way home from seeing Foghat, missed my stop and ended up in Ronkonkama.

I saw Warren Zevon in that same small night club in Roslyn, and that's where I also saw Split Enz and NRBQ on one new year's eve.

I saw Men Without Hats as well as several other popular bands of the time (I'm pretty sure one of them was Madness) at some club called Spit that I used to frequent back in the day.

I saw John Mellencamp open up for the Kinks and went to more U2 shows than I care to remember, the first one in this little place called Malibu, when Boy first came out. I've seen Johnny Cash and Bruce Springsteen and Jackson Browne and Megadeth.

And that System of a Down show, where Serge called Christopher Columbus a cocksucker and the Primus show where we ended up leaving because the crowd was one big collective asshole. The Fear Factory show where I kicked someone in the balls in the pit and that night I went with my sister to see Incubus and we walked back to Penn Station in the pouring rain.

Some all day concert with Hot Tuna and the Grateful Dead and a bunch of bands I don't remember and another all day concert with Ultravox and Magazine and some other bands I don't remember.

The first Family Values tour where Ice Cube was by far the greatest performer on the bill. The Ramones at the Mini Cinema, a tiny theater where they used to show Rocky Horror and Oingo Boingo cartoons on the weekend and 3D horror movies during the week.

Nick Cave, last year. Still the best ever.

I think the sugar rush just crashed on me.

VHI is showing this Arsenio special now. They're showing a clip from when Radiohead was on. Man, Thom York could have been Morrisey during those years.

I think y'all had enough of me tonight. I know I have.

Oh, wait...Elvis Costello totally rocked live.

January 17, 2003

it will be anarchy!

From Indymedia:

Despite Poor Image, Anarchism Is Catching On Among Young Activists Disillusioned With Capitalism

Brien Gartland goes "Dumpster diving" every day for his food. He raids the garbage bags outside gourmet groceries looking for slightly bruised mangos, unopened containers of rice pudding and the like.

Known as "Deadbolt," the bearded 21-year-old sleeps in a vacant building and refuses to get a job because he's disillusioned with capitalism and Western democracy, systems he believes exploit the poor and give power to the elite.

Gartland is an anarchist. He views government or any hierarchical structure as coercive and ultimately undemocratic.

Wow. You must be very proud of yourself, Deadbolt. You have learned to live like the animals in the forest, foraging for food and a place to sleep.

Except Deadbolt isn't a woodland creature. He's a human being who is perfectly happy being an unproductive member of society.

In my world, we call this slacking. In Deadbolt's world, it's call a political statement.

Difference? My world is based in reality.

I'm sure when Mr. Deadbolt is 40 years old and still eating scraps out of garbage cans and sleeping in cardboard boxes, he'll look back on what he's done with his life and he'll be so damn proud of himself. And anarchy will still be a small, irrelevant movement limited to those who want to be professional slackers.

Once a naive fool, always a naive fool.

i bent my wookie!

I'm having so much fun over in the Simpsons quotes post. I just posted all my favorite Ralph Wiggum quotes. I can't stop laughing. In fact, I think I just shot wacky juice out of my nose.

Join us. Assimilate.

I've been outed

I got a great email today from reader Michael:

Lets see,

"fly the pig, gir!" Invader ZIM ... check ...

The Filler Bunny strip. More Jhonen Vasquez... check ...


"So DJ was watching the Charlie Brown Great Pumpkin video **(it's always
Halloween around here)** and it got me thinking." Every Day is Halloween, by
Ministry, perhaps? check (maybe) ...

The Lenore gif at top right. Roman Dirge. check ...

"I just about wet my pants when I read this. I have a VHS version of
Neverwhere, but it is a really crappy copy and I have yet to watch five
minutes in a row without getting a headache from the lines on the screen.
This is the best news I've heard all day." Big-time Neil Gaiman fan. major
check ...

"As much as I pontificate here about having been a disco-hating punk rocker
in the late 70's..." Former or oldskool punk. check ...

"I'm an atheist..." Alternative belief system (or lack thereof). check ...

"That Stephen Bennet is a spokesperson for Concerned Women of America, a
homophobic group if there ever was one; one that uses quotes around the word
gay as if it weren't a real word." Accepting of alternate sexuality (go,
you). check ...

"claims that I am a paranoid schizophrenic with borderline antisocial
behavior, prone to narcissistic fits of histrionics while being avoidant,
dependent and obesssive-compulsive." Interesting collection of mental
conditions. big check ...

"Continue to have gratuitous sex tinged with violence." Penchant for Pain as
Pleasure. serious check ...

"Loving you is like loving the undead" (play on the lyrics to a) Type O
song. check ...

Conclusion: MICHELE IS A CLOSET GOTH! You've been outed, baby!

He's got me. But let it be known, I was goth before anyone knew what it was. Back in the 70's I dressed in all black and wrote poems with phrases like:

My world is darker than the blackest night
and
My heart is a tomb of pain; my soul is a cavern of despair.

Seriously. I wrote that.

I still wear all black, but I stopped writing those silly poems. Now I just write odes to hot dogs:

i think that i shall never eat
a substance more devoid of meat
than the hot dog i ate last night
but damn, i did eat every bite.
and when i was done i ate another
so did my sister and my mother
i would have gone for three or four
if there had been any more.

hot dogs are the food of gods
despite the arteries they clog
in the oven, on the grill
floating in a watery swill
mustard (yellow), saurkraut
that's what summer's all about
pile them high upon the plates
don't talk to me about nitrates

no turkey, tofu, chicken filler
real meat hot dogs are what's killer
so please don't call me a big ol' meanie
when i won't share my all-beef weenie.


Yea, I know. Don't quit my dayjob.

viggo my precious, this is what you really mean..

Poor Viggo. So unenlightened. So unaware. I guess he's been hanging out with Sheryl Crow, because he was seen recently wearing this shirt: (as seen at Sean Kirby's place)

viggoui.gif

I thought to myself when I saw this, "Self, the shirt really isn't conveying the message Viggo wants to get out to his fans. Let's fix it up."

So I did:

viggohug.gif


I think that gets the point across much better.

And I think it's time to make some comic strips.

and it's 1,2,3,4, that naked woman looks like a whore!

I wish there was an anti-war protest on Long Island tomorrow. I would be there all day, heckling and wearing my "No Blood for Liberation" t-shirt.

I just got an email from someone with the words to "Give Peace a Chance" written over and over again.

And then at the end was what I assume to be a poem written by the emailer:

We will sing and we will shout
no blood for oil, is what we're about
and when we're tired we'll march some more
cause we don't want your bloody war

Maybe he wanted me to grade it?

D- buddy. That was piss poor. Try again, ok?

Ok, so I'm going to write some chants of my own, so I can drive around and look for protesters and then chant things out the window of my eeeeeeevil SUV, while eating a nice meaty hamburger and smoking my air-polluting cigarettes and wearing Nike sneakers, cause that really pisses them off.

I just need something simple, a one or two line slogan to shout at people.

Oh, who am I kidding? Long Islanders are too busy being full of themselves to stage any protests.

Hey, let's have a blogging counter-protest tomorrow. No, I have not put any thought into that. I'm just thinking out loud.

Man, this drink is really good. It goes down like candy.

I'm going to hate you in the morning, Juan.

*this has been part of the great big wacky juice blogging experiment. the author will not take any responsibility in the morning for what appears on this site tonight.

hey chuck!

I have a feeling I'll be spending a good portion of the night blogging about this weekend's anti-war naked women no blood for oil fests.

First up, Chuck Simmins:

But... but... it's about oil.

Duh! So? If the world oil prices fall after Saddam is ousted, why is that bad? I like being warm and having the lights come on when I flip the switch. Why should I pay high oil prices so that Saddam can live in a palace? Falling oil prices are a good thing.

I like Chuck. Even though he put two L's in my name.

Whoa, when did Chuck, one of my favorite commenters, get a blog? Oh, today! Welcome to the blogospher, Chuck. The Kool-aid is good, ain't it?

yea, it's wacky alright

I've only just begun....

wackyjuice.gif


It's kind of fizzy. Almost tastes like liquored up pop rocks.

wacky juice

In about half an hour, the kids head off to their dad's for the weekend. And then, as soon as dinner and some other things are taken care of, I am going to engage in an experiment.

Last week, Juan Gato told me about a drink called umm...wacky juice or something like that. It's made of vodka, mountain dew and pixy stix. Sugar and alcohol - a combination made in hell.

After I've consumed enough to give me a decent buzz/sugar rush, I'm going to to do some blogging and comic strip blogging. Could be interesting. If, like me, you have no desire to go out on a Friday night when it's colder than John Kerry's welcoming committee in Dubuque, you may want to stick around and keep me company.

Anyone care to join me in this daring drinkfest?

helpful hints for ordering chinese take out

No matter how delectable and tasty something called shrimp toast sounds, it's not.

Unless, of course, you like bread dipped in grease. Then go for it.


You know what I hate? When I go leave a comment on someone's blog and I come back and find out they left a comment on my blog at the same time. That's just creepy.

chug it!

I have a new drinking game. Every time Michele gets delinked, you throw back a drink. Something with tequila preferred.

We're up to two in the last three days. At this rate you'll all be drunk by Monday.

Bottoms up!

Remember as far as anyone knows, we're a nice normal family

Best news I've heard all week:

simpsons.jpgFox has renewed The Simpons through 2005! Woohooo!

I know, right now a bunch of you are thinking, big deal, Simpson jumped the shark ages ago. It's not funny anymore. To you I say, EAT MY SHORTS!

I guess it's time for another round of "What's your favorite Simpsons quote." Go ahead, you know you want to.

think

This is a big weekend for anti-war activists.

As Saddam gives bloviating speeches about our troops facing suicide at the gates of Iraq, thousands will gather across this great land of ours, getting naked for peace, waving cardboard signs and chanting 30 year old slogans.

They want liberation without war. I ask them, how do you suppose we do that? Walk up to the palace and say "come out with your hands up?" It should be apprarent from Saddam's speech yesterday that he will not go down without a fight. I think exile is out of the question, as is any peaceful means of negotiation.

And what of those empty warheads from yesterday? They were empty, you say. Yes, they were. But I'll bet you your "war is not the answer" shirt that they weren't going to be empty for long.

So as the anti-war protesters stand out there this weekend, talking about the oooiilll and making impassioned pleas to solve everything over a few drinks with Saddam, Christopher Hitchens would like them to think about a few things:

Have you, or your friends, recently employed the slogan "No War for Oil"? If so, did you listen to what you were saying? Do you mean that oil isn't worth fighting for, or that oil resources aren't worth protecting? Do you recall that Saddam Hussein ignited the oilfields of Kuwait when he was in retreat, and flooded the local waterways with fire and pollution? (Should I patronize the potluckistas, and ask them to look up the pictures of poisoned birds and marine animals from that year?) Are you indifferent to the possibility that such a man might be able to irradiate the oilfields next time? OF COURSE it's about oil, stupid.

And on he goes. If you are one of those "potluck peacenicks" you should really read the essay. It's an eye opener. But I won't hold my breath. Those of you that are in line to parade around in your birthday suit or quote Noam Chomsky this weekend are never the kind to look at all sides of an issue. Nor are you ever the kind to think there's another view besides yours.

Of course in this country, unlike Iraq, you have the right to gather in large groups and chant and protest and call your own government all the silly names you like.

While you are waving your signs and giving the finger to the cops, someone in Iraq is being tortured for speaking out.

While you are parading around naked because you want to be "vulnerable for peace," a woman is being stoned because her head wasn't covered properly.

While you are indoctrinating your children into the anti-war movement, Iraqi children are starving to death in dank prisons because their parents were deemed a threat to Saddam's regime.

Think about that. What exactly are you opposing? What do you think can be accomplished in Iraq without military action? Do you think the children in those prisons are thanking you for telling the U.S. to stay away from their country? Do you think the brilliant women who are scrubbing floors instead of finding cures for diseases thank you for keeping the troops at bay? Do you think the men who are being dipped in vats of acid for opposing Saddam's views thank you for passing anti-war resolutions?

Think again.

When you're having your anti-capitalist program this weekend, think about how much money the anti-war movement spends on ads.

When you are off to Iraq to become a human shield, think of who exactly you are defending and how you are spitting in the faces of the neighbors, family members and citizens of this country who defend your right to public displays of anti-Americanisms.

Enjoy your weekend. I hope it rains.

damn the snooze button

Woke up late - with headache - no time to blog, have to scrape ice off car after I scrape kids out of bed. Blogging will have to wait until later.


At least it's Friday. There's always that.

January 16, 2003

I got it I got it! I know your damn words, alright

Blah blah blah, another article on how SUV drivers are morally impugnant. Yea for you, Mark Morford. I bet you are just the height of morality, eh?

I was going to pick the article apart but I just can't be bothered when someone who considers himself a journalist calls President Bush Shrub.

Now, I've called the president a few names in my time. And I have no problem with bloggers or some guy on the street doing the little juvenile name calling bit.

But come on, if you consider yourself a journalist (oops, I almost put the word respected in there), you end up looking like an absolute moron when you use that tired moniker.

Shrub. Hahahah I get it! Shrub! Look at me, I'm a journalist at a big liberal paper and I'm calling the president a name that some fifth grader probably came up with!! Where's my pulitzer?

This guy should be writing captions for Ted Rall's juvenile art.

Thanks to SUV driver and katana bearer Dick for the link

(Bonus points for the title reference)

the empty bleachers

The Green Machine Girls are 2-0 and the win was doubly satisfying - the opposing coach is my co-worker and I can gloat to him all day tomorrow.

It's sad to see empty stands at a kids basketball game. Every week it's the same parents and siblings who sit there and cheer. The other parents drop the kids off and make a quick run to the gym or the video store. The games last 45 minutes, tops. You can't make the effort to stay and watch your daughter play? Even my ex - if he shows up to watch Natalie at all, he stays for fifteen minutes or so before ducking out the side door.

I can see it in the faces of the girls when the mother says she's just going to run a few errands and she'll be back to pick her up, or when the father says he's got to run home and make a few phone calls. The kids look dejected, but they never say a word.

Some day these parents will be wishing they took the time to stay at the games. 45 minutes is not a whole lot to ask.

through the hoops

My Green Machine Girls (we're not even green, but more of a teal, however the ref feels funny yelling "Teal Ball!") have their second game of the season tonight. We had a long break due to winter recess and then a bye last Thursday.

We are 1-0. I have to say, these girls can pretty much coach themselves. I just stand there and yell things like hands up! and spread out!

This is a P.A.L. league. Natalie is trying out for the school team on January 22. This is going to be a major trauma for her. 150 girls try out. Only 15 or so make it. Natalie's major shortcoming is her lack of height. What she does have going for her is she wants to be a point guard and most of the girls want to be prolific scores. She has great defense skills and a fierce determination, but she lacks the scoring skills that most of the girls have.

This is all she wants to do. She wants to be a pro basketball player some day (as well as an author, teacher and shopping cart attendant at Target). She already has the intentions of going to college at Hofstra and playing on the women's team.

If I brace her for not making the team, will she sense failure ahead and not try as hard? If I don't brace her for not making the team, am I setting her up for disappointment?

Ah, the perils of being a parent. This stuff was not in the handbook. Someone needs to revise that thing. Changing diapers and knowing how to strip band-aids off painlessly does not even cover the half of it.

VRWC: Nothing but a Nigerian scam

Talk about scam span. I received a letter from the head of the VRWC:

Dear Sir,

I got your contact from a nice young Democratic activist who we kidnapped
and forced to work in one of the secret "Bush oil wells" in the "no-fly
zones" in Iraq.

I am John Hawkins, a nephew of Henry Kissenger, the current head of Security
for the Vast Right Wing Conspiracy. Unfortunately, last month Condi Rice
decided to challenge Henry for the position. Per the rules, the winner was
the first one able to kill 50 terrorists imported from Gitmo with one of our
Ronald "Maximus" Reagan M-Class Mech Warriors. Henry won, but we began to
suspect that Condi was a sore loser when a Hellfire missile fired from a
Predator hit one of Henry's mansions the next day. Then there was the poison
in the caviar, the cobras someone put in the bathtub, and the brainwashed
Jennifer Anniston clone who tried to strangle Henry with her bra.

At this point, we've been forced to go on the run to the one place Condi
won't dare come after us -- Crawford, Texas. During the mad dash out to the
AC-130 gunship that was flying us away, I ran across two trunks full of cash
that Henry made from his child labor sweatshops in Guatemala. Unfortunately,
he hadn't yet deposited the money in his Swiss bank accounts.

Much to our dismay, the heat is still on in Crawford. W. is keeping Condi
away from us -- for now. But, no one has been able to calm her down yet.
Every time we think Jonah Goldberg or William Buckley is about to get Condi
to forget about trying to assassinate Henry, Ann Coulter will start getting
her all fired up again (Henry sent Ann a Jimmy Carter bobblehead doll for
Christmas and Ann hasn't forgiven him yet).

So that's why I need your help. I need you to come to Crawford, Texas to
pick the 30 million dollars that was in uncle Henry's trunks so you can take
it to Marget Thatcher's villa on the Thames. If you're willing to help us
out, not only will I give you 30% of the money, I'll get you into the VRWC.
I'm hoping to hear from you as soon as possible. Make sure to keep this
email confidential since the VRWC scans and reads all emails going in and
out of Europe to see if anyone over there has gotten wind of our upcoming
invasion. I expect to hear from you as soon as possible. In fact, make sure
to respond today before Condi hears about this and has you eliminated (if
you see a woman who looks like Jennifer Anniston walking towards you with a
bra in her hands, run for your life).

John Hawkins
VRWC Member

I sent him this reply:

Dear Sir,

I am in receipt of your email dated January 15, 2003.

While I appreciate your sentiments entirely, it is not in practice to commit to ventures without first consulting my attorney. I will forward the email to my counselor, John Ashcroft.

I hope that his answer will give me the go ahead I need to clear some
funds out of my incredibly large trust, left to me by my wealthy parents who died mysteriously when they were campaigning against
Hillary Clinton in the senate race.

Best wishes for your venture,

Michele Catalano,
Wealthy, naive thrill seeker


Still haven't heard from him yet, but I have my credit card and bank account numbers handy. When I finally visit Maggie and take care of business, I will gladly share my riches with all of you.

School of Liberal Thought

You can bet your last dollar if this happened in my school district I would be raising hell so fast and so loud I would be breathing fire.

Public school students from kindergarten through high school held a 1960s-style teach-in here Tuesday, dedicating a school day to a discussion of a possible U.S. war with Iraq

Dan Siegal, the school board member who wrote the teach-in resolution, said the school district's 46,000 students need to learn all about the causes and consequences of war.

"What is the role of oil in this dispute?" Siegal asked. "Do we really believe the United States is concerned simply because Saddam is a bad guy — or is this a way we can gain control over oil reserves in Iraq?"

This is a public school district, funded by public money. How dare they spend a day focusing on such one-sided issues and call it education.

The material was presented in what the board considered age appropriate ways. For example, a fifth grade class watched a video about Palestinian children and heard from a member of a pro-Palestinian group.

Patterson told the high school students that the military is deceptive and that President Bush's reasons for going to war are misguided.

Age appropriate? That's not even school appropriate. How can you take a volatile, divisive issue like that and preach one side of it in a school setting? This is not education, it's indoctrination. It's brainwashing when you are talking about kids as young as ten having this crap forced into their heads without any sort of debate or open discussion on the other sides of the issue.

More teach-ins are planned for the future. School officials say that next time, they'll try harder to find speakers in favor of the Bush administration's policy in order to give students a more balanced view.

How about this? You don't preach about it all, especially not with grade school kids. How about you concentrate on getting those math and verbal skills up and teaching these kids how to read and write properly so they can get into college. Then, when they achieve that all imporant acceptance into Liberal University choose journalism or liberal arts as a major, they can have all the anti-war protests and demonstrations they want. Of course, the only people paying any attention to them will be the students with the PETA and Greenpeace and Amnesty International t-shirts.

I fear for our future if this is what are children are subjected to in the classrooms every day.

here there be neverwhere

Neil Gaiman - he of the no permalinks - had this post yesterday:

My name is Pamela Kipnes and I am the Marketing Manager for A&E Home Video/New Video. Through our deal with the BBC, A&E Home Video will release Neverwhere on DVD in a 2 pack set in June 2003. We are all very excited about this project, and I was hoping that you might want to be involved. If you were interested, I'd love to hear your thoughts on potential DVD bonus features, plus any other marketing or promotional ideas you might have.

Gaiman is talking to them about it.

I just about wet my pants when I read this. I have a VHS version of Neverwhere, but it is a really crappy copy and I have yet to watch five minutes in a row without getting a headache from the lines on the screen. This is the best news I've heard all day.

hidden treasures

Geez, I go out to pay a few bills during lunch and when I come back, Saddam has nuclear warheads.

"The evidence is mounting, and while inspectors went in with a stiff upper lip it is now more clear by the day that things are not going nearly as well as the public has been led to believe," one official said.

News flash, buddy. A good portion of the public never believed that crap for a minute. In fact, the only ones who did believe that everything was going hunky dory and Mr. Blix would announce soon enough that Saddam is clean and fresh as a summer breeze were the people who think Scott Ritter is a national hero and who hail Michael Moore as their spokesman.

That ain't me, babe.

Another day, another violation. How soon before all those troops that have been sent out already make quick work of Iraq, its foul regime and those who have presented themselves as human shields?

"We try our best to make the inspections effective," Blix said, "so that we can have a peaceful solution." But, he warned, "the other major option, as you know, is the one we've seen taking shape in the form of an armed action against Iraq."

Yes, the inspections are proving to be effective. But not as effective as destroying Saddam's regime will be.

Update: They're not warheads, they're peaceheads!

10 simple rules for reading my blog

I've been maintaining this weblog in one form or another since February, 2001. In that time I've written at least two lengthy posts with my space, my rules theme. Perhaps I should make it a yearly thing, just to get the year going right and make sure everyone understands the way things work around here.

Let's start off with the basics.

1.I own this spot. I pay for the hosting, I pay for the domain name. That makes it mine and it means I can do whatever I want with it.

2. I welcome you all here. I'm glad you are here. Leave as many comments as you want, email a hundred times a day if that's what floats your boat. Just try to remember that I - and the other commenters - are not some faceless, nameless droids without feelings. I really don't care what you say about me, but lay off the other visitors here.

3. The only time I will delete a comment is if it is threatening to another commenter or if it can be deemed as outwardly racist, anti-semetic or homophobic. If you want to post that kind of venom, get your own site and do it.

4.I am all for opposing viewpoints. I like debate and discussion. But if your idea of debate and discussion revolves around name-calling and berating without any intelligent rebuttal or discourse, you look like an ass. I won't bother deleting your comments though, because if you want to make an ass out of yourself on my space, I have no problem with that. Sometimes just leaving your comment out there to hang is the best debate ender in the world.

5. Don't take my words and post them on your blog without proper credit. If you do that and I find out I will flame you so fast you'll think your ass is on fire.

6. I am not afraid of wars in my comments. I am not afraid of dissent or opposition and I certainly am not opposed to listening to someone else's point of view. I've been accused of being afraid in this regard, of cowtowing to people because I didn't want to the blog or the comments to be confrontational.

Think again. Read this post and the hundred or so comments that followed. Or this one. Or this one.

7. Leave my children out of your political ravings.

8. If you leave a derisive, opposing, negative or pissy comment and you do it anonymously, I will not take you seriously and will most likely just pretend you don't exist which - for all intents and purpsoses - you don't if you can't bother to leave your name or email address along with your hate and stupidity.

9. I don't go over to the blogs of people with different outlooks than mine and sit around all day polluting their comments. I am not much of a commenter on other blogs. I will only leave a comment when I feel I have something of importance to add to the conversation already at hand. I don't leave flippant remarks in your serious posts. I don't make jokes at your expense on your own blog. I don't come over to your website every ten minutes to say something just to piss you off. I mean, what is the purpose of heckling a blog? What do you get out of it? Either get your own space and write your ravings there or if you already have one then stop being a schmuck and go rant about your crap in your blog.

10. I want you to like coming here. I want you to feel comfortable leaving your thoughts in the comments and not be afraid that some jackass is going to come along and start flaming you. This is why I don't stick to only politics or one specific subject. I like to mix it up and have some fun in addition to all the war and terrorism and serious issues that I post day to day. I never want someone to visit this site for the first time and be totally discouraged and turned off because of someone else's comments. Do me a favor - if you have something incredibly negative to say and you don't think you have the brain power to put it down in a manner that wouldn't come across as belligerent or nasty or antagonizing, just say it out loud to yourself. You'll feel better after that, I promise. And if you can't handle the view of someone who leans more to the right of center than left, if you can't handle cursing and the occasional boob shot and fart jokes and my insistence that we kill Saddam; if you can't handle my pro-Israel stance or my anti-gun regulation musings then just use that little X in the upper right hand corner and don't come back unless you are willing to debate and argue with your brain, not your ass.

Thank you and come again.

daisy, daisy

Moveon.Org is continuing with the grand tradition of the "peace" movement's get 'em with fear campaign. They have reworked the 1964 "Daisy" ad - made and paid for by LBJ's campaign - which hyped the possibility of armageddon in the event of a nuclear war with Russia, should Barry Goldwater become president.

