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| w.w.j.d? Um... less... and more. |
| 06.30.06 (7:55 am) [edit] |
Good morning.Jesus here again today. surr will be back tomorrow. He's here now, actually - making us breakfast. Has asked me to write about my take on the issue of flag burning in America. I don't think he was serious. Then he asked me to write about the gay marriage amendment they're bandying about. I said I didn't really have an opinion but that it seemed like a big publicity stunt similar to prohibition or the McCarthy hearings of the 50's. He asked me to write about the war, and I told him that anyone who knows anything about me already knows how I feel about the war, but that I'd touch on it. So then, in his inimitable way, he asked, "So smart guy, what DO you want to write about? Bawdy wants a piece on the Catholic Church's stance on birth control. How about that?" Well, first of all, Bawdy, I have a little common sense. Do I really need to go on about my opinion about that? Yes. Their stance is absurd. Good enough? So then, put up with this. I don't care about the United States. Surprised? I also don't care about England, or Canada, or Iraq, or Iran, or Denmark, or Brazil or any other country in this world. I don't even care about Israel or Egypt or the Sudan or Australia. They are nothing to me. I care about people and the planet. Period. Do I hate any nation? No. They, the nations themselves, just mean absolutely nothing to me. The people there? That's another story. But, back to my point. I get annoyed when any "country" asks for special treatment from Dad as though their citizens are even the least bit more important in the scheme of things by virtue of simply living within a set of man-made borders and living by the man-made rules established to separate one group of people from another. Want to know what I DO care about? When a single child dies of hunger and the response of people in the "fed" part of the world is simply to go on about their day as if starvation is simply a fact of life? I get angry. When a country sets itself apart from the world community because it thinks it's somehow got special dispensation to do whatever is in its best interest, the rest of the world be damned? I get angry. And when a country uses MY name to justify that sort of thing? Well, let me tell ya... If there was a hell?... Another thing. Dad doesn't care about who wins a single sporting event down here no matter whether it be played on a field, a court, an alley, a course, a rink, or even run on a track of some kind. Please quit invoking his name (or mine) when you happen to win something. Go ahead... take the credit yourselves. You deserve it. Congrats. People. We care about people first and foremost, which means we also care about the planet. Funny. I just read that this country, the U.S. - or at least its government - who certainly likes to tote itself by and large as "Christian" goes out of their way to put earplugs in and blinders on any time someone suggests that we ought to be doing more to take care of the planet, all the while symbolically wearing w.w.j.d. bracelets. Amazing. Wouldn't you think they'd go out of their way to take care of the most precious gift Dad gave humanity? Heck, if you believe in the Bible, which did he make first? - people or a great place for people to live? I shake my head in wonder. Today I'm going to a funeral, a memorial service really, for a kid killed in Iraq. Good kid too. They'll go on about how he died serving his country, which is certainly true. But when they bring up my name, (which they will), and when they ask Dad for his blessings on this boy, (which he already has by default), I'm going to cringe, because what they're really asking is for us to approve of why he died, which frankly, we do NOT and never will. w.w.j.d? The people running this war don't give a rat's behind about the answer to that question, because let's face it, they already KNOW the answer. They just ignore it, and grin. It isn't complicated. Be really really wary of people who tell you it is. Be good to everyone. |
| Good morning. |
| 06.29.06 (6:43 am) [edit] |
|
Hello. Jesus here today. Once upon a time in a land very close to where you are, a young girl was sitting at her folks' dining room table. She had news. She and her boyfriend had conceived and she'd just found out she was pregnant. She was worried. Her Mom had an inkling they were having sex and had implored her to think and be careful, but they hadn't been, and now here she was. She was very worried about how her Dad would react. She'd always been Daddy's little girl. In the end, she needn't have worried. Her Father, though initially angry and shocked, was supportive and together over the next few weeks they all decided together that she'd have the baby, stay at home and her folks would help start the long process of raising the baby. A good thing. Across town, another girl the same age also found herself pregnant. Her Mother slapped her and called her a whore when the daughter told her of the pregnancy, and also said that her Father would probably kill her. This may or may not have been true, but since they were both afraid of him, and for good reason, the girl was very leery to even speak to him about the situation, especially since her Mom had shown so little compassion. She decided two things. First, she did not want to raise a baby at that point in her life, and second, she would never tell her parents anything about her life again. After thinking things through and consulting a doctor, she arranged for and got an abortion. Too bad, but understandable. Guess what? My Father loves them both equally. The aborted baby is fine and is with Dad. The baby of the the young girl who decided to have hers and live at home for a while is also fine. In the end, about the worst thing that happened was that some people tried to make the young girl who decided to abort her baby feel like a criminal, even though she did what she thought was best. I wish she'd felt comfortable having her baby and perhaps given the child up for adoption, but she didn't. It wasn't malice. It was the way life had affected her. Far be it from me to condemn her. That's it, I think. |
| Good Morning America. Surrogate here, from our New York Studio where this morning I'm talking with..." |
| 06.28.06 (8:00 am) [edit] |
|
