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New Year Promises

2011-01-02T19:07:00.000-08:00

There seems to be a negative connotation associated with New Years resolutions. Perhaps it's because every January, regular gym-goers are forced to share a packed gym with resolutioners, and alcohol and tobacco sales hit their yearly low until everything goes back to normal in February. I won't deny it (I'ma straight ridah), I make half-hearted resolutions each year, which are kept for the most part.

The difference between mine and most others is that they're easy to stick to. Sure, I'd love to quit smoking, lose weight, get to work on time every day, but I'm also a realist. My resolutions are silly, and don't necessarily make my life or anyone else's better. But goals are always good, right? No matter how big or small.

Without further ado, in 2011, I promise to:

Always eat dinner at the dinner table. I have a $2,000 dining set holding all my junk mail, empty coffee mugs and car keys. I should put it to better use.
Recycle. Just a no brainer. I've already stopped putting non-recyclable items in the big blue bin, now it's time to stop putting recyclable items in the big black bin.
Stop buying new clothes when I run out of clean ones. It's shameful how bad I was about this in the past. The Salvation Army gets a quarterly donation of clothes from me, which is great, but I need to keep some money in my wallet and stop being so lazy about laundry.
Not watch TV when there's nothing interesting on. I'm guilty of watching QVC when there's nothing else on sometimes just so I can sit and look at the glowing screen. Yet the stack of books I've been meaning to read keep collecting dust.
Finish that gallon of milk I bought, or at least open it, before it expires. I waste milk too much.
Leave my ex alone. For six years he's been my loyal sidekick, whether we're screwing or not. For five years he's been trying to marry me, and for five years I've kept him at arm's length. I recently did something kinda bad, and in the past, he'd forgive me, and the cycle repeats. If I leave him alone, maybe he'll move on and be happy with a girl that deserves him.
Stop sending my assistant out for coffee every morning. I've got legs, and lord knows I need the exercise. I'll get it my damn self.
Return all calls and emails, whether personal or professional, in a timely manner. By far my friends' and colleagues' biggest pet peeve about me. And probably the hardest one to stick to.
Be a little more patient with stupid people. I take it back, this one will be the hardest. You have to understand what kind of people I deal with on a daily basis in order to fully grasp the difficulty of keeping this promise. I used to be such a sweet girl. Now people are kind of afraid to even approach me because they don't want to see my bitchface. Gotta be nicer.

Wow, that list is kind of long. And not all so easy. Crap, what did I just get myself into?

Would you want to read this book?

2009-09-12T11:00:00.000-07:00

That's right gang, while I'm still not giving up on Made in Vermont, I've gotta itch and I need to scratch it by cleaning up what I consider my best work yet. Here's the query.

Dear Agent of my fantasies,

I chose to submit to you because of your wonderful taste in humorous fantasy, and because you like the same kind of pie I do.

Over the course of his many lifetimes, Matthew Newman could rightfully lay claim to being many things. He’s crossed an ocean in search of the New World, fought alongside the Allied Forces against the army of a maniacal dictator, and wrestled with the Bermuda Triangle. But of all Matthew’s many fine qualities, possessing a good sense of direction was never one of them. Sometimes, however, wandering aimlessly can work in ones favor. After taking a wrong turn in the great monolith of the In Between, Matthew happens upon the Untouchable One, brightest and most beautiful soul in all the Universe. For Matthew, it’s true love. Unfortunately, as the only daughter of the Great Almighty, she’s the one possession the creator of all things keeps for himself. There is one way, however, to win her and her father over, and that is to locate the Eveningstar Gem and master its ultimate powers. Naturally there’s an evil entity out there named Kran competing with Matthew for possession of the gem. With it Kran would plunge the planet into darkness, and, even worse, compete with Matthew for the Untouchable One’s heart. Staying one-step ahead of Kran will require Matthew to navigate his way through several lifetimes’ worth of adventures and questionable career choices—not an easy task for one with a lack of direction. It will take his many other fine qualities to find a way to derail Kran’s diabolical quest for power, save the earth from an apocalyptic event, and find true love.

Matthew Newman is a 100,000 word work of humorous fantasy. I am the author of several things, and this is my first really good novel.

Thank you for your time, and I look forward to hearing from you soon.

Best wishes,
Charles Horse

I Disagree With Gabby the Republican

2009-09-10T11:04:00.000-07:00

Lately, the political "discourse" from the right is so overwrought, stupid, paranoid, and downright desperate, that I get the impression they're trying to tell me something, but it's being hidden under the church bell of other terms. For clarification, perhaps we need to turn to Blazing Saddles:

Gabby the Republican: "The Sheriff is a <>"

Rest of the Right Wing Media Town: "He's a Socialist?"

Gabby the Republican: "NO, he's a <>."

Rest of the Right Wing Media Town: "He's an Illegal Alien?"

Gabby the Republican: "NO, he's a <>."

Rest of the Right Wing Media Town: "He's Indoctrinating our children?"

Gabby the Republican: "NO, he's a <>."

Rest of the Right Wing Media Town: "He's Kim Jong Il?"

Gabby the Republican: "NO, DAGNAMIT, HE'S A <>"

Rest of the Right Wing Media Town: "He's a Nazi?"

Gabby the Republican: "Well, that's closer!"

There's really only one logical reason the right responds with such fevered hatred over everything Obama does, including a lot of things other presidents routinely have done. Considering that his policy is not surprisingly new, is often surprisingly centrist, and that most of the attacks on it are about as proportional as calling for the death penalty for a shoplifter, there has to be something else afoot.

How about I say what's on all your minds: The President is a black man. That's right, the American voters went bat shit crazy and elected an African American.

Feel better?

Hey, at least he's not Irish...

Cow 1, Sebastian 0

2009-08-25T12:39:00.000-07:00

"Don't kid yourself, Jimmy. If a cow ever got the chance, he'd eat you and everyone you care about!" - Troy McClure

Fact: Cows are not bright.

Fact: Cows smell bad.

Fact: Cows like holes in the ground.

Wait, what? What kind of nonsense is that?

Before 1997, someone mentioned this to me in passing and I just laughed at them. I know I may not be the brightest bulb in the basket, but no one is going to fool me with that ridiculous line.

Am I some sort of moron?

In 1997, I had the pleasure of going out on an archaeological dig. I lived for a few months in a small town near the Romanian border in Ukraine. The people were nice enough, the experience was fun, the food downright sucked, but the experience was still fun. I may not have enjoyed it all too well at the time, but looking back on it, it made for some good memories. I won't even get into the run-ins with the Russian mafia.

That summer, our crew had two sites we were working on: the backyard of a house that local architects thought contained an older structure, and a small plaza within an abandoned church that was at one time a bazaar and also a cemetery. Now, because I may have rubbed some people the wrong way, or because I had a disdain for working with bones, I never got the chance to work in the church. Instead, I spent the whole summer working in the backyard, usually alone with people who only spoke Ukrainian and no English. But we got along, we were able to communicate, and I got to be in charge.

Around the same time, a local boy was hanging around the area tending to his one horse and his one cow. What he did with those two animals I have no clue, but he'd herd them around town and they would mind their own merry business and leave us alone.

One day, the boy was not doing his job, and the cow decided she was curious about what I was doing in the backyard of the house.
For those who don't know what archaeology is, it is the study of past human civilizations. In order to get at the past and find the remains these people have left behind, we sometimes have to dig down into the ground and bring things up to the surface. This means we have to dig a hole in the ground, a fact my new best friend was all too happy to learn.

The cow leaves her group and heads towards me, and her eyes widened upon seeing my square (geek talk for hole in the ground). And lo and behold, that one little tidbit someone told me years ago was actually true. This cow decided it was her mission in life to get into my hole (insert joke here).

I saw this and I couldn't believe my eyes! I wasn't sure what I should do about this, but the one thing I knew was that I couldn't let a cow get down into my square! If she got in, we couldn't work. If she got in, how do we get her out? If she got in, I would never hear the end of it! "How'd you let a freakin' cow in your square?!?!?!" I had to man up and throw up resistance!

I grabbed the closest thing to me, a shovel. Now I know in other countries they are not as gentle with their animals the way Americans are, but I could not bring myself to doing any harm to a dumb animal who just wanted to get down and dirty. I took the shovel, I held it with both hands, and I held my ground. The cow began taking steps into the square, knocking down my perfectly straight walls (very important for us dirt playin' fools). This could not be happening!

I get in the cow's way. She goes left, I move left and block her. She turns and tries to go right, but Betsy is none too quick, so I block her again. But Betsy is none all too bright either, so she tries left and right a few more times, only to be turned back by the shovel-armed sentry.

Finally, she can't take it anymore. She knows she can't get by me. She knows her dreams have been dashed. Betsy wisens up, and starts walking away. I keep my position, in case she decides to try one last quick sneak attack.

As she walks away, her backside is directly facing me, her head the opposite direction. But only a few feet away from me, she stops, turns her head, and with the look of disdain I have never seen from any animal or person before or since, she looks straight into my eyes and deep down into my soul.

There is nothing in the world at that moment aside from the cow and me.

All that matters is that look.

The only important thing is what she is thinking.

And at our most perfect moment, at the opportune time, with her eyes constantly gazing upon mine, with me still holding the shovel in both hands and a stupid smirk on my face, she lets me know what she really thinks of me.

She drops the biggest pile of shit I have ever seen.

She drops it only about 5 feet away from me.

And her eyes never leave mine for a second.

Point made, the cow turns and walks away, leaving me with her gift.

Still with a dumb smirk on my face, and a pile of shit on the ground. The cow sent her message loud and clear. She did not mix words.

Since I still had the shovel, I put it to good use, moved the shit and covered it up.

But it took me a few minutes to come out of the shock of being shat at by a cow. By a cow who only wanted to climb down into a hole in the ground.

From that moment on, I realized I could not take cows lightly anymore. But I also came to another conclusion that is still with me today.

I fucking hate cows.

Now please pass the ketchup.

Straight out of Star Wars

2009-08-21T07:02:00.000-07:00

As a fiction writer, I'm acutely aware of the palette of plotlines used time and again to create the novels and stories we have come to know and love over the course of time. Some will say there's nothing original to write about anymore. As an author, all one can do is try to tell an old story in a new way. Put your own spin on it if you will. One of my favorite bits exemplifying this comes (not surprisingly) from a TV show where Stewie, in Family Guy says ... Nice little narrative? Beginning, middle, and end? Some friends become enemies, some enemies become friends? At the end your main character is richer from the experience? Yeah? Yeah?

We all know that art imitates life, and that quite often real life can be much more entertaining than anything even the best of story tellers can make up. Take for instance the news surrounding Tom Ridge, former Secretary of the already ambiguous Department of Homeland Security, and the revelations he reveals in his upcoming book "The Test of Our Times: America Under Siege ... and How We Can Be Safe Again," due to be released on September 1. In it he claims he was pressured by former Defense Secretary Donald H. Rumsfeld and former Attorney General John Ashcroft to raise the terror alert shortly before the 2004 presidential election. Subsequently, then President Bush's approval rating demonstrated a significant increase. In fact, it seems pretty obvious that a major contributing factor to Dubyah's reelection was the nation's unease in the area of national security. Now let's think, where have we heard this story before? Oh yeah, Star Wars. Remember Senator Palpatine (who,in case no one has noticed looks a hell of a lot like Joe Lieberman), whose rise to Ruler of the Galactic Empire was orchestrated by the perceived threat from the evil Trade Alliance?

I admit, it's hard to come up with a good original story, but good god, you'd think these old white guys who've been in the game for so long could come up with something a little more original.

Who let the dogs in?

2009-08-20T21:36:00.000-07:00

Pop quiz. What do you call a gay man who pretends to be a straight man in public? Closeted. What do you call a politician who pretends to be something he or she is not in public? A blue dog Democrat.

That's right, I'm taking on my own, something you apparently, if Sarah Palin's approval numbers among the faithful are to be believed, will never see from a Republican. The fact is, the Blue Dogs must figure out who they are, or we need to do it for them.

I understand there is a variety of beliefs in the Democratic party. In another differentiation from Republicans, we do not seek to "purify" our party on ideological grounds. There truly is a big tent. But sometimes, disputes within the party have to be settled within the party, and must not end up serving the needs of the opponent.

Case in point, health care reform. I do not expect Max Baucus, Ben Nelson, Claire McCaskill et al to just roll over and become liberal. But they can't use the party's name and funds to win elections, and then revert to joining the Republican party in opposition to their own party. I get that they are not deeply blue (despite the name), perhaps, as a friend puts it, they're a bit purple. But shouldn't they be endeavoring to find a compromise between the purple and the blue, not between the purple and the red? That's what's happening. They wish to drag their entire party over into compromising between the center and the far right, and even that may not be enough. And they are using parliamentary procedure to do so, lacking the majority, even in concert with Republicans. They are in effect stalling the will of the majority to the default victory of their supposed opponent.

Here's the deal dogs. We don't expect you to agree with the left completely. But you must show some party affiliation, if not loyalty, by negotiating in good faith between your position and the prevailing views of the party. If you cannot be satisfied with the result, fine, we won't expect you to vote for it. But what you better do, what you are compelled by all decency to do, is simply the right thing: Vote down any filibuster, which the size of the Republican Minority does not entitle them to. Then vote against the measure in an up and down vote.

There, you've covered all your bases. You've negotiated in good faith, giving up neither principle nor party integrity. You have not allowed your opponent to use you to deny the measure a vote. You have gone on the record as being against the measure, thus displaying your courage and beliefs. And most of all, you have allowed the majority to prevail, which is as it should be.

If you can't do this much, then quite frankly, will the last one of you shut the door on your way out? If you're going to do the work of the red, you have no business draped in blue.

This isn't "goodbye," it's "see you soon."

2009-08-20T19:39:00.000-07:00

She was always a dependable one. There to comfort me when a man wasn't around, yet never hesitated to treat a boyfriend like he, too, was a long-time friend. She never complained about being a third wheel, nor did she feel left out when my man and I decided to go it alone. They always loved her company as well, and if I didn't know any better I might've suspected they were sneaking off and hanging out without me. Not that I would even mind that.

She was just as crazy and adventurous as I was; even moreso if I'm being honest. She always had something new and exciting to share with me. Whatever mood I was in, she knew the best way to entertain me.

But with all her good, there was also the bad. You see, she was a promiscuous one. She tried it all, and with many different partners. Sometimes multiple partners a night, or even at a time. I guess you never really think it could happen to you, but it can, and it did for her. She contracted a virus.

Most would deem their life to be over after a bombshell such as this, but she's a fighter. Whatever treatment it takes, I'll do it. For her. Even if it takes professional help. After all, I was her friend; I should have looked out for her the way she's done for me all these years. How could she know to protect herself? That's not her role. Her job is to be fun and exciting. Looking out for her was my responsibility.

I've failed her, so now I must face the consequences. I will save her, and she will go on. But I'm afraid that she'll never be the same again. I will promise her this, though. She will build up that bank of memories again over time. One day we'll look back on this and laugh as she tells me new stories, and shows me new things I've never seen before.

You mean the world to me, Porn Laptop. I will fix you, and promise to never let you go unprotected again.

No game is any good without officials

2009-08-19T23:47:00.001-07:00

There are two types of true fiscal conservative: The tiny minority of individuals who, through privileged accident of birth and a surfeit of that most basic of human flaws, pure selfish greed, actually personally benefit from unfettered, rapacious, deregulated Darwinism; and the rest who, despite suffering at the hands of the first group, romanticize the idea that they too could be a “master of the universe”, primarily because like sheep, they’ve been cleverly sold this concept co-mingled with some combination of their deeply-held social bigotries. It is the staggering effectiveness of such selling-the-disease-to-the-afflicted that causes me to acknowledge the genius of Ronald Reagan, or at least that of his political handlers. It is fairly easy to sell the idea of a cure to the sick, but to convince them that their salvation lies in more people contracting their dread illness? That’s impressive, and more than a little heartbreaking.