[the] ad includes scenes of military escalation before the mushroom cloud appears. Then the screen goes black, with a warning that a war might end quickly — or it might spread to other countries and end with "the unthinkable."

The ad ends with the message: "Maybe that's why the overwhelming majority of Americans say to President Bush: Let the inspections work."

I thought the peacenicks were orginally against the intrusion of inspections. Now they want the inspections to work.

I love the Pie in the Sky attitude of these people. Why are they so trusting of Saddam? Why do they even trust Hans Blix, who has been duped by Saddam before? No matter what the inspectors find or don't find, the fact remains that the anti-war movement will never be satisfied.

It must be nice for a "grass-roots" organization to have $400,000 to spend on propaganda tv ads.

Couldn't they feed some homeless people or save some chickens with that money?

link via the grouchy yet loveable Juan Gato

today's memo

The almost completed Required Reading 2002 is up and running.

There is a good possibility I may be lacking internet access at work today. Have fun without me.

one boy, one murder, 24 years worth of trials

In response to a comment in a post from some time this month, I had prepared a rather long entry about crime on Long Island; mainly the famous crimes (Amy Fisher, Amityville Horror, etc.) that have happened here.

One of the murders I had mentioned in the unposted piece was that of John Pius, a thirteen year old boy who was killed by some older neighborhood thugs, who shoved rocks down in his throat in an attempt to make sure he would never rat them out for stealing a mini bike. Pius choked and suffocated on those rocks.

One of the murders I had mentioned in the unposted piece was that of John Pius, a thirteen year old boy who was killed by some older neighborhood thugs, who shoved rocks down in his throat in an attempt to make sure he would never rat them out for stealing a mini bike. Pius choked and suffocated on those rocks.

Today it was announced that one of the defendants in that case will get a fourth trial.

John Pius was murdered in 1979. Twenty fours years have passed since that little boy was killed and the case is still being dragged through court.

It was April 29, 1979. I was not quite seventeen, a junior in high school. I would never imagine, as I read the Newsday the next morning and became obsessed with the case that 24 years later, I would be sitting here writing about it as if it were still fresh. In a way, it is fresh because the mistrials and bumbling of the case have kept this gaping wound open for the Pius family as if it were just inflicted.

Let me give you an idea of the depravity of this crime:

On April 20, 1979 John Pius, a thirteen-year-old boy, was heinously murdered by being trampled upon and beaten throughout his entire body, by having his mouth and throat plugged with stones and by then being buried and abandoned under leaves and debris, his status as a live boy or corpse being unknown at that time. A Suffolk County Grand Jury indicted four young men, petitioner Michael Quartararo, his brother Peter Quartararo, Robert Brensic and Thomas Ryan, charging them with complicity in the crime of murder in the second degree, Penal Law 125.25. The charge against Michael was that he, "acting in concert with and aided by the [other three defendants] with intent to cause the death of John Pius, caused his death by beating, kicking and shoving rocks in his mouth and throat." John Pius, a thirteen-year-old boy, was 5 feet 4 inches tall and weighed 116 pounds. The physician who performed the autopsy on him described his findings as follows.

John Pius presents multiple contusions and lacerations of the forehead, to the right of the midline. He had marked edema, congestion and hemorrhage of both eyes. He had petechial hemorrhage....[t]here was a hemorrhage of the nose. There was marked edema and congestion of both lips. There was hemorrhage of the gums. There was a breaking of one tooth. There was a stone rock in the mouth. There was marked edema, congestion and hemorrhage of the right side of the face. There was multiple contusions and lacerations of the neck, anteriorally, laterally, and in back of both ears there was marked contusions and lacerations. There were marked contusions and lacerations of the chest, of the right shoulder anteriorally and on top of the right shoulder, on the right clavicle area. There were also other areas to the right of the umbilicals, on the right costal margin and the waistline, on both thighs, both knees, both ankles and both hands. Also in the back there were numerous superficial lacerations. These in a parallel pattern, parallel to another, and another crossing, that they extended from the mid-part of the back to both buttochs [sic]. And there were three points of pressure on the back. One in each scapula area and one in the lower part of the midline. Quartararo v. Hanslmaier, 2nd Cir. 1998.

John Pius, whose family had gathered neighbors together in a search for the boy when he failed to return home one night, was found - dead - by his father.

One of the defendants in the case, Thomas Ryan, who was all of 17 when the murder occurred, will be getting a new trial at the age of 41.

This is a case that was frought with mistrials, accusations of police corruption, jury tampering and lack of evidence. The four boys who were arrested for the murder, Ryan, Robert Brensic, then 17; Peter Quartararo, then 15; and Peter's brother, Michael Quartararo, then 14, have all at one time or another maintained their innoncence.

Brensic pleaded guilty to manslaughter after a mistrial and has completed his sentence. Peter Quartararo's murder conviction was thrown out in 1989, and he was never retried. Michael Quartararo, Peter's brother, is the only defendant now in prison.

Most of the mistrials and reversals have been caused by prosecutors' reliance on a confession by Peter Quartararo that appellate courts consistently have ruled inadmissible because they said it was coerced by police.

At Ryan's 1990 retrial, the appellate court said Suffolk County Court Judge Thomas Mallon erred when he allowed a detective to testify that he told other detectives to read Ryan his rights immediately after hearing from the detectives interrogating Peter Quartararo.

The jury did not hear that Quartararo had confessed, but the federal appellate court ruled the jury was left "with nothing to conclude other than that Peter had accused Ryan.”

Techincalities aside, here you have four kids that, without a doubt in mind, brutally killed a little boy. One of the defendants said in his trial that Pius cried out for his mother several times while they were beatinghim. That fact remains the most harrowing images that stays with me to this day.

It is incomprehensible to me that 24 years later, the Pius family still has to live through this. It never goes away, it never gets put in the recess of their minds because it is always fresh.

Is there something wrong with the legal system or is it that this particular set of circumstances all meshed to make a legal disaster?

It's always been my feeling that all four boys were guilty as sin. I love our legal system and I appreciate our laws, but sometimes they conspire to work against us.

The Pius family will once again have to drag out their memories of that day and the pain and the suffering that came after it. Hopefully, this time the People of the State of New York will be able to convict without the supposedly coerced confession of Peter Quartararo and put this case to rest once and for all.

Newsday's previous coverage of the murder and trial(s)

note* While researching this case, I came across this, from the Book Reporter - a review of a John Grisham book by Michael Quartararo, in which he refers to the Pius case and maintains that the jury in his trial was corrputed.

January 15, 2003

the zamboni in the doghouse

So DJ was watching the Charlie Brown Great Pumpkin video (it's always Halloween around here) and it got me thinking.

What was the deal with Snoopy's doghouse? He had a pool table, a zamboni, and a seemingly endless supply of junk down there.

Was it really an underground bunker? Did Snoopy know something the rest of us didn't? Is that where Cheney has been this whole time?

Just thinking out loud.

revisionist blogging

I'm doing something I've never done before. I am deleting a post because of the subject matter.

Someone once told me to never delve into the abortion issue on my blog. I should have listened. I don't want to start a fight or make enemies over this. I especially don't want my words misconstrued.

I'm not deleting the post, per se, just setting it back to draft mode. However, I don't think I will ever broach the topic again; not because I'm afraid of the consequences, but because it's too easy to get caught up in the debate and have it branch out into ideas you never entertained. That's the easiest way for people to get misunderstood.

Required Reading 2002 - here at last

The Required Reading 2002 is finally up, though not complete. There's plenty of reading there to last you until tomorrow when I get the rest of the links up.

Sorry it's so late, I've been sidetracked by other things.

bullying: it's everywhere

I'm not the only one dealing with bullies and an unresponsive school system.

Jennifer's 12 year old daughter was beaten up by a boy. She has the pictures to show the damage this boy inflicted on the poor girl.

Start at the January 14 entry and work your way up. Please give her the support, courage and advice you gave to me. Looks like she will need it.

a comic blog a day keeps the thought process away

This one is an ode to Matt Drudge and his mad investigative skills, on the (almost) anniversary of the outing of Monica and Bill sitting up a tree.

Think of it as a strip-creator comic character sing-a-long.

monica.gif

you may resume your blogrolling

Yes, blogrolling was out for about half an hour. But before you go dissing my man Jason, let it be known that it was one of those "circumstances beyond his control" things.

Besides, cut the guy some slack. He had to spend four days working on an American Idol based site.

f-logging

Stacy added a neat new feature for those long entries. If you click "read the rest of the story" it opens the extended entry right on the main blog page, so you aren't taken to another page where you tend to lose the spot where I left off. Then you just click "close the book" to shrink the entry back. Cool, eh?

Now that my comic blogging idea has taken over the world, I move on to the next phase: fridge blogging, known as f-logging.

fridge.jpg

Yep, that's a link.

Make your own fridge message.

what about the oil?

When I wrote about the Arianna Huffington SUV ads last week, several people said that I was off base because the ads were just poking fun at the anti-drugs ads of the same nature.

Not so. Had they looked at Huffington's website, the site for the SUV brigade or read any of the interviews with Huffington on this matter, you would know that she and her group were emulating the ads, not making fun of them. They are dead serious about this.

Which makes the facts displayed in this article even more interesting:

Apparently, SUVs are bad only when you drive them.

A new ad campaign equating ownership of SUVs with supporting terrorists is getting a lot of support from Hollywood types who not only consume huge quantities of fossil fuels in their stretch limos and Gulfstream jets but are driving the behemoth vehicles, too, the New York Post reports.

The commercials, from TV producer Norman Lear's Enviromental Media Association, juxtapose footage of Americans filling up their SUVs with clips of masked Middle Eastern terrorists masks raising AK-47s.

Among the offenders:

• Gwyneth Paltrow, who appears in the ads, drives a Mercedes-Benz SUV.
• Another EMA supporter, Chevy Chase, also drives an SUV. "They only use it when they have to attach the horse trailer or when they're carrying a lot of kids," a representative says.
• Barbra Streisand, meanwhile, never seems to tire of telling other people how to live. Streisand and her hubby, James Brolin, both have SUVs.
• And Lear himself? He built a garage for 21 cars five years ago.

I guess this falls into the "practice what you preach" category. Or maybe the "put up or shut up" category. Even "put your money where your mouth is."

Typically, they think the little people should take the brunt of their far-flung ideas. Or maybe all their gloating, holier-than-thou politicking and grandstanding is just for -dare I think it- the sake of publicity?

Hollywood stars making lying and being sel-righteou for publicity, self-promotion and the chance to make themselves look better than they are? Who would have thought?

broadway, movies, and the music that sticks in your mind

It started with the Jesus Christ, Superstar lyrics I posted last week. It's been snowballing ever since.

I'm on a soundtrack kick. Not just movie soundtracks but Broadway shows, too.

(This is a very long post. If you read through to the end, there's a question for you to answer)


My mother was a show tunes fanatic. She still is, though she tends to be listening to Pink Floyd more often than Annie Get Your Gun these days. My sisters and I (who will vouch for this in the commets today, I'm sure) know the lyrics to almost any movie musical and Broadway musical to come down the pike since time began.

Today, I'm on the Hair soundtrack, thanks to a post by Kathy who got the Manchester, England song stuck in my brain.

Hair is basically an anti-war story. It's the 60's encapsulated, full of peace, love and - you guessed it - lots of long hair. I had this poster hanging in my room at one time, which my mother got from the program when she went to see the play. I remember how she stuck the program in the upper cabinet above the refrigerator, because it had the lyrics and the lyrics were dirty and coarse. Nevermind that my mom blasted the 8-track of the soundtrack during the day, I suppose she thought that if we didn't read the words, we wouldn't know what they were saying.

There was the short but succint words to Sodomy, which had me running to a dictionary to look up these words:

Sodomy
Fellatio
Cunnilingus
Pederasty

Father, why do these words sound so nasty?

Masturbation
Can be fun
Join the holy orgy
Kama Sutra
Everyone!

Without knowing it, my mother gave me my first "birds and bees" talk through and 8-track tape.

I also remember singing the song Initials over and over again, no clue whatsover what I was singing about:

LBJ took the IRT
Down to 4th Street USA
When he got there
What did he see?
The youth of America on LSD

LBJ IRT
USA LSD

LSD LBJ
FBI CIA

FBI CIA
LSD LBJ

My older cousin tried to explain not only the song to me, but the meaning of the entire show. It wasn't until I was in high school and the movie version came out that I finally understood it all. It was one of those message movies. Today, the message seems rather muddled and looking back at Hair, I see it more as a pro-drug statement than an anti-war statement.

There were other soundtracks, other movies made from plays that wove their way into my life.

West Side Story was one of my favorites. The romance, the intrigue, the action, the music - it was combined so beautifully, so magically that the tragedy seemed more romantic than tragic. I can still, to this day, sing the words to every song on that soundtrack.


The Music Man, Carousel, Oklahoma! We watched them again and again, listened to the songs over and over until the stories became my own and I would lay in my bed in the dark of night and pretend I was Maria, feeling pretty and witty, or Marian the librarian, completely smitten with Harold Hill.

The golden age of musicals has come and gone. Sure, they still make a few here and there (hated Moulin Rouge, loved Hedwig), but music has come to play an important part in movies nonetheless.

Oftentimes these days, movie soundtracks are promoted as heavily as the films themselves. Often rock or rap oriented, the soundtrack generally screams at you and interferes with the movie itself. I haven't seen many films in which the music is used to add to the story rather than just be there, like a pesky fly.

That's not to say the soundtracks don't stand out on their own. I own a whole collection of soundtracks that serve as more of compilations cds than anything to do with the actual movie they were part of. Spawn, Judgment Night, SLC Punk, Romeo and Juliet, The Matrix...it doesn't matter whether the movie rocked or not, at least the soundtrack does.

It's always better when the songs fit the movie. Goodfellas used music to its advantage, underscoring the drama and tension of the scenes by using carefully selected songs, especially the scene in which Layla was playing.

Before I write more, because I could write on these subjects until hell freezes over, I'll turn it over to you:

What are your favorite scenes from movies where music is used to emphasize a point or create an atmosphere? (using my Goodfellas example as a guide)

carnival time!

Carnival of the Vanities #17 (it's been 17 weeks already??) is open and ready for business at Greeblie Blog. Thanks to Dave for putting it together in fine fashion.

All fine entries, as usual. Today's required reading.

And don't forget about the Photoblog awards! Get your nominations in while you can. Rannie did a FANTASTIC job of putting this together.

i had a dream last night

Saying "I had weird dreams last night" is like saying Ted Rall said something stupid; it's pretty much a given.

But last night was more disturbing than weird. It was a collection of dreams, like a short film festival.

(I mainly write some of my dreams down here so I remember them. If bizzare dreams of terrorism and fear interest you, please read on)

In the first dream, I was sitting under a party tent that had been lined with chairs and tables. Only Justin and I were there, sitting in the middle row quietly with our hands folded on our laps. One by one, soldiers came to greet us. They were all in army fatigues, they all carried weapons and had grim smiles for us. They took turns extending their hands to us, introducing themselves and then walking away. Some of them spoke a few sentences to us, one in particular was named Adam and he told us to be careful, but be strong.

In the next phase of the dream, I was at work. I kept looking out the window to see planes flying very low. Each plane was accompanied by a black helicopter. Court officers were bringing prisoners down the hall and the prisoners were in a single file, chained together by metal handcuffs that snaked around their ankles and on to the person in front of them. Most of them were wearing no shirts. They were all huge men, all sweating profusely and all perpetrators of heinous crimes.

I started yelling that this was a civil court and we didn't take murderers here when there was an announcement on the speaker system that our building was being evacuated. I ran out to the parking lot and met up with my sister and my cousin. The parking lot stretched on for miles, each section separated by bushes and trees.

They were evacuating each section one at a time and when I remarked to the security guard that I had to head over to the mall, he warned me that the mall was being evacuated too, as well as all the stores and buildings along the main street. I noticed the traffic was building up as people started fleeing for their homes, and the guard gave me a short cut that would not only get me home faster, but take me through a lot where I could pick up some weapons that were hidden in a garden.

In the next phase of the dream it was Mother's Day and I was having my family over for dinner. We had just moved into the house and I had no plates or cups. And then the elecricity went out. There was an announcement (out of thin air, I guess) that all electricity in the area had been cut until further notice. We all gathered at the windows, staring at the darkening sky and watching as black helicopters and mysterious looking jets circled in the air above us.

I turned to my father. I was crying.
"It's happening again," he said.
I nodded my head solemnly.

I went downstairs where we had a rec room and persuaded the kids to all come upstairs and stay with us. We watched football (I know, the electricity had been turned off, but it's a dream so weird things happen) and then sat stunned as the entire football stadium was evacuated. Planes landed on the field and scooped up the football players while the fans calmly walked out of the stadium, single file. An announcer kept commenting that he smelled gasoline or propane.

The last phase of the dream found me on a roller coaster. The seats were packed with items that made no sense to me at the time; a mouse, some frogs, a peanut butter sandwich, batteries. I sat in the front car and the roller coaster went on an immediate descent, lurching forward at top speed. I white-knuckled the bar in front of me and although my eyes were squeezed shut, I could see my hair flying in the wind and the mouse being whipped out of the car and thrown into space.

The farther the ride went, the more speed it picked up and the more things started flying out of the car. When I dared to open my eyes I noticed that things around the ride were disappearing also; buildngs, one by one. Houses, cars, streets and parts of the roller coaster itself. By the time the coaster rounded it's last small hill, there was nothing but an empty space on the ground below me and I was alone in the car, which had been reduced to nothing more than some wires and bolts. I said out loud, to no one in particular, "It's all gone. They're all gone."

I had been on the strange coaster when the first wave of terrorism hit and that saved me. But I did not want to be saved if everything was gone. I hopped out of the car and slid down a pole until I reached the ground. I stood in the ruins of what had been the mall parking lot, arms outstretched, face tilted towards the rockets and jets that hovered in the space above me and yelled that I was ready. And I waited. And waited.

And woke up.

January 14, 2003

is this the medical hotline?

I've been feeling weird all day; headaches, mood swings and a general feeling of uneasiness. I attributed it all to this flu I have.

I just realized I forgot to take my Paxil this morning. Maybe I'm having withdrawals or something. Whatever it is, I feel really off today.

My pharmacist is gone for the night and the doctor's office has switched off to the emergency number and I really don't consider this an emergency, even with these white flashes of light I'm seeing.

I just don't know whether to take the dose now or wait until the morning for the regular time of my next dose.

Is there a doctor in the house?

i feel the love

Thank you, Robyn for the blog love fest.

I heard from the wonderful guys I wrote my love note to.

My heart is warmed and I feel great.

Oh, Canada!

Besides being Love a Fellow Blogger Day, Janaury 14 has also been declared Canadian Appreciation Day by James Lileks.

I just sang a rousing rendition of Oh, Canada! Too bad you missed it.

In honor of this day, I have composed a little song to the tune of Oh, Canada!

Oh, Canada that cold and frozen land

true poutine love
in all thy diners command

with mounted police
your borders leak
and terrorists
get through

and your cold fronts
oh canada
they leave me
frozen blue!

please keep celine
from the U.S.A.

Oh, Canada
we salute
you today

Oh Canada
we salute
you
today!

Don't take it personally, Bill, Shel, Damian, Kyle, Natalie, Rannie, Mike, Lis and oh hell, all of you.

spreadin' the love

lovefest.gifRobyn has made this Bloggin' Lovefest Day. She feels like a lot of bloggers have been on the rag lately and I think she's right. It was her idea that we should all take a few moments today and post a little love note to a favorite blogger.

We all know love is a word with a wide variety of meanings and connotations. So there were plenty of people I could have posted a love note to today. But they all know I love them, they all know I appreciate them; I have personal relationships with many bloggers and the love notes get passed back and forth all the time.

So I chose instead to make two love notes.

The first is to three guys who I once conversed with often. Three guys who held me together when I was falling apart; three guys who sometimes seem like the same person and yet have such different ways of showing their love and affection and friendship. Jonno, Aaron and James, this is my love note to you. I miss you like hell.

I've lost touch with them. I don't know what happened, I guess in the long trek through my ever changing moods we sort of drifted apart. I miss them. I miss their strength and their humor and the way every email from them was like a a giant hug. The exude warmth and inner grace; they are selfless and kind to a fault.


The other love note is to the liberal Jack of People's Republic of Seabrook. Not only is Jack a great guy with a fantastic sense of humor, wonderful writing skills and the brains to go with them, but he is living proof that people can be on opposite sides of the spectrum politically and still respect each other's views and be friends. Jack knows how to make his point using humor and not using insults, and gets mad props from me for that, and many other things.

Yea, I said mad props. Hanging out with my daughter too much I guess.

Anyhow, those are my blogger love notes and I suggest you do the same cause it makes you feel all warm and squishy inside.

Or maybe that's just this virus I have.

watch me bloviate

I'm a bloviator. As are all warbloggers apparently.

Funny, because I know some lefties who are quite good at bloviating.

I do believe I'm a delinked bloviator as well. I've been led to believe that "crush the dissenters" was a right wing thing. Guess not.

DJ update: the power of the blog, the power of a nine year old

People sometimes ask me why I post such personal things here. This is why:

About a week after I posted about DJ's bully problem, Joanne Jacobs put the story in a column that appeared on both the Fox News website and Jewish World Review.

After my original post, I received an email from LaVonne, who put me in touch with an author who wrote a book that dealt with bullying.

After the Fox column appeared, I received an email from an attorney who sent me the exact wording I should use in a letter to the school.

After the JWR column appeared, I received an email from Dawn Pennington of Ribbons of Promise National Campaign to End School Violence. She then had the director of the program email me a brochure the group uses. From that, I used their suggested wording of a letter to send to the school administrators.

I feel I have the situation totally under control now. Apparently, so does DJ.

Last night I asked him how things were going in school and if I needed to take further action with the teacher or principal.

No, I took care of everything.
Excuse me?
I took care of it in my own way.
What did you do?
I handled it, mom. It's all good now.

He wouldn't talk further about it, so I decided to let it go for the time being.

I dragged myself out of bed to drive him to school today. I wanted to see for myself.

I walked into the building with him and as we rounded the corner towards his classroom, he waved good-bye and blew me a kiss.

I stood there, lurking around the corner instead of leaving the school. I watched.

Big Bully approached DJ. I tensed. DJ smiled at him. They sat down on the floor in the hallway and BB pulled out his Yu Gi Oh! cards. DJ did the same. They compared cards and laughed and grinned. BB was incredibly impressed with the power of DJ's attack cards, or something like that. I really don't understand Yu Gi Oh! talk.

What I do understand is this is probably temporary. This is not the end of the situation, because I still have issues over how the school handled the whole incident.

What I also understand is that DJ has gained some confidence and a sense of empowerment. Whatever he did, he did it in a way so that the boy was not only nice to him, but seemed to want to engage in a friendship with him. Perhaps DJ just realized that they have a common interest and used that to his advantage.

Even if the friendly moment is fleeting, at least DJ realized that confronting his problems rather than shirking away from them can often times have good results.

We'll see what happens.

it's all a matter of perspective

I always find it curious when people come here and rip into me for ripping into others. This happens most when I make fun of celebrities. Why the defense of these people? Are they held in higher regard than say, our president, who is made fun of daily on almost all the blogs of the people who say I shouldn't make fun of celebrities?

Oh, and sometimes they make fun of celebrities, too. Just not the ones who belong to the "not in our name" club.

Anytime someone leaves a comment here such as "who are you to piss in their cheerios," or "how dare you stomp on someone's right to express an opposing opinion to yours," just click on the link to that person's blog.

Rest assured, you will find plenty of posts calling Bush "Shrub," calling right wing warbloggers idiots or yahoos or assholes, and even on a non political level, making fun of various singers or entertainers or writers for their opinions on matters of their given industry.

So let me see if I get this straight. It's ok to make fun of celebrities and politicians as long as you are the one doing it. It's not ok for others to do it, especially if they are dissenting from an opinion that you yourself hold in high regard.

Am I close?

some guys have all the luck

I don't get it.

I expend so much energy on hating Ted Rall and who gets the recognition for being a Rall hater? Mike. Not only that, but Mike also gets an email from Coop. I've practically kissed Coop's very ass on this site.

All I get is hate mail from people who can't spell. I want email from people who can't draw!

Oh, and regarding that TCJ thread, if Rall ever did a collaboration on an issue of Too Much Coffee Man it would shatter my entire world.

til the nukes come down on the santa monica boulevard

And people wonder why I spend so much time making fun of celebrities who gather like sheep at the first sign of a leftist action.

They have these simplistic views of the world and its problems. They think it all can be solved by just talking it out or trying ot be nicer or bending over so your enemies can fuck you up the ass, which is called appeasement in some places.

The long line of celebrities has been forming into a herd since the first mentions of a possible war against Iraq. The No Blood For Oil and Think About the Children crowds have signed petitions, formed grass-roots groups and have blamed America for everything except the death of Elvis. Barbara Streisand, Martin Sheen, Sean Penn, Viggo Mortenson - they flash their t-shirts and go on Larry King and do everything but offer alternative to solutions to the problems at hand. It's pretty easy for them to sit back in cozy little mansions and shout "No War!" But it's almost laughable when they appear on some talk show or news program and the best alternative to military action they can come up with is, for all intents and purposes, to sit down for a cup of tea with our enemies and smoke the peace pipe.