Good morning Boys and Girls. In the mornings I tend to have the television on while I'm writing my posts. My usual morning fare is Don Imus' radio show that's simulcast on MSNBC, not because I agree with his and his crew's take on things all that much, but because I really like his interviews at the bottom of each hour. He has politicos from both sides of the isle and a regular rotation of writers and columnists who keep me up to date on many issues I'd otherwise have to work harder at trying to find out about, God forbid. Well, they're on vacation, and I resent it. I found myself flipping around the other morning trying to come up with SOMETHING that might give me a similar round overview of the political goings on without feeling like I was being slammed over the head with an obvious "angle." In desperation I even watched a few minutes of Fox and Friends, which to my thinking, is simply inane. Perhaps it's my personality, but the network morning shows are too syrupy for me and the reruns of the talking head shows on the news channels from the previous night do nothing for me. Finally, I gave up and shut the thing off. And I suppose it'll stay off till the fifth when the Imus vacation is over. I've decided. I want my own morning show. I'll do hard news three or four times an hour - or I'll have a lackey do it for me and the rest of the time it'll be straight interviews with people involved in whatever's going on out there. I'll ask tough but fair questions and try not to interrupt while I allow people to actually come up with justifications for the way they see things. I WON'T have two people debating a topic in forty-five second duels where each one feels stepped on by the other who, in turn, is deathly afraid their side won't get a fair shake and so also continually interrupts. I'll treat people with respect even if I personally disagree with them, and I'll worry more about being "fair and balanced" over the course of a week or so, rather than within the time constraints of each individual interview. I WON'T take phone calls from audience members, nor will I give two whits whether people think I personally have a bias for or against a particular policy or bill, or even the person I'm interviewing. I'll LISTEN more than I talk - which is all I'll promise guests. Okay... now to find a producer and a network who wants a halfway creative morning dude... And, if it's a TV show? - I'm going to be needing a good make-up person. I mean REALLY good. Will anything keep the top of my head from reflecting the studio lights? Be good to everyone. Oh, Jesus will be writing tomorrow and Friday. Pass it on. |
| My life as a "B and E" man... or boy. Well, "E" anyway. |
| 06.27.06 (8:40 am) [edit] |
|
Good morning Boys and Girls! Walked about six miles last night. Saw rabbits galore, quite a few raspberry bushes just starting to give fruit and a large stand of birch trees that gave me hope that maybe they aren't going the way of the dodo around here. I love birch trees. Birch trees remind me of a little church up North I used to sneak into to play the organ. That place was surrounded by hundreds of them... Soon after I got my drivers license, and just days after I'd backed into a telephone pole in the parking lot of the post office in Ossineke, Michigan where the family cottage was (and still is) - carelessly putting a nice dent in the rear bumper of the family's first newish station wagon - my folks, probably in an effort to help me get my confidence back, allowed me to take the car out for the day for a drive in the countryside, all by myself. Don't remember ever feeling more free than that day as I drove for miles and miles along roads I'd never been on before. I drove North and West beyond Alpena, the city twelve miles North of our cottage, and I opened up the throttle a couple of times just to see what it felt like. I made stops any time anything interesting grabbed my attention. I stopped at a tiny greasy-spoon restaurant plopped down seemingly in the middle of nowhere and had lunch of a hot dog and hash browns with coffee. I think that was the first time I'd ever ordered coffee in a restaurant. It was rich and dark and far better than what my folks made at home, and the potatoes were so good, they helped launch my life-long quest for the perfect hash-browns, much to the chagrin of my long unseen abs. As the afternoon wore on I came upon this little church tucked into the tall white pickets of the birch trees that half obscured it just fifty yards off the road. In the gloaming, the place looked almost magical to me and I simply had to stop the car and go exploring. It wasn't an old church, really, I'd guess it was built in the fifties and designed to look fairly modern for its day. It did have some stained glass windows but they were simple ones and along with the stained wood exterior and fieldstone foundation, the place had real warmth. And? -the door was open. Inside, what grabbed my eye was the stained glass window above the pulpit and choir loft and dozens and dozens of pipes that had a definite modern look to them. Every pipe organ I'd seen previously looked very old to my young eyes, and thus formidable and foreboding. I played the piano a lot and I'd had a little training on pipe organs due to my piano teacher being the organist at a very large church in Detroit. I simply HAD to go check it out. The switch wasn't locked and in fifteen or twenty seconds I was playing my heart out on the four registers and pedals, improvising and trying to do variations on some of the themes I knew. The bass made my body shake, it was so powerful, and some of the double-reed and flute stops almost made me cry, they sounded so beautiful. It was Heaven. I played for a half hour or so, then after making sure I'd closed all the stops, I shut it down, feeling joyful, full, yet completely guiltless for doing what I'd done. Got back to the cottage before full dark and swore I'd go back there before we went home. I did, and went back every year for five or six years till one year I discovered the place locked up. Sure hope I wasn't one of the causes for that, though I doubt it since I never did any harm at all. Actually, that wasn't the first church I'd crashed to play the organ. I also did it in Carnkie, Redruth in Cornwall, England at the little church at the end of the lane where my Aunt lived. I was all of fourteen then. But that was a really crappy organ. Funny, this is the first time I've ever told this story to anyone. Must be seeing all those birches last night. Be good to everyone. |
| My crystal ball is broken. It's seeing backwards... |
| 06.26.06 (8:55 am) [edit] |