Red+Blue=Purple

2009-08-19T22:50:00.000-07:00

Selfish greed and decency are both human nature and politically colorblind. Really.
The problem is defining greed and decency. Is it selfish greed to pay $10.00 for coffee and cigarettes or whiskey, or any of the unnecessary indulgences that we take for granted? Most would say no (certainly by our actions) because we work hard and deserve simple pleasures. But if we took 10 bucks from a homeless man to spend in that way it would cross beyond selfish greed entering into inhuman cruelty. That is the choice we make with every silly purchase and wasteful indulgence. That is the human opportunity cost that fills our lives.

Giving that money to a person who needs it seems like a decent thing to do, but is it? What assurance do we have that giving that $10 to the homeless man doesn't do more harm than good in furtherance of an addiction? Perhaps the decent thing to do for a homeless person is to show them kindness and move them into the extra bedroom that many have. But that isn't an answer, because the problems with the homeless don't begin nor end with greed and aren't solved with decency. I don't have the answers because there are none, or if there are there are still huge areas of gray in between. Or purple. Most can read a specific set of circumstances and decide what is greed or decency, it is just impossile to extrapolate that to the populace.

I believe in the idea of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness in whatever form that takes for each and every individual. On that basis the only role of goverment is to enforce the laws necessary to protect our health, wealth and personal freedoms. Anything else does not interest me and should never fall under the umbrella of government. Sexuality, race, gender, Nationality, religion and what we put into our bodies are all areas for societal debate, not legislative.

'Greed is bad' seems easy enough in the microview. But you don't have to go too far to realize that every important discovery, invention and improvement to society is in some part due to greed. We happily purchase the products sold by the very greedy bastards we condemn. We all pass right by the very broken wretch that we profess to care about. If you want to embrace either side or condemn either side that is a matter of perspective and personal fulfillment, not right and wrong. Red and Blue are just the uniforms used to identify the enemy no matter how much alike we are in practice. Shades of purple define us more than red or blue, my friends.

Convenient you had that swastika lying around

2009-08-19T22:07:00.000-07:00

So the right wing nut jobs wish to infuse fascism into the discussion, Nazi German fascism in particular? What exactly were the hallmarks of German Fascism?

Intense nationalism.

Aggressive, warlike militarism.

Empire building.

The total cooperation of government and corporate profiteers.

The right of the government to hold people without charge on the suspicion that they are "the enemy"

The cleansing of the homeland of all "illegitimate" outsiders, including gays, Jews, non-whites, liberals, intellectuals.

The adherence of all to one majority, white supremacist dogma.

Sound familiar? Careful painting that swastika folks, lest you tar yourself with your own brush.

Call it what it is

2009-08-19T21:30:00.000-07:00

The newest phenomenon in our public "discourse" seems to be the need for some to show up armed. It started out as one guy, and has since escalated both in number of people and the firepower they are carrying. What is the message? Is there any doubt that a guy showing up with a gun and a sign declaring "It's time to water the tree of liberty" is not just demonstrating a right to carry a gun? Isn't it pretty clear what he's quite plainly calling for?

We've been hearing of late that the guns are just symbology for rights, and that the healthcare reform opponents (the only people showing up armed) are merely using the display of one right to call for protection of others.

This is, quite simply, bullshit. They know it, we know it, and we know that they know that we know it. This has nothing to do with rights. If that were the case, utilizing the right of free speech (including odious, hateful signs) certainly gets the message across. You don't see these people showing up with guns at rallies protesting every other legislative action they feel reduces their freedoms. Besides, you don't show up with a beer at a rally protesting abortion, because one's got nothing to do with each other. The symbology is all wrong.

Let's call it what it is. These people are showing up for one reason and one reason only, and it's quite telling that they are only bringing their guns to meeting hosted by the (black) president, not the ones by the people who must actually pass the legislation. This is intimidation, pure and simple. Just as hanging a person in effigy is symbolic lynching, this is a symbolic assassination. Nothing more, nothing less.

Far from being brave patriots who stand for freedom, these are instead cowards who choose to display their impotence and rage through an act of pseudo-macho aggression and threat. How long before one of them actually gets the guts to try to do what they are all pantomiming?

Meet your grass-roots health care reform opponent

2009-08-19T16:24:00.000-07:00

So you've read about the people who protest the government wanting to take over their medicare. Now meet Dan Hornback. He lives in a camper, and makes 5-8,00 per year. He is protesting the government wanting to take over healthcare. His logic is, as with the birthers and deathers of all stripes, impeccable.

"He said he hurt himself a few years back and was treated in an emergency room for free. "That's the way it should be. Why do we need some big government program?" he asked, adding that people should take care of their own families, "like they do in Japan." I noted that Japan had universal health care. "Still ...," he said."

Yup, Dan wants to get free treatment at the emergency room, so he's fine with someone else paying for his treatment. He just doesn't want that someone to be the government, since it might, apparently, come out of the taxes he doesn't pay (given his income level). And of course, he has the usual cosmopolitan grasp of the world that all such people show...

You can read the rest of Dan's story at http://www.miller-mccune.com/politics/pondering-free-speech-at-a-decorous-town-hall-1434

Fitting In vs. Fitting Out

2009-08-18T03:08:00.000-07:00

It's common knowledge that being in the company of others is a valuable experience. Something to treasure, memorize, replicate, and enjoy. Family members, co-workers, classmates, and childhood friends all share a collective desire to bond and build stronger connections with each passing day. Some with the ultimate goal to "grow old together" and hopefully celebrate each others successes. Aware that there will likely be frustrations, life-altering events, unseen occurrences that result in heartbreak and disappointment that will test the DNA of each relationship-- most seem to find a way to make room for the good and bad that comes with these connections. Simply put, they do it for the love. Unfortunately, there are many who struggle to find people whom they can relate to long enough to establish such an important life asset.

If having friends or belonging to a certain group/organization is fitting in, then being lonely (not to be confused with being single) is fitting out.

Even as a child, fitting in isn't "all it's cracked up to be" and in some cases, can be a traumatizing experience. The process doesn't get any easier as an adult. Does everyone eventually find someone else or a group of someone elses' to grow and change with? What of the ones that don't and have no such no luck of ever feeling like they "fit" in? Is there really a fence to straddle in that regard?

How about the "no friendless person left out or behind" act? Communication plays one of the biggest roles in this "conundrum" and there's no doubt that technology has changed how groups are formed.

But....

Tales from Retail Eyeglass Shopping

2009-08-16T23:22:00.000-07:00

This was written back in March, but I felt it was a good idea to warn you all of the dangers of leaving the well-being of your eyeballs in the hands of mall employees.

+++

Because I have been having migraines and the fact that my eyeglass prescription is over two years old, I decided to stop by LensCrafters the other day. I’m an instant gratification type of gal, so the “ready in an hour” sales pitch appealed to me. My appointment was at 5:20 and I arrived a little early. Appointments never start on time so I wandered around browsing the selection in search of my new frames. There were only two cases to look through, and it was at least 20 minutes before I was seen, so I probably walked back and forth from each case a hundred times. I was already regretting making this appointment knowing that I’d have to settle for some shitty style, but for some reason I stuck it out.

Finally a sales guy helped me, and then it was too late to run. From the get go, he was acting all kinds of creepy and abrasive towards me. His opening line was “have you gotten a prescription recently because if you did I don’t want to waste my time.” I said no, it’s been a while. He didn’t believe me (because I often lie about my optical exams) so he checked the computer anyway, and of course I was right. He gave me all the forms to fill out and I didn’t check mark any of the “what diseases does your family have?” because I honestly didn’t know and for the most part we’re a healthy bunch. Again, he didn’t believe me so he interrogated me and insisted on going over every single question again to confirm my answer. Once he was convinced that I wasn’t trying to pull a fast one on him, hiding a family history of asthma, he moved on. But not to the preliminary eye tests like he should have.

Instead, he asked me if I was Filipino, and then spouted off all of the tagalog words for genitals that he could think of. He obviously knew what they meant, but wanted me to translate anyway because he is a sick fuck who would get off on me saying the words penis and vagina. He then said “sip sip ti ti mo” (loosely means “suck your dick”), and asked me to translate again. I refused again. He gathered copies of the paperwork I filled out and handed them to me, then said some strange comment like “I like to put those near my toilet so I can read them while I go to the bathroom.” I made a face at him, then he laughed at me and smacked me on the back- rather hard- like we were old mates. At that point I was too shocked to react properly and just wanted to finish the damn eye exam so I could get the hell out of there.

Finally, he fitted me with an eye patch and had me rest my chin on a jaw support to do that periphery test. You know, the one where you focus one eyeball on a dot and then press a button anytime you see any movement? Instead of letting me concentrate on my test in peace, he insisted on making conversation and socializing, expecting me to respond to his asinine questions while my jaw was held shut. The line of questioning was all personal stuff– am I married, do I have a boyfriend, do I live alone, do my parents help me pay my rent, do I make a lot of money… umm yeah. Clearly appropriate conversation with a customer that you just met 20 minutes ago.

After the tests were done I sat around some more while he basically just stared at me, waiting for the test results to print out. He then leaned in real close, clearly entering my personal space, and asked me if I wanted any special discounts, all dodgy-like. I asked him to clarify, and he thought it over for a moment, possibly debating internally whether or not to ask me to blow him under the eyeball air poof machine for a free polycarbonate lens upgrade. I might not be too far off because he ultimately decided against offering it, saying “Nahhh I’m too scared… I might get caught.” I didn’t bother to ask what he meant. At last, it was time to see the REAL eye doctor. An eye doctor who apparently hates his life because he was the most miserable man I had ever met. While I was reading off letters projected onto the wall, another employee came in to get some things out of a cabinet, and was completely blocking my view. It was a good 30 seconds before the doctor even said anything to the employee. Strange, strange, strange.

The exam was all done and it was time to dilate my pupils. He dropped the solution in my eyes causing my retinas to burn like a mother bitch. I was supposed to see the doctor again after paying for my glasses and all that, but that never happened, so I was finally cleared to leave. I had tossed my contacts and didn’t have my eyeglasses on me, so walking out into the dark parking lot was quite difficult. First off, I couldn’t even find my car. Then I realized I had exited the opposite side of the building. Even in the correct lot, it was still impossible to find my car. Once I found it, I had the daunting task of actually driving home… in the dark… in traffic… with my eyes burning and blurry… barely even able to keep them open. Thank god I only lived a couple miles from the place. Definitely never doing that again.

That was Monday, it is now Thursday, and I still haven’t gone back to see the doc again or even pick up my “ready in an hour” eyeglasses. I am putting it off for as long as I possibly can; that’s how bad I DON’T want to go back. I wish they could just pop them in the mail. I just really don’t want to see that dude again. Maybe I’ll go Saturday morning and hope he’s not working. All I know is I am never, ever going back to that place again for my future optical needs.

+++

August 16, 2009 update: I never did go back to get my glasses. They also never bothered to call to see if I was still alive.

Clear Cut

2009-08-13T18:03:00.001-07:00

If you saw down new ideas

To better view the known

A stumpy, vacant prairie

Is all that you will own

My Least Favorite People

2009-08-11T21:41:00.000-07:00

Today's honorary title will have to be split among two people, whom I will not name, the better to deny them any publicity.

1. The numbskull who showed up to President Obama's town hall meeting in NH wearing a gun, and carrying a sign referring to Jefferson's famous quote:"The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants." What do you suppose his message meant? To top it off, he was standing on the property of a church across the street from where the meeting was held, which gave him permission to do so. I wonder what type of church endorses such behavior. I was reminded of the Southern churches that used to harbor, extoll, and exhort the members of the KKK when they set about to "protesting" the civil rights movement. Of course, he got his wish and received numerous television interviews, where at no time would he explain the need for the gun, nor the exact nature of his gripe.

2. The idiot doctor who, in an online debate over health reform, weighed in with the idea that health care was not a right. He was representing a coalition of doctors against health reform. This is of course a lot like a group of trial lawyers opposing tort reform. But really, a doctor thinks health care isn't a right? We are a nation that requires our children to receive an education, but a more basic need is not a right, but rather a privilege. Ironic and sad that most people who seem to be opposing health care reform also didn't seem to think much of education either.

By the numbers

2009-08-11T21:34:00.000-07:00

So here are some basic numbers:

Roughly 80% of Americans have some sort of health insurance.

Of those, approximately 73% like their coverage.

This means that 58% of Americans like their health care coverage.

Of course, of that 58%, how many would feel that way if they got a really bad illness and got kicked off their coverage, as has become a common practice these days among the insurance companies?

Setting all that aside, there hasn't been a protester at one of the town halls yet who has claimed to be uninsured. Could much of this simply be a case of those in the boat being unwilling to pay for those in the water to have a chance to be in the boat? Sounds a bit like immigration, doesn't it?

Economics 666

2009-08-11T21:07:00.000-07:00

There are two types of fiscal conservative: The tiny minority of individuals who, through privileged accident of birth and a surfeit of that most basic of human flaws, pure selfish greed, actually personally benefit from unfettered, rapacious, deregulated Darwinism; and the rest who, despite suffering at the hands of the first group, romanticize the idea that they too could be a “master of the universe”, primarily because like sheep, they’ve been cleverly sold this concept co-mingled with some combination of their deeply-held social bigotries. It is the staggering effectiveness of such selling-the-disease-to-the-afflicted that causes me to acknowledge the genius of Ronald Reagan, or at least that of his political handlers. It is fairly easy to sell the idea of a cure to the sick, but to convince them that their salvation lies in more people contracting their dread illness? That’s impressive, and more than a little heartbreaking.

Beginning Anew

2009-08-11T21:03:00.000-07:00

I don't know about everyone else, but I got busy, then I somehow got locked out of the blog. It would seem there are things to be said, and I have solved the pesky password issue, so let the fun begin anew.

2009-08-11T20:15:00.001-07:00

The less and less I'm included in things, the more and more I get left out.

Wait, I think I worded that incorrectly....

The Universe

2009-02-06T07:06:00.000-08:00

I know this flies in the face of some philosophies posted here. I accept and even respect those opinions and will even go so far as to say I can agree with them, at least to the extent of where they come from. But from my perspective there are some things that just make sense to me regardless of the any sort of rationale or grounding in fact. As most of my waking hours are spent on a diverse and sometimes lively University campus, I couldn't help but make this observation.

The brilliance of the Universe never ceases to amaze me. Just the notion of individualism speaks volumes. When you take into consideration that, outside of relatively few exceptions, no two creatures on the planet are identical you can’t help but marvel at the creativity on display. Certainly, a lesser Universe would have created maybe one or two models and been satisfied. But for the billions of creatures on this planet alone, the Universe has broken the mold after each one.

Happy Friday everyone.

Digging deeper, seeing wider

2009-01-29T13:06:00.000-08:00

I was recently in an online discussion about the NBA dress code and its racial implications. As it addresses a broader issue of seeing only personally important issues in larger issues, something I find in all manner of discussions (religion and politics being two), I think my response bears repeating here. Additionally, I hope you find the information I have gleaned about the subject matter itself, information that while readily available seems unknown to so many people, to be interesting as well. The assertion was that the NBA's dress code was based entirely upon racism. Here is my response:

In order to adequately address your points, it is important to discuss both the advent of hip hop fashion, as well as the state of the NBA when this fashion reached it’s crescendo there. I will start with the former:

The genesis of hip hop fashion (baggy pants, over-sized, un-tucked shirts, etc.) is actually a Mexican invention, not a black one. It originated in the California penal system. Mexican gangs devised this style of dress as a way to stamp their identity onto prison issue uniforms. Given that all the uniforms looked the same (OK, that was pretty obvious), going for larger sizes and un-tucking them created a unique and identifiable look.