The latest celebrity to come out of the anti-war closet is Sheryl Crow. Flush with the success of her American Music Awards last night, she showed the world her sparkly little t-shirt, all sequined with the words "war is not the answer." But, unlike other stars, Ms. Crow has the solution!

"I think war is based in greed and there are huge karmic retributions that will follow. I think war is never the answer to solving any problems. The best way to solve problems is to not have enemies."

Oh, how simple! The problem is, we did not create these enemies. Contrary to popular belief, we did not do anything to instigate an attack on American soil. We did not do anything except be a prosperous, democratic country. The problem is, our enemies want us all to convert to Muslim. They want us to lock down our women and behead those who make the most minor of legal transgressions and stone women who have been raped. They want us to raise our children to hate and kill.

Not have any enemies? What would you have us do, Ms. Crow? Bow down to those who wish death upon us just so they see us as friends?

As for the huge karmic retributions, I think there are at least five world leaders who should get theirs before any bad karma comes floating our way.

Just a word of advice to the celebrities who wish to drag us into their fantasy world of peace and love and happiness and socialism: Think before you speak. Think before you put those t-shirts on. Have answers ready for the questions you are sure to be asked. Come up with some viable solutions before you blast the actions that are already in motion. By viable, I mean based in reality.

January 13, 2003

i couldn't find the remote...

There is nothing even remotely attractive about Joe Millionaire. He's an ugly, awkward dork with too much hair, too much chin and the personality of a broom handle.

That's about all the blogging I can muster tonight. The pail awaits.

vive le france

One more thing.

Laurence comes up with the best comic blog so far.

too much information

I needed to drag my ass of the couch to break in with this announcement:

My daughter Natalie is now...a woman. To put it politely.

This news has done all kinds of weird things to my brain, the most prominent being that I suddenly feel very, very old.


Back to the couch.

sick of it all

I seem to have caught something rather unpleasant.

Every limb, joint and muscle in my body is aching -even my skin hurts. There's also queasiness, chills, a general feeling that my head is not attached to my body and the overwhelming desire to crawl into bed and not get out for a week or so.

Posting will probably be light as I make myself a nice, comfortable bed underneath my desk.

Carry on.

riding on the metro: a choose your own adventure story

Reader Kathy sent me a link to an interesting article in the January 3 edition of the New York Times.

What Would You Have Done? by Shannon Fitzsimmons is about bullying and, in essence, how adults are no better at dealing with child bullies than children are.

The story Shannon Fitzsimmons tells is this:

She was on the Metro in December and in her car were six or seven children, all between the ages of ten an thirteen. It's daytime. The kids are sprawled out, oblivious to the fact that there are other people in the car who would like to sit down. The kids are using foul and coarse language.

There is one particular boy that Ms. Fitzsimmons focuses on:

The boy in front of me has an odd posture: almost in a fetal position, slouched far, far down. New passengers walking by eye him curiously. Finally, I lean forward to see what he is doing. He backs up, standing in the aisle now, but hunched over -- and resumes drawing on the seat in pen. I don't remember what it was he was drawing or writing. No rainbows or butterflies, though. As I have obviously seen him, and he has obviously seen me see him, I must call him out -- he's vandalizing a full train during rush hour, after all.

And call him out she does, rather benignly, I think.

What are you doing?" I ask in a tone I think is curious but stern.

"I'm drawing, bitch. What does it look like I'm doing?"

I freeze, redden. He looks up now. He is staring at me hard. I hold the stare, but I have no idea how to respond. He must be -- what? -- 11.

"You can't do that," I say finally, and while we are not speaking loudly, everyone near us is taking note.

No one says anything.

"Listen, bitch, if you don't want me to rob your North Face [my jacket] you better shut the [expletive] up."

"Excuse me?"

"I said, if you wanna keep your North Face shut the [expletive] up."

This exchange goes on for one or two more rounds. I say nothing substantial. The 11-year-old continues to threaten me. I realize we are at my stop. The woman beside me, who has obviously witnessed the entire event, stands up and says, "Excuse me," as she would normally to make her way out of our seat and off the train. I pick up my things. I can feel all eyes on me as I leave.

Where did she go wrong in her confrontation with the boy? And was it really her responsibility to confront him at all? Perhaps he went on the defensive because she went on the offensive. Perhaps he really would have stolen her jacket.

Fitzimmons writes:

...it is perhaps a bigger problem that a group of grown-ups allowed uncertainty, perceived differences or maybe just apathy to excuse their responsibilities as adults in this society to mentor our youth.

I don't feel it is my responsibility to mentor the youth of our society. I can set an example for them by the way I behave, by the way my own children behave, but I don't believe any adult is automatically granted with this job of mentoring the entire youth of one's community, city or even country.

When a child acts the way that boy on the train did at home, it should be taken care of there. And if it's not, then he will take that attitude and use it in school, where it should be dealt with. And if it's not - well, I have enough problems getting my own kids to accept responsibility for their behavior, I really can't set aside time to lecture someone else's kid, mainly because that kid is really not going to care what I have to say.

She then goes on:

What should we do? Well, we can reduce economic disparity, work to strengthen social networks and make equitable our systems of education. We might also try to take ownership of that which happens in our society by actively engaging in it, even when it means authentically interacting with strangers from time to time. It might be helpful, too, to openly discuss our mistakes and failings. So, as for the Metro ride, what would you have done?

How did an act of bullying, bravado and obnoxiousness become entangled with economic disparity? Think back to your school days. Who were the arrogant ones, the bullies, the guys who threw underfreshman in lockers and held girls down under the bleachers? For me, it was the All-American, clean shaven rich kids.

Wy must everything be about this guilt we should have when faced with people who aren't "as good" as us. If a child isn't well behaved, then we should look to see how much his parents are making? If a child threatens to steal your shit should we automatically assume he's suffering in poverty at home? No. You should assume he is taking control over you, using the power of his words and his perceived threats to make you quake in your boots.

Fitzsimmons is another in a long line of people looking for root causes in every single situation like this. They hold criminals and vandals up to the light and try to look through them with a social microscope. Never to they actually blame the person commiting the crime. Instead of trying to figure out if this kid came from a poor home, or trying to mentor him or interact with him and all of those other feel-good phrases, she should have moved from the car, alerted a conductor and let him deal with the vandal.

At least one person who answered the "what would you have done" question got it right:

First, I would stop blaming myself, the young thug's parents, the other passengers, the economy and weak "social networks" and begin blaming the perpetrator. Maybe then I would find the means to "authentically interact" with this criminal, perhaps by alerting Metro authorities and having this vulgar, violent thug hauled off to face a judge who could adjudicate the young offender's "mistakes and failings," as Ms. Fitzsimmons puts it.

While this approach might not qualify under Ms. Fitzsimmons's definition of "mentor[ing] our youth," it just might make Metro a safer place for her and her fellow passengers.

To borrow a quote from a fellow blogger: Indeed

ashes to ashes

This week, New York City residents will publicly debate and discuss the proposals for what will be built on the World Trade Center site.


I once felt passionate about what should or shouldn't go up on the site. Now, I don't think it really matters. Sure, I don't want the new designs to be garish or ugly or to look like abstract art instead of architecture. I think that no matter what they put there, no matter how large or small the memorial garden, no matter how they choose to retain the footprints of the building or build a memorial wall, that place in New York City will always be that place.

As I drive to work each day, I pass several places on the road where the trees that line the sidewalks are adorned with flowers and balloons. Someone died at that spot. Someone is missed. For the family members, the flowers are a small gesture of rememberance; but you can be sure that they do not need a placard or a marker to remind them of that intersection where their brother or sister or child died.

Memorials are other people. They are reminders to everyone passing that this is what happens when people drink and drive; this is what happens when you drive too fast; this is what happens when you don't stop for a school bus that has it's stop lights flashing: you kill my child.

For most of America, whatever they put at the site of the World Trade Center will be just that, a reminder. This is what hatred does; this is what blind allegiance does; this is what happens when people are intolerant of another. But it also serves as another useful reminder - that we will not forget. We will not let this happens again. That's what it would be for me, at least.

Which makes the fact that I came across this post on another weblog this morning all the more interesting. As often happens with the web, I had to weave my way through a couple of different blogs before I got to the heart of the matter. It goes back to December 30, when Elayne Riggs seemed a bit horrified that a piece of the metal from the WTC would be melted down and used in the building of a warship:

But I can pretty much surmise that few if any of these 3000 people would consent to having their ashes be used as part of an instrument of war. That's what I find, in August's words, utterly obscene.

Jean D'Arc also found that offensive:

"There is something fundamentally wrong about turning the ashes of murdered people into a warship. Making the building of that warship an $800 million dollar pork project for Trent Lott's home town just compounds the indecency."

Which all lead me to Avram, who defended the decision admirably:

Did the WTC dead consent to having their ashes dumped in Fresh Kills landfill to begin with? Or sold as scrap? Surely not. Why balk at a warship, then? And if we can’t do anything with the steel that the dead didn’t consent to, then what do we do with it? And why limit this attitude just to this steel, and not to everything else the ashes bonded to?

Look, I was there in Brooklyn on 9/11. I saw that plume of smoke arcing up over me, and eastward. I breathed that air, and smelled that smoke, as did millions of other people. Those ashes travelled far and wide. They got everywhere, and into everything. They’re part of me now, and part of lots of other people too. The WTC dead were part of every rape, every kiss, every fight, every sneeze, every lie, every truth, every fart, every laugh in the New York area in the past fifteen months, no matter what the dead would have wanted. (And what they’d most want, I’m guessing, is not to be dead.) And every one of us has atoms in his or her body that spent some time as part of Genghis Kahn, or Charlemagne, or Aristotle, or Washington.

The other day Chris and I were talking about the current plans for rebuilding the WTC, all of which seem to involve leaving the actual footprints of the original buildings undeveloped, as if to build there would be disrespectful to the dead. Chris pointed out that there probably isn’t so much as a single square foot of land on all of Manhattan Island that hasn’t had somebody die on it at some point. And yet life goes on, and we keep on building.

I’m all for respecting the dead, but not to the point where the graveyard walls become a prison for the living.

I agree wholeheartedly with Avram.

As someone who personally knew a few of the victims of September 11, I can say without a single shred of doubt that they would be honored to know that the metal is being used in such a way. It's symbolic. It's powerful. It has nothing to do with war, per se. And it certainly has nothing to do with Trent Lott.

Like Avram, I inhaled some of that smoke and dust. I sneezed it out. It rattled around in my lungs. I watched the sky darken and realized with dawning horror that the smoke and dust rising into the sky was made partly of humans.

I watched from the relative safety of western Long Island. I did not have to walk through the ashes or run from them, but the fact remains that what I saw in the sky that day was the remains of people I knew, people I never heard of, people who would never see another moment of life.

My father owns a piece of that day. A piece of the steel, forged into a cross and each time I look at it, I see people. Each time I touch it, I feel a bit of sorrow, as well as a bit of anger. And what's the difference if those ashes are forever sealed in a cross or a warship or ground into the dirt of a playground of a nearby school because that is where the wind carried them?

Avram has it exactly right that what the victims would want most is to not be dead. And speaking just of those people I knew, I can say that it would not matter to them that they were being soldered into a warship, as much as it would not matter if their memory and remains were being soldered into a cross or a momument or a folding chair. It's the remembering them that would matter. It's the keeping fresh in our memories of what happened that day that would matter. It's the promise that we will never let this happen again that would matter.

As Gary Farber says:

I can't help also be struck by the seeming presumption that, somehow, military hardware is singularly, inherently, evil, rather than mere inanimate object, able like any other to be used for good or ill, for the saving of lives or the unnecessary wasting of lives, unable to decide on its own, or take on any moral value of its own, but only a tool to be used at the choice of humans whose future actions we cannot predict and know not of.

Whatever the developers decided in the end, whatever becomes of that spot, it will - like the flowers tacked to the telephone pole on Jerusalem Avenue that I see each morning - always give one pause as they pass it. A place where 3,000 people died, a place where one person died; they can have the same affect on you. We, and our relative peace and safety, are very fragile.

January 12, 2003

everybody into the pool

Talk about being amused by little things.

futurama.gifI just discovered that Adult Swim is now on Sunday through Thursday. No longer do I have to be satisfied with just one night.

Home Movies, Futurama, Sealab, Aqua Teen Hunger Force, Cowboy Bebop, plus all the Gundam that's fit to watch on Saturday nights...I'm either going to have to start taping these shows or I won't be going to sleep until 2am all those nights.

If they would just pick up Invader Zim, my life would be complete.

making my mark on the world

I moved up to number three on Google for "ted rall idiot."

It's the little things that amuse me so.

the bill of no rights

See? This is what happens when you ask people about blogs they read. It leads you to great discoveries.

Nicole included a link to BeerMary. I promptly went to her blog and found this fascinating post, which I will replicate here, but you should still go visit her blog.

Mary says:

I received this in an email (thanks, Dr. C!), and re-wrote it to more closely reflect my personal opinions. The original version has apparently been attributed to State Representative Mitchell Kaye from GA.

Now, I don't know which parts Mary changed, but I like the whole damned thing. I know I will get hate mail over this but frankly, I don't give a damn.


Read on:

We hold these truths to be self-evident: A whole lot of people are confused by the Bill of Rights and are so dim that they require a Bill of No Rights."

ARTICLE I: You do not have the unearned right to a new car, big screen TV or any other form of wealth. More power to you if you can legally acquire them, but no one is guaranteeing anything. Get off your ass and earn it.

ARTICLE II: You do not have the right to never be offended. This country is based on freedom, and that means freedom for everyone-not just you! You may leave the room, turn the channel, express a different opinion, etc., but the world is full of idiots, and probably always will be.

ARTICLE III: You do not have the right to be free from harm due to your own stupidity. If you stick a screwdriver in your eye, learn to be more careful, do not expect the tool manufacturer to make you and all your inbred relatives independently wealthy.

ARTICLE IV: You do not have the right to free food and housing. Americans are the most charitable people to be found, and will gladly help anyone in need, but we are quickly growing weary of subsidizing generation after generation of professional couch potatoes who achieve nothing more than the creation of another generation of professional couch potatoes.

ARTICLE V: You do not have the right to free health care. Children should have access to it, and the disabled, and those temporarily down on their luck. But if you're able-bodied and able-brained, and you're in your 20's, don't be waving that Medicaid card in my taxpaying face, you ass.

ARTICLE VI: You do not have the right to physically harm other people. If you kidnap, rape, intentionally maim, or kill someone, don't be surprised if the rest of us want to see you fry in the electric chair.

ARTICLE VII: You do not have the right to the possessions of others. If you rob, cheat or coerce away the goods or services of other citizens, don't be surprised if the rest of us get together and lock you away in a place where you still won't have the right to a big screen color TV or a life of leisure.

ARTICLE IX: You do not have the right to a cushy job without earning it. All of us sure WANT you to have a job, and will gladly help you along in hard times, but we expect you to take advantage of the opportunities of education and vocational training laid before you to make yourself useful. Also, just because you've completed your education, you don't automatically deserve a six-figure income. You'll have to work your way up, just like everyone else, so stop bitching about your pay, and stop bitching about having to work a job that may not be "fun". Hey spoiled brat, if jobs were fun, THEY WOULDN'T PAY YOU TO DO THEM.

ARTICLE X: You do not have the right to happiness. Being an American means that you have the right to PURSUE happiness-which by the way, is a lot easier if you learn the Country's language and are unencumbered by an overabundance of idiotic laws created by greedy lawyers and those of you who were confused by the Bill of Rights."

If you like it, go over to Mary's and leave her a comment saying so. If you don't like it, move on and don't bother with posting your opposition unless you are going to be an adult about it.

a little help here, please

I erased the post about helping me with my bloggie picks because the point is sort of moot now.

Good luck to everyone who was nominated!

more comicblogging: the bloggies

The difference between this and Jim Treacher's blogtooning is that Jim actually puts time and effort and creativity into his, whereas I am just using (legally) other artists' work.

Well, Jim is doing the same, but he's funnier.

So episode two in today's comicblogging, uploaded for your viewing pleasure during half time of the Jets/Raiders game: How To Win A Bloggie.

lgfcomicsmall.jpg

(Yes, click for readable version)

My apologies to Charles Johnson. Though I'm pretty sure he has a sense of humor.

(credit to: stripcreator)

comicblogging: the early years

bunnysmall.jpg
Alas, I was not the first to comic blog. However, the phenomenon did appear first on this space on March 12, 2002 when I took a little blogging break and let Dave fill in for me.

Dave used Filler Bunny* and his butt monkey to make a point, though I'm not sure what it was, except that I was having a nervous breakdown and Justin says nothing but "ook" during wild monkey sex.

It's still one of my favorite posts ever, and it wasn't even mine. By the way, Dave gets one of my nominations for funniest weblog and best designed weblog.

Click the link below to see the first ever comic blog entry.

*Filler Bunny is the property of Jhonen Vasquez. Don't be fooled by shoddy imitations.

bunny.jpg

attention club katana members

Have you bought a katana yet? Well, I have.

ntkatana.jpg

Sure, it's a Ninja Turtles katana. But one has to start somewhere, right? And it came with a mask!

And I am so buying this next week. Justin and this man were playing with them in the aisle at Target. The guy was screaming HULK ANGRY! HULK SMASH! until his wife came and dragged him away.

Yea, I have better things to do with my money. But they aren't nearly as much fun.

I'm gonna go practice my katan moves on Justin.

here and there

I do believe I'm going to the East Coast Bloggers Gathering. It's a win-win situation, as Justin's mom lives in Stroudsburg so we can visit her and get to meet some bloggers on the same weekend. Plus, we get to visit the Main St. Jukebox as well as the kick-ass comic book store on the same street.

Today is the last day to get in your nominations for the Bloggies. If you want to know my nominations, email me. I don't want to put them up here. Thanks to everyone who has nominated me for various categories. I'm sure Wil Wheaton will kick my ass again, but the pat on the back is much appreciated.

In my post on the Andrew Motion/Club Katana poetry night, I forgot to put up Rohan's, which was one of the best I read. So go read it now.

Oh, and


J-E-T-S

Jets! Jets! Jets!

comicblogging

Yesterday, I wrote about all the different forms of blogging available to explore.

Today, I try my hand at comic blogging.

comicblogsmall.jpg
(click image for big, readable size)

Yea, it's not that funny, but it's my first try!

comicblogging made possible by stripcreator

maurice gibb

1949 - 2003

beegees3.jpgAs much as I pontificate here about having been a disco-hating punk rocker in the late 70's, I've always had a secret affinity for the Bee Gees.

The fiasco that was Sgt. Pepper not withstanding, the Gibbs, as well as younger brother Andy, formed a background score to the most influential years of my young life. And though Maurice Gibb was the harmonizer and back-up singer, he was the Bee Gees to me.

Growing up, I was surrounded by music. Always the stereo - which back then was a giant piece of wooden furniture with a built in television - or the radio, a huge tuner with spinning dials that seemed to play nothing but doo-wop and the current pop trends. My mother was constantly singing, humming, making us listen to show tunes and standards from the 30's and 40's. I hated her for it then, I thank her for it now.

In 1967, The Bee Gees released their single New York Mining Disaster 1941>. I don't know if that is the exact year that it first made its way onto the wooden stereo system in our house, but I do remember the song's impact on me.

In the event of something happening to me
There is something I would like you all to see
It's just a photograph of someone that I knew

Have you seen my wife, Mr. Jones?
Do you know what it's like on the outside?
Don't go talking too loud, you'll cause a landslide, Mr. Jones

The lyrics gave me a funny feeling in my stomach, one that I could not understand when I was younger, but I fully understood later on, when the concepts of death and wistfillness were not so foreign to me. I would be reminded of those feelings later on with David Bowie's Space Oddity (tell my wife I love her very much). I still, to this day, cannot listen to Mining Disaster without getting that same feeling I had when I was a child; that need to hold on to someone.

A few years later, I've Got to Get a Message to You was a hit, and it had that same underlying tone as Mining Disaster. Another main awaiting his death, but wanting to send his love to someone before he died.

I've just got to get a message to you, hold on, hold on.
One more hour and my life will be through, hold on, hold on.

Sure, this particular man was evidently a murderer, but the sorrow evident in the lyrics and singing tone still made me sad for him.

Other Bee Gees songs crept into my youth and carved their little places in my mind. Lonely Days, Lonely Nights, a song that was on the jukebox in the firehouse party room, and I can almost smell the beer and hear the dings and buzzes of the pinball machine that was tucked away in the corner ever time I hear that song.

Perhaps no non-disco song of the Bee Gees ate at my soul more than I Started a Joke. My mother used to insist the lyrics were about Jesus or God. I suppose everyone has a way of putting their own feelings into it when analzying a song; in my young mind the song was about feeling lonely and unwanted, as if you were a big joke that was set upon the world. Either way, it's one of the saddest songs I have ever heard.

Everything changed for the Brothers Gibb in 1975 with the release of Main Course. Nights on Broadway and Jive Talkin' set a course that would take the Bee Gees to new heights - and the top of the disco charts.

I was 16 years old when Saturday Night Fever came out. I loved the movie, but the soundtrack drove me crazy. The song Stayin' Alive is forever etched in my mind not as part of Saturday Night Fever, but as the song Jack and Elaine were dancing to in Airplane! when the bar patron was stabbed in the back and everyone thought he was doing a funky dance.

It was about that time that I stopped listening to music with my mother and barricaded myself in my bedroom instead, headphones on or stereo turned up way too loud, trying to drown out the strains of whatever mom was listening to at the time.

I still love the old Bee Gees. I still get those pangs of melancholy when I hear Mining Disaster or I Started a Joke. And I will still deny that I ever danced to Jive Talkin' while in a drunken frenzy on my eighteenth birthday.

So long, Maurice and thanks for the memories.

January 11, 2003

photobloggies

The Bloggies (Weblog Awards) dissed the photobloggers among us by not having a specific category for that type of blog.

Never one to let a challenge pass him by, Rannie has instituted the first Photobloggies.

Go take a look at the categories and nominate some worthy bloggers.

One of the categories is for photo essays. I have photo essays. Yes, I do.

insert "fast times" joke here

Sean Penn is on CNN right now, being interviewed by Larry King.

If I didn't have the overwhelming need to get drunk, I would throw this tequila bottle at the television.

And Penn needs to take a bath once in a while. From the looks of his hair, he was rolling around those oil fields in Iraq.

i think i just hate people in general

Remember when the 'Lackawanna Six' were first in the courthouse, and their buddies were outside supporting them and being rude to reporters? And remember how I blogged about, had a photoshop contest going, and then I started getting hate mail about how these people were probably innoncent and were just being railroaded by the corrupt U.S. government because they are Muslim?

You do? Good.

One of six suspected members of a terrorist sleeper cell admitted attending an Al Qaeda training camp before the Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist attacks, where he learned to fire weapons and heard Usama bin Laden talk of "a mission to attack America"

Railroaded. Mmmhmm.

I would make further comments to all the people that sent me hate mail that week, but none of them read this site anymore because I'm supposed to be a racist, hateful racial profiler.

Which leads me to my next thought.

Why do people insist on going to the sites of people with whom they disagree on almost every issue and leave juvenile comments? If you want to have a debate, that's great. Otherwise, just be on your merry way. I don't stalk the weblogs of liberals just so I can leave dumb comments on their posts. That's what I have my own blog for. I make my dumb comments here.

I just don't see the joy of going around spreading your stupidity and immaturity. If you don't have something constructive to say (and you can disagree in a constructive way) then you probably don't have anything worthwile coming out of your brain anyhow. Either go play in your own sandbox or stop kicking dirt around in mine.

these are not the weapons you are looking for

Gov. Richardson of New Mexico says North Korea has no intentions of building nuclear weapons.

Yea, and Anna Nicole Smith has no intentions of eating dinner tonight.

I hope I'm not out here all alone again tonight. I've got gin, tequila, nachos and a husband who has passed out on me. Naked twister, anyone?

blogwhore 2: where I goad the contestants into taking off their clothes

I'm gearing up for Blogwhore 2.

Last year, I was a ruthless, bloodthirsty judge. This year, I will be ruthless, bloodthirsty voice from the peanut gallery. Sort of like a play-by-play announcer, with lots of goading the contestants into all kinds of dirty tricks and mayhem. We even got Christine to show her boobs last year. Well, we all showed the boobs. See what you have to look forward to?

It's going to be fun, and I will take the crown I earned as Most Bloodthirsty Warblogger and wear it throughout. If you plan on participating (I'm talking to you, Solly) just be sure to check your thin skin at the door. I think the contestants from last year are still shaking in their blogwhore boots.

onward

Sgt. Stryker says:

Later
I'm outta here for awhile. I've got some stuff to do.

And we are left to wonder exactly what that means.

Stay safe, Sarge.

the kids are alright

Pete Townshend:

I'm not a pedophile, I just play one on the internet.

We were all wrong, Bigwig. Go figure.

look at me, I'm cat blogging!

Read the sad story of Rufus the cat and then help Lair find the poor kitty a home.

I would take it except for the fact that I hate cats. But I don't hate them enough to see them wander outside, hungry and cold. Surely one of you bloggers out there wants a little pussy?

saturday mindless dreck: say my name

It's Saturday, the kids are at their father's house and Justin is busy reworking something for a picky client. So I'm downloading nearly every musical suggestion that was given to me the other day. Plus, I'm downloading the Jesus Christ, Superstar soundtrack, as well as some Johnny Cash, thanks to Dean. See what you started?