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Good morning Boys and Girls. Four more days till July. July! This can't be. It was Christmas, what? -A couple of weeks ago? Easter was just yesterday. Memorial Day was a couple of HOURS ago. Does it have something to do with getting older? My folks fiftieth anniversary would have been last week had Dad not had the bad form to die a few years ago. That CERTAINLY can't be right. Last Wednesday I was working at one of my accounts and an old guy I'd never met before was tinkering with a green 52 Plymouth inside the shop. The second I saw it, all kinds of memories flooded into my head. I introduced myself to him and found out he's one of the owners of the place, though now long retired, and he'd just come in to change the oil on this old beauty. He talked about it some and how he'd come by it a few years ago in a barn in Southern Indiana. He went on to talk about how different the business is these days compared to what he knew during his forty-plus years of activity... and all I could do was look at that car and remember my dog Taffy, and my sister, and my Mom learning to drive in that very car - or it's twin, ("Clutch Sylvia! You've got to use the clutch!," my dad would loudly urge,) and that car, sitting in our driveway, which then lead to thoughts of kites and D-Cell batteries (for our "electrical experiments") and forts and playing in Kelly's Woods and street football and ice-hockey in the back yard rink and, and... That couldn't have been more than a year ago. Spent time with my kids this weekend. Twenty-eight and twenty-five respectively, which to me feels like another impossibility, but one I at least have come to grips with. I know I can't go back to having them be little children, and I'm proud of the kind of adults they've become, but still, part of me relishes the memories far too much. Hell, I can't go through a single day without remembering them running into our bedroom pouncing, jumping onto the bed to wake us up up on a Saturday morning, whooping and hollering at four or five years old, or their smiles of delight at playing some goofy game, or... Wasn't that just this morning? Life is sooooo lush. Why does it take place over such a short span of time? I want to be able to call "Freeze!" AND, I want to know WHEN to call it. Be good to everyone. |
| Oh yeah? well F... Um, I mean have a nice day. |
| 06.25.06 (9:03 am) [edit] |
|
Good morning Boys and Girls. Staring at a blank screen here for a couple of minutes. Ever have this happen? You're sitting there. You know, at first anyway, what you want to write about, but then a thought creeps in and keeps you from putting your real thoughts down, a mental warning light and klaxon buzzing around your brain... Happens. To me anyway. Like some part of you instantly thinks through the ramifications and reactions of what you're thinking about saying, or writing about, before your conscious mind can even get to the point of committing the words to paper, or in this case, to digital memory. Maybe it's cowardice. Or maybe it's maturity. Either way, it's probably a wonderful fail-safe our brains provides us - when we allow it to operate. Kind of like leaving a virus scan operating in the background while you're on-line to prevent infection, rather than trying to rid yourself of all the bugs you'd likely pick up later. On the other hand, how many times have we wished we'd have said what we were really thinking right from the get-go when not doing so gets us into a protracted arrangement of some kind that a simple, "Now wait just a damn minute, you said I'd WON this health-club membership. How is it you're trying to get me to sign a contract that asks me to pay fifty bucks a month for the next 65 years?" might have helped us avoid? It's a balancing act, or at least it feels like one, but perhaps a necessary one. Of course the whole process can get out of hand too. I suppose that if you start second guessing your order in the drive-through at Arbys to the point where you give undo weight to the ultimate difference in your life between ordering the potato cakes instead of the curly fries, you've got other problems. Right? Right??? Somebody give me an Amen. -Ahhh. Be good to everyone. Oh, and I'm going with the potato cakes, AND the lifetime membership to Curves, the Health Club for Women. |
| Opening cans of worms. |
| 06.23.06 (5:15 pm) [edit] |
|
Good afternoon Boys and Girls! Came over to the east side of the State today. Did some work, but knocked off around 3:00 and got to the kids' house a while ago. Daughter dearest is sleeping upstairs before an evening shift and my son is still at work. So? I'm sitting at the helm of the star-ship in my kid's basement - or at least that's what this 'puter feels like to me, what with the mammoth monitor and a keyboard with more buttons than an accordion - and I'm watching an episode of "Curb Your Enthusiasm." Just before I left, Jesus called. Was in a rush at the time and I don't think I was as polite as I should have been, but he said he was coming by for two days next week to attend a couple of seminars and a graduation party and he want's to stay at my place. As it happens, I'm gonna' be gone the first day, so he said he'd write something for this thing, but he wants me suggest what I'd like him to write about. Unfortunately, I'm blank. Help? Be good to everyone. |
| When I die? -I want to go to Pizza Hut heaven, not Taco Bell Hell. |
| 06.22.06 (9:23 am) [edit] |
|
Good morning Boys and Girls. Talked to my son last night. He's going to see Nine Inch Nails Sunday night at the ubiquitous outdoor concert place north of Detroit. These days it's called the D.T.E. Energy Amphitheater. For the first twenty-five years of its existence, it was called Pine Knob, named for the ski-area to which it's adjoined. I know it's an old saw to complain about the "naming rights" thing. But for some reason it still bugs me. Near here, on the other side of the state, it's starting to get out of hand, though, I suppose, to be fair, since most of the larger named venues in Grand Rapids bear the names "VanAndel, DeVoss, or Meijer," perhaps I can assume that they've been named primarily for the persons who put up the money, rather than as temporary names, sold by the year, as part of a corporate advertising campaigns, though I don't really know that for sure. DeVoss and VanAndel are the two founders of Amway, arguably the "premier" multi-level marketing company in the country, or at least one of the oldest. They've been generous in handing out many of their millions to the various cultural icons of the city, and many of the arenas, museums, hospitals and other public buildings are named for one of the them, plus the company they founded bought and rebuilt an old but failing luxury hotel downtown into a stunning place now called the Amway Grand. I don't know how many stars the place gets, but it's awfully damn swanky, that's for sure. The Meijer name may be recognized by many of you in the midwest of the U.S. They run hundreds of discount store/supermarkets in quite a few adjacent states that are far nicer than even the newest Walmart Superstore. The company was founded in the early 20 century in Greenville, Michigan by the father of the current majority stockholder. They pioneered the all-in-one store concept and have always done it darn well. Unfortunately though, with the owner, Fred, getting way up there in years, it's anyone's guess how long they'll remain independent after he goes. The rumors are that his kids will sell before he's even cold, and Walmart will end up with a few hundred more prime locations. They've already started farming out more and more of their support work overseas and the layoffs in the technical areas of the company have been coming on a regular basis for years. I know that in one area of the company, they're having "going away" parties for people affected by the latest downsizing effort on an almost daily basis. Sad. The ballpark for the local minor-league team is called Fifth-Third Field for a Cincinnati Bank that's expanded into this market over the past few years. They've got more than one minor-league stadium named for them I think and for all I know, maybe the new stadium the Reds play in Cincy is named for them too. -Wonder if Johnny Bench is still on the board there? In the eighties, the Hall-of-Fame catcher was the corporate face for what was then a fairly small bank. Right now, I have to shower in the Wheaties Bathroom after I walk across my living room, (now called the Mars Bar Lounge) then I'll go to work in my car, the Home Depot Lebarron Convertible. First though, I'll stop at the McDonald's Restaurant Systems McDonalds and get some coffee in a Metropolitan Life Insurance Company sponsored styrofoam cup. I'm bidding on naming rights for the entire earth. I'm hoping that in a few more months the third planet from the Pepsico Sun will be renamed Terra-Surrogate, though probably only through 2012. My budget is limited. Be good to everyone. |