Since most gang leadership was and is in a constant state of migration to (and often from) prison, and given the fact that leaders often retained their posts during incarceration (in many cases, they were and are revered for their “martyrdom”), the fashion on the inside soon passed to the outside. This was abetted by the fact that this “uniform” was ideal for concealing weaponry. Of course, on the outside, variations in color as well as other items not available to prisoners rapidly were added to the uniform.

At some point, and as there is very little authoritative documentation, I will leave off a description of how and when, this style was adopted by black gangs as well. They in turn added their own symbology, including ostentatious jewelry, sports jerseys, and basketball sneakers (more on this shortly).

What moved this into the mainstream was the rise of gangster rap. Its acts were members of, associated with, or at the very least identified themselves by gang culture, primarily LA gang culture. Thus the style of dress in this culture was a prominent part of their video image (along with guns, drugs, and “ho’s”). It is interesting to note that the fast and wide spread of this style was due in large part to the backing of (white) music moguls and clothing designers (Tommy Hilfiger being probably the most influential), who saw the marketing potential, and the profit to be made selling this narrow urban slice to a wide sector of bored, affluent, and yes white, suburban teens. Hilfiger reckoned that rock and roll didn’t reach these youth anymore, since their parents approved of rock and roll, the kiss of death in teen fashion. To paraphrase, he (correctly) noted that both the music itself and the style of dress/ lifestyle associated with it were guaranteed to piss suburban parents off, thus guaranteeing appeal among young, testosterone-laden white males. This was to be a goldmine of marketing possibilities, where album sales were just the leader into apparel sales. Along the way, tragically, this entire mélange of accoutrements and violent, misogynist lifestyle became accepted as a (the?) legitimate representation of black culture (but that is an entirely different discussion), and ultimately overshadowed the musical art-form it co-mingled with.

Now to the NBA. At this time, the league was engulfed in two distinct problems. Both of them are tied to Michael Jordan.

The first problem was the game itself. Given that the league had almost wholly abandoned it’s rivalries and stars theme for a one-star-to-rule-them-all system, and given MJ’s unrivaled prowess, teams led by coaches such as Mike Fratello, Pat Riley, and Jeff Van Gundy began devising defensive schemes designed to reduce the game to a slow-down slugfest, the better to try to nullify MJ. The game became quite an ugly thing, bearing little or no resemblance to the beauty of the game a decade earlier. The product was becoming boring. It was also devolving into a partisan dichotomy of Jordan lovers and critics, with less and less of the old rivalries and regional potency.

The second problem, related to the first, was marketing. MJ was the greatest pitchman Madison Avenue had ever seen (check out the stock market plunge when he retired). He brought about the first piece of marketing gold, the uber-star shoe. No shoe (or any other article of apparel) before or since has matched the Air Jordan in market share or category creation. This shoe (and the ones to follow), along with the subsequent jersey phenomenon, was very quickly adopted by the burgeoning hip hop/ gangster rap scene. Thus the marriage between basketball and hip hop fashion was cemented. The galaxy of lesser stars also put out shoes, and marketed them through hip hop channels. “Street cred” (loosely translated as being or at least appearing “hard”, gangsta-ish, and yes, at least a bit dangerous) became a ubiquitous phrase, and an NBA baller had to have it in order to move merchandise.

The NBA was very aware of this marketing phenomenon. They also profited greatly from it. A whole new group of people were avid fans, and their tie to it was hip hop fashion and lifestyle. So you began to hear hip hop at games. Of course, for the most part these fans weren’t the big-dollar ticket base, but they were filling the coffers from apparel sales.

With the retirement of Jordan, the league found itself in tremendous peril. The game wasn’t as good, the rivalries and multi-star system had been abandoned, so there was a huge vacuum. With television and other basketball-related revenues struggling, the league scrambled to find its next MJ. Unfortunately, its MJ-centric system had left it with no heirs, merely a slew of hip-hop-oriented apparel salesmen. But at least apparel brought money, so for a time the league hitched itself strongly to this identity. The problem with this was that these stars, personified by Allen Iverson, turned off basketball purists as well as the older, monied mainstream fans who the league relied on for the basketball-related revenue. Was there a racial component? Sure, but to limit it to race is to deny an entire panoply of related issues.

The league adapted, slowly but surely. It changed and re-changed rules in an effort to bringing back the free-flowing, offense-oriented game. It began (in deference to the success of the NFL) to try to return to teams, rivalries, and parity. It also realized that while hip-hop was now an integral part of the scene, it couldn’t be the sole, dominant face (as an aside, I think this explains the league's fascination with and support of the Spurs. Smaller market, fundamental, older style of play, and Robinson and Duncan were the antithesis of the AI-style persona, while also being black).

The dress code was simply one in a long line of things the league did (including broadening the music, marketing in Asia and Europe, among others), to broaden and mainstream its appeal. You can define this strictly as racial politics, but to do so, you have to ignore a mountain of other things…

Change

2009-01-20T10:04:00.000-08:00

"We reject as false the choice between our safety and our ideals"

Nine Important Words

2009-01-19T14:23:00.000-08:00

Recently, I sent an e-mail to the Obama campaign, requesting that in his inaugural address, the new president include the words, "I'm from the government, and I'm here to help".

Many of you will remember those famous words, uttered by President Reagan. Of course, he preceded them with the phrase "...the nine most terrifying words in the English language are...". In my mind, that was the seminal moment of the movement that has given us the deep economic morass we currently find ourselves in.

True, there has always been a tension between belief in, and fear of, the government, just as the question of a reasonable size and scope of government has been with us from our founding, actually before it, if you read the many discussions that our founding fathers engaged in. But it was Reagan who gave the anti-government folks a populist platform, with that one silly statement. Virtually every current supply-sider views those words as holy, and given the inevitabilities of corruption and ineptitude, it has become somewhat of a maxim for a disaffected, disenfranchised, and ignorant populace.

What exactly did Reagan mean? Given his war on drugs, his positions on state mandated morality, his cold-warrior status, and his heretofore unheard-of budgetary excesses, it's hard to say that Reagan was any real enemy of big government. In fact, the size of the federal government swelled under Reagan in a manner not seen since the days of FDR.

It would seem that Reagan's anti-government philosophy was in fact limited to economic matters. Reagan, like many before and after, believed in an economic form of Darwinism, where the role of government was to stay out of the way of the market. He was a proponent of lower taxes, primarily in the upper brackets and capital gains sectors, slashing regulations that reduced profitability, and generally staying out of the market wherever possible (with the odd exceptions of corporate welfare and union busting), believing that such behavior would spur the economy as a whole, and that such growth would feed down to all sectors,the famed "trickle-down" economic theory.

There were, however, three large problems with the theory:

1. The belief that the free market economy was a (the) central pillar of our nation, and that government and economic prosperity were natural enemies. Obviously, economics had a lot to do with our revolution, but it was more about taxation without representation than about the market free of government. In fact, many of our founding fathers opined about the tyranny of the monied elite, and our revolution was by no means a referendum on replacing the king's hereditary aristocracy with that of the local wealthy. Many, especially Jefferson, feared the rise of corporations and wealthy elites as a new set of tyrants who would strip our fledgeling democracy of its equity as much as they detested the monarchy. The very system of democratically elected, representative government was designed to protect the common man from such eventualities (or inevitabilities, per Jefferson). Belief in the market without government involvement is belief in football without rules or referees to enforce them.

2. Belief that the market is self sustaining and regulating. If history has taught us anything, it is that devoid of government intervention or regulation, the free market leads inevitably to monopolies, economic collapse, or both. The "rising tide" that lifts all boats theory summarily ignores the ultimately minute number of boat owners, as well as the fact that a healthy middle class of consumers is required to fuel those boats.

3. The belief that Capital is more important than Labor. Quite simply, an imbalance in either wreaks havoc, but the economy of the late 20th century and the early 21st has been an orgy of worship to capital, at the expense of any form of egalitarianism. A system geared toward capital equates to "one dollar, one vote", and will inevitably spell the end of peaceful democracy.

At the end of the day, the legacy of the Reagan revolution was the sale of religious ideology (a subject for another day) and fear of the government (on both real and imagined, paranoiac grounds) to the common man, the better to enlist his service in denying the one form of redress he had.

Personally, I have no interest in supporting people who have no use for the government, especially in running it. When we the people no longer have an interest in the organ that binds us together, we deserve whatever befalls us. In reality, government is part of the problem, but the ideology of abolition cannot and must not replace the idea of reform. Perhaps we can keep the baby and merely change the bath water...

On Terry Pratchett

2009-01-07T06:38:00.000-08:00

Terry Pratchett is for the moment my favorite author. He's one of those who inspires me to keep at it if only to be half as good a writer as he is. Pratchett tosses off lines that are so obviously clever, yet never in a million years could be produced by anyone else.

The other day I learned he has been diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer's. This news was a bit shocking to me in several ways. First, it broke my illusion that things like this don't happen to people like Pratchett who utilizes his brain at a level above and beyond that of normal people. I've always clung to the theory that if you use it, you have a better than average chance you won't lose it. I should know better. When I was younger, my parents took in a brilliant classical pianist, head of the piano performance department at U.S.C., when she fell prey to dementia. I watched with a bit of disdain as Lillian Steuber, one of the premier performers and educators of her time, slipped away from reality. The sad thing was, that of all the people who surrounded her in health, few besides my parents seemed willing to support her in her fall.

Second, like so many others I'm sure, I fear the day when Pratchett is no longer able to produce more books. When this day comes, the Universe will mourn. Certainly, this brings to mind the same sense as when Magic Johnson announced he had the HIV virus; a devastating day for all of basketball, especially those of us who live and breath Lakers basketball. I only hope that Pratchett, like Magic, finds the right prescription to beat the odds and keep functioning at a high level for years to come.

The following is a transcript of his announcement taken from his website (I love the references to snake oil and L. Ron Hubbard).

My name is Terry Pratchett, author of a series of inexplicably successful fantasy books and I have had Alzheimer's now for the past two years plus, in which time I managed to write a couple of bestsellers.

I have a rare variant. I don't understand very much about it, but apparently if you are going to have Alzheimer's it's a good one to have.

So, a stroke of luck there then!

Interestingly enough, when I was diagnosed last December by those nice people at Addenbrooke's, I started a very different journey through dementia.

This one had much better scenery, interesting and often very attractive inhabitants, wonderful wildlife and many opportunities for excitement and adventure.

Those of you who's last experience with computer games was looking at Lara Croft's buttocks might not be aware of how good they have become as audio and visual experiences, although I would concede that Lara's buttocks were a visual experience in their own right.

But in this case I was travelling through a country that was part of the huge computer game called Oblivion, which is so beautifully detailed that I have often ridden around it to enjoy the scenery and weather and have hardly bothered to kill anything at all.

At the same time as I began exploring the wonderful Kingdom of Dementia, which is next door to the Kingdom of Mania, I was also experiencing the slightly more realistic experience of being a 59 year old who finds they have early onset Alzheimer's.

Apparently I reacted to this situation in a reasonably typical way, with a sense of loss and abandonment with an incoherent, or perhaps I should say, violently coherent fury that made the Miltonic Lucifer's rage against Heaven seem a bit miffed by comparison. That fire still burns.

I want to go on writing! Admittedly, that means I have to stay alive.

You can't write books when you are dead, unless your name is L. Ron Hubbard.

And so now I'm a game for real. It's a nasty disease, surrounded by shadows and small, largely unseen tragedies.

People don't know what to say, unless they have had it in the family.

People ask me why I announced that I had Alzheimer's.

My response was: why shouldn't I?

I remember when people died "of a long illness" now we call cancer by its name, and as every wizard knows, once you have a thing's real name you have the first step to its taming.

We are at war with cancer, and we use that vocabulary.

We battle, we are brave, we survive. And we have a large armaments industry.

For those of us with early onset in particular, it's more of a series of skirmishes.

My GP is helpful and patient, but I don't have a specialist locally.

The NHS kindly allows me to buy my own Aricept because I'm too young to have Alzheimer's for free, a situation I'm okay with, in a want-to-kick-a-politician-in-the-teeth-kind of way.

But, on the whole, you try to be your own doctor.

The internet twangs night and day. I walk a lot and take more supplements than the Sunday papers. We talk to one another and compare regimes.

Part of me lives in a world of new age remedies and science, and some of the science is a little like voodoo.

But science was never an exact science, and personally I'd eat the arse out of a dead mole if it offered a fighting chance.

Fortunately, I have the Greek Chorus to calm me down

Soon after I told the world my website fell over and my PA had to spend the evening negotiating more bandwidth.

I had more than 60,000 messages within the first few hours.

Most of them were readers and well-wishers.

Some of them wanted to sell me snake oil and I'm not necessarily going to dismiss all of these, as I have never found a rusty snake.

But a large handful came from 'experienced' sufferers, successfully fighting a holding action, and various people in universities and research establishments who had, despite all expectations, risen to high places in their various professions even while being confirmed readers of my books.

And they said; can we help? They are the Greek Chorus. Only two of them are known to each other and they give me their advice on various options that I suggest.

They include a Wiccan, too. It's a good idea to cover all the angles.

It was interesting when I asked about having my dental amalgam fillings removed.

There was a chorus of ? hrumph, no scientific evidence, hrumph???., but if you can afford to have it done properly then it certainly won't do any harm and you never know.

And that is where I am, along with many others, scrabbling to stay ahead long enough to be there when the cure, which I suspect may be more like a regime, comes along.

Say it will be soon - there's nearly as many of us as there are cancer sufferers, and it looks as if the number of people with the disease will double within a generation.

And in most cases you will find alongside the sufferer you will find a spouse, suffering as much. It's a shock and a shame, then, to find out that funding for research is three per cent of that which goes to find cancer cures.

Perhaps that is why, for example, that I know three people who have successfully survived brain tumours but no-one who has beaten Alzheimer's???although among the Greek Chorus are some who are giving it a hard time.

I'd like a chance to die like my father did - of cancer, at 86.

Remember, I'm speaking as a man with Alzheimer's, which strips away your living self a bit at a time.

Before he went to spend his last two weeks in a hospice he was bustling around the house, fixing things.

He talked to us right up to the last few days, knowing who we were and who he was.

Right now, I envy him. And there are thousands like me, except that they don't get heard.

So let's shout something loud enough to hear. We need you and you need money. I'm giving you a million dollars. Spend it wisely.

Good luck Terry.

Defying Gravity from Wicked

2009-01-04T21:53:00.001-08:00

Idina Menzel and Kristin Chenowith are amazing talents.

F.F.F. - Midget Wrestling Part 2

2008-12-26T15:54:00.000-08:00

I feel compelled to say, the only thing I wanted more than anything for Christmas I got. Lakers over Celtics on Christmas day couldn't be any sweeter. Oh, and the only thing I have to add to Encina's tribute to Phil is, "Phil, wherever you are, I hope you enjoyed last night's game."

I didn't know Phil at all other than as the guy who watched over LG like one of his children. But as a loyalist to the best Lakers site on the net, I appreciate all he did for the sake of us silly fans.

Now for the second half of my short fiction piece (I'm sure you've all been counting the days since I left off with last weeks cliff-hanger).

Midget Wrestling Part 2

In my new job, I’m required to travel. Not that travel is the main focus, I’m actually nothing more than a glorified messenger boy, but it’s something they mentioned when they hired me, and desperate for whatever kind of decent work I could find, I didn’t think twice about it. Part of me has reservations about this, but another part of me is totally looking forward to the time I get to spend on the road. It’s a pretty sweet set-up actually; company car, company credit card, a few specific tasks to accomplish, which at first glance don’t seem too terribly challenging.

I search my inner feelings, something I’ve been working on lately, to see if I can figure out where any hesitations I might have regarding this are coming from. It doesn’t take long before I follow the trail, which, of course, leads back to Jade.

The big question, though, is what part of my relationship would make me feel this way?