I'm trying to keep from going back to sleep again. See, I discovered that the more you sleep, the more you want to sleep. I'm used to four or five hours sleep a night. Last night, I had at least ten. Now I want to go back to bed again.

Few blogs are being updated today. My brain is moving in slow motion, so I have no lengthy post on any relevant subject forthcoming. The Required Reading of 2002 is all finished and ready to post, but not until Monday morning.

Oh, I know what to do! Random tests and name generators! You can close the browser now, nothing to see here.

My porn name is Storm Vincent. I don't like it. Sounds like a wrestler's name.

My hobbit name is Tigerlily Moss of Lake-by-Downs . Now that sounds like a porn star.

If I was a cyborg, my name would stand for Mechanical Intelligent Construct Hardwired for Exploration and Logical Education. Mechanical exploration? Sounds kinky.

Ok, now we're talking. My smurf name is Pimpin' Smurf.

My French-Canadian hockey name is Poutine La Catalanoeau. You hear that Bill and Lis? POUTINE!

My metal name is Sparkle Glams?? I think NOT. Let's try that again. My alternative music rock star name is Jewell Boxx. Yep, another porn star name.

My Jedi name is CATMI CAEAS of the planet paxil. Whatever. I ain't no Jedi anyhow.

My pirate name is Iron Ethel Kidd? What kind of pirate is named Ethel? I want a refund!

Ok, I'm bored. Someone play with me.

King Missile Attack

The "Martin Scorsese as peacenick" story keeps popping up in blogs.

"I think it really has to come down to respecting how other people live," he said. "There's got to be ways this can be worked out diplomatically, there simply has to be."

Yea, but there's not. End story. Cue credits.

Every time I hear Martin's name, I am reminded of this song by King Missile:

This one's called Martin Scorsese
He makes the best fucking films (x2)
If I ever meet him I'm gonna grab his fuckin' neck and just shake him
And say thank you thank you for makin' such excellent fuckin' movies
Then I'd twist his nose all the way the fuck around
And the rip off one of his ears and throw it
Like a like a like a fuckin' frisbee
I wanna chew his fuckin' lips off and grab his head and suck out one of his
eyes and chew on it and spit it out in his face
And thank you thank you for all of your fuckin' films
Then I'd pick him up by the hair swing him over my head a few times
And throw him across the room and kick all his fuckin' teeth in and then
stomp on his face 40 or 50 times
Cuz he makes the best fucking films he makes the best fucking films
I've ever seen in my life
I fuckin love him
I fuckin love him


I think I, or someone else, needs to rewrite these lyrics to fit Scorsese's current infatuation with respecting the lives of terrorists and dictators.

next up: blog, the video game

Jeff Jarvis may have started the vlogging (video blogging) craze, but Victor Lams has taken it one step further with plogging. That's puppet blogging. On video.

Now, these guys may think they are upstarts in the field, but I was certainly the first to have do sblogging (squirrel blogging) and aflogging (action figure blogging).

Now, who will be the first to do slogging (singing your blog entries) or rlogging (rapping the blog) or sitlogging (sitcom blogging)?

If I knew how to work this cam, you would all be suffering through some chlogging (charades blogging).

(puppet link via instapundit)

January 10, 2003

Where did everyone go?

Is this thing on?

I think the blogosphere evacuated and they forgot to tell me.

Oh, I get it. I'm the only one home on a Friday night. That and the news is incredibly dull tonight. Not that I'm complaining. Fine, I'll find something else to do.

jesus was whatever the speechwriter needs him to be

Ramsey Clark's sanity has left the building.

Former U.S. Attorney General Ramsey Clark Wednesday compared Jesus Christ to a terrorist during a media event for a new anti-war group. "The Christian Church overwhelmingly -- there are exceptions -- who choose to call Mohammed a terrorist. They could call Jesus a terrorist too," said Clark. "I mean, he was pretty tough on money lenders a time or two."

I'm an atheist and I'm offended by that. Being "tough on money lenders" is what constitutes being a terrorist these days? What happened to the suicide belts and bombs and death threats?

It's obvious Mr. Clark isn't the only one contemplating the issue of what exactly Jesus stood for.

For instance, this person believes that Jesus was, just like Che Guevara, a communist.

Then there's Brian Sewell, he thought Christ would have approved of the destruction of the twin towers.

"America is, as we all know, a synecdochism for all the virtues of Western civilisation. But - and dare one express a but in such a hysterical context? - some might see the events of that day in New York as an assault on the twin monuments of Mammon by an ascetic religious force emanating, yet again, from the deserts of the East to scourge the daily manipulators of greed, rapaciousness and avarice, the disciples of profit and cupidity, the instruments of personal and private wealth for its own sake. Have we forgotten the moral exemplar set by Christ when he scourged the traders in the temple of Jerusalem? When he overturned the tables of the moneychangers, did he pause to ask why any of them should be excluded from his wrath?"

Andrea answered that phrase with the succint:

Hm. I haven't one of those annotated all-the-quotes Bibles in my possession, merely an edition of the usual KJV, but I am pretty sure that Jesus didn't slaughter the moneylenders. (Cato also took aim and fired at Mr. Sewell.)

Of course, Mr. Sewell, the Che person and Ramsey Clark all most likely got that particular view of Jesus from Jesus Christ, Superstar.

Moneylenders:
Roll on up -- for my price is down
Come on in -- for the best in town
Take your pick of the finest wine
Lay your bets on this bird of mine

Name your price I got everything
Come and buy it's all going fast
Borrow cash on the finest terms
Hurry now while stocks still last

Jesus:
My temple should be a house of prayer
But you have made it a den of thieves
Get up, get out

(You really should hear that, not just read it. I can sing the entire soundtrack from heart, but I'll spare you.)

So, Jesus wasn't that happy with capitalism, right? Does that make him a communist, though?

Fidel seems to think so. But that's Fidel for you.

Perhaps he was an anarchist. A vegan. A goth. And, according to the Guardian, Jesus was a pothead.

I think Jesus may have liked Berkely.

Anyhow, to finish up with Ramsey Clark, which is where I started, the thoughtless wonder had this to say in the same speech:

"The greatest moral force there by far is Islam because it is present in the prisons," said Clark. "They're the ones that are respected, they're the ones that are up at up at 5 a.m. and worshiping, they're the ones that are praying five times a day and not ashamed to submit themselves to what they believe is a greater power."

Moral. Prisons. Something in that statement does not make sense. Of course, it stands to reason that Clark was espousing the virtues of religious people in prison. You know - prison? That place you go when you've done something bad? Well, Clark was in D.C. giving that speech to lend his support to A.N.S.W.E.R., the anti-war group. They're having a big protest on January 18 and they would like you to come dressed as weapons inspectors.

I heard that people were going to march naked during that protest. Anyone thinking of heading down there that day, you should find out exactly what they mean by "weapons inspectors" before you commit myself.

under the influence

I found this site in my referral logs. It says that this very weblog is one of the most influential. I don't know exactly what it means by influential, but if you have all turned into comic book reading, action figure collecting, stuffed crust pizza eating, video game playing, tequila drinking, cartoon watching, porn surfing, ted rall hating, katana waving, horror movie watching, blood thirsty warmongering, kevin parrot stalker, I apologize.

I did not mean to influence you.

Really.

eureka!

I found the title of the book I was referring to in this morning's post.

It is The Ultimate Rush by Joe Quirk.

Time to read it again.

in the news

Joanne Jacobs wrote about DJ's bullying problems in her Fox News column.

I feel like I have unexpected company and the house is a mess.

Thanks, Joanne.

I hope any parents reading through the posts on this topic who feel they are facing the same challenge with their child will not be discouraged from speaking out because of the limp response I got from our school administrators.

Every time I speak to someone and don't get the action I feel is needed, I find someone higher up on the chain to speak to, or I come back with a stronger action. If this means getting yourself an attorney, do it. I am.

open mic night at club katana

It's Club Katana poetry night! That's right, open mic, freestylin', haiku lovin geeks who pretend they have Japanese swords and worship Skeletor. We all want to be the poet laureate of Britian, and we know we can do a much better job than Andrew Motion.

Tim Blair has gathered most of the parody poems in one place, but I'll post here the ones that were emailed to me and the poems Tim did not link. Yes, we strayed from the original goal of making fun of Andrew Motion's anti-war ditty, but hey. We're here to entertain. And never let it be said geeks with swords and action figure idols are not entertaining.

Denise, who used to dabble in Lord of the Rings haiku while in high school, sent this:

Very Bright They Burn
Alabaster Palaces
Saddam's Home No More

Frank is feeling fiery:

CAUSA I SAID SO by Frank J.

The peaceniks loudly protest and preen and pose
so we blast them all with a high-power fire hose.
And though the doves may work and toil,
they'll never stop us from bombing Baghdad and stealing its oil.

From Co-Founder of Club Katana, Todd

Anti-war poet
Not a head on his shoulders
F*cking limey git

Complain breathlessly
Rockets and guns of terror
Then cries for our help

Loyal Warrior Dipnut has three up at his site. My favorite is:

They read Rousseau, and chant to Free Mumia;
Alas, their heads are shrieking diarrhea.
Our quieter talk is not so self-assured;
Nor is it vile, hysterical, absurd.

They read M. Moore, and chant "No War For Oil";
A loud crowd of the ignorant and spoiled.
Our words, for them, are just as pearls for swine;
Who'll drink champagne, who thinks cow piss is wine

Loretta went culinary:

BIG BELLI

We read cookbooks, sautee and never burn
an omelet; golden with a single turn,
Our simpler fare is drowned in sauce béarnaise,
Al dente, honey, olive oil and mayonnaise.

Dave added his efforts:

With knife at our throats and pushing through
We know as TR and Churchill knew
Folks align in one group of these two:
Them that talk or them that do

Zander went limerick on us, but he can do whatever he wants because he really knows how to use a katana.

My favorite cow weighs in:

I hear the chorus quote for social gain
but always scream the same ol' tired refrain
That only fools would wish to search the stars at times
When money lies in mundane thoughts and cloying rhymes

Now head over to Tim's site and read the rest.

this blog brought to you by....

Commercial TV:

A leading television producer and two major advertisers have joined forces to present a live variety show with no commercial interruptions. Instead, the advertising messages will be incorporated into the show.

The advertisers, which so far include Pepsi and Nokia phones, are buying six hours of air time to create what the program's producer, Michael Davies, called "a contemporary, hip Ed Sullivan show" for the youth-oriented WB Network, part of AOL Time Warner. The hourlong program, to be broadcast for six weeks this summer, will try to highlight the companies' products in various ways, like putting singers on a set dominated by a logo or building comedy routines around a product

First of all, this isn't an entertainment program they are talking about; it's an infommercial set to music.


Product placement is nothing new. Watch any Sopranos episode and you can see, as well as hear, endorsements for various products and companies. I'm not disturbed at all by product placement as long as it doesn't interfere with the story of the show or movie I'm watching. Curtis Sliwa and Ron Kuby on their morning radio show are experts at deftly weaving commercials into their banter. Every morning they manage to somehow seamlessly segue from the current topic into reasons why you need a full body colonoscopy from Full Body Imaging.

It's a rather clever way to get people to listen to the commercials rather than change stations during ad time. A few well placed jokes and the ad is part of the program, rather than a break from it. Nefarious? Perhaps. But listenable at least.

I remember back in the good old days, before advertising took its hold on every facet of life, when the boards at hockey games were blank except for team logos. Now, they are filled with ads, plus there's the hanging, spinning scoreboard where the advertisements change every thirty seconds.

There's a can of Coke in every movie, a name brand sneaker in every tv show. So of course I'm thinking.....why not? Why not transfer this new way of advertising to my blog?

Would you notice if I suddenly developed an unquenchable taste for Mountain Dew? Would you care if I espoused the virtues of Tampex Tampons? Would it be rude of me to throw a few slogans in here and there?

I could still write my regular posts, but they would be interspersed with small, unobtrusive ads from large conglomerates which would sponsor me by sending me large checks at the end of every month. Example:

I was driving to work today, smoking my Marlboro Menthol Lights, because they have great flavor and I came across an accident. I got out of the car to help the victim and said "Hey, it's just a fender bender. Have a Coke and a smile! The accident victim, who was bleeding just a bit, asked me if I had any Excedrin. I said, "Of course I do, Excedrin is preferred over other analgesics ten to one!" I then went on my way to work and when I got there I realized I no longer felt spring fresh, so I went into the bathroom to use my Masengill Vaginal Wipes. What a difference! I felt like a flower after that.

What do you think? You didn't even notice the subtle advertising, did you?

IPMAT

Natalie is doing a quick read-through of her notes for a science test today. She is trying to make one of those sentences (I know there's a word for it), where you take the first letter of all the things you are supposed to memorize and put them in a memorable phrase.

Interphase, Prophase, Metaphase, Anaphase, Telophase.
Ok, so that's IPAMT, I'm sure we can think of something
.

We think for a few minutes before my light bulb goes on.

I Picked My Ass Today!

Natalie stares at me, then cracks up.

She repeats the phrase, writes it down, and immediately recalls all the words she is supposed to know.

I Picked My Ass Today! She yells it out. And then she pretends to pick a wedgie.

Laugh all you want, you can bet your last dollar she will remember those words.

dream sequence

In my dream last night, someone's grandmother was killed with an ax which I carelessly left on the stairs. Her dog was also killed with the ax, and there was a trail of blood and guts up and down the hallway.

The dream also involved Mike of Cold Fury teaching me how to play hockey; my attempted robbery of a store selling nothing but marshmallow easter bunnies; Jerry, Elaine and Kramer trying to convince me to buy them candy and my ex-husband following me around making a general pest of himself. It was exhausting. I woke up tired.

There was one part of the dream where I was looking at a book on my nightstand. I've read this book in waking life before and I can't for the life of me remember the name of the book or the author.

It told the story of a bunch of messengers who worked in a big city. One of the messengers used a skateboard instead of a bike, and I think there was a girl on skates.

They somehow got involved in something they shouldn't have, and in the end there were bomb threats and chases and.....I don't really remember except for the fact that I really enjoyed this book.

Sound familiar? Anyone?

Five cups of coffee and a hot shower should bring me around to regular blogging status.

January 09, 2003

last post of the night

Fox News (tv) is reporting that "something" has been found in the waters off the Berkley Marina and that it is likely a human body.

If it is a body, it is "likely" to be that of Laci Peterson. These stories never have good endings, do they?

china to blogspot: you are forbidden!

John Ray gives another reason - among a trillion - to get off of Blogspot.

Not even China likes it.

the mailbox is still full...

Believe it or not, I'm still trying to answer all the emails about DJ's bully. I received over 100 emails (in addition to the 100+ comments) on the subject, and I am trying to respond to every one of them. So please, do not think I am ignoring you or just not writing back if I haven't gotten to yours yet.

Many people wrote to give me legal advice or to suggest attorneys in the area who can help me out. I work in District Court here, so i picked the brains of some of the judges and attorneys around the office. Quite a few offered to help me out if I need it. I'm really hoping it doesn't come down to that.

The last two days have been quiet, DJ hasn't told me any tales of terror from the classroom, so I'm hoping the teacher and principal really did speak to the kid and it had some effect on him. We'll see.

Meanwhile, my sister is going to sign DJ up for karate lessons as a birthday present (January 30) and I think while we're at it, I'll sign Natalie up, too. She's at that age where she's starting to fight off the boys and I think learning how to execute a well-placed kick might come in handy. Hell, maybe I'll sign up, too. Knowing some martial arts might be a good idea if I'm going to be president of Club Katana.

Anyhow, thank you once again, from the bottom of my heart, for all your support, advice and stories. You have no idea how much it means to us that so many of you took the story to heart and tried to help us.

I love the blogosphere.

whoever smelled it...

I was going to make fun of Ted Rall's new book with a childish fart reference, but Jim Treacher beat me to it.

but will there be tv timeouts?

In the Get A Life department:

As an unabashed, nail-biting Oakland Raiders fanatic who sits in the nosebleed seats and who just bought my grandson pajamas and a dishware set emblazoned with the team's infamous pirate logo, I still must admit that there is something unsettling about this year's whirlwind of playoff and bowl games. Isn't there something perverse about a nation completely engrossed in football while the drums of war, a deadlier game, beat persistently yet quietly in the background?

Actually, no. There is nothing perverse about it at all. What would he have us do? Sit around biting our nails while watching CNN? Eschew every good thing in our lives, everything that gives us joy or excitement while we scan the latest headlines looking for a declaration of war?

It seems clear that if Americans were to devote the same seriousness of thought to the consequences of invading Iraq that they have to evaluating the pros and cons of the controversial computerized ranking system of college football teams, we would not be on the road to "preemptive" war on the other side of the world

I have given serious thought to the pros and cons, as have millions of others. And my conclusions on that matter don't make a bit of difference in the long run. Was I supposed to equate the Packers loss last week to a potential loss of life in a war? Was every Green Bay turnover supposed to make me ponder the potential of missles that don't hit their targets?

Despite the rampant use of war metaphors in sports, however, war is no game. The whistles are not blown in time, there are no penalties for unnecessary roughness and those risking their lives are never paid the big bucks.

Exactly. And that's why the Army, Navy, Air Force and Marines are going to fight the war, not the New York Jets.

Next time you have nothing to write about, Mr. Scheer, do us a favor: don't write.


(link via Oliver Willis, who is not a liberal)

one for the road

One more before I head out the door. Finally.

Paul Kenneth Donahue, 50, and Teresa Marie Wood, 46, had been scheduled to fly from San Jose, California, to Atlanta, Georgia, on Delta Flight 576 Tuesday. When their bags were put through a bomb detection machine, federal screeners found what turned out to be a snow boot with batteries, wires and an electrical power strip arranged in a suspicious way.

Screeners also found a note that read, "To the uniformed puppet opening this bag -- congratulations. You've just brought this once free nation one step closer to becoming a fascist police state," according to Transportation Security Administration spokesman Robert Johnson. The note was scribbled on one side of the cardboard torn from a box of Cracklin' Oat Bran.

Only January 3 and already we have a frontrunner for Assholes of the Year.

If I had been in that airport and my flight was held up because of these idiots, I would have cheered the police on as they arrested the couple. After I made sure to let them know just how assinine, counter-productive and stupid their little protest was.

The more I read, the more I'm beginning to think that most protesters have smoked one too many bongs.

may i please be poet laureate of the blogosphere?

Todd (co-founder of Club Katana) sent me this link today, about the Poet Laureate of Britain who penned a touching, charming anti-war ditty that goes like this:

Causa Belli by Andrew Motion
They read good books, and quote, but never learn
a language other than the scream of rocket-burn
Our straighter talk is drowned but ironclad;
elections, money, empire, oil and Dad.

Can we get a polite clap? A boo? Some tomatoes?

Never fear. All thos poetry classes I took in college have come in handy. I have penned my opposing poem:

Cause Anti-War by Michele Catalano-Brejwo

They march and picket but they never know
How their freedom to be their government's foe
Is borne of the people they profess to hate -
Soldiers and fighters, sealing terrorist's fate

I am not nearly as talented as my sister Lisa, who penned a vitriolic rap song in the comments of this post this morning.

As a club initiation rite, I would like to see all Club Katana members pen their own poems, and I will send them off to the BBC News, in hopes that they will see fit to pass them on to Mr. Motion.


Lair takes his turn with poetry and Tim Blair wants you to send your Andrew Motion parodies to him.

clueless

Relatives of some of the victims of the September 11 attacks have gone to Iraq "to be with Iraqi families who have also suffered such loss because of war and sanctions."

Lisa Olsen, who lost her sister on 9/11, said "If you want to sum up why we are here, understanding is the key. In coming and meeting people, in hearing their stories and listening to them."

"I've found immediately an understanding of what we have gone through which is something that you do not always find in America," said New Yorker Colleen Kelly, who lost her brother William in the World Trade Center.

Go visit the victims and families of victims from the first World Trade Center bombing. Go visit the families of the victims of the Oklahoma bombing. Go visit the families of all those Americans who have died or suffered at the hands of terrorists abroad.

To go find sympathy and understanding in a country that we are about to go to war with, a country whose leader hates Americans and wishes them death, is contemptable.

The group, called Peaceful Tomorrows is "an advocacy group seeking effective, non-violent alternatives to war and terrorism."

I'd like to how many terrorists are going to be open to alternatives to terrorism. None, is my guess.

Not suprisingly, the Peaceful Tommorows group held a Bowling for Columbine benefit back in December.

Peaceful Tomorrows, you say? Letting Saddam get away with building his arsenal of nukes is not going to make for a very peaceful tomorrow, is it? Comforting the starving Iraqi children and oppressed women will give them a peaceful today, but there's at least a 50/50 chance that one of these "tomorrows" they will be beaten, raped, tortured or dead.

I don't know what the deceased relatives of the members of Peaceful Tomorrows would feel about this, but I know that as someone who went to one too many funerals and memorial services in the weeks following September 11, 2001, I am so horrified, disgusted and sick to my stomach that I can't even find the words to comment on this further.

(link via LGF)

sometimes the death penalty isn't enough

Some people do not deserve to take up space on this earth. One of them, John Taylor - who masterminded the New York Wendy's massacre - has been sentenced to death. And even death seems too good for him.

Taylor, who was in court yesterday to receive his sentencing, penned a rap song while he was on the run from police after the May 24, 2000 murder/robbery in which five people were slain.

The lyrics of the rap follow, all spelling errors left intact:

I said I took a trip. I was sent upnorth you couldn't belive what all I lost. I did a bid from 12 to life I lost my job house, kids and my wife I looked for help but all I found, my whole world crashing down but me to recover what all I lost. I had to sell some crack, weed and even kill my boss now I'm the king with the crown if anybody f--- with me I'll Huff puff pull out the guns and slow your chump ass down, so now you know how I go. They got my face on the worlds most wanted show on chanel five showing live you'll think I'm famous I'm airing world wide. I'm a stick up kid so swift you see in and out like 1 2 3 I said give me the doe you say no, no? is it no you said stick some lead to your head guess what punk now your dead with all that blood bursting out your Head from Head to toe if you wanna know I gotta go, thats why they got me on the worlds most wanted show

This was not Taylor's first holdup of a fast food place. In fact, he was making a career of it. But this one was different. This time he killed his robbery victims.

Late on Wednesday night, May 24, 2000, the closing-time routine of Jean Auguste, Anita Smith, Ramon Nazario, Jeremy Mele, Ali Ibadat and two co-workers, Ja Quione Johnson and Patrick Castro was interrupted. They soon found themselves bound and gagged, forced to lay in pairs face-down on the floor of a basement freezer at the restaurant. With plastic bags tied over their heads, they felt the gun. And the Main Street restaurant would never be just another Wendy’s, ever again.

Then he goes and writes a song about it. Bragging, boasting about being on America's Most Wanted, no remorse.

I have never seen a man so fit to die. He knew most of his victims. He had been employed by the very restaurant he held up.

I only wish they could put a plastic bag over his head, lay him on the floor and shoot him in the head.

more huff(ington) and puff from the luxury liberals

TV Ads Say S.U.V. Owners Support Terrorists

The Detroit Project: Americans for Fuel Efficient Cars

I watched the two Detroit Project ads this morning. The first one, "Talking Heads," shows the faces of ordinary Americans saying things like:

I helped hijack an airplane
I helped our enemies develop weapson of mass destruction
I helped teach kids around the world to hate America
I sent our soldiers off to war


The second add, "George," shows a man filling his tank up at the gas station while a child's voice does a twist on an old chilren's story: This is George. This is the gas that George puts in his SUV.......ending, of course, with a shot of terrorists. And then the words on the screen:

Oil money supports terrible things.
What kind of mileage does your SUV get?

The Detroit Project site is part of Arianna Huffingtons website. The ads are made possible with contributions from the likes of Larry David and Norman Lear.

How easy it must be for these rich liberals, with their huge homes and six car garages to sit back and tell us what to do and how to live.

These ads make me sick.

I helped teach kids around the world to hate America.

I helped hijack an airplane

I wonder how much oil Ms. Huffington uses on a yearly basis. I bet she uses more oil to maintain her 9,000 square foot house in six months than my SUV uses all year.

I wonder if she is going to trim down her lifestyle so she doesn't support the terrorists as well.

I wonder if she will quit taking private jets.

I wonder if she will get rid of her limousines.

I wonder if she will stop heating her swimming pool.

I don't think so.

See, people like Huffington, with their millions of dollars and life of luxury, don't understand the realities of life.

Suppose all the parents on my block traded in their SUVs for more fuel efficient cars. Now, ever morning, instead of one person with a Durango that seats seven driving the kids to school, three different compact cars pull out of their driveways at 9am. Look at all the oil we saved by driving our little cars! Oops.

Of course, Arianna does not know about carpools. She had caretakers for her children. Illegal immigrant caretakers, but that's another story.

There are plenty of other things in this country that use oil besides SUVs. Why pick on them? SUVs have been made the scapegoat of the left. When all else fails in your argument about how the right is so decadent, bring up the SUVs and oil.

I'd like to see some statistics and data to back up the arguments the Detroit Project makes in their ads. I would like to see a definitive study proving that the oil I use to make my Explorer run is somehow funelled to programs that teach children how to hate America. I want to see statistics that prove my gas money hijacked an airplane.