| Hmmm. |
| 06.21.06 (10:01 am) [edit] |
|
Good morning Boys and Girls. Writing from the library this morning as I overslept. For some reason, right this instant anyway, I can't get into yahoo mail here, which is where I tend to write my posts. Allows me to archive them easily just in case anything ever goes ka-boom on the site. Also, it's easier to do spell-check and the like, but I don't have much to say this morning anyway, so a few glaring spelllllling errors won't matter much, will they? It seems, to the chagrin of many prosecuters, defense lawyers and T.V. tabloid shows - but to the relief of parents everywhere - Michael Jackson is closing up his Neverland Ranch. Evidently, he's come to prefer the calm existence he seems to have found in far-off Bahrain, far from the scrutiny of pesky policemen, private investigators, and clingy twelve-year-olds who just can't seem to accept that, though it may have been fun while it lasted, that nothing is forever. According to the front page at Yahoo, they've been looking for new homes for many of the animals that helped give the place such a festive atmosphere. Want a zebra? Personally, I'm holding out for the Ferris Wheel. I'm going to mount it on the back of my car, drive to the Port Authority in Manhattan and offer rides to cute 20 year-old auburn-haired hotties just off the bus after running away from their Daddy's farm in rural Iowa because Pop voted with the rest of the old people in town not to allow dancing at the senior prom, so she's come to New York to make it as a star on Broadway. "Sure, I can help you," I'll say, smiling, guiding her, taking her hand. "I know all the big agents in town! Hey, Guess what? This Ferris Wheel used to be Michael Jackson's!" Be good to everyone. |
| Sir, are you sure your head is attached to your neck? I hate for you to forget it. |
| 06.20.06 (7:59 am) [edit] |
|
Good morning Boys and Girls. 7:35 a.m. ...and on the world spins, easy as you please circling the sun, a five-billion year lease... Now I can't get he damn tune I came up with for the little chorus out of my head. Guess I'll have to do something about it. Grrr. This evening I'm playing in a four-man (four-person, actually) scramble after work. A scramble, for those of you sane enough not to be golfers, is a format whereby everyone hits a shot from the tee, then as a group you choose the best of those drives and each play a shot from where that best shot landed. This process continues till the ball is in the hole. It's a lot of fun and the scores tend to be very low since, you're getting those four chances at each shot and putt. I haven't played in one in a few years and I'm looking forward to it. Before then, I have a full day of work to do, and I have to drive to a course I played very early this past Saturday morning where I left my sand wedge alongside the eighteenth green after using it for an approach shot. I called the course yesterday to see if anyone had had found it and turned it in. Thankfully, someone had and did. This is the second time I've forgotten the club by a green in the last month. I don't think I'd done it in fifteen years before that. My mind is going. What's funny is that, because of my cheap-skate nature, by and large I play with old clubs (though admittedly very good ones) I've picked up for next to nothing at garage sales or Goodwill Stores. Not my wedge though. I paid quite a lot of money for it a few years ago, and it is by far my favorite and, scoring wise, certainly my most valuable club. (I get cocky when I'm chipping with that thing sometimes, half sure I'll hole the shot.) As dumb as I feel for leaving my club again, I wonder if I feel dumber than Phil Mickelson must have felt while signing his scorecard after the eighteenth hole Sunday evening. Man, that scene reminded me of the movie "Tin Cup." What WAS he thinking? Thanks Mr. or Mrs. Honest-person-who-found-a nd-turned-in-my-sand-wedg e. And I swear I won't write another "golf" post for at least six months. Swear. "...a five-billion year leeeaaasse..." (Damn that's catchy... in my head anyway.) Be good to everyone. |
| One True Faith. |
| 06.19.06 (8:32 am) [edit] |
|
Good morning Boys and Girls. .............................................................. |
| Fathers Day |
| 06.18.06 (12:51 pm) [edit] |
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Good Morning Boys and Girls! And Happy Fathers Day! This is the fifth Father's Day since my own Dad died. My Dad was a joker, in the finest sense of the word. For most of his adult life he did pretty much the same thing I'm doing for a living these days. He always seemed to have a good joke up his sleeve, but each week he'd find or choose one that he'd tell the folks at the half-dozen or so places he'd work at each week. The good thing about him working at so many places was that it gave him time to refine, edit and elaborate the set-ups so that by Fridays, he had the things honed to a razor's edge. By the time the punch line arrived, people would be laughing their brains out. I always felt like the Monday and Tuesday customers were getting slighted. I remember him telling me once - in jest - that he did his work for free, but he charged for the stand-up. I do know that it was one of the things that made him many many friends over the years. People looked forward to his arrival as they knew they were about to be in for a laugh. I loved playing Golf with my Dad. He was a fairly solid player who loved to chastise his own mistakes, though he usually did even that in a funny manner. About ten years ago, I had a hole-in-one playing with him and my brother up near my folks cottage on Lake Huron. He whooped and hollered like crazy and got an even bigger kick out of it than I did. His death early one morning in July, 2001, while warming up for his daily hour of racquetball, was a real shocker. It came the same week my divorce was final and just at the time he was starting the process of retiring. Lousy deal. I miss him. Happy Fathers Day Dad.