I start to answer with the obvious. I worry that something will happen to her while I’m gone, or maybe it’s the other way around. Maybe she’ll worry about something happening to me while I’m on the road. Maybe she’ll get upset that I’m off having a good time without her, despite the fact that making the trip is my job, and nothing more.

I really should know better. There’s nothing obvious about our relationship.

The old man and I — now there was an obvious relationship. It was obvious I hated him and just as obvious he wished I were someone different.

When we hit the road back in 1965 and headed to Georgia, the chill developing inside the ’62 Ford wagon had nothing to do with it being winter. In fact, I’m sure I remember the weather being unseasonably warm, although after so many years, I couldn’t swear to it. The old man, however, was swearing up a storm.

“That fucking bitch of a mother of yours is giving me so much shit I can’t hardly fucking believe it,” he said, quite pleased with his ability to alienate his wife and force me into one of his crazy ventures all in one single act of madness.

Six hours into the trip I decided I could stand it no more. Collecting my pee in an old orange juice bottle and eating sunflower seeds to stave off starvation wasn’t much my idea of an adventure. The scenery from the highway was nondescript and uninteresting, and the occasional radio stations we could pick up were dominated by the old man’s affection for bad country music.

“There’s a Waffle House, Dad. Can’t we stop and get something decent to eat?”

I have to add here, that back then I had no hesitations eating at an establishment willing to name itself after a popular breakfast food.

“Think I’m fucking made out of money? Look, I got just enough to pay for motel rooms and gas. We eat what I brought in that bag back there.”

I looked in the paper grocery bag and saw a case of PBR.

“Not that one, the duffel on the seat behind you. Climb on back and grab me a Hershey’s, will you?”

Like he needed more caffeine and sugar in his system. The old man already looked like he was about to explode. Where would that leave me, I wondered, if he dropped dead from a stroke or a heart attack.

Jade’s packing up stuff for me to take on the trip I’m making for work. My assignment is to pick up a package in Tempe, then stop overnight in Santa Fe to meet with someone named James. With the major credit card my new boss handed me, I can pretty much stay at any hotel I want, so I choose The Hacienda at Hotel Santa Fe, where I used to work. I’ve had dreams about this — being a guest at the very place I once played host. Now I can be the one that’s waited on, although I swore to myself that if ever the opportunity arose, I wouldn’t be one of those pain in the ass types who seemed to thrill at the idea of having someone fall all over themselves just for the prospect of a lousy tip.

At the motels the old man and I stayed at on our trip back in ’65, tipping or not tipping the hired help didn’t come into play as an option. Apparently desk clerks at these establishments, the ones that aren’t listed in the AAA tourbooks, were less inclined to provide customer service than they were to afford the underage locals a place to party. Not that the old man minded any. His idea of luxury accommodations went about as far as a magic fingers box on the bed that actually didn’t steal your quarters.

As for inappropriate noises coming from the other rooms, that was pretty much taken care of in the same way as anything else that might have cast a cloud over his parade — beer.

I tried it. I didn’t like it. But I did find its effects worth suffering through the bitter aftertaste and a brief bout of puking. It gave me courage. It gave me inhibition. I saw God.

It also gave me the ability to tell my father, the man instrumental in giving me life, the man who might have loved me despite his actions to the contrary, the man who had just spent the better part of a day trapped in a car with a 12-year-old driving across three states all in the name of midget wrestling, to fuck off.

He just sat there, on the bed with the magic fingers, and stared at me.

I would have rather he hit me, or yelled at me, or packed up the car and just left me there to fend off the drug dealers and prostitutes on my own. Instead he sat and stared. Then he laughed. Then he threw me another beer.
I’d never hated him more.

Finally he spoke. “You know, son, I’ve never loved you more. Tomorrow I’m going to get to see one of the greatest spectacles in professional sports, and when that moment comes, there’s no one I’d rather have with me than you.”

Jade told me once, as we were getting ready to go out drinking with some of her artist friends, how happy she was that I was with her. That was before the fight we had later that night, probably the result of too many drinks and an encounter with her pompous ass of an ex-boyfriend.

I decide that I don’t want to leave her, even if it’s just for a weekend. “Why don’t you come with me?” I ask her.

“Are you sure?” she replied. “Nothing personal, but I was sort of looking forward to getting some things done I never seem to have time for.”

I’m speechless. How is it my fault she can’t get anything done while I’m around? “That’s fine,” I finally say, not finding the same type of bravado I had shown the old man all those years ago.

I wonder where the midgets are going to be this weekend.

From Far Away

2008-12-23T19:30:00.001-08:00

I share a common bond with the other contributors of this site: I am a Lakers' junkie. I am such a fan that I frequent a site that caters to people like me, people with a healthy obsession of the NBA's Los Angeles Lakers. I am not from Los Angeles, I have never been to California. But for whatever reason I have always been an LA Lakers' fan, and damn proud of it.

Over time, my obsession grew, and I had to find new sources for feeding my addiction. I would go to the LA Times' Web site for any Lakers' news. I'd go on to ESPN to hear any Lakers' rumors. I began looking at NBA-only sites that had even more information. I even wanted to know what other Lakers' fans were thinking, so I found a message board designed by and for Lakers' fans. Like many people there, I read over for a while the messages and news that they were privy to. I hid in the shadows wondering who these people were that they knew so much. Eventually, I joined and began posting on my own, responses to other people, starting my own threads, getting to know some of the other posters. There were some posters I really liked, others I avoided, many others I never knew existed.

Over time, even on an impersonal foundation such as the Internet, it is possible to build relationships with people you have never met or may never ever meet. Such is the life of a 21st Century denizen. Getting to know someone else's words and feelings, you get to feel as though you know that person. But with so many hundreds or thousands of people on any particular site, is it possible to really know anyone? What would you call it, e-meet someone? Can they be called 'friends'? 'Acquaintances'? What would we call them? Should we even refer to them at all?

I did begin liking certain people on the site. Maybe I became a fan of theirs. Their humor, their intellect, their vast knowledge of many topics drew me to them. If we met in real life, I am certain I might call some of them 'friend.'

In the time I was at this site, changes took place in the management. A regular poster I had seen occasionally bought the site and implemented changes. He was a driving force for making the site more stable, faster, more enjoyable. He and I even worked some to start an offshoot site. Through it all, he was always the nicest gentleman I could ever "meet." He was kind, always saying words that made a person feel good about themselves. We would send messages to each other, and he'd always say how much he thought of me as a regular contributor to the sites we both frequented. His words were genuine, as was the man.

In the past year, the man I knew as 'Phil' spent less time on the site and would need to take a leave because of prior engagements. As a result of his coming schedule, he sold the site to someone who could oversee it day-to-day, more than he could. However, the changes he made remained, and made the site the best for any Lakers' fan.

The past few days have been hectic for me. With the coming Christmas season, preparing to celebrate with family, traveling, end of year organizing at work, I had less time to visit the Lakers' site. It had been several days since last I checked the site, but today I decided to hop on and see how my Internet pals were doing.

That is when I saw a thread that caught my eye, an announcement of sad news. The site had lost one of its members, but who? I clicked to see who it was, and then my heart dropped. Some unseen force managed to find me at work and punch me in the stomach. Phil Allen, the man I knew as 'Phil,' had been in a car accident in the days I was away, and soon after lost his life. Comments poured in from members who paid their condolences and said some words about the man.

It's bizarre that this man whom I didn't know at all, I began to learn about in death. His name, for example, his occupation, his interests. The time he left was due to his involvement in national politics and his work on behalf of president-elect Obama. He was very knowledgeable about Joshua Tree National Park. He was as nice to others as he was to me, showing what a tremendous man he really was.

No, what a tremendous man he really is. His actions and words still carry weight, still affect those who remain. You cannot take that away from any person, and thus, you can never kill them off.

Phil, though we only e-met each other, I consider you a friend. I will not e-miss you, I will miss you truly. I asked earlier what we would call someone you only knew online? I'd call them a friend.

Flash fiction Friday - Midget Wrestling - Part One

2008-12-19T07:11:00.000-08:00

First off, thanks guys for indulging me by allowing me to post my rambling works of fiction here.

Secondly, this piece sort of took off on me and, while I'm not much of a short story writer, it has already grown out of the flash fiction genre. So much so that I'm going to post this in two parts. Oh, and any similarities between the characters here and real life are, as they say, purely coincidental. I'd also like to add, that this is pretty rough still.

Stayed tuned. Hope you enjoy it.

Midget Wrestling

When it comes to professional wrestling, for my money it’s midget or nothing. At least that’s what my old man always used to say. Probably one of the only things in life we ever agreed on.

Jade, my “life mate” is home now, working on her art, and not talking. Not that she’s intentionally not talking. For everything that’s not said between us many more things are. But there’s something hanging in the air one can feel. We haven’t been communicating much lately--days now--mostly because I had this premonition that I would be doing something stupid in the near future to trash our relationship. Since then it’s been nothing but pleasantries between us. You know, “What do you want for dinner?” or “Is it okay with you if I play the piano?” That kind of stuff.

Then in the midst of all this silence, right out of the blue, I start thinking about the old man. We haven’t talked for months, since his birthday, when I called, not to wish him well, but because I had just gotten a new job I wanted to tell him about. Of course, when Mom picked up the phone and said they were going to Red Lobster I had to improvise and sing that little song to him—the same one they sing to you in the restaurant when they bring out your dessert.

But today, while Jade is doing some sort of sculpture thingie with globs of glue and acrylics, piling them into mountainous landscapes onto a big piece of plywood, I stop with the bicycle repairs I’m doing and start thinking about January, 1965.

At 12 years-old, I had only a slight growing knowledge of the midget wrestling circuit, mostly acquired from listening to Dad drivel on with his buddies over their weekly card game about how Lord Littlebrook was a far superior wrestler than Pee Wee James or Frenchie Lamont. I found it hard to believe that anyone other than the old man actually cared as much about the sport as he did, but between the men seated around the lopsided folding card table, all using various sorts of tobacco and drinking the cheapest beer they could lay their hands on, the discussions would get quite heated.

Jade’s taken a break from her art and is talking on the phone now, probably to one of her pals from before we met. For whatever deep seeded reasons, this makes me more than a little uncomfortable. Even though I’ve pretty much assimilated into her group of bohemian artist types and have no worries about her affections going elsewhere, I become painfully aware of how much I have to learn when it comes to relationships. Not being so controlling is probably tops on the list. I try to listen in on the conversation while pretending to be busy with something else. Eavesdropping is rude and not conducive to the picture I hold onto as being the perfect boyfriend. Still, I can’t help but let it bother me when I see her laughing that happy laugh, the one that makes her so beautiful, the one I try to pull out of her but never seem to be able to.

Christmas is right around the corner. I have decided this year to give nothing but crappy gifts, sort of as a joke, but more like a protest against the big retail chains, who try to convince everyone that in order to be a good person you should buy the most expensive items in their store to prove to the people you love how much you care about them.

By the time Christmas rolled around in 1964, my knowledge of midget wrestling had grown to the point where I could use it as a tool to get the old man to agree to letting me do stuff he normally wouldn’t. Not like he was so easily fooled. About a week before the big day, I was angling for the ultimate present--a new 10-speed, milking what I’d picked up about the sport for all it was worth. I decided to start up with him about his favorite wrestler, telling him how much I’d like to see a match in person and all that crap and how Lord Littlebrook deserved the title because Beau Brummell obviously violated the rules when he introduced a foreign object, namely thumbtacks, into the match.

“Why you always have to use such big words, you little smartass,” was the old man’s reply.

I didn’t get the bike. What I did get was, in the old man’s eyes, much better.

“You want to see a live match?”

Here it comes, I thought.

“How about three?”

Most people have no understanding of the sport. There is, in fact, a world of difference between the midget circuit and that nonsense they show on cable TV featuring the behemoths with their silly made-up back stories all pumped up full of hormones and steroids. The only way to get a feel for the subtleties of the little guys other than following the circuit in person, as my dad and I did in January of 1965, is to mail order some DVDs and spend an afternoon or several absorbing them.

Jade and I were getting high one evening, flipping through the channels, when she stopped on one of those scripted WWE shows, because she thought Chris Jericho was “all right looking.” She then sat, mesmerized by the campiness, while I broke up another bud and stuffed it into the bowl of the bong, trying to ignore my feelings of disgust. An enlightened boyfriend understands the differences between himself and his woman and learns to accept them. I mean, it wasn’t like she was asking to go to MacDonald’s for dinner or anything. I have to add that, to the best of my knowledge, she doesn’t watch any of that crap on a regular basis and probably couldn’t tell you a thing about the history between Triple H and Shawn Michaels, or even that the Hart family spans generations in the industry despite young Owen Hart's tragic demise.

Neither was she all that impressed when I received my DVD from the HPB (Half Pint Brawlers), which featured, among other things, naked midget hitchhiking, midgets in dryers, and staple gun death matches.

In 1965, the circuit was more serious. Lord Littlebrook and Pee Wee James were true artists, masters of their craft, and terrific entertainers. They’d have to be to keep the old man’s interest, as he was as discriminating a fan as ever walked the planet. When we headed off from our home just outside of Lexington and headed to Georgia for a week long adventure, I had no idea what to expect. I have to admit to a fair amount of anticipation at having the opportunity to view in person something I had only experienced vicariously through the eyes of a man I despised along with his loathsome friends. The whole idea of little people fine-tuned and using their bodies in a way most big people can’t even imagine, putting their physical well-being on the line all in the name of entertainment for big folks, for some reason was a concept I couldn’t help but admire. The twist of it all, of course, was that we were the suckers, paying out good money to see something most people wouldn’t admit to caring much about.

Aside from the matches we watched, January 6th in Columbus, January 8th in Atlanta, and January 9th in Marietta, there are three instances on that trip that I will never forget: my first beer, my first cigarette, and the first time I ever told my father to fuck off to his face.

Stay tuned for Part Two.

I Like Music

2008-12-17T13:34:00.001-08:00

Rodrigo & Gabriela doing an acoustic rendition of Led Zeppelin's "Stairway to Heaven."

Just because.

Brennan Blogs: How I Passed the California Bar Exam

2008-12-14T23:23:00.000-08:00

I was recently asked if I could write up a little blurb for the San Diego County Bar Association's weekly publication. I was asked to respond to the following question - Now that you have passed the bar, what advice do you have for current students preparing for the exam?

I have decided to share it here just in case any other future applicants venture their way onto this blog. Well, here was what I wrote up...

The State Bar of California requires that all prospective attorneys spend six hours a day for three days taking the California Bar Examination. In preparation, I spent about ten hours a day for three months studying. Essentially, given my intense studying habits, the bar exam itself was just another day.

Make the bar exam just another day.

When the results came out, I didn’t want to look back with my name left off the pass list wondering if I could have done more. Accordingly, I decided to leave no stone unturned. I took both Kaplan’s full MBE course and Barbri’s comprehensive bar course. I went to every class. I made an outline for every subject, sometimes two where I needed to know both California and Federal law. I completed all of Barbri’s near 100 practice essays. I finished five Barbri practice performance tests. I answered over 3,000 practice MBE questions provided by both Barbri and Kaplan (on a side note, Kaplan’s practice MBE questions were undoubtedly superior). Lastly, I made a flashcard for almost every practice MBE question I missed.

I did all that, I made the bar exam just another day, and I passed. I hope whoever reads this does the same, especially the passing part.

Flash fiction Friday - Piece by Piece

2008-12-05T13:07:00.000-08:00

I'll be the first to admit that I use writing as an escape. As in this piece, sometimes all it takes is a first line then I sit back and watch as a story unfolds.

Every morning the first thing I do when I wake up is check to make sure none of my parts are missing. This all started I think at around eight years of age when one night I became aware of a presence hovering over me. I was certain that this gangling creature was determined to take me away, bits and pieces at a time, until there was nothing left. Shortly after that it happened--I found a place just above my right thigh where a piece of me was gone. Not a very large piece, mind you, hardly bigger than a dime. But when something of you is taken, no matter how significant, you notice. I tried to show my mom, who looked at the spot and, although sympathetic to my feelings, disregarded my claim as "just my imagination." Sure, the spot resembled nothing in the way of a flesh wound. No bleeding. No open sores. No noticeable hole. Still, I knew something was missing.