And then I want to see answers. I want to see how Ms. Huffington is going to change her lifestyle in order to rely less on oil. I want to see how Larry David and Normal Lear are going to change the way they run their businesses so they will be more oil efficient. I want to know what kind of vehicles they use on the sets of their programs.

Until that faction of rich, lap of luxury SUV haters can prove to me that they use less oil in their daily lives than I do, they should shut the hell up and find a better way to spend $200,000 than funding ads that mislead the public.

January 08, 2003

early bird special

Yea, that's right. I'm going to bed at 8:30. Got a problem with that? If you do, take it up with Club Katana. They'll kick your ass.

8:30.

Am I that old already? Today I actually complained about how much my knees hurt when I walk down the stairs.

How long before I start going out to dinner at 4:00? With Two-For-One coupons?

in a huff(ington)

If you drive an SUV, you support terrorists. So says Arianna Huffington. She's on the Sean Hannity radio show right now, basically calling Hannity a terrorist.

Hannity is asking her questions about her lifestyle, how many times she has flown on private jets, what kind of fuel consumption her home needs.

She has avoided every question so far.

Hannity has a point. He said to Huffington, lead by example. Get a smaller house that does not need so much heat.

She keeps talking about inspiring people to change the way they live. Hannity asks her about changing the way she lives.

She answers his questions with questions. She avoids answering. She accuses SUV users of supporting terrorism, she says we should get different cars. When Hannity asks her if she is going to stop taking private jets, she changes her tune and says we should get rid of our SUVs because we put our children in danger when we drive them around in one.

I drive an SUV. I do not support terrorism. The two are not mutually inclusive.

You want us to stop depending on foreign oil? Fine. Oh, but you don't want us to drill in Alaska.

Don't tell me how to live, what kind of lifestyle I should have unless you live naked out in the woods, eating nuts and berries and eschewing every single comfort of modern day life. Oil is not just used to run cars, you know.

I just love when rich people tell us how to live. They sit out there in their humungous houses, get picked up limos, heat their enormous swimming pools and then turn around and tell us to scrap our Explorers. Please.

Put up or shut up.

elvis on repeat

I just realized, after reading Lair's blog, that today is Elvis's birthday. Here, the obligatory repeat of my one and only post about Elvis:

August 15, 2002: Elvis

It was one of those moments when you say something you know you shouldn't. But I couldn't help myself. I was fourteen and still in the throes of teenage-girl-smart-ass disease.

25 years ago tomorrow, I was sitting in the backyard listening to the radio when I heard the news. I went inside and found my mother in her room, making her bed.

"Hey, mom. Guess you won't be going to that Elvis concert next week."
"What?"
"He's dead."

I may have snickered, I don't know.

Mom ran into the bathroom and turned on the little radio she kept in there. I remember the voice. I remember the exact sound of the tinny, staticy voice that relayed the news to my mother in a much softer way than I did.

Elvis was dead.

My mother's eyes filled with tears and despair while her face registered only that small "o" one's mouth makes when they hear shocking news. That "o" stayed there for a while, but the despair in her eyes had become hard and angry. She was pissed at me.

How could I have told her like that, knowing that she idolized Elvis in a pure, passionate way? How could I do that? What kind of daughter was i?

Well, I was fourteen. That's my only excuse.

I was a fourteen year old whose mother made fun of her own idolization of another self-obsessed, overly dramatic singer who similarly became a bloated replica of himself. And later, dead and bloated. Maybe it was my way of evening up the score.

My mother had this friend Noreen. Noreen was the largest woman I ever knew. Not just heavy large, but tall and wide and her hair was piled up on her head so she looked even taller. Her voice roared even when she whispered and her sneezes were legend in the neighborhood, said to be heard from at least three blocks away. She wore mumus and housecoats and tons of hairspray and sometimes she wore an ugly fur coat that made her look like a small woodland creature was nesting on her shouler.

Noreen and my mom were the Elvis duo. They worshiped him. They loved him. They knew everything about him and owned everything to do with him including Elvis commemorative plates and I think one of them had an Elvis wristwatch.

I grew up with Elvis's hips grinding in my face and his voice grinding in my ears and I have to admit that at some point, I realized what the attraction was. When I would lay in bed on summer nights, trying to sleep while my mother and Noreen and the rest of their crew played Pinochle in the kitchen and had Elvis on the stereo, I knew. His voice would come drifting into my room and I could feel the sensuality, the danger, the passion that lied within his words.

I would never tell anyone this, of course. I went about my daily business of bowing before Jim Morrison and Robert Plant and never let on that I thought Elvis was cool. Especially to my mother. That would just ruin the taut, tenous relationship that we both thrived on. Who was I to break the rite of passage of mother-teenage daughter bitterness and anger?

Noreen and my mother were going to see Elvis in August, 1977 at the Nassau Coliseum. They had seen him many times before but this one was special. They had a feeling this would be his last tour ever.

They were like little giddy school girls in the weeks leading up to the show. Sometimes my mother would take out her ticket and look at it. As I write this I realize that my mother was 39 at the time. The same age I am now. When I was fourteen, 39 was old and withered and wrinkled. 39 was too old to be getting worked up over a hip-shaking idol. Yet, here I am at 39 and I'm not old or withered or wrinkled and I would certainly get worked up over my hip-gyrating idol.

She was so happy. And I crushed her world. It would have been a much softer blow if it came from Cousin Brucie or Uncle somebody on whichever oldies station she was listening to. It would have been a bit easier to take if her teenage bag of hormones didn't make some smarmy remark about dying like a fat, beached whale.

When Noreen found out we heard her from two blocks away, bellowing and carrying on. Her booming voice sounded through the neighborhood like a siren, a mourning call for all Elvis fans in East Meadow to gather on her lawn and weep.

Not really. But it was something like that. I don't think my mother ever told Noreen the way in which she found out about the death of their hero. I probably wouldn't have lived to tell this tale if she knew. She would have kicked my ass all over town.

When Noreen died, my first thought was that she would finally get to see Elvis again. My second was that I was now safe from my mother ever spilling the beans to Noreen about my youthful indiscretion.

25 years later,my mother still has not forgiven me. Maybe that's what drives every argument we have, every nit-picky little fight we endure. Maybe she's still mad at me. I know she still resents it, still thinks about because yesterday she told my daughter that I laughed at her when Elvis died.

I didn't laugh. I may have snickered a little. Maybe.

I sent an email to my mother this morning:

I'm sorry, mom. I'm sorry I told you like that. But in a way it's your fault for making me sit through Viva Las Vegas and Jailhouse Rock, for forcing that horrid "In the Ghetto" on my ears, for making me tried fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches.

It's been 25 years, mom. I promise to play Elvis at my wedding next week if you promise to get over it already. Deal?

Maybe I should reword that.

i was going to hell anyhow...

Human shield becomes human road pizza.

Don't say I didn't warn you that no good would come of this.

rock over london

Lunch was good. The drinks were good. I lost my desire to get any work done and would much prefer to go home, put on something comfortable and read until I fall asleep.

You people are nothing if not eclectic. Let's go over some of the choices:

Frank: I bought my mother the Elvis 30 cd for Christmas. I may have to borrow it, as long as it does not have "In the Ghetto" on it.

Carol: I'll pass on the Power Rangers music. Bad enough I get the Yu Gi Oh! theme stuck in my head on a daily basis.

Lair: Talk radio is for my ride in (Curtis and Kuby) and my ride home (Hannity).

Joe: It's got Radiohead and one of my favorite songs, Rundgren's "Can We Still Be Friends," so I'll check it out.

Andy: I forgot all about "Postcards from Paradise." I loved that song. And how can you go wrong with William Shatner and Ben Folds?

Taco: Monster Magnet is always good. I think that's one of my dust collectors that I need to drag out.

Cow: Yes. Email on its way.

Ith: Listened to the Two Towers soundtrack over the weekend. That Gollum song made me cry.

Holly: Nick Cave is always playing in my house. We even had a Nick Cave tune for our wedding song.

Jay: I like the remix version of Hybrid Theory. I prefer old Incubus; Enjoy Incubus and S.C.I.E.N.C.E. are among my favorite albums ever.

SondraK: Rammstein and Clawfinger are always on regular rotation here. The self-titled Clawfinger is an amazing album. Deftones, Static X have been done to death not only by the both of us, but by DJ, too.

Keith: I wasn't that happy with Offspring's Americana. I much prefer Smash. I do like the sound of Audioslave. Oh, and Robbie Williams? Yum.

Roe: That is a truly astounding collection of music. The Warrant song almost made me dismiss it, but you totally redeem yourself with the inclusion of Aztec Camera and Handsome Boy Modeling School.

Lisa, dear sister of mine: You know what you can do with your hair metal.

Sal: LOVE the Cowboy Be-Bop music. Could listen to it all day.

Lisa: I haven't take the Korn cds out in a while. I think I'll try the self-titled today, as well as the first Chevelle and Cold's 13 Ways to Bleed on Stage, which I thought was brilliant.

Tom: Love the SOOL album. We have the Therapy? cd also, just have to try and find it.

Tim: I have a lot of Me First mp3s - I love their take on the Grease soundtrack.

Danielle: I collect cover songs and have quiet a few Misfits covers (I got the Misfits Boxset for my birthday last year - the one in the coffin). Off the top of my head I know I have Refused doing Bullet and AFI doing Halloween. If you want them, let me know.

Brendan: Thanks for reminding me of that music! I made a cd once with a lot of VAC, FLA and stuff like that. I'll have to look for it.

Mike: Just listened to Watching Scotty Die yesterday. Great stuff.


I certainly have a lot to go on now. Thanks everyone. Don't stop!

tequila and tunes

I'm not particularly in a warblogging mood today. It's been a long week already and one that has taken a toll on me emotionally.

There's only one cure for that, really. Lunch at my favorite mexican restaurant (no, not Taco Bell), the fajita quesidilla with rice washed down with a couple of shots of Jose. That should make the rest of the day easier.

So, I have something to ask you.

I have about 600 cds and 4,000 mp3s and I am sick of everything. I've been through it all a million times. I need something fresh and new - even if that something is old, but fresh and new to me. Or just a reminder of something I used to listen to and enjoy but perhaps has been gathering dust on my shelf, forgotten amidst my yearly winter obessions with all things punk. I mean, I'm listening to Social Distortion. That's how bad it's gotten.

What are you listening to? I mean right now. Or what was the last thing you listened to. It's time to fire up that virus/ad demon known as Kazaa and get me some new music before Cablevision institutes a policy on downloading limits.

Lunch is calling. Thanks.

club katana

update: I knew that if I made any factual, historical or cultural errors in the forming of Club Katana, Toren would come around eventually and set things right. And he has. Please see the comments so you can learn all about the katana. There will be a written exam right before the initiation rituals.


Todd and I are forming a club. It’s called the Katana Club and our motto is "Crush your enemies, see them driven before you, and hear the lamentation of the morons who plague us!”

All you need to join is the willingness to learn how to use a katana and a total lack of remorse when it comes to destroying your enemies. It also helps if you look as good in robes as Toshiro Mifune.

All meetings will videotaped so we can dub and subtitle them.

Thanks to intrepid reader Carol, we also have a logo and alternate motto:

[click for big, scary size]

Too much time on my hands, I know. But tell me you don't want to join Club Katana.

CotV #16: resoltions

James at Eleven Day Empire uses our own words againt us and turns our Carnival of the Vanities entries into New Year's resolutions. COV#16. Today's Required Reading.

no more

I know I'm not the only one feeling it. Misha has covered it this week, as has Den Beste and Andrea.

I was going to let it go; let my feelings about the Palestinians and Arafat just go quietly into the night, without opening myself up to email from people who will accuse me of being unfeeling and dark hearted.

I saw this and cringed.

I still don't understand how someone can victimize the Palestinians. The author of the above-linked article tries to get us to feel the plight of the people put out of their homes by Israeli tanks, but I'm not feeling it.

She mentions the people who were killed Tel Avivin the latest murderous show of aggression by terrorists, but she states, "This is the result of the ilegal Israeli occupation of Palestine, where the people are being squeezed to the point of explosion." As always with people like this writer, the victims of terroristic violence are not really victims, but deserving targets.

The wall is 8 metres high and 10 metres deep. The house demolition is somehow justified by the Israeli government as a necessity for the construction of this apartheid wall.

Apartheid? I think not. What other recourse does Israel have now? They have thus far refused to cave into the Hamas mentality of indiscriminate killing. You do not see IDF soldiers or civilian Israelis decked out in suicide gear with the goal of killing women and children. The cornered Arafat at one point, but did not kill him. And the bombings continue, the terrorism continues, the explosives laced with nails continue to be set off.

And what good would it do to kill Arafat anyhow? There are only others lined up to take his place. Others who will probably be fiercer and more callous and more murderous. Others who will not be satisfied until ever Israeli man, woman and child is dead.

I have said it before and I will say it again. The Palestinians live in a culture of violence. Build a wall around them. Keep them behind that wall and when they can't get out to kill Israelis, they will start killing each other.

They teach their children to hate. They raise them to be terrorists. They take pride in dressing infants in suicide gear. They hold school pageants where children walk around with bloody hands, pleased with themselves for portraying the death of innocent Israelis. The mothers weep with joy when their sons die in the line of terrorism, for they have acheived martyrdom, will be greeted by the virgins and the mothers can accept their blood money. They are congratulated when their sons and husbands kill. They dance with joy when babies are slaughtered in their beds.

A culture of hate. A culture of violence. There is no hope, no future for the Palestinians as long as their legacy is clouded with teaching of death and destruction.

They do not deserve, nor will they ever get, my sympathy. I do not feel for them. I do not wish them well.

I wish for one moment that they would feel the sorrow and pain of death that these families have, instead of the misguided glory they feel.

I wish them a giant impenetrable wall.

January 07, 2003

DJ

I'm still working on answering all your emails.

You were all so thoughtful and nice and so sympathetic to a kid (most of) you don't even know, I thought I would give you a face to go with the name.

This is DJ: (click for bigger picture)

Some day, when he discovers this blog, he will thank you all for sharing your stories and advice. Right after he kills me for posting all that stuff about him on Raising Hell.

you can't take me anywhere

I went with my sister to help her pick out a wedding gown tonight. We found one and she looked absolutely stunning in it.

The store was small and quiet. Just me, my sister Lisa, my sister Jo-Anne, my cousin Tori and the two women who worked there.

It wasn't my fault that the headless see-through manequin had boobs with nipples. I mean, what do you do when you see nipples? You tweak them. So, I played with the plastic nipples, no big deal. Right?

I'm sure that would have been fine if I did not make one very Freudian slip when Tori was deciding what shoes we would wear with the bridesmaid gowns.

"Oh, I could get a nice pair of silver strap-ons to go with that!"

I mean strapless. Strapless. Really.

I hope they let me back in on Saturday.

last thought on the situation today

I'm still really pissed off that the principal brought up the fact that I am divorced. His exact words were:

P:I didn't realized you are divorced...
me: since remarried...
P: well, we see this type of behavior often with children of divorce. They are looking for attention from their mothers.

So he was claiming that either DJ is making things up to get attention, that I don't give him enough attention, or both. I said:

The other boy who is being bullied, his parents aren't divorced. At that point, the principal changed the subject.

The Norwegian Blogger came up with something very interesting:

Meanwhile the general corruption of the educational system, or to be honest society at large, never tells people "There's something wrong with you" (unless they are conservatives), but always says "YAY! GO YOU!" and deliberately tries to bolster their self-esteem, this triggers pride and high self esteem, and when they get in touch with the real world they lash out at anyone and anything that challenges their own high self-image.

So then you combine the bureaucratic tendency with that of the ideologue, combined with an overwhelming sense of pride, and you have something out of Kafka, now let me explain how things goes with bullies, pay attention now children because this is how it works according to the Norwegian Blogger:

Now go check out the table he made to show the different responses to a bully situation.

Anyhow, enough of this today. It's giving me a headache.

earth to moby

Words from Moby:

it goes without saying that i, like most sane people, find iraq's actions over the last 20 years to be pretty reprehensible. using chemical and biological weapons on iranians and kurds and sunni's (is it sunni's? or shiites? i forget, oops). burning the oil fields in kuwait. attacking israel with scuds. and so on. but i'm actually kind of impressed by iraq's patience right now... i mean, look at it objectively. they've opened their doors to un inspectors, they're being bombed by british and american troops, american forces are massing at their borders, american diplomats are actively looking to assinate saddam hussein, etc. it almost seems like bush is doing everything he can to taunt saddam hussein. not just 'if you step over this line i will hit you', but 'if you step over this line while i put rats on your back and put butter on the floor and make fun of your mom and move the line then i will hit you, in fact i'll hit you even if you just stand there and do nothing.' it's painfully clear that iraq should not be allowed to have weapons of mass destruction. but it also seems painfully clear that the bush administration have no intention of finding a peaceful resolution to the situation in iraq. which is a shame. cos at the end of the day peace is better than war, right? or have things changed? according to the bush administration and the american media it would seem that most americans prefer war to peace. i'm guessing that's because most americans have never actually experienced war. and just as it's easy to eat meat if you never step foot in a slaughterhouse, it's easy to espouse the virtues of war if you've never actually experienced war firsthand. it's a sign of dark and troubled times when a powerful nations leaders do their best to keep people away from the high road. moby

I guess in between recording albums, protesting fur and getting beaten up by Eminem fans, Moby does not have adequate time to press the [shift] bar for capitalization.

So Moby is 'impressed' with Iraq's patience? What about the patience the U.S. has shown over the past decade or so? Does that mean nothing to the little bald man?

Of course, he is careful to say that he does not condone the actions of Saddam but, like a good leftie, he makes sure we know that peace is the answer, not war. I have a feeling if Saddam threatened to gas every pet in Iraq Moby and friends would be recording an all-star tribute called "Bomb the Heathen Now!" and begging Bush to Do Something.

Keeping people from the high road? Which high road was Saddam going to take? The one that tortures his people? The one that calls for ethnic cleansing? The one where he sticks innocent children in filthy prisons so they can starve to death?

If Moby honestly thinks that Saddam has any intention of taking the high road, I think he ought to get those injuries from that 'fight' checked out again.


.

a girl's gotta dream

Some people have lofty goals - president, rock star, reality show winner.

Not me. I like my goals to be simple. I have already achieved one personal high, that of being number one on Google for "george lucas fuckwad." And now, only seven days into the New Year, I have achieved another:

I have finally passed Chris Pirillo on the Blogrolling Top 100 list. We're Number Two!!

I'm not gunning for Robyn's number one spot, nor do I dare dream that I could attain that. I just had this burning desire to surpass Chris. Maybe that's because I'm trying to steal his wife from him. First, blogroll. Next, Gretchen!

covering the party

Do you think they would give press credentials to bloggers?

the meeting: use of force

DJ woke up with a headache today and I let him stay home. One of those 'mental health' days. At 9:30, I left him home with my husband and headed up to the school for a meeting with the principal and the teacher.

I walked towards DJ's classroom and stood in the hallway for a few minutes. The bell had not yet rung, so the kids were lined up in the halls.

It took all of two minutes before I was able to pick out which kid was Big Bully. Thing is, Big Billy turns out to be Little Bully. He's about the same size as DJ, yet his demeanor makes him appear to be much larger. In the time that I stood there waiting for the teacher, Big Bully had pushed/shoved no less than five kids, including two girls, one of whom he purposefully tripped. He had a little crowd around him; several boys who egged him and laughed at everything he did.

I should state for the record that I like DJ's teacher. She just has a very tough class this year, and it's a bit more than one person should have to handle. If you were just taking into consideration education (not social) factors, I would say she is a damned good teacher.

So the teacher and I headed up to the principal's office for a meeting. I immediately went on the defensive because the principal used wording that made me feel as if I had to explain myself when what I really wanted was for him to explain himself.

The conversation ran the gamut, from why children of divorce sometimes seek attention from their parents (are you saying my son is making stories up to get my attention?) to needing corroboration of Big Bully's behavior (I gave you the name of two other mother's, call them) to the school's zero-tolerance policy on hitting and shoving.

The problem with the zero-tolerance party is that the hitting needs to be brought to the attention of the teacher or supervising adult in the classroom, playground or lunchroom. This is DJ"s job, and I agree. He must tell someone when something happens. If Big Bully knows that DJ won't tell, it will only empower him to do it more.

I still did not like that tone of the meeting, during which I felt like the principal was somehow blaming the situation on me. He kept saying "real world" and "this is what adult's do" and "if someone robbed you, wouldn't you tell?" and I kept explaining that this is a nine year old kid we are talking about, not an adult. The principal said that DJ has to realize how the real world works sooner or later, and he needs to start telling on Big Bully before things escalate.

What if, I said, DJ gets to the point where he's had it? What if Big Bully takes it one step too far and DJ hauls off and hits him back? The principal explained the definition of fighting to me as if I was a three year old and assured me that they would both be punished.

I assured him that I would back up my son's right to defend himself physically if the situation called for it. Especially now that I no longer see Big Bully as some huge kid that would knock DJ flat, but just a little wimp whose bark is worse than his bite.

The meeting ended on a rather antagonistic note, but I don't care. I think they saw from the look in my eyes that I mean business. I did tell them I would take this higher up if need be. The bully does not have to push my child every day in order for this situation to be rectified; just the fact that he goes to school in a climate of fear is enough to warrant more action than what I'm getting.

I came home and went from upset and frustrated to pissed off and agitated. I made DJ breakfast and we sat on the couch together, watching cartoons and talking about the situation.

Aunt Lisa told me last night that I should defend myself.
Of course you should.
She told me that if he tried to hit me, I should grab his hand and bend his fingers back.
That's one move you could make.
But that would hurt him.
And then he wouldn't hurt you.
Yea.
And then Aunt Lisa said I should say 'your father told my mother that you have problems and you pee your bed at night.'
Well, Aunt Lisa tends to go overboard sometimes.
What if I did hit him back, mom? Would I get in trouble?
You might, but not with me.
You wouldn't be mad?
How could I be mad at you for defending yourself? And you know, I finally got a look at this kid today. You could take him. Easily.
Maybe. I just don't know how to fight.
You've seen enough hockey games. You know what to do.
Pull his shirt over his head?
Yep.
And then punch him in the stomach?
Yep.
Maybe I'll just start telling the teacher when he's being mean to me.
Yea, you need to do that. It's the only way he'll ever get punished and be made to pay for his behavior.
And then I'll go kick him in the balls.
That's my boy.

Bitch at me all you want for condoning violent behavior in my child. I've had enough of him being taken advantage of. The time has come to fight back and while I may do that with lawyers, DJ can do it with force.

this offer brought to you by CRACK

"Get birth control, get cash," the flier reads. "If you are addicted to drugs and/or alcohol then this offer is for you."

Children Requiring a Caring Kommunity, or Crack is offering $200 to crack addicts and alcoholics to get sterilized.

Let's put aside the ridiculous acronym for a moment and think about one thing. What is a drug addict/alcoholic going to do with that $200?

If you answered "buy drugs or alcohol," you win.

Dr. Attilio Rizzo Jr., a social worker in Brookdale's psychiatric emergency room, said that the program was "a godsend" and that he had already referred one woman, who did not respond to his offer. "A lot of them are homeless and have H.I.V. and are on drugs and they don't want to have any more babies," Dr. Rizzo said. "I believe it's up to the individual to make that decision."

A person who is in the throes of an addiction is hardly qualified to make that decision. But that's not even the issue. What this group is doing is selective breeding. They are going into "bad" neighborhoods, posting up flyers, and basically paying off people to be sterilized. They don't care what happens to the newly sterilized person once they leave the office with their $200 fresh drug money in hand.

But, hey - they are championed by Dr. Laura.

It's not that I think drug addicts should be out having sixteen kids by the age of 18, but let's just practice some truth in advertising here. The CRACK flyers should really read: Out of crack? Getting the DTs? Desperate for a hit? Just come on in and we'll get your balls snipped or tie your tubes and in return you can get enough money to get you high for the rest of the week!

Saving the children and making the world a better place for crack dealers. Sell your balls for rent money.

Yea, I could go on. But I won't. I have a meeting to go to.

mailbag is full

I apologize if I don't get around to answering your email right away. I have received so many emails since yesterday I can't keep up. I will get to them all, and thank you once again. I'm going up to the school to raise hell in about two hours. It's as if I'll be standing there with 100 people behind me. Thanks.

bowling for dollars

Michael Moore, gelatinous gasbag:

American satirist Michael Moore has stormed out of Britain after a bust up with the London theatre hosting his one-man show. The Bowling For Columbine moviemaker performed Michael Moore - Live! to packed audiences for two months before Christmas at The Roundhouse in Camden, North London. But on the penultimate night he reportedly flew into a rage, verbally attacked everyone associated with the theatre because he thought he wasn't being paid enough. During the performance he complained he was making just $750 a night. A member of the stage crew says, "He completely lost the plot. He stormed around all day screaming at everyone, even the £5-an-hour bar staff, telling them how we were all conmen and useless. Then he went on stage and did it in public." Staff retaliated by refusing to work the following night, which led to the show being held up for an hour. Eventually he made a groveling apology to staff and the angry audience finally took to their seats. A source reports that Moore then packed his bags and flew to New York the next day without saying thank you or goodbye to anyone

But he's all about the little people, the working man, the common folk.

January 06, 2003

a day in the life

I'm sitting here literally crying over some of the emails I've received today. Not just the support and advice, but the stories you are telling me.