|
| Kicking. |
| 06.17.06 (5:31 pm) [edit] |
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Good afternoon Boys and Girls! Relaxing right now, watching the U.S. Open in hot, sticky weather here in my apartment even WITH the air going. June has been relatively cool here till yesterday, but today is a scorcher and I'm doing the continual straight iced-tea thing. I've decided to quit smoking. Again. I'm going to use the "one fewer smokes each day" method, which worked for me prior to my longest ever period of non-tobacco use since I was about twenty. Tomorrow, I'll allow myself my usual two packs. (I know, I know...) Then 39, 38 and so on. What I found in the past was that it didn't really take me forty days to cut it out altogether, but actually less than a month. Last time, after the first week or so, I mixed in a weird thing. If I was anywhere I could do it, I made myself do a couple of minutes of some sort of exercise before I'd allow myself to light up. I'll do that again. Then? Assuming I'm successful in stopping? I have to keep myself from looking to them as the easy crutch they are when and if I go through a bad spell. Wish me luck. Be good to everyone. |
| Sex frogs. |
| 06.16.06 (3:54 pm) [edit] |
|
Bonus goofy post today. Here's a good one... |
| Okay, Pencils down! Now pass your papers to the front of the class. |
| 06.16.06 (8:28 am) [edit] |
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Good morning Boys and Girls. A little test for those Americans who read this. (Bawdy, as a regular reader, may also take the test, but must add an "aye" to the end of each response.) Answer "true" only if you positively know something to be factual. I live in absolutely the greatest country on earth. T__ F__ I've visited at least ten other countries. T__ F__ America is a Christian Nation. T__ F__ The Founding Fathers were all Christians. T__ F__ The biggest problem America faces in the future is terrorism. T__ F__ Jesus was a Christian. T__ F__ Terrorists strike us out of a hatred of our freedom. T__ F__ Nothing can be done to change the hearts of terrorists. They must all be wiped out. T__ F__ God loves American soldiers more than Iraqi civilians, most of whom are Muslims. T__ F__ Once a functioning Democratic government is operating efficiently in Iraq and their own military is trained, we'll bring all our troops home, and it will have been worth it. T__ F__ Iran has no right to develop nuclear weapons. T__ F__ Iran having a nuke is far more dangerous than the hundreds of old nukes deteriorating and disappearing in the old USSR. T__ F__ China is a far lessor threat to U.S. security than Iran because it is our trading partner. T__ F__ The great number of illegal aliens entering our country are among the top ten threats to the U.S. economy these days. T__ F__ Allowing gays to marry will undermine the sanctity of traditional man-woman marriages. T__ F__ Using any other type of fuel to power our automobiles and other things that run on petroleum distillates efficiently is pretty much a pipe-dream. T__ F__ God is on our side in the war in Iraq. T__ F__ I answered True to more than one of these questions. T__ F__ Okay, tally up your answers. Here's the scale: There is no evidence that even a single one of these statements is true except the second one, which may be true for some and is there to give "oomph" to the first. And if you answered True to the last one? Yipes! Believing any of the rest does nothing but get in the way of our country becoming as great as it can be, and in fact, takes away from how great it is now. Be good to everyone. |
| Another bitch-session about the E.I.B. Network. |
| 06.15.06 (8:01 am) [edit] |
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Good morning Boys and Girls. Every now and again Rush would say something on the radio that would make my skin crawl and I'd have trouble not asking this reasonable guy how the hell he can stand listening to this goof-ball every single day, which he seems to do. I forget what point he was trying to make with the statement, but as is his practice, it was the jumping-off point he used to make further false statements seem reasonable. (My favorite of his is still "Since we know Hillary had Vince Foster killed, doesn't it make sense that she would then... blah, blah, blah...") |
| Day of the tweedle. |
| 06.14.06 (8:32 am) [edit] |
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Good morning Boys and Girls. Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum were walking on the street. Asked Dum to Dee "How goes it chum? And how are the folks from where you're from?" Said Dee to Dum, "I think they're fine. At least from what I hear. And You Dee? How are you and yours? Is there any news you fear?" "Me?" says Dee, "Why no. Not now." But he turned and looked away. Dum could see that Dee was glum, and he debated what to say. "Now Dee, You tell me, what's the deal? It's obvious you're sad." But Dee said nothing, and silently, He walked on, feeling bad. "Come on!" urged Dum, "I need to hear. After all, we're bros. You can tell me, anything! We're like minded, simpatico!" But Dee walked on, in his own thoughts, As if Dum wasn't there. Eventually, this made Dum mad, He felt as if Dee didn't care. "You think you're something, don't you Dee? You think you're really clever. Well, let me take you down a peg I've never liked you... Ever!" And Dee walked on, still lost in thought. Thinking, dreaming, weighing "Excuse me Dum, I didn't hear. What was that you were saying?" "Why you rat bastard, who are you, To ignore me when I'm speaking? You think you're not a Tweedle now? I think your brains are leaking." With those words, Dee turned away And tweedled onward slowly, As Dum called out, "Good riddance you! There are very few so lowly!" And Dum was right, thought Dee that day, As he tweedled through some woods. "I'm just a Tweedle," to himself, he said, "Trying to do less harm than good." So Dee was dumb, and Dum was wise, as they saw it with tweedle eyes. Dee dum, dee doo, dee wrong, dee right Dee talk, dee quiet, dee peace, dee fight Dee love, dee hate, dee sleep, dee wake Dee eat, dee fast, dee lamb, dee snake Dee life, dee fun, dee work, dee play, ...and people tweedle through each day. ...and people tweedle through each day. ...and people tweedle through each day. ...and people tweedle through each day. ...and people tweedle every way. |
| You still can't borrow prosperity. |
| 06.13.06 (8:03 am) [edit] |