A few years later I had almost forgotten about the incident. Many nights had passed and I had slept solidly through most of them, the only exceptions being Christmas Eves and that night I went to the carnival and ate too many corn dogs. As one grows older other worries far more pressing than shadows seen in the dark of a lonely bedroom take over the mind: school work, making the soccer team, the bully who stalks you in the hallways after your lunch money, girls. As a youth you are taught to trust adults, especially your mother, and so I did. Maybe the whole thing was just my imagination, I thought. So at the age of twelve, when least expected, the morning came when I discovered I had been robbed of another piece, this time a portion the size of Chinese Yen, just below my navel. All the fear from the years past came back to me in a wave of panic. The thing was back in my room again last night and had done its dirty deed.

After several near sleepless nights I was in desperate need of a plan. There must be some way to protect myself from being removed over time from existence. I asked my mom for a dog, one that could sleep in bed with me. I don't think I need to tell you how she responded. So I came up with an alternative. I convinced my little sister to move into my room with me, talking my parents into turning her room into a game room the whole family could use. Not the best thought out plane to be sure, but desperation leads to extreme tactics. My hope was that if the shadow creature did come again, it would take parts from my sister who was younger and, as I would reluctantly admit, fairer than I, especially as my body had just begun crossing the threshold into puberty. In hindsight I realize I never fully dealt with the guilt.

For a time it seemed to work. Nights passed and after each morning's examination I was proud to proclaim myself the same as I had been the night before. That was until the morning I awoke and found my sister's bed empty. At first I thought maybe she had just gotten up before me, a rare occurrence but certainly not out of the question. Tiptoeing into the kitchen I found no trace of her. I asked my mom, who was cooking breakfast if Ashley had been up. Her reply sent chills down my back. "What do you mean, 'who's Ashley'?" I cried. "You know, your daughter, my sister." She thought I was kidding. I pleaded with my father, who was sitting at the kitchen table drinking a cup of coffee and reading the paper. "Tell her to stop kidding around." He put down his paper and looked me in the eye. "Did you have some sort of bad dream, son?"

That's when I knew. Not only had my sister been erased from existence, but my parents, my real parents, had been replaced by remarkably clever duplicates. How did I know this? Well, for one thing, my mother never cooked breakfast. Most of the time I was lucky if I got a bowl of cold cereal. And my father...well...for him the only section of the paper that existed was the sports section, and here he was reading the Lifestyle pages.

I tried calling the police from a phone booth that afternoon on my way home from school. Of course they didn't believe me and told me that if I called again they would have me arrested. I took stock of my options and came to the conclusion that they were dwindling down to next to nothing. As near as I could figure, there was only one thing left to do. Run. So I did, and I didn't stop for the next 12 years.

It was during that span of time that I began my morning ritual. Every day for the next 12 years, no matter where I slept I checked myself, and every day was the same. I finally assumed that because I never stayed in one spot, under the same bridge, down the same alley, in the same condemned building, for more than a week or two, the creature never had a chance to hone in on my exact location.

Eventually I grew tired of the hobo lifestyle and settled down. With any luck the creature had forgotten about me, or perhaps now that I was a grown adult it had lost interest. I got my own place. Not like the place I chose was all that nice, a single room with a bath and kitchen in a less than desirable neighborhood, but after all that time I was happy to have anyplace I could call home. Still I continued my ritual, not so much out of fear, but out of habit, like an addict's need to stick a needle in his arm. Each morning was the same, and each morning I breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

Until three mornings ago, when I found it. This time it was a Mexican Peso. I haven't slept since.

The Fox and the Henhouse

2008-12-04T14:16:00.000-08:00

Now comes news that Bill Gates is open to a role in Obama's administration, ostensibly as an economic advisor. Three words for Barack: Don't do it.

Before I go any further, I would like to acknowledge my respect for Mr. Gates' charity work. Nothing can change the inherent good he is doing with his fortune, but at the same time, there are several issues I have with how he got it.

First, the origins of the technology itself are shrouded in credible clouds of theft.

Second, Microsoft apparently continued (continues?) to steal from other companies, even after its success. There are literally dozens of settlements related to patent infringement, where Microsoft allegedly stole from fledgling startups, and later paid out reduced sums (in relation to initially buying what those companies had), complete with gag orders. Essentially, Microsoft stole these companies' ideas, and was able to use its incredible cash and muscle to buy them after the fact for less than market value.

Third, Microsoft deliberately worked to establish a monopoly, much the same way Wal Mart does, but in reverse. By not allowing, or at least inhibiting their OEM buyers from bundling other, competing software with their operating system, and by deliberately making it difficult for some competitors' software to function within Windows, they eliminated competitive innovation, at the expense of both their competitors and the consumer as a whole.

The Clinton administration went after them on this, but fortunately for Microsoft, the Bush administration quickly quashed that notion. It makes sense that Microsoft was also one of the companies invited to secret meetings with the Bush team to discuss ways US companies could profit from... oops, I mean assist... the Iraq occupation.

Fourth, Microsoft has been at the forefront of the corporate lobby to obtain more visas for high level employees. Despite their claims to the contrary, there is a surplus of available high tech workers in the US. The simple fact is that they wish to import cheaper labor. The days of partnering with their employees (remember those legendary stock options in lieu of competitive pay) are apparently over at Microsoft.

Last, Microsoft is a decaying empire, a victim in many ways of its own meteoric success. The idea (theirs or not), timing, and predatory tactics built an empire, but the long term ability to sustain with innovation, growth (and with it the allure of stock options) is largely in the past.

Microsoft is now trailing-edge technology, held in place by not much more than ubiquity, and even that is crumbling. They have for the last years been struggling to implement a way to rent their software rather than sell it (a huge debacle for the public, who would be forced to accept every chronically late-yet-premature upgrade, unable to stick with older, more stable versions), in an era where saturation, competitive products, and resistance to new upgrade purchases (98, Millenium, Vista) is depleting revenue. Vista resistance, for good reason, is so legendary that Microsoft has had to resort to ads touting the fact that it's not as bad as word of mouth says. This is never a good thing.

Sure, they are far from dead, but much like the Roman Empire, they are past their zenith, and it isn't coming back. The Vandals (Apple) and the Visigoths (linux), among others, are at the outer frontiers. The Zune is underwelming, and the XBox platform is trailing Wii, essentially in a battle with Sony's Playstion3 for second place (with Sony gaining ground after a disastrous dearth of quality games impeded its roleout). Windows Mobile still has little traction. Internet Explorer (despite being the intended beneficiary of much of MS's allegedly illegal monopolistic attempts) is no longer the de facto browser, with hordes of customers choosing Firefox and Safari, among others. MSN lags terminally behind Google and Yahoo, and Microsoft was forced to give up on buying second-place Yahoo.

The fact is, Microsoft hasn't had any good ideas in years, relying instead on ways to coerce their customer base, and is starting to resemble the big 3 automakers in terms of slow evolution and adaption. You see where they have ended up. Just my opinion, but Bill Gates is not the guy Obama needs helping him fix the economy. Run your charity Bill. You're good at it, and that's where you can do the most to help.

My Least Favorite Conservative

2008-12-04T13:06:00.000-08:00

OK, at least for today, that honor goes to writer Bob Novak, he of outing Valerie Plame Fame. Novak was recently asked if he had to do it all over, would he still out Plame.

NOVAK: I’d go full speed ahead because of the hateful and beastly way in which my left-wing critics in the press and Congress tried to make a political affair out of it and tried to ruin me. My response now is this: The hell with you. They didn’t ruin me. I have my faith, my family, and a good life. A lot of people love me — or like me. So they failed. I would do the same thing over again because I don’t think I hurt Valerie Plame whatsoever.

Novak justifies outing Plame on the basis of the criticism he took for... outing Plame. Sort of like saying you'd murder an innocent bystander again because of the indignity and injustice of being prosecuted for it the first time. Novak's lucky he's not in jail, but his only remorse for a, by definition, treasonous act, one that the CIA says had significant negative ramifications on their work preventing a nuclear Iran (what Plame was working on), is to say he'd do it again because he caught negative flack over it.

So I'd like to out Bob Novak as a traitorous political ideologue who places partisan support over national security and patriotism, a hypocrite who espouses moral conservatism out of one side of his mouth while justifying his own moral turpitude in grossly illogical and juvenile rants out of the other, as a major-league asshole with remorse only for the paltry penalties for his malfeasance, and, by the bye, as a hack of a writer.

If I had it to do over again, I'd say the same things about you Bob, but not because of the repercussions for saying it, but rather because unlike you, I actually have principles.

And justice for all...

2008-12-04T05:43:00.000-08:00

What are we to make of the following report?

SAN FRANCISCO – Voters' economic status and religious convictions played a greater role than race and age in determining whether they supported the Nov. 4 ballot measure outlawing same-sex marriage in California, a new poll shows

Age and race, meanwhile, were not as strong factors as assumed. According to the poll, 56 percent of voters over age 55 and 57 percent of nonwhite voters cast a yes ballot for the gay marriage ban.

The poll also showed that the measure got strong backing from voters who did not attend college (69 percent), voters who earned less than $40,000 a year (63 percent) and Latinos (61 percent).

Yahoo: Poll: California gay marriage ban driven by religion, uneducated

This, to me, is not shocking. Maybe it is because I do not subscribe to any religious following and because I actually took the time to educate myself (maybe
that has to do with my non-religious morals) that this poll does not surprise me.

I don't want to start making any large and inaccurate generalizations here, as that would do no one any service. That is not the point of this post.

What is the point? I don't really know. The results of the poll, as I said, are not shocking. What is shocking is that there are so many people in this world, in the United States, and in this case, California, who would cry incessantly that their television and shopping rights were taken away, but couldn't, wouldn't bat an eyelash that two people, people they don't know, will never know, and will never come across, cannot get married. And they will vote to take away this option even if it means more funds for the state, for cities, for municipalities.

And why? Because they believe in a different god? Because they are murderers and thieves? Because they want to overthrow the government and rape the children? No, it is because gays do not fall into this nice, comfortable, false sense of the world religions have concocted for their followers. The world can be relegated to certain, unchanging categories; things that do not fall into those categories are dangerous, evil, and should be feared. There is no possible alteration of those categories.

What is it these people, these gays, want? Is it really any different from the rest of society, the rest of us "normal" people, get on a daily basis? Are they asking for anything beyond what we take for granted?

"Take for granted?" you may ask. I have seen reports showing that among married couples, Christians are more likely to divorce than non-Christians. How could that be so, if it is Christians who hold marriage so highly? Yet their marriage would somehow be threatened or lessened because two men want to have legal rights to visit each other in the hospital, inherit estates, and so on.

So why not give them these rights, but just not call it 'marriage'? Because that still sets them up as lesser citizens. Separate but equal would not fly for any other ethnic or religious group, yet we are supposed to believe it would be fine for gays?

And if it is just a matter of a word, 'marriage,' why the big fuss? If it is just a word, as it is, why not share it with everyone who marries?

If gays are considered a separate class of citizens, why should they be bound by the same requirements? Why should they continue to pay taxes if they are not allowed the same rights and privileges as the rest of California tax payers, or any US tax payers? Why should they, or anyone, continue to support a government that does not allow them the same personal choices and defense as others?

What is even more atrocious is that the matter of civil liberties, fundamental rights, are taken away from other human beings. That such matters would be put up to a vote is horrendous and appalling. Why should people be allowed to vote whether other people have basic rights? How do I convince myself that I can make that decision for another human being?

Normally, I would roll my eyes at the mention of rights, as if they are somehow bestowed upon us by an omnipotent being with a kind and righteous heart, but in this case we are acknowledging that there are rights, and somehow only a select few are special enough to receive them.

In the end, all people want the same rights that are shared throughout the society. If one group does not enjoy those freedoms, then all groups should not enjoy those freedoms. The only reason it is being pushed in people's faces is because it is being denied to them. Worse, it was granted to them, and then taken away again.

Are gays different? If granted this right, will they try to change society? Will they try to take over the world? Or will they, like so many before them, just assimilate into society, pay those taxes, invigorate neighborhoods, go to church, buy televisions and fast food? You know, the same as the rest of us evildoers.

How Cool is Obama?

2008-12-03T12:53:00.000-08:00

This little snippet comes from Bill Richardson, recalling how at one of the Democratic Primary debates, he got caught up in chatting with Obama, missed the question, and how Obama bailed him out:

As I’m chatting with Obama, the moderator says, “Governor Richardson, what do you think of that?” And I look at him like a deer in the headlights. I was about to say that I hadn’t heard, when Obama puts his hand over his mouth and says, “Katrina.” So I gave my four-point plan on Katrina. When I was done and the debate moved on, I looked over and said, “Thanks, you’re okay.” He said, “Nothing to it, brother.”

Now that's pretty cool, and pretty self-confident to boot...

Brennan Blogs: 9 Year Olds Giving Love Advice?

2008-12-02T19:27:00.000-08:00

Today I was on yahoo's front page and saw an article about how some 9 year old named Alec Greven wrote a nationally published book called "How to Talk to Girls." Suffice to say, I've got a trip to Barnes & Noble scheduled for tomorrow. Actually, this revelation got me thinking - are children the wisest of us all? I think this requires discussion.

Many psychologists and therapists believe that most of human behavior, what many call "character," is ingrained in us by the time we reach five years old. Yes, this means that when you just discovered you had a pee-pee or a pink taco, while the opposite sex did not, you likely had already settled in to who you would always be. If that was a personal revelation for you (the pee-pee/pink taco thing)... you're five years old, WHY are you reading this blog? Go find a Pokemon stat!

So why does the world of psychology theorize this? It is simply because of neuropsychology and some basic common sense.

From a neuropsychological standpoint, the brain is much like building a city, a city which continues to be built into your late teens and early 20's. You start with a flat piece of land and then you start to create buildings and infrastructure. Before you know it, the highways/roads are set (neuropathways), the homes/building are all there (synapses), and you no longer have room to build, because it (one's brain structure) is all set and the only remaining task is to "maintain." The growing population (new information) of urban sprawl continues, but many (much of that new information) are lost among the shuffle as you continue to "maintain." Excuse the complicated metaphor, let me back track and make it really simple. Basically, you are born with a blank piece of mush called your brain and as time goes on, you fill it up with stuff. As more stuff gets in, your brain has to form some structure in order to organize all the information. Once the brain has found the structure that allows you to most effectively function, it becomes set as it relies on this reliable structure for your continued functionality. For the remainder of your life, after this structure is set, your brain uses all its resources to take in the new information and put it on the shelf like a librarian would with a returned book. One's basic processing resources are used up putting away new pieces of information while also maintaining the information that is already there. Because almost all of your "CPU" resources are used up in this manner, it makes it increasingly more difficult to take in more new information and make such new information readily accessible (or influential on your thought process). What this means is that, from a neurological standpoint, the information you get in the beginning of your life is much more fluid and accessible. However, as your brain fills up, it has to organize itself which means that any new information has to conform to that basic imprinted structure. Accordingly, new information has a difficult task of overwhelming ingrained old information, thus why much of who you are is neurologically determined at such a young age. Essentially, your thought processes become much more rigid and stubborn.

Although this might be redundant given the whole monologue above, from a common sense and more "pure" psychological standpoint, just think of your brain as a sponge - a sponge which does most of its "soaking up" within the first 5 years of life. A dry sponge will soak up moisture with extreme efficiency. Why? Because there is nothing there and moisture fills the space. However, a wet sponge will only soak up moisture very slowly. Why? Because most of the space is taken, so the moisture must search out the small gaps of space to fill... a more complex and elongated process. This is the very reason why all you parents out there should try to teach your children how to play a musical instrument or how to speak foreign languages as soon as possible - children are more amiable at those ages. It becomes increasingly more difficult to learn such things later in life as the sponge fills up. Yes, often it is hard to teach an old dog new tricks.