I don't mean to harp on the subject, but this is all my day has been about. I alternate between wanting to rip the eyes out of this kid and wanting to pull DJ out of school. Which is not an option, though I wish it was.

So many of you have told me about your kids or your own problems of this manner as children. It amazes me that so much of this goes on in our classrooms. I was one of those kids myself. I know the pain that comes with being bullied and I know all too well the fear of school that develops because of it.

DJ is a good student. He is one of those effortless A kids. He is a natural at math and science, a whiz in reading. I want him to love school. I want him to be proud of his skills. But for him, school has become a dungeon, a place of imprisonment. He has developed a nervous twitch in his eye. He has constant headaches and stomach aches. This is not how it's supposed to be. This is his childhood and he's hating it.

My son is not a kid with great self-confidence. He's small for his age. He speaks softly. He's shy. The only time he radiates confidence and is self assure is on the baseball field. It's winter. There are no home runs for him to hit, no strike outs for him to throw to make himself feel good.

My sister Lisa had a talk with DJ about this tonight. He told her - and this is something he never told me - that Big Bully pushes him. He physically touches my son. I am livid and I am sad and I want action.

All you want is for your kids to be happy, to have that carefree childhood that you read about in books. No ten year old should sit in his room at 3am, staring at the glow of the digital clock and counting the hours towards another day of torture. You do everything you can for them to keep them out of harm's way; they wear seat belts in cars and helmets when they are on their bikes and you keep the cleaning fluids out of reach. You give them vitamins and make them brush their teeth and tell them to look both ways when they cross the street and don't take candy from strangers.

But once they leave your house and enter the school building, you can't buckle them in for that. They are on their own for the most part. My son is ten. I cannot stand over him every minute of the day and guide him through life. He has to learn how to cope on his own and how to solve his own problems.

But what happens when the problems are bigger than they can handle? What happens when the problems aren't solveable at all because the agitating factor is out of your hands?

Unfortunately, they don't leave the situation behind at 3:15. It's not like when I walk out of work at 4:30 and I am no longer thinking about motions and mandate letters and attorneys. Kids are different. They drag every emotion they have around with them like a blanket. They don't let go as easily as we do. They want to know why. Why can't everyone like them? Why can't that kid just stop teasing him? Why can't you fix it, mom?

Being a parent is at once heartbreaking and wonderful. Sometimes more of one than the other. And it's a juggling act. With one hand I'm trying to deal with Natalie's fast-paced walk into puberty and with the other I'm dealing with DJ's withdrawal from his former light-hearted self. It leaves me shaking by the end of the day. Now I know why my parents always had the extra large bottle of Bayer Aspirin on hand when we were young.

I can teach my own kids manners and respect and morals, but what other children learn at home is out of my hands. It's like being on the road on New Year's Eve. You're not drunk, but you have to watch out for all the people that are.

Right now DJ is in his room playing video games with his stepfather. He's laughing and having a good time and I wish like hell that this is all his days could ever be. Unfortunately, there are people out there, bullies and bosses and backstabbers that will come for our children through every stage of life.

The question is, do we teach them to avoid these people, try to change these people or just beat them down?

Yea, I know what we would like to do, but we're not like that, are we?

instacaption

Glenn Reynolds: Law Professor. Blogger. Sith Lord.

the internet: your own private sewer system

I would like to retract my statement that Fark is the cesspool of the internet. While it does attract its share of morons, the real cesspool of the internet is here. No, wait...here. Umm, maybe here. No, it's defintely here.

thank you

Again, I want to thank everyone for the overwhelming response to the bully post. Your comments and emails have been a big help. You've all given me the confidence to be confrontational about this.

So I went to the pizza place owned by the father of Big Bully. He wasn't there. I guess that's a good thing because DJ was horrified that I would approach the father like that. He said it would only make things worse.

I waited for both the teacher and the principal to call me back. Neither did.

Natalie spoke to Big Bully's older sister today, whom I affectionately refer to as "future whore." She said "Yea, that sounds like my brother. Nothing we can do about it." So you know how things go down in that house.

I'm going to drop in on the superindent tomorrow. I have an awful lot of names I can drop and you better believe I will drop every one of them. It's good to have a father who knows people.

The squeaky wheel is about to get the grease.

pussies for peace?

dicks for disarmament?

Marin women plan to march naked in San Francisco for peace

These are some of the same women who spelled out "PEACE" with their naked bodies in November.

"One hundred thousand women and men will strip on Jan. 18 in Washington D.C. and San Francisco for the huge national peace march in protest of the stripping of constitutional rights by a government intent on war," said Donna Sheehan, founder of Unreasonable Women Baring Witness in Point Reyes Station.

"Our message to women all over the world is be bold, be courageous, be vulnerable for peace."

I'm thinking the marketing team for Bic Lady Razors should head over there and hand out samples.

I do have some questions about this event?

And isn't there some kind of law against public nudity? How about public stupidity? How many will paint "No Blood for Oil" across their tits or asses? Where will they hold their dime bags?

I have a feeling there's going to be a bad smell eminating from D.C. and San Fransisco on January 18.

playing the part of the bully is arafat

Thank you everyone for the advice and the support on the post below. I just got off the phone with the principal again, and got nowhere. Again.

I was talking to my boss about this, and we ended up comparing it to the Middle East, to Israel and Palestine. And what is school but a microcosm of politics and the world in general?

During our discussion about Israel (something we discuss often), my boss said that his son is doing a project for school on anti-Zionism and anti-semitism (he goes to a Yeshiva) and was looking for websites where he could find links to news articles and opinion pieces on the subject. Of course, I directed him to Little Green Footballs. I have a feeling Adam will become a fixture there.

Anyhow, this has been a frustrating, aggravating day. I'm closing up shop here and heading home to await a call from DJ's teacher.

I've taken off the kid gloves. I'm about to get mean.

how to grow a bully

So, what happened to prompt me to post in the middle of a work-related nervous breakdown is this: I have finally seen what the liberalization of education has done to our school systems.

DJ has been having a problem with a bully. It's the same bully as last year, the same one who took his money, the same one who wouldn't let him play soccer on the playground. This year he has taken to physically threatening DJ.

After chatting the with the mother of DJ's best friend, I realized that my son's rants about this bully were not borne of exaggeration. Apparently DJ's friend is also tormented by Big Bully, to the extent that he cries every morning that he doesn't want to go to school.

I spoke to the teacher about it. The class is unruly, she says. It's the worst class she has ever had. She has no control. DJ and his friend, however, are model students who never do anything wrong.

Well, of course not. They are terrified of even moving around in their seats.

Today I called the principal. He gave me a touchy-feely response about how we must take into consideration the bully's feelings. After all, Mr. Principal said, Big Bully's mother died.

Yes, I say. I am aware that Big Bully's mother died four years ago. For how long will he continue to get a sympathetic pat on the back every time he acts up?

I mean, what is the statute of limitations on using your mother's death as an excuse for atrocious behavior?

Well, Mr. Principal says, we have tried peer mediation and peer review with Big Bully. I sent home a pamphlet that will help his father and step-mother go over the proper way to express anger.

See, that's the thing, I say. He has no reason to be angry at my son or my son's friend. If he wants to express anger, I suggest that the classroom is not the appropriate place to do it.

Oh, says Mr. Principal. When he expresses anger in the classroom, he gets sent up here to me.

And then what happens?

He has to sit on the bench for a few minutes while he thinks about his behavior.

And then?

And then he goes back to class.

And he behaves that way all over again.

Well, says Mr. Principal again, and I can almost see him rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Do you think there is something your son or his friend is doing to egg Big Bully on? Perhaps they have angered him in some way?

I chuckle. I ask if this is not a case of blaming the victims.

Uh, no. I was just wondering why the antagonism between them, he says.

Well, gee. Perhaps if Big Bully spent some time talking to you when he came up for his "punishment" instead of just sitting on a bench staring out the window, you may get him to talk about it. I said something to that effect.

Oh, no, Mr. Principal says. We don't want Big Bully to feel like we are against him. We have to be careful of the children's feelings. We have to be sure not to hurt anyone in the process of healing.

What about my son? What about his feelings and his hurt?

We could take drastic measure and remove your son from the class or arrange for some teaching time in the resource center, away from the other kids.

That seems like what you should be doing for Big Bully, not for his victims.

We need to understand Big Bully and his actions. Perhaps if your son was taken out of the equation we could see what is really going on with the bully, how he behaves when your son is out of the classroom.

At this point I'm ready to ask him if owns a "No blood for oil" t shirt.

He talks for a few more minutes about the mediation programs and the peer programs and the need to understand the Bully's motives. Mr. Principal assures me that they don't take this kind of thing lightly, despite what I may think.

I bring up the subject of Nick, the boy who was the bully while my daughter was at the school. Nick threw a chair at a teacher. Nick cursed the school nurse out. Nick was caught with a knife. Nick used to hide in the girl's bathroom.

Nick was never suspended, never punished. In fact, Nick had the lead role in the school play. They thought it would be good for him.

Mr. Principal says they dealt with Nick the best way the could.

Which was, I say, to not deal with him at all. And then to reward him for his behavior.

I tell Mr. Principal I have to go, it was nice chatting with him and that I would be calling the school district as soon as I hung up with him.

The school district, when made aware of the problems, asked me if I wanted to have DJ speak to the social worker in order to "work out his issues." When reminded that my son was not the one who needed to deal with his issues, the kind woman told me "we have to tread lightly with people like Big Bully. They need to be encouraged, not discouraged. Sending him to counseling will only hurt his self esteem and make him behave worse."

I hung up. Talk about discouraged.

Now, I deal with things my way. Big Bully's father owns the pizza place a few blocks from my house. I'll be taking a ride over there today to deal with this one on one, parent to parent. Though I know other mothers and fathers have gone this route before and returned home with heads bowed, defeated by the Father of Big Bully, also known as Big Bully, Sr., I will not be defeated.

If all else fails, I am just going to teach DJ how to throw a roundhouse punch and knock Big Bully flat on his ass. The hell with peace and appeasement. This is where it gets us. Nowhere.

bluer monday

A two week vacation from work means two weeks worth of work piled on your desk when you get back. Not to mention the boxes of new law books that need to be put away, all the mail that hasn't been touched and files that need to be taken care of ASAP lest someone go to jail due to my prolonged vacation.

In short, I don't expect I will be posting until much later in the afternoon, at which point I will probably be rendered incoherent by the sheer volume of crap I have to sort through today.

Looks like I picked a bad time to quit smoking/drinking/sniffing glue.

12 years ago

It was just about 12 years ago that I sat on my living room floor, watching Natalie take her first tentative steps. It was the January, 1991, and while Natalie was inching her way towards me, someone on CNN was talking about the beginning of Operation Desert Storm.

Just thinking out loud.

blue monday

The Required Reading 2002 will not be up until tomorrow, as my cable modem was down for most of the night and I alternated between having a hissy fit and sleeping.

It's back to work today, after an almost two week vacation, and back to school for the kids. Posting will resume its normal pace, whatever that was.

So, being it's Monday morning and I anticipate it to be a very hectic one, rather than tax my brain trying to come up with a good rant or take apart some news article, I'll delve into the mail bag until I can get to my office and avoid the backlog of work I have by blogging.

This one came to me last night:

At least those "human shields" are going out there and doing something unlike you and your idiot friends who only sit home and bitch about Dubya not killing any Iraqis yet, because you are so gungho on going to war and killkillkill the innocents and killkillkill the bad guys. get off your asses and do something like us "liberals" are. At least we know how to put our money where our mouth is by standing up and shouting you down. As for ELF and other groups like it, at least they take action. They are here for your benefit, you stupid limbaugh loving whore.

m. graham

Dear M. Graham,

a) What the "human shields" are doing is pure idiocy. Putting yourself in the line of fire by protecting the very people who wish to see us dead is neither heroic nor very smart.

b) The only Iraqi I would like to see dead is Saddam. And perhaps Uday. You see something wrong with killing the bad guys? After all, Saddam and his henchmen have systematically tortured and killed thousands upon thousands of their people. But you don't see that, do you? Saddam is somehow a victim to you.

c) How is "shouting me down" with your cardboard signs and protest songs any different than my writing about it? That's not putting your money where your mouth is. Come up with a solution on how to get Iraq to disarm peacefully and I'll make you my hero. If you can't do that, and can't offer any other solution to ridding the world of a tyranical man who his hell bent on destroying anyone who doesn't see the world the way he does, then shut the hell up, sit down and stop your bitching.

d) Setting cars on fire is not action. It's illegal and it's destructive. Have they ever thought about the pollution they release into the air every time they set a fire? ELF, ALF and PETA are not here for my benefit. They are a thorn in my side.

e) Ah, the name calling. I knew you would get to that sooner or later. Limbaugh loving whore? How dare you!

I have no love for Limbaugh. Take that back, please.

That's it for now. I have to try to get back into this routine thing again.

January 05, 2003

and...

Ok, two more thoughts.

I made a wide, sweeping statement when I bashed all Farkers for the idiocy over at wKen's site. You aren't all living in your parent's basement and jacking off to the Power Puff girls. Just the ones who posted the nasty pictures and insulting comments.

Also, on the horror movie post: Don't slag Army of Darkness around here. You will suffer. And Wickerman was one of the stupidest movies I have ever seen.

Now go, Space Ghost is on.

PSA

And now, my final thought for the evening.

The United States is not, by definition, an empire.

These guys work for an empire.

These people do not.

Thank you.

I hope you were watching Adult Swim this whole time. If not, your loss.

playing the victim

On Christmas Eve in 1987, Long Islander Matthew Solomon's wife Lisa went for a walk. She never came back.

In the following days, Matthew helped searchers canvas the neighborhood, searching for his young wife. He gave tearful interviews and appeared to most to be a bereaved husband.

I suspected the husband from the start. It was his eyes, his mannerisms. I'm pretty good at reading people. I had an instant distruts of the husband from the moment I first saw him on tv.

Later, it was discovered that Matthew Solomon killed his wife and stuffed her body in a plastic garbage bag.

I've been thinking of that story all week as I read the news from Modesto, where Laci Peterson has been missing since Christmas Eve.

I hope this does not have the same ending as the Solomon story, though it seems to be pointing in that direction.

Which, of course, reminds me of the Charles Stuart story. Stuart at least had the good grace to kill himself after the ordeal, thus making the world one bastard lighter.

It's just interesting how many stories are out there of husbands killing their wives and then playing victim.

(That is not a social commentary, just a statement)

Looking at the first link, which details famous Long Island murders, I'm reminded of the stories of the last two faces in the sidebar and how I still believe that one of them is innocent and the other was guilty, but not the only one.

Hmm. I think I'll save my thoughts on these stories. Could make an interesting post one day.

cranium blowout!!

deadanim.gifIn my post below about Bad Taste, Kevin asks what I thought of Dead Alive. First, I refer to this post. Oh, and this one.

Basically, Dead Alive is the greatest horror movie ever made. Complete gross-out gore with some of the best quotes EVER:

Your mother ate my dog!
Not all of it.

That's my mother you're pissing on!

And the best: Cranium blowout!!

We have Meet the Feebles but have yet to watch it. And it won't be tonight because this is the night that Oz returns. Please do not call my house between 9 and 10 EST, thank you.

breaking news

From CNN:

DEVELOPING STORY Israeli forces fired rockets at targets in Gaza late Sunday, hours after two apparent suicide bombings in Tel Aviv. Israeli authorities said those bombings killed 22 people. Details soon.

I give it an hour tops before someone calls the act "horrendous," calls the Israeli soldiers "muderers," and blames Israel for all the violence.

Oh, and that attack today that killed at least 22 people? Here's what Reuters had to say:

A Palestinian militant group claimed responsibility. The Palestinian Authority denounced it as a "terrorist" attack.

Militant. "Terrorist."

Right.

braaaaaains

BadTaste.jpg


We watched Bad Taste (again) today and we're sitting here wondering how one can create the greatest movie ever made as well as the grossest movie ever made. Now that's what I call being diverse.

haven't they found a cure for stunted maturity yet?

Giving credence to the thought that Fark is the cesspool of the internet, some Farkers went over to wKen's wonderful photo contest, dropped some nasty comments and hardcore porn in the comments and thus ruined a really good idea. wKen had to take the comments down for now, but the pictures remain.

I suppose you can't fault the Farkers, though. I'm sure brain atrophy sets in after a while when you spend all your time in your mommy's basement jacking off to cartoon tits.

Hopefully wKen will get the show running again and all the Beavis and Buttheads from the Fark cesspool will have found another boobie picture to stare at for the rest of the evening.

fisk and mallick - useless idiots

Idiocy abounds today. Thankfully, there are people to hand the idiots their words back, with mustard.

First, Emperor Misha takes on - who else - Robert Fisk and does it in true Emperor style.

FISK: North Korea breaks all its nuclear agreements with the United States, throws out UN inspectors and sets off to make a bomb a year, and President Bush says it's "a diplomatic issue".

AUGUSTUS: They still insist on taking that President of yours literally, do they?
EMP. MISHA I: Oh yes, they do.
TIBERIUS: Amusing... Would that MY Senate had been that gullible.
CALIGULA: Well, they were under ME!
TIBERIUS: No they weren't, you fool, they were just a little averse to waking up and finding a gladius inserted in their recta in case you were to suspect that they disagreed.


The comments in that post led me to Rohan & Trevalyan's Happy Fun Rottweilers who chewed up and picked apart everyone's favorite Canadian, Heather Mallick. Mallick's column is beyond reprehenisble - it's also callous, mean-spirited and infuriating. Thankfully, Trevalyan answers Mallick's every dimwitted word.

There's your required reading for today.

in a nutshell

Taglines by Patio Pundit

If blogs were movies, my ad would read:

Scary. But yeah.

explosions in tel aviv

CNN online is reporting two huge explosions in Tel Aviv. No link yet, but CNN on tv says at least 20 people have been hurt. More as updates come in.

Now they are reporting "several" deaths.

update: Fox News is reporting 15-20 deaths.

CNN link

Not that I needed the confirmation, but:

Two homicide bombers blew themselves up in downtown Tel Aviv on Sunday, killing at least 10 bystanders in the first such attack in an Israeli city since November.

The old two-explosion ruse. Set one bomb off, wait for rescuers to come in and then the other bomb goes off.

Forget about a wall around the Palestinians. Just bury them instead. Palestine is nothing but a day camp that trains terrorists.

Big Al on the scene

And this man wants to run for president:

The Rev. Al Sharpton said yesterday that he was unsatisfied with internal police inquiries that found three recent police shootings apparently justified, and announced he formed an investigative panel to be led by City Councilman Charles Barron and a retired NYPD sergeant.

Sharpton, surrounded by families of the victims, claims that three of the men shoth "might not have posed an imminent threat when they were shot."

Jamal Nixon was shot Wednesday in Brownsville after he fired into the air and then turned his gun on police.

Anthony Reid was killed about three hours later after he apparently fired at a fleeing car and at police responding to the scene.

The next day, Allen Newsome was killed in Harlem after putting a pellet gun to the head of a detective dressed as a delivery man, according to police. The detective's partner shot him .

Nope, no imminent threat there. None at all.

[T]he head of 100 Blacks in Law Enforcement Who Care countered two hours later that he was content with the department's probes, noting the three shootings happened apparently after the suspects turned their weapons on officers.

Yet, there's Big Al, still out there looking for publicity, trying for all the world to look like he's a man of the people, for the people. He needs to choose his "victims" a bit more carefully if he intends for people to take his run for the White House seriously, though I've yet to come across anyone - Republican or Democrat - who has.

Survivor 5: Iraq

100,000 offer to be human shields

BAGHDAD/WASHINGTON, 5 January 2003 — Iraq is preparing to take in thousands of people from across the world who have offered to be used as “human shields” against a US-led war, an official newspaper reported yesterday.

Al-Qadissiyah quoted former Jordanian MP Mansur Murad, who has been campaigning for volunteers, as saying some 100,000 people had already come forward. However, the daily gave no dates for the arrival of the volunteers.

There's a phrase for when people like this die in the course of their actions. It's called natural selection. And if those people are American, they are called traitors.

I say, they knew what they were getting into. Let them die. (loosely paraphrased)

Meanwhile, the Iraqi News Agency reported from Paris that a group of French “peace volunteers” would arrive in Baghdad shortly at the initiative of the Franco-Iraqi friendship association run by Gilles Munier.

Now there's a shocker.

Perhaps I should send each one of them a Useful Idiot T-shirt(tm). Especially this one.

(Arab News link via NNP)

ELF strikes again

E.L.F. says it burned SUVs
Radical environmentalists claim involvement in fire

People who claim affiliation with the radical environmental group Earth Liberation Front say they torched four vehicles at a Girard car dealership....A communique released by E.L.F.'s press office Friday morning stated the group "attacked" several SUVs at the dealership at 5:30 a.m. Wednesday, destroying four vehicles and damaging several others. The attacks caused an estimated $90,000 in damage, according to the communique.

From the ELF website:

[T]he E.L.F. will continue to fight to remove the profit motive from the killing of the natural environment, and to draw public attention to that which is deliberately concealed from them by the forces that control our lives and destroy our home.

We urge our sisters and brothers - let us strive to become the revolutionary force we've always spoken of being, and begin to take the control of our lives out of the hands of those who would destroy us. NO COMPROMISE.

Happy New Year Bob Ferrando!

The same group of people who march for freedom, peace and liberties; the same people want claim to be out protesting the stripping down of your personal freedoms, have once again proven their self-centered ignorance.

Destruction is obviously the only way these cretins know how to make themselves known. One only needs to look at this image which graces the front of their website to realize that the mission of organizations such as ELF, ALF and PETA is fought with violence and apathy towards other human beings. I call this sort of activism destructivism.

Look on the sidebar of the ELF website and you'll see Setting Fires With Electrical Timers: An Earth Liberation Front Guide.

Under the FAQ, you see this statement:

The ELF realizes the profit motive caused and reinforced by the capitalist society is destroying all life on this planet. The only way, at this point in time, to stop that continued destruction of life is to by any means necessary take the profit motive out of killing.

Arson as a means to an end? Illegal activities, destruction of personal property, destruction of someone's business, of homes in order to get your point across? How do they expect anyone to take them seriously as anything but thugs?

The ELF seems to hold a special place in the hearts for my homeland of Long Island. Many of their actions have taken place here:

December 19, 2000. Miller Place, Long Island, NY, USA
The ELF burn down a home under construction. The communique sent stated "There are over 6 billion people on this planet of which almost a third are either starving or living in poverty. Building homes for the wealthy should not even be a priority." $50,000+ damages

Guess what, guys? If someone has worked their entire life to build up a small fortune, they do not owe it to anyone else to live a stripped-down life because people are starving in other countries. I am not one of those people who will sit down to a lavish dinner - one that I earned the money to purchase - and think about how many people are starving in North Korea. Take it up with the leader of that country.

On the same note, if I want to build a ten bedroom house and I worked hard for the money to buy that house, I am not going to feel guilty because there are some people in the world sleeping in cardboard boxes. Why should I feel responsible for the rest of humanity when I have been working my ass off to have the money to make a comfortable life possible for me and my family? What good will it do if I decide to live in a trailer in a campground instead of a two story house? Do you really think anyone in Somolia is going to give a shit?

This is a capitalist society, folks. Get over it. If you want to live in a country where there are no SUVs and no sprawling houses and no malls, I have a few suggestions for you. But in those countries, you wouldn't be free to hold up signs protesting your government.

You know, when I was in high school, I thought that "from each according to their abilities to each according to his needs" was a brilliant idea. And then I grew up.

oh. that was real.

Damn. It wasn't a bad dream.

I woke up to a furor going on in the comments of "I'm a homosexualist and proud."

If you want to hang around this place and argue about morality, that's fine. But damn it, if you are going to start fisking my commenters, open your own damn blog and do it.

Now, I'm going to have some coffee and make a Michael Vick voodoo doll.

January 04, 2003

27-7

I don't want to talk about it and if you know what's good for you, you won't talk about it either. At least not here.

I guess it's time to practice my J-E-T-S Jets Jets Jets! cheer.

Oh, but there is joy in Bloggerville because Toren has come back!

bringer of death

Glenn Danzig was on Aquateen Hunger Force.

cc2.jpg


That's like two, two, two mints in one!

mas tequila

I'm getting my drunk on and watching the Packers game in despair.

The hell with margaritas. I've gone straight to the tequila shots. Gotta make use of those shotglasses I got for Christmas.

Touchdown!!!

Sorry, got distracted there. The best way to listen to a football game on tv is to not listen to it. Turn the sound down, turn the stereo up. Pantera works well for football.

Ok, on with my favorites from 2002. Blog/person I fell in love with in 2002: Tanya

My favorite Blogcritics post from the year involved me, Leo Sayer and sabotage. Read it if you haven't already. It's funny. Really.

I heard a song in the supermarket yesterday and it reminded me of this incident.

The year is 1978. I'm in high school, beginning of junior year. There's me and three guys and we are best of friends. We go nowhere without each other, we make no convoluted plots to take over the world without all of us present. We move like stealth bombers in the night, all army jackets and dirty jeans and Genesis t shirts (before Phil Collins ruined the band, ok?) We are the cutting edge of a white-bred community, which really isn't saying much, but we think we are the coolest people on the face of the earth. We listen to prog rock and punk rock and never pop rock or disco or, god forbid, Journey or Bruce Springsteen. We think guitar solos are passe but drum solos rock the house. We think Peter Gabriel is a genius and bands like Styx and Fleetwood Mac need to be silenced. We secretly listen to Van Halen but no one tells the other until years later, when we can laugh at David Lee Roth from the safe distance of many years.