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Good morning Boys and Girls. Sunny, cool, breezy. In January the place where I live was sold from a nice guy to another nice guy. The new owners are in the real-estate business full time. I was talking to the owner last week. I was surprised to see him. He was sitting at his desk downstairs and didn't look happy. "What's up Les?" I asked. He just shook his head, but then he slowly explained. A half hour later, I had a pretty good picture of why this poor old guy is feeling low. His strategy the last dozen years or so has been to buy places for almost no money down that they (he and his son) thought they could turn quickly. They were getting really good interest rates from a local bank so they were able to resell the properties they bought on a contract basis (think Land Contract) for a small profit, or even at the same price they'd bought it but at a higher interest rate, because they were holding the paper themselves. So, they'd still be making the payments on the mortgage they'd secured but would take the difference between what their own payments were, and what they were receiving, as their profit each month. Example. They'd buy a house for $100,000.00 and have payments of $600.00 bucks a month. They sell the place on a contract for for $110,000.00 and receive payments of $850.00. Profit? $250.00 bucks per month. It's worked very well for them for about ten years. It worked so well, in fact, that they got cocky. Problem. At some point they started doing the same sort of deals but were buying the places on adjustable rate mortgages, meaning their initial payments were even lower. As long as interest rates stayed close to what they were? Cool. But... Since they'd still SELL the places on contracts at fixed rates, if their payments increased, they'd lose some of their profits. Risky? You bet. As interest rates have slowly climbed, their profits on many of the properties have completely disappeared. Now the payments they're making on some of these places are greater than what they're receiving. Plus the guy has six vacant properties he can't sell or even rent right now. Add to that fact that two large business properties he'd sold on contract have been paid off in the last few months when the new owners found better financing. This alone is costing them over $5000.00 in lost monthly profit that they were receiving just a few months ago. Right now they're losing over $16,000 a month, owe $250,000.00 on a revolving line of credit and are about to go bankrupt. And as nice as the guy and his son are, when he told me about how they'd been running this business, I thought two things: First, I thought, though silently, I swear, "How dumb can you guys be?" and then, "How did you get into this mess?" -and "Who sat you down and taught you the basics of economics?" I asked the second question. "How did this start?" I asked. His answer didn't surprise me. They went to a "Buy real estate for no money down," seminar. He'd retired already and was looking to grow his nest-egg. And at first, it worked really, really well. But, and I'm sure this isn't the fault of whoever was running the seminar they went to, it seems greed got the best of them. It was the fact that they didn't seem to understand the problems associated with adjustable rate mortgages, especially when they were selling the properties afterward at fixed rates, that blew me away. So now, at 77 years old, this poor guy is scared every day. His son, who's a little younger than I am and who's, to his credit, trying desperately to bail out his Dad with some very hard work - and who's still not having much luck - isn't enjoying life much either. Sad really. Wanna buy a house? I know where you can get one easy for no money down. How about six houses? I've seen two of them... pretty nice! And? they're worth almost 80 percent of what they're trying to sell them for! Be good to everyone. |
| Is that a "v" or a "u"? |
| 06.12.06 (8:38 am) [edit] |
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Good morning Boys and Girls. Sunny day here in the neighborhood. Been debating a move. Opportunity had arisen elsewhere, and I'd planned on taking a nice little trip to check it out. Since I initially planned to do that, however, things a tad beyond my control have gotten in the way causing a couple of delays, and along the way, the joy has been sapped out of the idea. So, I think I'm going to just say screw it, at least for now. For about three weeks I've been trying to get things together to leave, but for some reason, the gods have been placing little potholes in front of me that I've had to stop to repair. Maybe they were trying to tell me something. They'd have to hit me over the head with something extremely hard for me to get any message from them clearly, but maybe they're testing my ability to read Pothole-Sanskrit. So far, the only grouping I can read, understand and have translated into English is, "These are potholes. They are here for a reason. They are deep. They are MEANT to slow you down. Think jerk-face." I would have preferred simply hearing God's voice in my head telling me what to do explicitly, but he's never really talked to me directly like that. I think you have to be a Head-of-State or a T.V. Evangelist for that treatment, or maybe just have a more impressive Old Testament styled name. Or maybe he just looks at my life, rolls his eyes, shakes his head and smiles in bemused amusement, and has decided I'm not doing anything important enough, nor am I likely to, to justify any direct almighty edicts. I can't blame him, but I do wish he'd at least slip one of those Revised Third Edition, Collegiate Version, Pothole-Sanskrit to English translation dictionaries under my pillow. The one at my local library, though thousands of pages long, is in horrible shape - what with so many pages having been ripped out by others with the same sort of problems who either lacked change for the library's copier - or were so annoyed by what they read on a particular page that they simply wanted to deface the damn book. Either way? - I need my own copy... Be good to everyone. |
| Walk away. |
| 06.11.06 (7:37 am) [edit] |
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Good morning Boys and Girls. |
| War and Chocolate. |
| 06.10.06 (8:30 am) [edit] |
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Good morning Boys and Girls. Pretty day. Of late, I've been in one of my personal "news blackout" periods. I did see they got to what's-his-name North of Baghdad the other day. (I know the name, but I'll be damned if I feel like Googling for the proper spelling...) Hope that helps. Let's do a little update. We still have about 130,000 troops over there in a country of 25 million people and we're trying to get to the point where we're able to leave the country to the folks who live there, when and if they're able to run it themselves. The overall ratio of American soldiers to Iraqi citizens is roughly one to one hundred ninety-two, although since only about 80% of the Iraqis want us gone, we can extrapolate that only about 155 of each of those 192 are pissed at us by now, and really, a far smaller percentage yet are potentially dangerous to our people. So let's say that only a tenth of the rest have gotten to the point to where they might be convinced to take part in actions against the people they feel have long outstayed their "welcome." Hell, let's say it's only 5%. So now we're looking at roughly seven to one. Okay, try this... You're looking at a group of 192 people. Now only seven of them want to kill you, but any of those seven may have guns or bombs to use that you can't see, and SOME of the seven have gotten to the point where they don't even care if they take out some of their own people... as long as YOU'RE killed in the process. Oh, and you can't really know which of 192 - or even the 155 - ARE the seven. So what happens? What do you do? Think you might get a little trigger happy when you're faced with this situation day after day after day? I'm surprised that there haven't been more of the sad incidents we've heard about lately where evidently a few American soldiers have killed civilians in cold blood. It's completely understandable to me. I can just imagine the frazzled mind-set of a soldier feeling like they never know whether the person walking down the street toward them is simply on their way to the store - or whether they're contemplating planting a car bomb. I also understand that some of the very people who are part of what we were calling "the insurgence" (a name we're not hearing so much these days) might never have become part of it if there weren't people occupying their homeland. What would Forest Gump have said? "Stupid is as stupid does." It's all about decisions. What has OUR decision been? "We'll outlast 'em." Outlast who exactly? Assuming good faith on the part of the administration, and assuming that we were never deliberately lied to about the reasons for this war, and assuming that their initial intentions were honorable from the get-go, then would someone please answer this question for me? At what point does a badly thought-out and poorly planned policy become obvious criminal negligence? Is there a formula? In essence, what follows is repeated every day to each and every one of the 130,000 Americans and other foreign soldiers in Iraq: .................... "Okay private, now look. There are 192 people in this city. Only seven want you dead. Only kill THEM." "But sir, how do we know WHICH ones they are?" "We don't know, they look just like the other people, so you can't know either, so be real, real careful." .................... Every day, for months and months. 