So how does all this neuropsychological mumbo-jumbo relate to my original point that children, as the open sponges they are, might be the wisest of us all? Because just that, they are open sponges, meaning open minded and capable of approaching life without the same ingrained biases that comes with years of built up cynicism born as a consequence of life's ups and downs. Children are pure and that purity can provide an enlightened or surprisingly "clean" perspective.

Babies and dogs always like me. I have a theory as to why. I believe that babies and dogs are so uncomplicated that they don't over-think things, so they see me for who I really am (and yes, I'm not so subtly implying I am a freaking great human being). Children see the world without a filter (for good or bad) because they have not lived long enough to gain one. A 5 year old can enjoy just about any movie because s/he has yet to have seen the dozens of copycats already out on the market, so any movie is likely still novel to them. A 7 year old can demand macaroni and cheese for every meal, because s/he can appreciate its simplicity being that they haven't experienced even better food or just haven't lived long enough to get tired of it and need some variety. Finally, a 9 year old, such as Alec Greven, can shrug off girls and see them girls for what they are because he has yet to experience the heartache and disappointment which comes as a consequence from the process of finding companionship.

Children have no cynical-colored glasses, so they can see things for what they are. That doesn't always make them the most wise, but it sure does often make them among the most insightful. Of course, this unfortunately comes with the price of not understanding the consequences for their actions, but that's what parents are for, right? Up until the point children gain that inevitable cynicism and internalize their parents, maybe they are the ones we should look to for for a reality check. Maybe we should not be so dismissive of the young as inexperienced and naive, but rather seek them out for the unfiltered, innocent, and transparent perspectives they may offer. At least, that's what I'll be doing tomorrow when I hit the local Barnes & Noble.

Take Advice From This Guy

Music to share

2008-12-02T19:13:00.000-08:00

Rather than posting a typical blog, I decided I just wanted to share music with the masses. I have nothing original to say, except "enjoy."

Below are 5 music videos for some songs I am enjoying at the moment. Some of them are not new, while some are newish. I hope to share more of these in the future as time allows. If I can't find a good video for a song that strikes my fancy at the time, I will just post the song itself.

And for some of these, the songs are better than the videos, but let's just give them a chance to become better directors and videographers.

Great Lake Swimmers with "Your Rocky Spine"

Mountain Goats with "Sax Rohmer #1

Architecture in Helsinki, "Heart It Races"

"Bag of Hammers" by Thao

Liam Finn, "Second Chance"

When did this happen?

2008-11-27T07:33:00.000-08:00

Today is Thanksgiving. In it's essence, Thanksgiving is a good holiday, one that allows us take time and reflect on all the good stuff that has gone down in the past year. In principal there is very little to fault with this concept. Surely, even in the toughest of times there must be something we can all find to feel grateful about. This year, however, might pose more challenges for many than in years past.

We're all aware of the problems in the world, which have have trickled down into our own personal situations. Money is tight, there are horrible atrocities taking place around the world evolving toward who knows what end, and our planet is in ecological crisis. But there's something else going on that isn't quite as overstated as what I've just mentioned.

I'm watching the Macy's parade right now. An age old holiday tradition as much a part of our American culture as the typical Thanksgiving meal of turkey and stuffing. What I'm struck by is the blatant commercialism of it all. Nothing new here, this has been prevalent for years now. But I've never had an outlet to blog about it before so here I go.

Every float it seems has some sort of corporate plug, every other line coming from Matt Lauer and Meredith Viera sounds more like a commercial endorsement than a commentary. The whole idea of Macy's even is a hollow shell of what was once a great department store. Macy's are now found in shopping malls across the country. The portrayal of Macy's in classic movies such as the original Miracle on 34th Street is as real in our modern age as Santa Claus. What this parade has turned into is a showcase for the cultural crap that's being shoved down our throats. Hannah Montana, Push Pull, David Archuleta, Clique Girls, Shontelle, Rick Astley. When did our society's taste in music conform to the mediocrity of a Big Mac? And (read this next part using the voice of Seinfeld) what's the deal with a corporate logo on every single float? I mean does Hess Oil really convey the meaning of the season?

Okay, so right about now you're saying something like "Geez, Dave, you old codger, lighten up. If you don't like it then change the channel."

Yeah, that's probably a valid comment. But then what would I have to complain about.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone.

For David

2008-11-24T01:17:00.000-08:00

Infinite

If the star I gaze upon

Cold and unblinking

Should implode into the night sky

It would take a thousand lifetimes

for me

Or rather someone yet unborn

To notice the loss

Such is the transitory nature

The hopeless ephemera

Of perception

What now?

2008-11-23T04:17:00.000-08:00

What's interesting about this site is the variance in its participants backgrounds, points of view, and world experiences. I'm pretty sure I'm the senior of group, at 52 years of age, although I claim my mental age to be about 10-15 years younger than that and if forced to, I could produce statistics to back that claim up (e.g. my insistence at putting prepositions at the end of sentences). Thus the fact that I'm well into middle age makes the life changing event that transpired in my life last week all the more confusing. For the past 25 years a huge part of my identity was that of someone with a partner in a committed relationship. I had another half, someone who completed me, someone who shared the bulk of my adult life experiences. Now, for the first time since I was a young, doped out rock and roll musician, I am single again.

Divorce is a funny word, that brings all sorts of connotations along with it. My parents were never divorced, nor were my grandparents, and, although I don't know for certain, I'm pretty sure that none of my great-grandparents were either. I have one sister. She's divorced as well. Does that mean that my parents, may they rest in peace, fucked up somewhere when it came to teaching us about how to have a proper relationship? Who the hell knows. I'm not going to blame anyone for what I'm going through, certainly not my dead parents. But I'm not going to blame myself either. Not that I've been the perfect husband. Not by a long shot. But from my perspective, I never did any of those things that typically one can point at and say, "Oh, so that's where you fucked up." I never cheated, I pretty much quit drinking and doing drugs a long time ago, I'm a good father, although I have a penchant for switching occupations a bit more frequently than most, I am and have been gainfully employed at least as much as is possible in this fucked up world these days. So, no, one can't really point the finger and narrow this down to one glaring error on my part.

Maybe I should change the way I think about divorce. My preconception of the term has always begun with the word "failure". Divorced couples "failed" to make their marriages work. Divorced couples screwed up. Divorced couples didn't work hard enough to keep their marriages together. Divorced couples should burn in hell. Maybe we're guilty of all those things. For me, I got to the point where I just couldn't figure it out anymore and, in fact, stopped trying to figure it out. Our relationship was going downhill, and I stopped trying to figure out why. I had a therapist once who said that I had to do "my work" first and worry about the relationship second. That if I do "my work" the rest will take care of itself. It sure did.

What started with a ceremony of celebration before friends and relatives with all the joy and pomp of a major step forward on wondrous path life lays out before us, ended pretty much with a barely audible last gasp standing in an empty courtroom before a judge who, when all was said and done, wished us luck.

Luck? How the fuck can anyone by any stretch of the imagination put this in the same category as luck? Luck is when my ipod decides to play two Chili Peppers songs in a row. Luck is when I go to get a cup of coffee and all that's left is the charred remains on the bottom of a pot that some asshole in the office should have turned off when they took the last cup. Luck is when I cross through an intersection that 2 seconds earlier or later would have been blown through by a drunk driver.

Getting divorced has nothing to do with luck. And neither do relationships, which leaves me in really weird situation, one that I'm not altogether equipped to deal with. At 52 years of age, I have no idea how to go about this dating thing.

I love reading our friend Brennan's observations on the dance between men and women when placed in the position of looking for love. By the way man, congratulations on passing the bar. That's fucking awesome. You're young, successful, and you have all the opportunity in the world before you. Well, maybe not all, but a lot. Maybe as the days, months, and years progress, I'll have some observations of my own on the dealings between opposite sexes. Right now I have none. I could probably share some of my private rants of rage I'm holding inside regarding my now ex-wife, but that really serves no viable purpose and on the surface at least I wish her well (crazy bitch). But for now, I'm sure anyone who's managed to at least skim through this post is on the verge of suicide so I'll stop with no words of wisdom or caution. Everyone's got their own life and no two are the same. This is just a little peek into mine at the moment.

Flash fiction Friday - All Alone

2008-11-21T11:46:00.000-08:00

Besides reading, watching T.V., and the occasional stroll about town, this is what I do to entertain myself and keep my "chops" up so to speak. Flash fiction is exactly what it says it is. Short, sweet, without a whole lot of thought behind it.

Enjoy, or whatever...

All Alone

This used to be a place where people gathered to learn things. Now it’s where I live, moving from building to building as if it were my own personal playground.

One of my favorite places to just sit is in what they used to call “The Chapel.” I know this because that’s what’s carved in the stonework above the entrance. A small building once used to make contact with higher powers and perform ritualistic ceremonies. I like it because it’s peaceful in there with its smooth wooden seating and filtered light. In there it’s easy to forget; easy to ignore all the disturbances of the world outside.

At night is when the voices are loudest. Just voices, I know, that can’t harm you physically but play with your mind all the same, make you all the more aware of how alone you are. In that regard they’re just as dangerous. If you let them, they can easily rip your soul in two.

I found something the other day that served to make several days after more tolerable. In one of the buildings there were great paintings depicting what I suspect were typical scenes from the time when others populated this place. Curiously enough, in order to view these paintings I had to push several buttons in the right order and the device that held them captive would hum and light up, releasing them as projections from its tiny screen. I now carry this device with me wherever I go, sometimes pretending that I can make the pictures real if I wanted to. Wouldn’t that be something? Maybe one day I’ll actually figure out if that’s possible or not.

But back to the voices. I’m not sure exactly where they come from. I suspect, though, that they’re trapped because the few words I can make out sound like whoever “they” are would like to be freed. One time I thought I could actually understand one of them saying, “It’s cold in here.” I don't know where “here” is, But I’m glad at least that I don’t have to worry about being cold. Still, I would like the company, and I feel as though I’d like to help whoever they are somehow, not solely because I’m lonely, but also because it seems as though someone ought to, and I’m the only someone around.

Today I decide to cut loose in the building I call the castle. I’m sure that’s what it must have been at one time because it looks a lot like the pictures of castles I’ve found in books.

That's one thing I have plenty of - books.

Only the castles in the books I’ve looked at aren’t usually surrounded by other buildings. Usually they’re up on top of a hill and surrounded by a circle of water. This castle is surrounded by other buildings, all different, yet all fitting together as though the different styles were meant to partner with one another.
Inside the castle is several beds—65 to be exact, not counting the five that I don’t go near because of their smell. I’ve probably slept in each one at least a dozen times but lately I’ve taken to one in particular on the second floor in the room with the best view of the courtyard. In the daytime I can look out and imagine what it used to be like filled with people. In the nighttime I see something totally different, which is why I mostly sleep during the day.

At night I have to keep watch on the shadows.

Sometimes I’m tempted, driven by my aloneness, to see what would happen if I go out at night and let the shadows take me. I’m still working up my nerve for that, the fear of the unknown still one of my primary weaknesses. But I can only play by myself for so long. The games in the big room of the castle would be so much more fun if there were someone to play them with; at least I think that would be the case.

But then again, what if they don’t play games?

Brennan Blogs: Did the Media Get Obama Elected?

2008-11-20T19:04:00.000-08:00

Below these comments you will find a video which was sent as a link to me by my father. His point was that the underprivileged masses can be easily persuaded by the "pro-Obama media." My post is not about debating whether the media was pro-Obama. From my perspective, I'd say the media was, in fact, somewhat pro-Obama (but really only to a negligible degree). What my post is really about is discussing the truth behind what groups of people make up those among the population we might call "easily influenced."

My father is right about one thing - the underprivileged, uninformed, and/or uneducated (all completely different things) are, in fact, impressionable and easily influenced. My father's argument is that the underprivileged are so highly susceptible to influence by those that would promise them the world, i.e. Barack Obama as my conservative father perceives him, because they are all witness to what they don't have and want a piece of the pie. Aside from echoing Marx's fatalism, whether my father knows it or not, his argument also derives from social conflict theory, a theory which explains the constant struggles between the "haves" and the "have-nots" fighting it out for limited resources. Under conflict theory, since the "have-nots" want what the "haves" have, the "have-nots" tend to grasp on to the most easy and convenient solutions (often introduced in the form of platitudes) to get them their fair share. Moving on, those who are generally uneducated or uninformed (you can be educated, but still be uninformed about politics) are so easily influenced because without the necessary information to reference, they'll take what small information is presented to them (as their only source) and use it to overgeneralize in forming a perspective. This is why the power of the media is so dangerous and why the internet, an extremely user-friendly medium to find readily accessible information, might be our only salvation.

The point here, one that many on the conservative side miss, is that such a phenomenon of easily influenced voters isn't just a partisan problem, it is a bipartisan problem. Even though there is a larger percentage of certain demographics often included in each party, those distinctions are usually too small to hang your hat on. There are still people of all demographics (such as race, sex, religion, class, etc.) which largely belong to both parties. Accordingly, stupidity and ignorance, as much as Rush Limbaugh or Sean Hannity would have you believe, are not just liberal traits. Additionally, avenues of influence are readily available to both sides as well - one can click on either of MSNBC or Fox News depending on their natural disposition.

The basic argument is always this: "Those who disagree with my side must be naive, ill-informed, unintelligent, and/or uneducated. If they were not some or all of those things, they would agree with me because my perspective is the only rational one." I do find it ironic that more often than not it's those fox news viewers out there, you know the viewers of the "unbiased" network, who make this argument. MSNBC may be pompous in its liberal bias, but I rarely see that network spewing the kind of pure hate that I have to tolerate from the likes of Hannity, Limbaugh, Savage, Coulter, and O'Reilly. Again, sorry to break it to you "true Americans" and fox news die-hards, but there are just as many idiots on both sides of the political fence. It is sad, however, that the divisive elements of our society seem to more commonly originate on just one side of the aisle though (hint - it's the Karl Rove side).

In compliance with this trend, it is those same condescending conservatives that purport the video below. That said, enjoy... or don't.

My Favorite Republican

2008-11-20T09:25:00.000-08:00

This is for PBryant ;-)

Chuck Hagel is my favorite Republican. While I disagree with him on many points, he's a good example of a rational conservative, something we need more of in this country. Didn't buy into the war, despite huge party pressure, and is willing to speak out when things are wrong. Loved his recent take on Rush Limbaugh!

I hope he's one of the Republicans Obama's talking to for cabinet positions.

Foursomes, Triangles, Insulation, and the Paint-Brush Unrequited

2008-11-17T15:54:00.000-08:00

As most of you know, I dabble in poetry a bit. I'm happy to report that I have apparently ended a several month hiatus, and am back to writing the occasional verse. I will post them here on occasion, and I'll probably throw up some older ones when I'm too lazy to post something new, but also in need of seeing my name up on the board!

I have to admit that I am a totally different poet than I expected I might be, and the differences between my verse and prose are almost in the territory of a multiple personality disorder.

While I start poems in a variety of ways, it seems four elements hold true:

1. The title is almost always something about the poem, but not of the poem, as in, I don't use lines from the poem itself.

2. The poem itself is usually pretty sparse. While I have always wanted to write Homer-esque epics, it seems I am a slave to a form that leaves much unsaid. This is odd, given my prosian (my word, deal with it) verbosity. I like to think of my poems as three legs of a triangle, with the poem and the title leading you to the unsaid portion, which may or may not be what I intended. Think of the poem as the frame, the title as the siding, and the balance as the insulation.

3. I seem caught in groups of four. Perhaps its my musical leanings, but I need to feel a certain rhythm in a poem, and that rhythm generally comes in quadrilles.