We don't hang out at the mall like the other kids. No, we hang out in Kevin's room with the black lights and Emerson Lake & Palmer posters, or we hang out in Paul's garage, with the drum set and the Ramones "Road to Ruin" playing over and over. Every once in a while though, we are drawn to the mall, because Record World owns us. It is the only reason to get on public transportation. It is the only reason to beg someone's older brother for a ride. To buy records and look through the stacks of vinyl and pray that you will find some obscure punk rock album in the cut out bin for 99 cents, but all you can find is Heart and Blue Oyster Cult, and a 45 of Nazareth's "Love Hurts" that you play 50 times in the next three days.

One of those weekends arrives when there's nothing to do because Kevin's mom won't let us hang out in the house and Paul's mother is having a garage sale so we can't hang out there. We decide to hop the bus and go to the mall, where we will pool our money together to buy an album, and have enough left over to ask Kevin's brother to buy us quarts of beer when we get home. Perfect day.

We get to the mall and the first thing we notice is there's more security guards than usual. This is suburbia. There's not much trouble at the mall. We figure there's some kind of protest going on. You know how those college kids are, always protesting the fur or the man or whatever gets them out of the dorms. So we make our way through the mall, wanting to just get to the record store and get the hell out of there without encountering any cheerleaders or football players or giddy junior high girls that always try to pick up Tim. We are about two feet from the record store when we are stopped by a short, fat security guard and a velvet rope going across the length of the mall.

"You cannot get through this way. You must go around the other entrance to the mall and wait on line." The guard stands with his hand in his pocket, as if he is believing his own lie that he's a real cop and there's a gun hidden away there.
"Wait for what?" I ask him. "What's the line for?" He rolls his eyes at me.
"The show. The concert." I can almost here the "Duh!" coming out of his mouth.
We look beyond the velvet ropes, past the throng of the most hideous looking group of middle aged women and giggling teenagers forming what looked like a huge conga line of patheticness. There's an amplifier set up on each corner of the square the ropes have formed. There's a makeshift stage in the middle, really just a few planks of wood. A concert. A show.
"So, who's playing?" Kevin asks the guard. He rolls his eyes again.
"Only Leo Sayer!" He says this with pride and arrogance. As if we should have known that the most untalented white boy to ever grace pop music was playing in our very mall today.
"Leo Sayer," I say.
"Leo Sayer," The other three say.

We look at each other in the way that only friends who have performed sinister acts of rebellion together in the past can do. The look. The glance. The unspoken words that pass between us. The guard senses something going on. He looks us up and down, sees the clothes and the hair and the patches on the jackets and you can just about see the light bulb go on over his head.

"Hey! You're not here to see Leo!"
"Duh," I say. "We're here to buy some records. Can we go in?"
"No. Come back tomorrow. And don't make any trouble. I know your kind."
"Sure," Tim says. "Sure. We'll be on our way now. You take care, ok?" His words were the equivalent of patting the guy on the head.

We walk around the other side of the mall. We stake the place out, eyeing the set up of the amps and the positioning of the security guards. We synchronize our watches and hatch our plan and wait. We wait patiently. Fifteen minutes until Leo Sayer bounces on to the stage, white boy afro and squeaky voice, ready to rock the world with "You Make me Feel Like Dancing." Wanna dance the night away? Nope. Not with you, Leo.

We must do this. In the name of good music. In the name of Peter Gabriel and Joey Ramone.

Five minutes til Leo.

Finally, we hear a squeal rise out from the crowd. The sound of 200 or more tone-deaf women swooning at the site of a guy who looks like the poster child for geeks. We assume our positions. We wish each other luck in our mission. It's time.

Leo is escorted on to the wooden plank stage by his manager and two mall security guards. The women swoon. The music cues (this is the 70's - he's going to lip sync) - and we run in four opposite directions. Within thirty seconds we have done it. We have unplugged all of Leo's speakers. The music stops. Leo is just about to "sing" the first words into the mic and everything goes dead. He's mouthing words to dead air. Silence.

The security guard who spoke to us earlier spies me as I am walking swiftly away from the northeast amp. "IT"S THEM!," he shouts, pointing in my direction, and then swinging around to see Kevin running the other way. He points at him, at me, yelling at the other security guards, his face red and sweaty and alarmed. I'm having fits of laughter while I'm running, thinking that the guard is acting as if we just killed the president. I keep thinking about book depositories and grassy knolls and this too fat mall cop running after me because some disco pop boy had his amp unplugged.

The four of us meet outside, at the bus shelter and we decide it's too risky to wait another ten minutes for the bus to come so we start the long walk home, stopping every once in a while to roll around on the sidewalks in fits of laughter.

We get home, tell Kevin's brother about our exploits and he buys us beer and let's us drink it in his room. This is the big time. The older brother's secret sanctuary. He holds up his quart of piss warm Miller and toasts to us. "To good music!" We toast back, drink our beer and it doesn't dawn on me until now, 20 something years later, that Genesis wasn't really good music, and that Leo never had a hit after that day.

holy shit!

jetscore.jpg

That's gotta hurt.

testing..

I took this comic ideology test (via Johnny Bacardi, who will be out one comic in a few hours) while I'm sitting around waiting for the Packers game to start.

My ideology is in line with Dave Sim, Gary Groth and Neil Gaiman.

I am partly satisfied with the results. Dave Sim is a bit of a loon. A misogynist loon. Quote: "It wouldn't be that big a stretch to categorize my writing as Hate Literature against women . . . in this Fascistic Feminist country"

That said, I love his work on Cerebus, which probably would automatically disqualify me from joining any Fascist Feminist clubs.

As for Gary Groth, a quote from him: It was not only talent that these cartoonists brought to comics but integrity as well, by which I mean the artists' refusal to subserve their talent to the demands of either corporate masters or the marketplace. Have I mentioned that I hate Marvel? Just saying.

And Neil Gaiman. Well, those who know me know that I am a slave to all things Gaiman. We don't need to delve into that right now, lest the Elite Comic Troops come out from under their bridges and start sending me hate mail again.

I was not so satisfied with the results of the Personality Disorder Test, which claims that I am a paranoid schizophrenic with borderline antisocial behavior, prone to narcissistic fits of histrionics while being avoidant, dependent and obesssive-compulsive.

Good thing I'm heavily medicated, eh?

yea, another repeat

I'm busy compiling all the links for the Required Reading 2002, which will go up on Monday morning.

No one seems to be around tonight anyhow, except for Kings Kid, who is arguing with me about absolute morality.

I still haven't finished beating you over the head with my own best of 2002. This is one of my favorite post from Raising Hell. Flirting Lessons:

Scene: Restaurant/pizza place where we are enjoying DJ’s baseball team’s end-of-season party.

The boys are in the front of the restaurant, by the door, so they can escort in anyone who shows up and lead them to the back room we have taken over.

I am sitting in the back room with some of the other parents. One mom walks in and gives me that look. The look that says “do you have any idea what your son is doing?” Believe me, I have seen that look enough to recognize it instantly.

“Do you have any idea what your son is doing?” she says, predictably.
“Do I want to know?”
“He is standing at the front door trying to pick up a 17 year old girl.”
“That’s pretty interesting because just yesterday he announced to us that he’s gay. For the second time.”
“He’s nine.”
“He likes attention.”
“Well, this girl is giving him plenty.”

A discussion follows about DJ’s declaration and whether I take it seriously or not.

We walk up front and not only is DJ doing some serious flirting with this beautiful girl, but she is flirting back with him. And the other boys are taking notes.

I tell the boys to come in the back room and I give the girl a look that says I’m sorry at the same time as please don’t encourage him.

There’s a an opening in the far wall in the back room. It overlooks the dining room. The girl is seated at a table, facing us. DJ peeks over the wall and waves. She waves back. Her friends laugh. DJ’s friends look at him in awe. The girl is encouraging him, the friends are encouraging him, the other parents I’m with are laughing.

This goes on through most of the party, except for the part where the coach got up and said a few funny and nice things about each kid and I was almost afraid to hear what he would say about DJ. But that turned out ok.

Finally, the party is over. I’m leading DJ out, and the girl calls out to him.

“Hey, cutie! You leaving so soon?” She winks at him.
He winks back. “Gotta go. Got school tomorrow.” Yea, THIRD GRADE! , I'm thinking.
He stares the girl for a second and says, while batting his eyes, “Bye, sweetie pie. Hope I see your beautiful eyes again someday.”

Where he got that line from, I have no idea. But it sure made an impression with the 17 year old because she looked like she was going to melt. She waves a wistful goodbye to him and blows him a kiss.

We get outside and one of the other parents says to DJ, “I thought you were gay?”
“What can I say,” he says. “I’m just a confused kid.”

Sometimes I really don’t know what to make of him. I imagine that strangers have even a harder time figuring him out.

Sure, he’s got quirks, but at least they are entertaining quirks.

I love......a photo contest

wKen, the master of sex and presidential runs, has a new photoblog where he is running the "I Love" photo contest.

You can see the rules here and you can see my first entry here.

Winners are determined by the amount of comments a picture gets. (cough).

long distance dedication

757.gif
This one goes out to reader Carol, who emailed to tell me she had a dream last night that I was playing this song on my site.

What's up man! Hey yo what's up!
Yeah what's goin' on here.
Sick an' tired of five-oh runnin' up on the block here.
You know what I'm sayin'?
Yo Snow, they came around here lookin' for you the other day. Word? Word! Bust it!

[chorus] Informer, you no say Daddy me Snow me I'll go blame,
A licky Boom Boom Down.
Detective mon said Daddy me Snow me stab someone down the lane,
A licky Boom Boom Down.
Informer, you no say Daddy me Snow me I'll go blame,
A licky Boom Boom Down.
Detective mon said Daddy me Snow me stab someone down the lane,
A licky Boom Boom Down.

Police them come an' now they blow down me door,
One him come crawl through, through my window,
So then they put me in the back the car at the station,
>From that point on me reach my destination,
When the destination reached, it was the east detention, where them
Whipped down me pants, looked up me bottom, so *

Bigger they are they think they have more power,
They're on the phone me say that on (every) hour,
Me for want to use it once an' now me call me lover,
Lover who I'll be callin is the one TAMMY,
an' me love her in me heart down to my belly,
Yes me Daddy me Snow me I feel cool an' deadly,
As the one MC Shan an' the one Daddy Snow,
Together we-a love'em as a Tor-Na-Do.[chorus]

Listen for me, you better listen for me now.
Listen for me, you better listen for me now.
When me rockin' the microphone me rock it steady,
Yes sir, Daddy me Snow me are the article don.
But in the in an' the out of a dance them they say where you come from,
People them say you come from Jamaica,
But me born an' raised in the ghetto that's the one I want you to know,
Pure black people mon that's all I mon know.
Yeah me shoes are tear up an' me toes used to show,
Where me born in on the one Toronto, so [chorus]

Come with a nice young lady. Intelligent,
Yes she's gentle an' irie.
Everywhere me go, me never left her at all.
Yes, its Daddy Snow me are the roam dance mon.
Roam between a dancin' in a in a nation-a.
You never know say Daddy me Snow me are the Boom Shakata.
Me never lay-a down flat in that one cardboard box.
Yes say me Daddy me Snow me I'll go reachin' at the top, soI [chorus]

Why would he?

Me sittin' 'round cool with my dibbie dibbie girl,
Police knock my door,
Lick up my pal,
Rough me up an' I can't do a thing
Pick up my line, when my telephone ring.
Take me to the station,
Black up my hands.
Trail me down, 'cuz I'm hangin' with the Snowman,
What I'm gonna do,
I'm backed an' I'm trapped,
Slap me in the face an' took all o' my gap.
They have no clues an' they wanna get warmer,
But Shan won't turn Informer! [chorus]

There, now you can all have it stuck in your head all day, too.

what becomes a legend most?

My sister Jo-Anne meant well when she bought Natalie a subscription to Teen People magazine for her birthday last year. Little did she know that the magazine was a conglomeration of soft-porn ads and shrilly teenage girls mentally masturbating to celebrities.

This month's issue has some stellar articles. Take, for example, the collection of quotes from the pantheons of teenage entertainment who made it to the Teen People 2002 Hall of Fame.

Howie from Backstreet Boys: "We've acheived stuff tha you would imagine the Beatles doing."
Last time I checked, Howie, the Beatles didn't prance around on stage to choreographed moves while someone else played the music. Hey, how's that that sixteenth minute of fame feeling?

Tom from Blink-182: "When I'm 50 years old I'm going to look back and not believe how many people came to watch us play."

No, when you're 50 years old you will still be calling yourself a punk icon and dropping your drawers in videos. But when you're 60 years old, you're going to say, what the fuck was I thinking with these stupid tattoos?

J.C from Nsync: "We never in our wildest dreams imagined that we'd sell out stadiums and have mechanical bulls and drawbridges on stage."

Nope. The mechanical bull reference is too easy. Not gonna do it.

Avril Lavigne: "I'm authentic. People can relate to that. They need that."

Honey, you are about as authentic as professional wrestling. In two years, your script will change and you'll be showing your tits to a Rolling Stone photographer. And can the skinny ties and studded bracelets, babe. That's so last decade.

See, I didn't read magazines like this when I was young. I read Creem magazine. I read Rolling Stone when it was on newsprint and didn't feature half naked women on the cover.

Maybe I'm getting old. Maybe I'm becoming one of those people who said they would be a "cool" parent but just can't quite realize that misguided dream. I guess I'd rather be known as the uncool mom than have my daughter emulating people who look like they haven't had a meal in three years and gave up clothing for Lent.

I'm already behind on my resolutions

You know, the one where every day is bitchslap Ted Rall day.

Ted Rall:

"I think my style reflects the world as I see it--stark, bleak, confusing, stupid."

I'll take stupid for $400, Alex.

monkey business

Mmandoln.jpg

Oh, Susanna
Oh, don't you cry for me
Have you ever seen a flower-wearing
musical monkey?

They're cousins, identical cousins...

The Christina Aguilera of primates

Get your damn dirty paws off of me!

Oh, Susanna
Oh, don't you cry for me
for though I have a hat and shirt
I'm a pantless monkey
!

What? You were expecting astute commentary on a Saturday morning?

observe this, buddy

How come the people with the biggest opinions and loudest mouths are always anonymous?

If "Blog Observer" had any balls, he/she would step up and use their real name. What good is an opinion if we don't know the jackass it's coming from?

I notice the blog scheme of Observer is green. Tinged with jealousy, perhaps?

Ah, amusement. It comes in all packages.

and the cheese stands alone

Packers v. Falcons.

Lambeau Field, 7pm tommorow.

Weather forecast: mid to low 20's.

Point spread: Falcons getting 6 1/2

The bet: I have the Packers, Johnny Bacardi has the Falcons plus the points.

The prize: A new comic book of the winner's choice.

Hey Juan, where's my cheeshead?

January 03, 2003

but seriously...

Andy's latest post was a startling revelation. There are guys who don't like receiving oral sex? Really?

17 posts today. A new record.

Goodnight.

peary funny

Kevin has done it again. Made me laugh so hard I nearly wet myself. Nearly.

Pranks and Beans: Pear Men

You should seriously consider voting for Kevin for funniest weblog. And Jim, don't forget Jim.

bloggies

It's time for the annual Weblog Awards (Bloggies)

I was nominated for a few last year but didn't make the final cut on any. That's ok, because I am still very proud of my anti-bloggie for Best Heterosexual Weblog. (Hey, Choire and Philo - I never got my book about Anal Sex! What if I'm still doing it all wrong??)

I'm taking my time doing my voting. I became aware of so many more weblogs in the past year, it's going to be hard to make final decisions.

I do know two things. For best community or group blog, Blogcritics or Raising Hell (yea, self promotion) is the way to go, and for best weblog directory or update monitor, my money is on blogrolling.

Vote early, vote often.

come into my world

Proof of a real human clone, from the Miguellian Cloning Society. And just look at who they are going to clone next!

Kylie for you! Kylie for me! Is science great, or what?

my favorite dreams of you still wash ashore

So many years later, so far removed. Yet I hear this song and I can still feel every ounce of hurt, pain and sadness that came with that time.

funny how a song can do that to you.

i still recall the taste of your tears echoing your voice just like the ringing in my ears my favorite dreams of you still wash ashore scraping through my head 'till i don't want to sleep anymore

you make this all go away
you make this all go away
i'm down to just one thing
and i'm starting to scare myself
you make this all go away
you make this all go away
i just want something
i just want something i can never have

you always were the one to show me how
back then i couldn't do the things that i can do now
this thing is slowly taking me apart
grey would be the color if i had a heart
come on tell me

you make this all go away
you make this all go away
i'm down to just one thing
and i'm starting to scare myself
you make this all go away
you make this all go away
i just want something
i just want something i can never have

in this place it seems like such a shame
though it all looks different now,
i know it's still the same
everywhere i look you're all i see
just a fading fucking reminder of who i used to be
come on tell me

you make this all go away
you make this all go away
i'm down to just one thing
and i'm starting to scare myself
you make this all go away
you make it all go away
i just want something
i just want something i can never have
i just want something i can never have

Nine Inch Nails, Something I Can Never Have

do you often sing or whistle just for fun?

Confession time. That, and I shot my load as far as news blogging goes today.

I was reading an article that said people have a hard time admitting to their fears, quirks, imperfections and odd traits. Well, let's change that.

  • I am afraid of the dark
  • I am the world's greatest procrastinator
  • I sniff Sharpies
  • I know the words to too many Air Supply songs
  • I bought a Kid Rock cd once
  • I hate Twinkies (I was told that's unamerican)
  • But I adore hot dogs
  • I used to believe that Jim Morrison spoke to me from beyond
  • I actually read one of those Chicken Soup for the Soul books
  • I know all the dance moves to Bye-Bye-Bye
  • I had a warrant out for my arrest twice (moving violation related)
  • I've seen the Grateful Dead more than once
  • I can name all the original Power Rangers
  • I like porn
  • I've never seen Titanic or Gone with the Wind
  • I own Tromeo and Juliet on DVD
  • I'm frightened to death of ferris wheels
  • I need novocaine just to get my teeth cleaned
  • I don't look people I don't know in the eye when I talk to them
  • I will only sit in an aisle seat in a movie theater
  • I hate feet

Oh yea, there's a million more. I did a post like this about a year ago, but with me, you get new quirks all the time.

whre's han solo when you need him?

'Kick His Ass And Get The Gas' : Three prominent anti-war activists recently discussed the impending US war on Iraq and the global mass movements for NTV -- a 24 Hour Turkish Television Channel. Transcript. Why, yes. One of the activists is Noam Chomsky.

It takes a six page transcript of the interview for Chomsky and friends to say nothing more than the usual: It's all about the oil, and the U.S. government created our enemies in order to wage war wherever they want.

And there's also that obession Tariq Ali has with the word empire:

Well the end is not the United States is the only empire in the world. This is the first time, I think in world history, we have a situation where there is only one empire. No other empire exists.

..what the current situation of the strength of the American Empire essentially produces, is a total contempt for democracy.

Well, I think there is a resistance to the empire...

What we have and that's very new, are mass movements developing in different parts of the world, which want to resist this empire.

Mr. Ali, I find your lack of faith disturbing.

shock-value entertainment as art

update: In reference to a comment by Alex, I checked snopes.com and it appears that the baby eating artist is nothing more than a hoax.

The man in the photo is Chinese artist Zhu Yu, who performed a conceptual piece called "Eating People" at a Shanghai arts festival in 2000. The controversial photo has since been part of a number of art exhibits. As for the "baby," it was most likely constructed by placing a doll's head on a duck's carcass.

However, my feelings on shock-value entertainment still stand. That the baby was not real does not make the fact that a television station felt the need to broadcast this hoax (and apparently present it as the real thing) any less disgusting.

eight and counting...

Eight posts today and it's only 2pm. I think that may be a record for me.

I finally relented and gave the kids a day of no cleaning, no forced labor - they don't even have to get dressed if they don't want to. They've opted for Malcom in the Middle DVDs and Mall Tycoon. So I gave myself the day off too and opted for posting everything I've been sitting on.

Anyone want to come over and vacuum while I read through my daily blogs?

say it loud, i'm a homesexualist and proud!

Via Jay at The Daily Rant:

Fox News threatens to sue ex-'gay' minister: Bill O'Reilly engaged in heated debate with guest he called 'religious fanatic'

The only things you need to know about this article:

Stephen Bennet, the "religious fanatic" who calls O'Reilly a bully, runs a ministry, the point of which is to teach people that NO ONE is born 'gay', in most all cases having EVERYTHING to do with one's childhood, and COMPLETE change is COMPLETELY possible!

That Stephen Bennet is a spokesperson for Concerned Women of America, a homophobic group if there ever was one; one that uses quotes around the word gay as if it weren't a real word.

That Bennet's legal defense comes by way of American Family Association, a fringe religious group whose recent actions include telling their members to boycott Marvel Comics because they are making a comic with a gay character.

Fox News is threatening to sue a prominent evangelical minister in the ex-homosexual movement who engaged in a volatile exchange over biblical morality on the top-rated television program "The O'Reilly Factor" in September.

Stephen Bennett, who says he left his homosexual lifestyle nearly 11 years ago, has distributed a 60-minute audio tape program called the "The O'Reilly Shocker," in which he responds to host Bill O'Reilly's characterization of people who take the Bible literally as "religious fanatics."

Fox claims Bennett's use of clips from the interview is a copyright infringement.

Just another case of people thinking their morals should be everyone else's morals.

[Counsel Michael] DePrimo, who vowed to "vigorously defend" Bennett if Fox proceeds with a lawsuit, noted that it would not be legal "if somebody puts effort into a particular product and another person tries to appropriate it and sell it as his own."

That is not the case in this situation, he insists, charging that Fox simply "does not like the fact that Bill O'Reilly has been exposed as a homosexualist."

So, what exactly is a homesexualist? And I highly doubt that O'Reilly is afraid of being "exposed" as pro-gay rights, when he has publicly stated that he is.

So what is the real issue? It's that people like Bennet and those groups he has affiliated himself with think of themselves as morally superior and seek to bring you into their fold.

Bennett said that his tape includes Rev. John F. Harvey, a Roman Catholic priest who asserts that O'Reilly is not speaking for the Catholic Church, which views homosexuality as "intrinsically evil."

Harvey, who runs Courage, a spiritual support group in Manhattan for homosexuals, says O'Reilly is abusing his public celebrity platform and promoting a heresy against the Catholic Church. The priest calls O'Reilly "confused" and "filled with pride – putting himself above the Catholic Church."

Yes, the good old Catholic church. Say, isn't molesting young boys a heresy? Maybe you should look into that problem, Rev. Harvey, before you concern yourself with what O'Reilly is talking about.

If O'Reilly is a homesexualist, well then I suppose I am, too.

Hurray! Hurray! Many Happy Returns

Happy Birthday to J.R.R. Tolkien, who would have been eleventy-one today.

Meryl has a Tolkien birthday blog-burst going on.

ban everything.

Is this vacation over yet? Can I please go back to work?

New York is looking to ban toy guns.

Her voice is impish and feminine, but her gun is menacing. "Give me your money," she says through a ski mask to a bank teller in New Jersey. The teller hands over $3,050, and the robber and another female speed off in a getaway car.

But this wasn't exactly a Thelma & Louise duo. These robbers were 14-year-old twin girls who held up a bank with a toy air-pellet gun this fall.

Toy gun or not, they were still holding up a bank. Shall we ban ski masks, too?

And in New York, the site of many toy-gun fatalities, City Council members have introduced a bill to ban the sale of all toy guns - a ban that has not yet passed anywhere in the US. If the bill is approved, officials think it could help blaze the trail for the state, as well as cities nationwide.

"We recognize that you can't pull all guns off the streets: If people have a criminal mind, they'll make a gun out of a stick," says Bill Wren, deputy chief of staff for Brooklyn Councilman Al Vann, who coauthored the bill. "But the bill is about how [a toy gun] makes people feel. If I feel threatened, I'm threatened."

Yes, if people have a criminal mind they will make a gun out of a stick. So shall we ban....sticks?

How does a toy gun make one feel? I rarely feel threaten when my son has his phasers set to stun. In fact, I feel silly, in a good sort of way.

I don't feel threatened when we are running through the backyard on a hot summer day, chasing each other with supersoakers.

If I feel threatened, I'm threatened. Sometimes it's all in your head, babe. If you take every instance of a kid pointing a toy gun at you as threatening, you have issues I cannot help you with.

"Giving our kids toy guns and then telling them to stay away from the real thing sends a mixed message," says Farideh Kioumehr, founder of the Anti- Violence Campaign in Sherman Oaks, Calif.

Alrighty then. I should probably take those knives out of the kids' craft sets. Baseball bats? Weapons. Light Sabers? Weapons. What? You don't think someone would hold up a bank by saying We are not the robbers you are looking for. Put all the money in the bag?

Hey, I have a grand idea! How about we raise our children right? How about we put gun education in the hands of the parents? What a novel idea. We let the parents tell their kids that using a toy gun in the face of a cop probably isn't a good idea, or that robbing a bank using a water gun is the same thing as robbing a bank using a real gun.