130,000 times a day. Can you imagine? Life may very well be like a box of chocolates, but you couldn't get me to eat any of them if I KNEW that one in twenty - or fifty - was poisonous, and especially, if I supplied some of the poison. Be good to everyone. |
| Getting there. Slowly. |
| 06.08.06 (11:06 am) [edit] |
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Good morning Boys and Girls! (ring) "Hello?" "Hey surr." "Hi Jesus! How are ya?" "Better than you right now. How are you?" "Eh. Not too great. Lousy couple of days." "So I gathered. You want to tell me about it?" "What don't you know?" "Not fair. I'll listen... Give." "I'm hurting people and I don't mean to." "Yeah? Why do you think that is?" "Comfort zone issues." "Well now, there's some prime B.S. How about speaking English." "It's NOT B.S.! Sometimes I need to think to myself a while before I can put things into words properly. Meanwhile, I leave people hanging." So, have you thought enough yet?" "Yeah. I think so." "So what are you going to do? You gonna go for it or play mind games with yourself - and other people - for eternity?" "It's not an eternity! It's been days." "Weeks maybe. More than days." "True. I guess... Shit." "Are you acting in a loving manner?" "Probably not. No. I'm not." "Well?" "I'm doing what I can do Jesus. I'm not YOU for god's sake." "Hey. Watch it." "Sorry." "That's alright. You're not expected to be "me." But you are expected to carry yourself like a human being." "I know. Not doing such a great job of it, am I?" "Not right now, you're not. Let me tell you a story." "Oh boy. Here we go..." "Shush. (chuckling...) Just listen. "I'm listening." "So, once there was a great city occupied by good people and a well-meaning King who worried about things too much and was sometimes very secretive about anything he thought might be misconstrued, or plans that he thought might be compromised by too many people knowing them. For the most part, his people wanted the city to remain as it had always been, a self-contained and self-sustaining enclave with produce and goods provided by local farms and local tradesmen and merchants. What little contact the city and it's citizens had with the world outside was limited to invited visitors and special emissaries sent by the king to other lands with specific orders they were to follow to the letter. The orders were written on a series of numbered scrolls to be opened in numerical order, and at times specified on the preceding scroll." "Okay. So each scroll gave some instructions and also said when the next one was to be opened, right?" "Right. This was done so that the king had total control over the travels of his emissaries, and so that none of them would have any idea where they were going or even what the purpose of the trip was until they arrived at whatever final destination the king had chosen." "Why?" "So that their quests were limited in scope in their own minds. They never had enough information to form an opinion about the purpose of the trip, or about it's value to the Kingdom or even whether the trip was worth risking their lives over. The scrolls kept the travelers' minds on their jobs of the day, which was getting to place they could open the next scroll." "Wow. Bet that was frustrating." "On the contrary. Most of the time, it worked well and kept the travelers, the "emissaries," focused on the next small goal." "A scavenger hunt." "Sort of. I guess. But you know who it DID frustrate?" "Who?" "The rest of the citizens of the town. They'd do this big send-off every time the King sent off one of these groups, but, because of the secrecy, they had nothing to get excited about until, if even then, the travelers came back and gave an account of their travels that could be passed around the town as entertainment in the form of stories and anecdotes. They had nothing to hope for except the safe return of these folks. Then, when one of these groups never DID return, the gossip throughout the city ran rampant about how their King might be losing it." "Why didn't these travelers return?" "Because the last scroll instructed them to stay where they'd arrived and set up an encampment on the edge of the Kingdom near the sea. They were instructed NOT to return, and they followed the orders. The king wanted to set up a fishing village to supply his kingdom with fish. Unfortunately, he didn't tell anyone what he was hoping to do." "Okay..." "Had the king simply informed the citizens of his intentions, he would have eased everyones' fears and kept the people from beginning to to question his sanity, or at the very least his good-will..." "Right." "So?" "Gotcha. Communicate." "Communicate." Be good to everyone. |
| Hurry, Scurry and Wait, were in the midst of debate... |
| 06.07.06 (7:06 am) [edit] |
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Good morning Boys and Girls. Ever get to a point where you don't how to explain the way you're feeling about something you're about to do, even though you know you want to do it, so you just don't talk about it much, which then adds to your overall guilt quotient? That's me right now. For the past five years, I haven't had a lot of faith in my own decision making processes. I've learned not to completely trust my gut, meanwhile, my head and heart are constantly at odds with each other. Add them to that aforementioned gut instinct we're supposed to depend on (as our consciences' way of signaling to us that it too needs to have input into a situation) and sometimes I think it's a miracle we're not, or at least I'm not, in bed 24-7 with a horrid case of... Of what? Inertia? Sometimes I end up making decisions not even knowing which of the three has prevailed as by then I've forgotten which choice was being touted by which one. I think. I pray. And inevitably? - I disappoint people. In the words of the great Kurt Vonnegut? "So it goes..." And yet? Maybe it all ends up going the way it's supposed to anyway. Who knows? Not me. See, my gut tells me it's okay. My head says it's dumb to take too little time to do things right. My heart is sitting there, confused and trying to make sure it's not the scapegoat... again. It's definitely the weak link - the cheesy, wimpy, low-life bastard. One thing that has improved though; I now refuse to let it get me down too much or for too long. I watch myself and chuckle at the absurdity of it all... Who do I think I am? -pretending it matters like I do. What an arrogant jerk, huh? Try to do the right thing? And that too will disappoint someone, inevitably. What was it Ben Franklin said? "A little thought now will save the cookies from the sewing machine." Oh. He didn't? Well he should have - the cheesy, wimpy, low-life bastard. No. I don't know what it means either, (but my gut tells me...) Be good to everyone. |