4. I am principally visually oriented, and I hope that comes through in the work. I am very much a frustrated painter-- frustrated in that it is what I would prefer to do, but I am completely inept at it. So I try to paint with my words, carefully choosing them to evoke a nuanced picture, and hopefully with it, a distinct mood, the better to fluff up that unseen insulation.

Well, now you know more than you either did or needed to...

Mid-day Thoughts

2008-11-17T15:43:00.000-08:00

Hey all,

I just wanted to take a break from other work to say what a wonderful time I'm having with this blog! I admit to coming here often, not just to post something (which I'm sure I do to much of), but to eagerly peruse your posts and comments.

As I posted earlier, I have invited a few friends to read our musings, rants, and miscellaneous ramblings. So far, to my knowledge, my GF periodically checks in, and a couple of friends from Idaho (Hey Henry and Alex!) have recently checked us out. I am happy to report that they think I am a god, one whose sacred utterances are clouded by the occasional dreck that the rest of you put up. They've asked me to ask you to please cut down on the meaningless filler so that it's easier to find my pearls of wisdom. OK, that's a lie, at least the last sentence...

BTW, if you read here, please post an occasional comment, so we know you're here. Rest assured that our egos are petty enough to puff up at the very idea that you may read us, and we would like to experience whatever divinity complex would attend an actual comment!

I also noted a complete lack of obscenity and profanity, so goddamn it, I'll do my best to fucking fix that. I feel better now...

Church and Hate

2008-11-17T13:32:00.000-08:00

Several days ago, I posted a little blurb about black voters and prop 8. In fairness, there are four other groups that deserve mention:

In what can only be described as high irony, the Church of Latter Day Saints (Mormons) organized a $20 million donation drive to support prop 8. While marriage between men and women is an issue one might suspect the church of having views on, the "one man, one woman" aspect seems more than a bit hypocritical. Remember, this is the same church that was able to produce a historic, timely reversal by their god (allegedly) to outlaw polygamy in 1890. In reality, Utah was not going to become a state with polygamy, and rather than lose their tremendous control of the region (not to mention finding themselves essentially at war with the US), church leaders preferred to strip one of the core tenets of their religion, and god, surprisingly, was willing to acquiesce! One does not have to have much bias to see that the timing and content of god's do-over were if nothing else, spectacularly convenient. It is analogous to Catholics abandoning confession, so intrinsic was plural marriage to the fundamentals of Mormonism. To me, this is yet another example proving the theory that god is created in man's image, not the other way around. But I digress...

There is currently a movement underway to strip the LDS church of its tax-exempt status, because of its blatant disregard for the rules governing such organizations. It would seem that from a reading of the legal statute, there are ample grounds for this. That is not to say anything will come of it. The LDS church is very wealthy and influential, and few politicians want to be on the right side of things when there is very little political upside. The fact is that a majority of Americans are still at least slightly biased against homosexual rights, mostly on religious grounds. To take on the Mormons would require one to stand up against their legion of supporters, on this issue, among other denominations. I hope it happens, but I'm not holding my breath. It's a shame that a group of people with a history of being persecuted on the grounds of strange beliefs and customs will now persecute others on the same grounds.

Also on the list, for contributing more than a million dollars to the campaign against gay rights, are the Knights of Columbus. This is a group that might actually have more power than the Mormons, having nearly the same membership as well as at least tacit (and financial) support from millions more Catholics at large. While I laud the millions of dollars (and man-hours) in charity work provided each year by this organization, I cannot condone this act of bigotry, especially since this same organization fought against segregation (and interracial marriage bans). I also must point out that while much of the charity provided is at least partially beneficial, it is also tied specifically to endeavors that strengthen the respect for, adherence to, or legislation favorable to conservative Catholic dogma. The Knights in recent years have been heavily involved in supporting the ban of abortion, gay rights of any sort, as well as working to further the idea and implementation of teaching religion (at least that which is consistent with their own beliefs) in all (including public) schools. They, along with their strange bedfellows the Mormons, have been principally responsible for changing the boy scouts from a secular organization concerned primarily with nature and outdoorsmanship into a pro-god, anti-homosexual bastion of youth indoctrination.

Likely to the consternation of at least one of our contributors, I must include the Republican Party. Since the formation of their alliance with the Christian Right, the Republicans have used an opposition to gay marriage (along with abortion, xenophobia, nationalism, and racism) as a centerpiece of their social-wedge-issue campaigns designed to ensnare what are otherwise likely to be Democratic voters (those whose economic status puts them at odds with unregulated, corporate-biased capitalism, which is the central pillar of Republican ideology). It is a well-documented fact that the Republican party worked to get gay marriage amendments (for and against), on the ballots of battle-ground states (including decisive Ohio) in 2004. The reason was simple: In light of George Bush's dismal approval ratings, they needed something that would get out the base to vote. The anti-gay voter was expected to then vote for president while there, and it was assumed that that vote would be Republican. Now why do you suppose they thought that?

Even after a remarkable electoral defeat, the party continues to stand behind this type of divisive, bigoted "social conservatism". None other than Karl Rove, the recognized guru of the divide-and-conquer, scorched-earth campaign strategies of his party over the last decade, this week lamented his party's loss of power and cohesion, but along with suggestions on how to bring the party's economic message back to the acceptance of the voter base, he vehemently urged against any moderation of socially conservative issues. In fact, he pointed to Prop. 8 specifically as an example that the majority of voters share the party's views on this matter. In fairness, there are plenty of Democrats who have either dragged their feet or outright opposed gay rights, but it is not a central plank of their party's platform, as it is with the Republicans, so while they are individually liable to be called out, the party, at least for now, escapes my crosshairs. I await what happens under Obama's administration, given his willingness to speak openly of his support of homosexual equality, before casting judgement. But with the presidency and sizable majorities in both congressional bodies, that judgement will not be long withheld.

Last but not least, I would be remiss if I did not address the general populace, without whom these groups would be powerless to effect their repression. At some point, all of us have to look ourselves in the eye and decide that as long as one segment of us lacks the fundamental liberty guaranteed by our constitution, we all do. The equal protection clause of the constitution is designed to protect the minority from the majority, and it's high time we started acting like it. I won't ask each of you to understand, endorse, or even respect homosexuality, but merely to recognize that the freedom which allows you that opinion, also protects the object of your loathing. If we don't believe that, on what grounds do we support civil rights for blacks, or Jews, or whatever it is that you believe? It is your responsibility to protect the freedoms of others, if for no other reason than to protect your own. I leave you with a poem by Martin Niemoller, in which he describes, with chilling simplicity, the cost of silence:

When the Nazis came for the communists ,
I remained silent;
I was not a communist.

When they locked up the social democrats ,
I remained silent;
I was not a social democrat.

When they came for the trade unionists ,
I did not speak out;
I was not a trade unionist.

When they came for the Jews ,
I remained silent;
I was not a Jew.

When they came for me,
there was no one left to speak out.

Murder for Profit: The World According to Monsanto

2008-11-17T12:36:00.000-08:00

Some of you may have already guessed that it was only a matter of time once this site was erected that I would go down this path. (Heh, heh, he said erected.) Honestly, I've given this populist crusade against what I consider to be one of the greatest threats to society a bit of a rest, but with the election behind us and my writing moving back to yet more revisions on the novel in part loosely based on a Monsanto-like corporation, I've discovered a video that got my sparks to flying.

"The World According to Monsanto", a French documentary made by independent filmmaker Marie-Monique Robin paints a grim picture of a company with a long track record of deceit and lies while perpetrating environmental crimes against our planet and its peoples. After several attempts to keep the American public from ever seeing this film, it is finally available to buy on DVD or watch for free on a number of websites. (At one point apparently it was pulled off Google video and Youtube but we all know that in this day and age it's impossible to keep information like this hidden for long.)

The history of Monsanto is well chronicled. From the start as a chemical company in 1901 it has been linked to such highly toxic chemical such as Agent Orange and PCBs. We now know that Monsanto was well aware of the systematic deadly effects of these products but in order not to lose "a single dollar" kept these facts well hidden for years. During the late eighties and early nineties under the "look the other way in the name of deregulation" Reagan and Bush Sr. eras, Monsanto successfully switched their persona from chemical company to bio-agriculture gaining unhindered FDA approval for its new focus on genetically modified seed technology and bovine growth hormones (rBGH). Touting their new mission as humanitarian work in the pursuit of sustainability of our planets resources, Monsanto unleashed a new scheme allowing them to take control of the world's farming by patenting their roundup ready GM seed technology.

Roundup, for those of you who have never had to deal with weeds, is an herbicide once hailed by Monsanto as biodegradable until closer scrutiny revealed that their rather flimsy definition of the term was about as factual as a Brothers Grimm Fairy Tale. Thus the biodegradable label was reluctantly removed giving us one more example of Monsanto's callous disregard for truth when it comes to public health vs. profit and power. The new line of genetically modified seeds Monsanto has unleashed known as "roundup ready" are resistant to the effects of this herbicide thus allowing farmers to liberally apply it to crops killing all else but the precious corn, soy, or canola beans. Monsanto claims the GM crops are no different than non GM produced crops, although in the deregulation age, little research has been done to support that claim. They also assert that the use of Roundup has no long lasting ill effects on the farmlands where this product is used. Tell that to the people of Anniston Alabama, who were victimized by Monsanto's profit at any cost philosophy.

In the 1960s, Anniston, Alabama became Monsanto's dumping ground for PCB's. According to a CBS news 60 Minutes investigation, Anniston is now considered one of the most toxic cities in the world with the PCB levels of many of its residents four times greater than other people throughout the United States and had two to four times greater the risk of developing diabetes. In 2003, lawyers for more than 20,000 plaintiffs reached a settlement for $700 million to be paid jointly by Monsanto and its spinoff company Solutia. While seemingly a good deal for the people of Anniston, after all those years of abuse for a company with annual profits in the billions the sum amounts to a mere slap on the wrist.

The bigger question this raises is: If Monsanto hid what it knew about its toxic pollution for decades, what is it hiding from us now?

What I'm preaching here is nothing new and certainly none of the information I've put forth is ground breaking. Aside from the damage to our environment, farming culture, and the wanton abuse of our political system, the biggest fear for me remains in the damage this corporation is inflicting on generations upon generations of local farming traditions found around the world. In many cultures seed saving has been a way of life longer than the existence of the Christian-Judeo ethic. The insidious nature of greed and corruption this company propagates with its army of enforcers clamping down on anyone who tries to work outside of their monopolistic system has grown entirely out of hand and if someone doesn't step in and say "enough" they will continue to intimidate farmers right out of a culture that has taken generations to establish and deprive us all of the health benefits obtainable from the vast varieties of wholesome produce once available in plenty, now fast becoming a memory.

For more info on Monsanto check this website Everything You Never Wanted to Know About Monsanto's M.O. or just Google Monsanto and you'll get more information than I could ever put into our little blogging operation. Also, I especially urge you to check out the documentary I mentioned in the beginning of my rant.

My Qs, Obama’s As and My 2 Cents

2008-11-17T10:38:00.000-08:00

Bolded excerpts are questions from my Post on 11-07-08. Obama's answers are from his interview last night.

My Question: We are at war, and I have no idea whether Obama is worthy of the position of “Commander in Chief”. I have no idea if he will have the fortitude to make the correct decisions during the time that we are most vulnerable – during the transition period from old regime to new.

Obama’s Answer - "I think it's important to get a national security team in place because transition periods are potentially times of vulnerability to a terrorist attack," Obama told CBS' "60 Minutes." "We want to make sure that there is as seamless a transition on national security as possible." The president-elect also said that as soon as he takes office he will work with his security team and the military to draw down U.S. troops in Iraq, shore up Afghanistan and "stamp out al-Qaida once and for all." Obama also said he plans to put al-Qaida leader Osama bin Laden in the crosshairs. "I think capturing or killing bin Laden is a critical aspect of stamping out al-Qaida," Obama said. "He is not just a symbol, he's also the operational leader of an organization that is planning attacks against U.S. targets." The president-elect confirmed reports that he intends to close the detention center at Guantanamo Bay, and "make sure we don't torture" as "part and parcel of an effort to regain America's moral stature in the world."

My reaction: Have fewer troops in Iraq, more in Afghanistan, kill Bin Laden and close down a known torture facility. Bravo!

My Question: I am concerned about the economy, and have no idea what Obama’s qualifications are in leading us through this recession.

Obama’s Answer: He said the economy would have deteriorated even more without the $700 billion bank bailout. Re-regulation is a legislative priority, he said, not to crush "the entrepreneurial spirit and risk-taking of American capitalism" but to "restore a sense of balance."
"There's no doubt that we have not been able yet to reset the confidence in the financial markets and in the consumer markets and among businesses that allow the economy to move forward in a strong way," Obama said. "And my job as president is going to be to make sure that we restore that confidence."
He also said: "We shouldn't worry about the deficit next year or even the year after. ... The most important thing is that we avoid a deepening recession."
While "we have the tools," the president-elect said not enough has been done to address bank foreclosures and distressed homeowners. "We've gotta set up a negotiation between banks and borrowers so that people can stay in their homes," Obama said. "That is going to have an impact on the economy as a whole. And, you know, one thing I'm determined is that if we don't have a clear, focused program for homeowners by the time I take office, we will after I take office."
Obama credited Treasury Secretary Henry Paulson for trying to remedy "an unprecedented crisis" the country hasn't seen since the Great Depression. "Hank Paulson has worked tirelessly under some very difficult circumstances," Obama said. "And I think Hank would be the first one to acknowledge that probably not everything that's been done has worked the way he had hoped it would work."

My reaction – Continue the use deficit spending and the Bank Bailout Plan to stem the recession, shore up the financial markets and keep homeowners in their homes while tightening the regulations that allowed for this mess in the first place. Bravo!

My Question: I care nothing of Obama’s race or Bush’s religion, as long as nothing influences his duties as our leader other than the facts before him.

Obama’s Answer:

My reaction: Bravo!

"All the Ken the Germans, Please Stand Up"

2008-11-15T10:36:00.000-08:00

So You think Ken the German is a pathetic oddity? Apparently he's just the tip of the iceberg. This is starting to sound like the racist version of the "I'm Joe the Plumber/ Tiger Woods" memes.

Here's a sampling from Greg Mitchell at Huffington Post (including Ken):

"So let me just briefly list the full range of episodes, which doesn't even include several cross burnings on front lawns. These aren't necessarily the worst but they do capture the national flavor/fever:

* In a Maine convenience store, an Associated Press reporter saw a sign inviting customers to join a betting pool on when Obama might fall victim to an assassin. The sign solicited $1 entries into "The Osama Obama Shotgun Pool," saying the money would go to the person picking the date closest to when Obama was attacked. "Let's hope we have a winner."

* In Idaho, the Secret Service is investigating a "public hanging" sign erected by a man upset with the election outcome, the Bonner County Daily Bee reported Thursday. A handmade sign posted on a tree reads "FREE PUBLIC HANGING" written in large letters beneath a noose fashioned from nylon rope. The most prominent name on the sign is "OBAMA," according to the Bee. "That's a political statement. They can call it whatever they want, a threat or whatever," the creator of the sign, Ken Germana, told the Bee.

* A popular white supremacist Web sites got more than 2,000 new members the day after the election, compared with 91 new members on Election Day. The site, stormfront.org, was temporarily off-line on Nov. 5 because of the overwhelming amount of activity it received. One poster, identified as Dalderian Germanicus, of North Las Vegas, said, "I want the SOB laid out in a box to see how 'messiahs' come to rest."

* From the Orange County (Ca.) Register: "Two gang members pleaded not guilty Thursday to hate crime and attempted robbery charges in connection with the beating of a black man who was trying to buy cigarettes at a Fullerton liquor store." The two men shouted racial and anti-Obama epithets in the attack.