Oh, what's that? We shouldn't be letting our kids rob banks? Well, there is the real root cause then!

See, my son isn't going to go out and point a toy gun at a cop or use a toy gun to hold up some little old lady because, well...that's just not how it works around here. But I suppose that when someone does go out and purchase a plastic rifle and then take it out as he is running from a cop for some other reason, we just have to blame the toy manufacturer instead of the kid or the parent of the kid. It's the American way, by god!

Christopher Industrious of Manhattan, who was shopping in Times Square, would support the new ban. "Kids are imitating whatever they see in the movies and on TV," he says, motioning to his 3-year-old son. He says that one time when disciplined, his son "pointed his water gun at me."

Ok, if that's a problem for you, perhaps your son, at 3, should not be watching shows where they are pointing guns at each other. Isn't a three year old supposed to be watching The Wiggles? Do they use guns?

For Maurice Davis, a salesman at Toys "R" Us, his unfortunate childhood encounters with both real and toy guns are seared on his memory. Growing up in Brooklyn, Mr. Davis was forbidden to play with toy guns. But when he was 11, a playmate pointed a toy gun at a police car. The cops mistook the toy for a real weapon, and sprinted toward them, brandishing guns. "I told my friend, 'Just drop the gun!' " says Davis.

Now, standing next to a shelf of oversize paint guns, Davis says, "If they're gonna ban some, they might as well ban them all.

Hey, Maurice? I have a news flash for you. Your friend was an idiot. Too bad we can't just ban idiocy, eh?

Unfortunately, it has become commonplace to try to legislate instead of parent, or allow people to make informed choices. You don't want your kid to have a toy gun? THEN DON"T BUY HIM ONE! But don't you dare tell me that because you are a lazy parent and your kid does not have the brains to know that pointing a toy gun at a cop is a bad idea, that I can't have my super soaker.

Ban smoking, ban guns, ban fatty foods from cafeterias, ban peanuts from classrooms, ban alcohol and consensual sex between adults, ban violent movies and violent video games and scary music. Ban it all.

Apparently, if one person is not smart enough to make their own choices, none of us are.

speaking of aragorn

I fell asleep watching Bush address the troops and in my half-dreaming stupor, I could have sworn he said "It is our duty to protect the people of the Shire."

die.

Westerfield sentenced to death

There was a time when I was steadfast against the death penalty. Then I had children, and I thought - god damn, if anyone ever harms one of my kids I will tear their body from limb to limb. And if anyone should ever have the moral depravity to murder one of my children, I will not let that person go to trial, for I will slice off his head and shit down his neck before it ever gets that far.

That said, David Westerfield should be hung by his balls and left to die.

I watched the sentencing on television. More than once, the defense attorney made me want to kick the tv screen.

He blathered on and on about how the judge should "spare the community" the trauma of going through endless appeals and stays of execution and then the execution itself; that the judge, by ruling in favor of the death penalty, would be punishing the community and the family of the victim by making them wait out Westerfield's death.

Give me a break. Does this man think that life without parole would make the pain any easier to bear? Knowing that this monster, this child killer, is sitting in prison, getting meals and exercise and reading books for the rest of his life? Sure, he'll probably become someone's bitch and take it up the ass a couple of times, and I'm sure, given that "code of ethics" that seems to exist in prisons, Westerfield would take a couple of down home beatings for his crime. But to stand in front of the judge and have the nerve to say that not giving the death penalty would spare the community pain and anguish is the biggest crock of bullshit I've heard in ages. Like that attorney really gives a crap about the long-term grieving process of the victim's family and friends.

Die, Westerfield. Die a horrid, gruesome, death. I hope you get the chair and it misfires, causing your death to be drawn out and more painful than anything you ever imagined.

The Useful Idiot(tm) line of t-shirts

Presenting my Useful Idiottm line of t-shirts, inspired by the t-shirt slogans ala Viggo Mortensen over at NNP:

Aragorn: inspired by Alan Henderson.

no blood: inspired by YogSothoth

shield: inspired by Fred Boness

totalitarianism: inspired by YogSothoth

the catholic church and its bottom line

Priest: Abuse Hidden
Guilty cleric says monsignor protected for his fund-raising skills

The priest in question, Michael Hand, spent some time in my former parish. He was accused of - and admitted to - molesting a 13 year old boy.

Now Hand is saying that he too was abused by a clergyman, Monsignor Charles "Bud" Ribaudo, while he was a student at Holy Trinity High School on Long Island.

I graduated from HTHS in 1980. Father Bud, as he was known, was the chaplain. I liked Father Bud, but there were always rumors floating around about his "special relationship" with some of the male students.

Hand, in a sworn statement, tells that he was silenced when he approached Catholic authorities about Ribaudo's innapropriate contact with him.

Hands 136 page written statement about the abuse and treatment of abusing priests in the Diocese is very revealing. Among the accustations:

Hand told officials about his alleged abuse at the hands of Ribaudo. Ribaudo was taken out of his position as pastor of St. Dominic's, but the parishioners were only told he took a leave for "medical reasons."

Don't you think it would be nice if the officials let their parishioners know the truth, so others won't be victimized by the pastor and those who were may feel free to come forward? Of course not. Because they don't actually care about the victims as much as they care about saving face.

Three months after Hand's accusation, Hand was told that the officials wanted to bring Ribaudo back to the parish by Christmas and the only way they could do that was if Hand swore to never tell anyone else about his alleged abuse by Ribaudo.

Supposedly, they wanted to bring Ribaudo back because of his fund-raising capabilities. Which pretty much sums up my feeling - and the reason I left the Catholic church - that the bottom line is not religion, but money.

Hands went on to say that other priests have told him that Ribaudo was returned to St. Dominic's because there were "very few priests in the diocese who could bring in as much money in this parish. He's a very important priest to keep there."

Important to the coffers. Not important to the well-being of the church and its parishioners.

The parish, which also operates an elementary and high school, has some of the diocese's biggest donors as members, including Computer Associates founder Charles Wang and Cablevision founder Charles Dolan. Hands, who headed youth ministry programs in his parishes, was, until his arrest, also active at St. Dominic High School, were Ribaudo had made arrangements for him to visit the campus once a week.

Then in early December 2001, Hands said he was called by Caldwell at the treatment facility Hands was attending in Maryland and was asked to keep quiet about Ribaudo. "They asked me, Caldwell asked me specifically, who did you tell besides your therapist?" Hands said.

Hands said it was his understanding that for his silence the diocese would help him financially to make the transition to private life after he voluntarily resigned from the priesthood.

Money raising, shady deal making, silencing accusers, paying people off to get lost - sounds a bit like the Sopranos, no? Even this part sounds a bit mob-like:

[head of priest personnel for the Diocese of Rockville Centre, Msgr. Francis]Caldwell, according to the statement, even told Hands he should tell his mother in Florida to stop talking about Ribaudo to her friends because word was getting back to Long Island. "And he wanted me to call my mother or he would call my mother himself and stress with her the importance of keeping silent, because Bud Ribaudo was now back in a parish and they wanted to keep him back in the parish," Hands said.

Most telling:

Within months, the sex abuse scandal unfolding in Boston was also reverberating on Long Island. In March 2002, Newsday began checking into reports that Hands had implicated his former mentor. At that point, Hands said Caldwell called him and asked him to deny to Newsday that Ribaudo had ever molested him.

"I don't know why I was included in the decision process as to how the diocese handles Bud Ribaudo. He told me to think about it, with the strongest recommendation that I should do this. Because, he said, it's the right thing to do, to call and to deny this," said Hands, who refused to do so.

The right thing to do. This coming from a man who is supposed to represent the Catholic church. The right thing to do. Deny.

Hands also told of how he visited then-retired Bishop John McGann in December 2001, four months after his arrest, to discuss his plight. McGann said he was praying for Hands, his family, and the family of his victim. "He told me that during his term as bishop that he had handled many circumstances like this," Hands said. "And he told me that he always believed that a priest should always get a second chance and that his policy was to give a guy a second chance," if his psychologists recommended it. McGann died a month later.

And thus, you have the entire problem - from the Vatican on down to the smallest parishes - in a nutshell. Second chances often make for second victims. A child molestor in the public sector does not get a second chance to go out and molest again.


Hand's sworn statement also talks about the "Florida Solution," in which priests accused of abusing minors were shipped off to parishes in Florida. Hand "names names and tells what he had learned from his years as a priest."

The circumstances regarding Hand's telling of his abuse by Ribaudo are suspect:

In his statement, Hands said it wasn't until August 2001, after months of psychological treatment, that he was able to acknowledge the "inappropriate sexual contact" he said Ribaudo had had with him years earlier.

In March of 2002, Ribaudo resigned and was then stripped of his priesthood.

Expect to see more of this happening. Soon, it will a "priest eat priest" world, where one accusation leads to another, so the accused can try some plea bargaining or deal making in order to get lighter sentences. Ethics? Morals? Where?

and i quote...

Media Research Center: The Fifteenth Annual Awards for the Year’s Worst Reporting

And what would a Worst Reporting roundup be without Reuters?

Recovery and debris removal work continues at the site of the World Trade Center known as ‘ground zero’ in New York, March 25, 2002. Human rights around the world have been a casualty of the U.S. ‘war on terror’ since September 11.” – Reuters News Service caption for a photo of the destroyed World Trade Center site which was distributed with a September 3 story by Richard Waddington headlined, “Rights the first victim of ‘war on terror.’

Best Helen Thomas exchange:

Helen Thomas: “Does the President consider this [election outcome] a mandate to fulfill his agenda? Going to war with Iraq, privatizing Social Security, weakening the Civil Service Commission and so forth?”
Press Secretary Ari Fleischer: “Helen, you sound like a commercial that didn’t work.”

Great moments in television: (Good Morning Morons award)

“Iraqi citizens are preparing to go to the polls to decide whether Hussein stays in office.”
– Preview of an October 14 segment on CNN’s American Morning with Paula Zahn posted on CNN’s Web site.

Silly politics awards:

“Experts Agree: Al Qaeda Leader Is Dead or Alive.”
– On-screen graphic during a story about Osama bin Laden’s fate on CNN’s 2pm Live From...on Sept. 3.

Idiocy knows no bounds:

“The reason that the World Trade Center got hit is because there are a lot of people living in abject poverty out there who don’t have any hope for a better life....I think they [the 19 hijackers] were brave at the very least.”
– AOL Time Warner Vice Chairman and CNN founder Ted Turner

Joy Behar: “I want to ask the audience: Clap if you would have your daughter be an intern for Bill Clinton.”
Barbara Walters: “I think that’s so unfair. That’s so unfair.”
Behar: “Why?”
Walters: “Because the man was the President. He does need people to work in that office and come on, I mean, let it go already.”
– Exchange on ABC’s The View on Sept. 13

Nope, no medial liberal bias here:
“I don’t think it’s a liberal agenda. It happens that journalism will always be spending more time on issues that seem to be liberal to some people: the problem of the downtrodden, the problem of civil rights and human rights, the problem of those people who don’t have a place at the table with the powerful.”
– NBC anchor Tom Brokaw on MSNBC’s Donahue when asked about the claim of liberal media bias, July 25

There's 6 pages of hilarious quotes. Enough to keep you scratching your head the rest of the day, wondering what world some of these people live in.

January 02, 2003

your concert from hell

It started with an 80's musical fight to the death with Solonor on AIM, in which I knocked him out cold by singing Endless Love and Every Rose Has it's Thorn. Then I moved over to Tummy Monsters where Mikey, in a guest post, was singing horrid hair metal lyrics.

Mikey emailed me and asked: ok, so you're in hell, and you're forced to go to a concert... is there a poison/creed double bill?

I responded that it would probably be Creed/Poison/Jimmy Eat World with an encore by the new GnR.

So, what would your concert in hell be like?

my t-shirt's gonna save the world*

viggo.jpg
From a comment on NNP about the increasingly disappointing Viggo Mortensen:

You know, the thing that irks me is that these "No Blood For Oil!" types think they are being *so* clever and *so* subversive when in reality their slogans represent the very pinnacle of conformity. You want to show some real courage? How about turning up in a shirt with one of these slogans:

"No Blood For Liberation!"
"Opposition to Torture is Racism!"
"Totalitarianism Is Good For Children And Other Living Things!"
"Freedom Of Expression For White Americans - YES, For Brown Iraqis - NO!"
"No More Cultural Imperialism - Stop Liberty At OUR Borders!"

I shant hold my breath :-P

posted by YogSothoth on January 2, 2003 05:17 PM

Priceless.


*shamelessly stolen from Kevin.

ben affleck, too

Standing in line at Stop -n- Shop today, I happened to see the Weekly World News on the magazine rack.

The headline said that Hitler had prophetic powers and predicted internet porn and the rise of J.Lo.

You just knew it was all a communist plot, didn't you?

wrong bunny

Oops, what was I thinking? I mean to give you this rabbit:

killerb.jpg

That's more like it.

bunnies for everyone

Because everything I have said or done today has pissed someone off:


bunnies.jpg

That better? I could turn this into the fuzzy bunny rainbow blog if you want.

Oh, I added a few things to my post about the 80's and put some more links in.

Required Reading 2002

Just a note on the Required Reading 2002. The list will not go up until Monday morning, because it's going to take a while to compile all the links and make a nice spot for them.

I'm still taking entries and let it be reiterated that this is a reader chosen list. Anything submitted will be added. There are no guidelines, no rules, no voting. This will just be a compilation of blog posts (yours or someone else's) and articles of 2002 that for one reason or another made you take notice. I just wanted to clarify that.

You can either email links or articles or leave them in the comment section of the above linked post.

Thanks.

dear "hanging with chad"

Another thing pissing me off today:

A commenter by the coward name of Hanging with Chad left a comment in And the Winner is today.

BWA HA HA HA
Just goes to show, you should never use your husbands name as a password to administer a poll. Makes it real simple to go in and change the results.
It's not cheating, just creative campaigning.

Posted by: Hanging with Chad on January 2, 2003 08:35 AM

To which I replied that I did not change the results. Later, Chad left this comment:

You weren't paying attention. SDB or LGF could have easily slammed him. Because Acidman was so pathetic in wasting his blog to beg for votes instead of standing on his record, I gave him a boost. It's easy. Just log on at http://freepolls.com/cgi-bin/members username:asmallvictory password:justin (never use your husbands name)
Sorry Charlie.

Posted by: Changing with Had on January 2, 2003 04:14 PM

I didn't bother using one of my super-secret passwords because I never thought that someone would go in and change the numbers on the poll. What was your point in this Chad? I took the time to set this thing up, take nominations, count them up and set up a poll and then you go in and fuck with it. I don't understand your purpose, unless it's because you get your kicks doing shit like that. In that case, well that makes you a loser and I guess you don't know any better.

I'm pretty pissed about this. I thought this would be an interesting poll in the wake of all the other year end blog awards that are going to pop up now. Instead, it turned into a farce, caused me more hate mail than that whole delinking incident and made me look like a fool.

Of course, you leave no real name or email address. People like you never do. You pull shit like this, thinking you are oh so funny and so damn cool, but you don't have the guts to step up and say who you are.

You fucked me, you fucked the contestants (who may or may not care as much as I do) and you are a god damn asswipe.

Thanks for ruining something I spent a lot of time on, fuckwad.

what makes a family?

In the comments of the post below, Greg Dougherty writes:

>Gee, you're right.

It's HORRIBLE that Derb is sad to see two children born without fathers in their lives. How bigotted of him to want a better life for those kids.

Greg, what makes you think that having the American Standard Family, i.e, married mother and father, would make life better for those kids? How do you know that the two lesbian mothers are not going to be superb parents?

Many children who live without fathers grow up to be good human beings. Do you begrudge me for leaving my husband, thus making my kids grow up in a house with no father? Does this mean I did not give them the best possible life?

On the contrary, I gave them a better life. Just as you cannot deny a woman her right to bear a child just because she chooses a female partner over a male. Would it be better that a lesbian woman who wants to be a parent engage in some silly farce of a relationship with a man just so they can have the ideal nuclear family? Or do you think that a lesbian does not deserve to have children at all?

And if this is just about single mothers, then why mention that the second woman is black?

I've been a single mother, I've known lesbian mothers, gay fathers and black single parents. And let me tell you, there is nothing wrong with not having that married mother father baby family when the parent(s) the child does have is brought up with love, respect and care.

And for the record, Rosemary is right and I stand corrected. I lumped Derbyshire into a group when it wasn't the entire group making the statement, just him. I apologize to anyone on the far right who does not think in the same small way as Derbyshire.

the "far" on either side is too far

So what exactly is he saying here?

So DC's first baby of the year was born to a lesbian couple. New York's seems to have been to a black single mother. Don't you sometimes feel like giving in to despair?[John Derbyshire]

Just more reasons why I will never align myself with the far right.

Eighties - I'm living in the Eighties

I was laying on the couch all weekend watching a marathon of VH1's "I Love the 80's."

ty1331.jpgI think I figured out why I am so immature sometimes. See, I stopped maturing in the 80's. I graduated high school in 1980, 17 years old and ready to make my mark on the world. By 1982 I realized that I had been ripped off; that the children of the 80's were getting something I never did; a decade rife with pop culture and fads that made the 70's look as bland as cardboard.

Oh, yea. The 70's were as bland as cardboard.

I got hippies, protest songs and male pop idols; 80's kids got punkers and new wave.

Think Bay City Rollers, David Cassidy and Peter Paul and Mary vs. Elvis Costello, Dead Milkmen and Billy Idol. Advantage: 80's.

Movies? 1985 alone had The Breakfast Club, Back to the Future, Goonies, Day of the Dead, Pee Wee's Big Adventure and My Life as a Dog, Real Genius and Weird Science. I got The Computer Wore Tennis Shoes, The Apple Dumpling Gang and The Cat From Outer Space. Advantage: 80's (this depsite the fact that Star Wars came out in the 70's) update Andy is right: Escape to Witch Mountain ranks as one of the best kid's movies ever.

No contest on the toys. I was stuck playing withadventure.jpg Ants in the Pants, Barrel of Monkeys, Shrinky Dinks and an Atari. 80's kids got Coleco Vision, the Game Boy, Transformers and Ninja Turtles. Advantage: 80's, for this spectacular game alone.

80's kids had Ninja Turtles and Count Duckula and Fraggle Rock. They had Ghostbusters and He-Man and Wrestlemania. They had Defender. Ghosts n Goblins. Mario Brothers. Q*Bert. Zaxxon. And the greatest of the Star Wars series, Empire Strikes Back, came out in the 80's.

Sure, the 80's had big hair and Sebastian Bach. They had acid washed jeans and the movie Gymkata. When you weigh those transgressions against the video games and cartoons, you can forgive that decade for Great White and Capezio shoes. I'll even forgive about "We are the World." It was the decade of excess, after all.

Yes, I suffer from decade envy. Because I was forced to wear bellbottoms and ponchos to grade school while my 80's counterparts wore Levis and Converse hi-tops in all different colors. I've been suffering this envy for the past twenty-something years.

Excuse me while I go play with my Transformers.

Update: Someone mentioned the Commodore 64. Another reason why the 80's rocked. I had the Vic 20 first, then upgraded to a 64 when it became available.

c64.jpgThe text adventures alone kept me busy for hours a day. When they game out with graphic adventures, I nearly passed out from the sheer joy. I also learned BASIC to write my own word processing program, as well as make some real third-rate games.

Eventually I gave up on my own game making skills and spent my time playing Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy and Below the Root.

let the demonizing begin

It didn't take long for the left to come out and try to discredit Bill Frist's news-making rescue of victims at an accident site. As Glenn pointed out, it will be hard to demonize Frist, but boy will they try.

Democratic Undeground, of course, is the first in line to get on the negative side of this story:

years ago he supposedly rescued a Capitol cop who had been shot...??? WTF? This guy is really Superman. He miraculously appears whenever someone is injured....gimme a fuckin' break..

Timing is everything!

Do you think he has a police scanner?

That said, I think we are going to look foolish trying to demonize this guy. The cat thing just doesn't compare to his other work. All we're going to do is give him free PR.


Of course, someone had to bring up the fact that the victims of the accident were in an SUV:

Will this make it more difficult for him to resist pressure to limit SUVs?
He has to know how dangerous they are in the wrong hands (teen age), at least that is how it works in my relatively snowless neighborhood.

And then bring up the cat-killing again:

The Humane Society raised Frist's shamefaced confession in a 1989 book to adopting cats as a medical student, and then experimenting on them. "We hope that the drive behind that pattern of behavior has been fully purged," said Wayne Pacelle, the Humane Society's senior vice president.

I may not agree with all of Frist's politics - he is too far to the right for me - but trying to demonize the guy after he saved lives is dirty politics. Give me a break, Democrats.

To their credit, some of the DU members did post positive messages about Frist's actions, but to those who didn't - stop saying it's the right that politicizes everything. You are the ones turning a life-saving effort by a doctor into a conspiracy theory.

and the winner is.....

Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you the Most Intriguing Blogger of 2002:

acidman.jpg


I thank everyone who voted, (screen shot of final poll standings here)and everyone who sent in the original nominees. You can find links to the ten finalists here. Please take the time to visit every one of them. They were nominated for a reason.

There were over one hundred different blogs nominated in the week or so I was taking submissions. If you go through the comments on this post, you can find enough blogs to keep you busy for the rest of the month. Each one of them was worthy of a nomination and I bet you can find a blog or two to add to your links list just from looking through those comments.

Happy new year, everyone and congratulations to Acidman, a most deserving winner of the Intriguing title.

In the event that Acidman fails to live up to his responsibility of being intriguing for the remainder of 2003, Charles Johnson and Steven Den Beste will have to fight to the death for the title, dressed in sumo outfits and using samurai swords. Oh, come on. Tell me that wouldn't be intriguing.

January 01, 2003

Capitol N, small Y, big fucking Q!

Regular blogging will resume tomorrow. I am too sick to form a coherent thought. I just took a cocktail of NyQuil and Excedrin Migraine, so I hope to be asleep soon.

Meanwhile, Acidman and LGF were tied at last glance. Poll will shut down at midnight. May the most intriguing blogger win.

poll dancing

updateAcidman is making a run for it! He has pulled ahead of Den Beste and trails LGF by only 19 votes as of 10 pm.

Things are heating up in the Intriguing Blogger contest. With real-type voting rules instituted, rather than those Chicago rules, the results are more realistic and much more exciting to watch.

Right now (6pm EST), LGF and USS Clueless are running neck and neck towards the home stretch. Polls are opened until midnight, but because I am suffering from a head cold and ear infection right now, I most likely won't be shutting the poll down until the morning.

Take heart, fans of Acidman and Amish Tech Support. No one has a clear shot at this yet. You still have time to bang on all your neighbor's doors asking to use their computers so you can vote with different ISPs.

To the asshole that emailed me today telling me to leave poor Teddy Rall alone - I'll leave you with the words of wisdom that my seventh grade biology teacher taught me: eat shit and die you socialist pig.

That's verbatim, from Miss Wakazi to me to you.

While most people have made new year's resolutions to be nice and happy and kind to their fellow man, I have made a resolution to put a hex on every person who sends me barely coherent hate mail.

Let me know when your dick falls off, buddy so I can stop sticking knives in the doll. Thanks.

my own best of 2002, par1t whatever: the golden rule

Continuing with my own favorite posts of 2002, I think this one ranks right up there with the best I've come up with the past year. Mostly because the story also appeared in print, in Macros2000 (issue#8), right next to a story that was illustrated by Evan Dorkin (who has a BLOG!)

I know most of you have already read "The Golden Rule: Don't Pee in the Millenium Falcon," so you have permission to skip it if you must.

Every family has those special sayings. The ones that only the people in their family know the meaning of, usually related to some inside joke or a story that is the family's version of an urban legend.

Yes, we have them. We have several, actually, but this is my most often used saying and my favorite just for the looks I get from other people when I say it.

When DJ turned four (you just knew this would have something to do with DJ, didn't you?) he was a Star Wars freak of the highest order. Ok, we all were. For his birthday that year, he got a whole batch of Star Wars toys, including this humungous replica of the Millenium Falcon, complete with flashing lights and sound effects. He enjoyed this present immensely, often playing with it for hours at a time. He would sometimes take his figures from other toy sets - knights and pirates and cowboys - and put them in the Millenium Falcon. He would then have Han Solo boss them around. It was fun to watch.

So one day I go in his bedroom and I notice a strange odor. I can't quite put my finger on what it is, and I start looking around the room for moldy food or drink cups or small, dead animals. Finally, I pinpoint where the smell is coming from. The Millenium Falcon. I look into it, and see that a small flood has invaded its interior. Han Solo and Pocahantas are floating together in a stream of.....of....what's that? Piss?? Piss in the Millenium Falcon? I went ballistic. I screamed and yelled and acted sufficiently horrified, all the while fighting the urge to let out this maniacal laugh. The laughter that comes from witnessing the absurd.

DJ stood there watching me, a small grin playing around the corners of his mouth. He wanted to smile. He wanted to laugh. Hell, he wanted to do a jiggy dance right there because his little antic served its purpose. He wanted a reaction. He got it. I didn't really know what else to say at the point. So I put my hand on my hip and pointed sternly at him. "Young man," I said. "You do not pee in the Millenium Falcon!