| Yuck, yuck. |
| 06.06.06 (1:16 pm) [edit] |
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Good afternoon Boys and Girls. Sorry for not posting in a day or two. Life is, let's see, how to put this... congested, just now. Trying to get my ducks in a row for a trip and they just keep squawking. They don't seem to want to stand in line without constant prodding and poking. So? How about a cute joke from the joke lady of Northern Ontario. (I used to forward good ones to SweetSue for her to use if she liked 'em, but, alas, she seems to have taken a powder, so read this in memory of her nice blog - and pretend there are two or three cleverly captioned funny photos underneath.) A biker stops by the local Harley Shop to have his bike fixed. They couldn't do it while he waited, so he said he didn't live far and would just walk home. On the way home he stopped at the hardware store and bought a bucket and an anvil. He stopped by the feed store/livestock dealer and picked up a couple of chickens and a goose. However, struggling outside the store he now had a problem: how to carry all of his purchases home. While he's scratching his head trying to figure it all out, he was approached by a little old lady who told him she was lost. She asked, "Can you tell me how to get to 1603 Mockingbird Lane?" The biker said, "Well, as a matter of fact, I live at 1616 Mockingbird Lane. I would walk you home but I don't think I can carry all this stuff. I think I'm going to have to borrow a wheelbarrow from someone" The old lady suggested, "Why don't you put the anvil in the bucket, carry the bucket in one hand, put a chicken under each arm and carry the goose in your other hand?" "Why thank you very much," he said and proceeded to walk the old girl home. On the way he says, "Let's take my short cut and go down this alley. We'll be there in no time." The little old lady looked him over cautiously and then said, "I am a lonely widow without a husband to defend me. How do I know that when we get in the alley you won't hold me up against the wall, pull up my skirt, and have your way with me?" The biker said, "Holy smokes lady! I am carrying a bucket, an anvil, two chickens, and a goose. How in the world could I possibly hold you up against the wall and do that?" The lady replied, "Set the goose down, cover him with the bucket, put the anvil on top of the bucket, and I'll gladly hold the chickens." Be good to everyone. Hopefully, tomorrow I'll write a real post... |
| Oops! |
| 06.04.06 (11:08 am) [edit] |
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Good morning Boys and Girls. Just a quick post today. Sunday morning walk was lovely. Sunny here, just like yesterday - till around 4:30 in the afternoon when a storm blew through and dumped a whole lot of water in a very short time, cutting a perfectly nice round of golf in half. I know it was wrong of me to shake my fist at God and curse the weather he'd seen fit to send this way, but I just couldn't help myself. I yelled at him that if he thought he was gonna get away with screwing up a perfectly nice day with a thunderstorm, he had another thing coming, and that he might as well strike me dead. So, this is my first posting from the afterlife. It's not exactly what I expected, but the coffee is dynamite and so far I've been dealing with the extreme heat quite well. Unfortunately, though the golf courses are nice here, in my section, if you DO manage to get a tee time, it's always behind a group of beginners who take tons of practice swings and look at every putt from all directions, plus the wind is always in your face, no matter what direction you're teeing off. And you DO NOT want to hit it into the rough. You lose a ball here? -let it go! God? I'm sorry. My bad. Can I come back? I promise I won't complain about being rained off a course again - for at least a month. Be good to everyone. |
| What now? |
| 06.03.06 (8:16 am) [edit] |
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Good morning Boys and Girls. ...I bend back the hinged head of my life-sized bust of Ernest Hemingway revealing a small brightly-lighted yellow button, which I firmly push. In front of me, the wall parts silently. I close up the statue and jump onto a long winding water-slide into the dark... |
| Wake up, wake up, your sleepy-head. It's time, to get up out of bed... |
| 06.02.06 (7:22 am) [edit] |
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Good morning Boys and Girls! |
| "Do you have an account here?" |
| 06.01.06 (7:58 am) [edit] |
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Good morning Boys and Girls. surrogate here. As the days keep spinning by, faster and faster as I get older, there are times when I feel like I'm not noticing the world around me - or even the people around me - as much as I should. I found myself people-watching yesterday while waiting in a bank line. It was so easy to imagine I could tell the way people's lives were going simply by seeing them in that line; the way they dressed; the way they carried themselves; the ammount of stress showing on their faces. Burden, I decided, has its own set of postures. Some folks, well dressed and cool, were making business deposits; envelopes full of checks and cash in their hands; dispassionately waiting, bored but if anxious to get the heck out of there, not showing it. There were a couple of old folks trying to makes transfers of certain types of funds before the end of the month, one of them asking me about the time cut-off for transactions being credited to that day's business. Two o'clock, I told her, pointing to a little sign on the counter. It was about one-thirty and I could see her shoulders relax and the relief in her eyes when she realized she'd make it to a teller's window well before then. A couple of working guys, dirty and already tired, wearing mechanics shirts with logos from a local muffler and brake shop, carried a single check each and looked to be there simply to cash their paychecks on a lunch break. Maybe, I thought, they were bonus checks handed out at the end of the month. I hoped so. A young girl, maybe twenty, just in front of me held and examined a tattered, repeatedly-folded and unfolded check that looked as though it had been in her pocket or purse for a few days. She kept looking at it over and over. I saw it was a personal check and got the distinct impression she was worried whether or not it would be good. Maybe, I thought, she'd tried to cash it before and the funds weren't avaialble for whatever reason. It was obvious from her body language that she needed the money. The line was as long as I've seen it at that particular branch. Last day of the month rush, I assumed. Every one of the tellers looked tired, like the line had been steady since the place opened four hours earlier. When one of the three closed her window to go to lunch, there was audbile grumbling from those of us in line, only to end a few seconds later when another teller, now fresh back from lunch, popped into view and quickly opened her window. I was next in line and she made eye contact with me as, smiling with renewed energy, she said the usual, "I can help you here, sir." And she did. Be good to everyone. |
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American Deaths in Iraq:
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