* In Mississippi alone, the American Civil Liberties Union has received more than 10 calls since the staff first reported anti-Obama incidents last Friday, according to the Jackson (Miss.) Free Press.

* In Midland, Mich., a man dressed in full Ku Klux Klan regalia walked around toting a handgun and waving an American flag. Initially denying it, the man eventually admitted to police that the display was a reaction to the Obama victory. "[The man] had a concealed weapon permit and was walking up and down the sidewalk in front of a vehicle dealership while some motorists shouted obscenities at him and others shouted accolades," police told The Saginaw News.

* Parents in Rexburg, Idaho, contacted school officials this week after they learned that 2nd and 3rd graders on a school bus were chanting, "Assasssinate Obama!"

* At the University of Texas in Austin, a racist post on Facebook has cost one student his place on the university football team, according to the Houston Chronicle. Buck Burnette, a sophomore offensive lineman for the fourth-ranked Texas Longhorns, was dismissed from the team on Nov. 5 after posting a racist remark about President-elect Obama as his "status" on the social networking Web site. Burnette posted: "All the hunters gather up, we have a [slur] in the White House," theChronicle reported.

* AP reports: "While the world watched a Grant Park celebration heralding the election of the first black U.S. president, some white Chicago police officers committed hate crimes against black residents cheering Barack Obama's victory elsewhere in the city, attorneys alleged Thursday." Lawsuits have been filed.

* At Appalachian State University, the administration has expressed disappointment at the numerous times black students have expressed being harassed in residence halls since the election.The Appalachian, a student newspaper serving the university, also reported conversations suggesting Obama may not be alive in 2009 and a t-shirt seen around campus that reads "Obama '08, Biden '09."

* Mentioned in the same article, racist comments were discovered at North Carolina State University last week. Spray-painted in university's free expression tunnel after the election were the phrases, "Kill that n..." and "Shoot Obama," the Appalachian reported. The NAACP has called for the expulsion of the four students accused of the graffitti, the Associated Press reported Thursday.

* The Associated Press revealed on Wednesday, "Police on eastern Long Island are investigating reports that more than a dozen cars were spray painted with racist graffiti, reportedly including a message targeting President-elect Barack Obama. The graffiti included racist slurs and sexually graphic references. At least one resident in the quiet Mastic neighborhood told Newsday her son's car was scribbled with a message threatening to kill Obama."

* Employees at Hampel's Key and Lockshop in Traverse City, Michigan, flew an American flag upside down last Wednesday protesting of the new president-elect, the Traverse City Record-Eaglereported. One worker used a racial slur during an interview with the Record-Eagle: "(The inverted flag is) an international signal for distress and we feel our country is in distress because the n----- got in," said Hampel's employee Rod Nyland, who later apologized for the comment, according to the Record-Eagle.

* Authorities in Temecula, Calif., found spray-painted graffiti on a city sidewalk containing a swastika and anti-Obama slogan. And from the Los Angeles Times: "Vandals spray-painted swastikas and racial slurs on a house and several cars in Torrance that displayed campaign signs or bumper stickers for President-elect Barack Obama, authorities said Tuesday. The incidents occurred Saturday night in the Hollywood Riviera section of the city, said Sgt. Bernard Anderson. Four separate incidents were reported the next day, he said. No arrests have been made."

* And from Maine: "More than 75 people rallied Sunday against an incident last week in which black figures were hanged by nooses from trees on Mount Desert Island the day after Barack Obama won the presidential election," according to the Bangor Daily News. "

Doesn't it make you proud to vote Republican?

Short and not sweet at all....

2008-11-15T05:59:00.000-08:00

I’d known her since we were both little, the fun kid who always had big ideas on how to pass a summer afternoon. “Let’s make a swimming pool,” she’d say and then we’d spend the next four hours digging a hole. Now here she was, practically incoherent sitting on my bathroom floor trying to hide from the demons that surfaced when the right combination of chemicals were ingested into the blood stream. I wanted to cry, but at the moment she was doing enough crying for the both of us.

Straight Talk

2008-11-14T14:28:00.000-08:00

Thank goodness for men like Ken Germana, or "Ken the German", as I like to call him. No, I don't agree with pretty much anything he stands for, and I find him repugnant, but it's nice to see the unvarnished face of the conservative base once in a while.

In case you live in a cave, Ken Germana is a guy in Vay, Idaho who decided to protest the election, and some effigies of his hero, Sarah Palin, by putting up a sign that offered a free hanging for Barack Obama, along with Nancy Pelosi, John Kerry, and Al Sharpton, complete with a home-made noose.

Funny thing is, unlike Joe the Plumber, Ken the German is the real deal. As we all know, Joe was a guy worried about paying higher taxes on income he didn't have when he bought a business he couldn't afford, which didn't actually fall into the tax bracket in question anyway. Ken just doesn't cotton to liberals, and apparently minorities either, and isn't shy about saying so (although he did deny racism was a factor, wink, wink).

This should not shock you. This is exactly the sentiment Palin was deliberately playing to at her rallies (where she incited the verbal equivalent of Ken's sign). These people exist, and there's more of them than you would like to think there are. This is the heart and soul of the Republican base. If you read a few conservative blogs, such as the one at FreeRepublic.com, Ken is being feted as a good honest hero, and a victim of a left-wing dictatorship-in-waiting. Both Ken and his supporters justify his actions by pointing to their opponents engaging in similar behavior. Strong principles there! I thought the conservatives were supposed to be about right and wrong. I guess two wrongs do make a right, or at least a right-wing hypocrite.

We need people like Ken, if for nothing more than to remind us that we have a long way still to go. Ken's straight talk let's us know that even though we won the battle (the election), the war still rages on. Let's face it, there are a bunch of guys wandering around the south who don't believe the civil war is over, so it's not so hard to believe that Ken hasn't assimilated the more recent defeat. Luckily for him, the internet will allow him to link up with his confederate brethren. In the process, he serves as a great warning against complacency.

So Ken, thanks for the straight talk. You make me proud... to be a Democrat. Besides, if the recent elections are any indicator, if you give these people enough rope...

Gym Shoes

2008-11-14T00:17:00.000-08:00

I went to a gymnasium last Sunday. I love gyms, grew up in them. I remember them vividly. A small little musky brick gym in a park in rural Illinois is the first one I remember. The floor was gray vinyl squares streaked with colored lines marking the territory of each sport. I only remember the white rectangle measuring 94x50 and the plain white shoes from K-Mart that I wore – they made me run real fast. People reclined on the brown wooden bleachers that folded out from the wall. Families stacked and sorted into rows and columns.

I remember another brick gym in Phoenix – this one large and new with carpet – yes a carpeted gym that silenced my blue Nike Cortez sneakers and deadened the bounce of the ball.

I recall my first school team and the Junior High School cafeteria in Los Angeles that we played in. Tables and chairs rolled into a side room and baskets lowered to magically transform lunchtime utility into extra-curricular exercise. French-fries and chocolate donuts hastily swept into a pile in the corner of the building in which I experienced my first fight, my first kiss and my first dunk (if running up the cement wall in my Converse High Tops counts).

My most vivid disappointment - cut during tryouts – occurred in a gym. I hated that gym and I even hated the game for a week of two. Redemption came by making another team at another school. Nikes were my reward - Green and Gold to match my new uniform. That gym was . . . magnificent. I miss it to this day. That is the gym in which my sleeping mind has allowed me to play with and against the greatest players the world has ever known, and earn their respect.

High School was replaced by College, and Basketball was replaced by work. The gym was replaced by -

Well nothing. It was merely lost. And missed. Neglected but not forgotten. Sure there were a few here and there – parks and rec games in Jordans, adult leagues wearing whatever Nike Mids were on sale and not too flashy, pick-up games, teams with the guys from work, but not an outstanding memory in the bunch, and nothing that I recall as fondly as the gyms of my youth.

Which brings me back to Sunday. Last Sunday, a large gym full of people filling the bleachers, and even more in chairs covering the floor. There was no cheering, no uniforms and no basketball. Just a man telling stories based on a book that he believes in. A man talking about the goodness he says lives in all of us. Goodness so strong that it can make us do something nice for a stranger we will never meet, but can touch and help, nonetheless. We were asked to walk a mile in a poor man’s shoes by letting him walk in ours. Literally. We were asked to donate the shoes on our feet to the homeless who will need them this winter. It was hoped that the gift would help a person in need, and that the simple experience of being without shoes on our journey home might give us perspective on someone who has neither shoes, nor a home to return to. . .

And once again, a gymnasium and a pair of shoes made an indelible impression on me.

Type A personality

2008-11-13T20:35:00.000-08:00

I am a slacker.

My parents were slackers too.

And chances are, my children, if I ever have them, will be slackers as well.

I come from a long line of slackers.

Slackerism runs through my veins.

I applaud my slacker heritage.

Why, I am such a slacker, I probably won't even finish..............

Flash fiction Friday

2008-11-13T06:58:00.000-08:00

Nothing like a good futuristic tale of Zombies...

By the end of the conflict few lives had been left unchanged. Of those most affected none would claim freedom as they trembled at the toxic aftermath. Those least affected, however, were the ones you had to watch out for; the ones unable to grasp the scope of what had transpired, but somewhere in their tiny underdeveloped brains they knew. Cut off from the battles by dementia, madness, or a combination of both the crazed unhumans were poised to inherit the scraps, the leftovers of a bitter world rendered incapable of sustaining civilization as defined by modern standards. To them, none of this mattered. Their time was now, and they were damn hungry.

"Daddy, why do they do this?" The innocent brown eyes of the girl child made her father want to cry.

"Because," he replied, "that's all they know."

At first the unhumans scavenged in groups for food. A small rodent here or a mangy house cat there, anything with a pulse seemed fair game for feeding and cause for a violent tussle between them should there not be enough. Before long any semblance of natural order within their ranks deteriorated and it was every mutant for itself. No surprise. There was nothing natural about them or their actions and this, it seemed, was their main weakness. Impervious to pain, fear, or gunshot the remains of the human race pinned their hopes on their ability to organize--and hide really well.

"I tried to shoot one in the head," said one of the oldtimers as he attempted in vain to stem the steady flow of blood from the stump where an arm should have been. "Seems all that nonsense from the movies is just a bunch of made up crap."

There were a few successful attempts to deliver them to the grave. But for every mutant death there was a sequel, and for every sequel there was more gruesome death. Soon the number of non-mutant humans dwindled into a small band living underground like primates, their hopes of rebuilding the world they once knew a mere fool's errand.

Until she came along.

Some say Faridah had superpowers, although if asked, she would shrug the notion off with nothing more than a half-grin and a swift change of subject. But to watch her either in or out of action was like listening to a masterful performance of a Bach Cantata; even the slightest of her movements were perfectly controlled with unparalleled precision. With her leadership and guidance there was hope, which was the one thing the people needed more than any weapon or strategy.

"This is not your fate," she cried, as she rallied anyone left capable of putting up a fight. "You destiny lies above ground where the air is growing fresher by the day and the sunlight makes an appearance at the most unexpected of times. Would you rather stay down here and live in fear and squalor, or die fighting for what you deserve?"

Mumbling went through the small crowd.

"We'd rather you go up there and kill 'em all for us," said one man. "But if that is not an option, I'll stand beside you in victory."

"That is all I needed to hear," she said, and with that they developed a plan.

One by one they ascended from the sewers, filling the air with their scent and sending the unhumans into a frenzy. Last to appear was Faridah and the man who had initially stood beside her. Sensing her powers the mutants stood their ground, but not willingly. When she stepped forward the sunlight she had spoken of appeared and the mutant's flesh began to burn. With arms outstretched the clouds parted and on that day hope was reborn.

Many years in the future the remains of the unhumans can still be seen on the streets where they burned, and in the middle of the dark stains stands a statue of Faridah with her palms to the sky, never to be forgotten as the one who save them all.

Brennan Blogs: An Original Poem - Boredom

2008-11-12T15:50:00.000-08:00

Boredom

I am writing this because I am bored
Limited by my options
The one that fits eludes me… constantly

It’s afternoon insomnia on a Sunday
300 cable channels only serve to ironically remind me of all the inadequacy
I can’t stand television shows that are commercial free
I’m not fooled, they are trying to trick me
To believe that I don’t have to worry about being tricked
To buy some product I never wanted,
To make me believe I finally have that option picked

I am bored… reading… that’s an option… no, not for me, not for my generation
See, picking up a book has become the perfect metaphor for procrastination
Reading has become that thing some people do in between surfing the web
Choosing to stare at a computer screen like some zombie instead

I wish I had friends that could provide some relief
Escape from this boredom they too seek
Thinking they might spend some time with me,
Looking for those captivating options themselves, but can’t find any

My boredom has me watching a movie, I find myself among large company
Our search for life experience increasingly replaced by technology
An endless quest for constant media feeds, like that somehow replaces our needs

Maybe I own enough options, just the options I own are... well... boring
This world provides so many things to do
But, for some reason, if only today, I don’t want to consume
Makes me wonder what entertainment has no cost or price
Some friends think to go gamble, thinking to test their luck and roll the dice
Indian casinos provide an equal opportunity to lose our money outside sin city
At least there I can lose all my money in one night instead of being stuck in Vegas for two more days feeling self-pity

Then I would be bored for a whole weekend, instead of just today,
Wanting to waste my savings and forget my boredom some way
But then again, saving for what? A rainy day?
A day that might wash my boredom away?

I can go to some bar later on or look forward to drinking next weekend night
Where I will act interested in pretense and people who want to prove themselves right

Again, I am bored, because all these options limit me
They limit me into evolving into some person I don’t want to be,
But a person I have to become because I have no other choice
See, these options I have don’t give me the option to express my true voice

Instead, the choice is between different ways to consume and amass greed
Settling for technology and diversion, means to suppress our collective need to lead
Maybe it is the many, the bored, the true, that suppressed leader in you
Those who fail to lead, thus limiting these options I seek
Suppressing the novel ideas that we choose not to name such, but are truly unique

I am writing this because I am bored
I am a blank slate, an open soul seeking to do, experience, and create
I do not limit myself,
it is the world that attempts to limit my options and chooses creation to negate
But here I am bored staring at my screen, using my last bit of creativity
Which means I will remain bored, waiting for someone else to lead me...

obviously

And Now, For Something More Poetic

2008-11-12T12:20:00.000-08:00

November Rain

Drops leap

Like confident skydivers

Through naked branches

Plunging...

Ever downward

Tugging madly

On moist ripcords

Nothing...

Hoping vainly

For one last leaf

To cushion the inevitable

Fall...

Since I'm On The Subject Of Things That Smell

2008-11-11T19:44:00.000-08:00

Just so no one gets the idea that this blog has forgotten either it’s snarky soul or its occasionally lowbrow leanings, or that I've gone all serious intellectual highbrow, I’d like to pose the following question:

Which of the following is most satisfying after a pleasant meal-- Coffee and dessert, a cigarette, or a good, comfortable, post-meal dump?

Each of these activities present their own pleasures, be they found in ritual, taste, aroma, or just good old fashioned “aaaahhhh, now that hit the spot”. OK, hopefully not all of them involve taste, or probably aroma either, come to think of it, but you get the idea. Some things just go together, and apparently, dinner is polygamous.

While I admit to loving a good cup of coffee, with dessert or even better, with a cigarette, I’m going to have to go with poop, mostly because it just seems so karmically productive. Sort of a circle-of-life thing, if you will, something in, something out. Besides, I’m a man, meaning I once was (still am?) a boy, and everyone knows boys are obsessed with bodily functions. Poop is basically the king shit of bodily functions, so it all makes sense, at least to me.

But poop has an even bigger leg up on its competitors. Face it, you’re not going to have a very wonderful post meal experience of any kind if that experience includes constipation. I like to think that Mick Jagger wrote “Satisfaction” in the throes of a nasty case of after-dinner no-go. This gives a slightly different hue to the lyrics... “'cause i try and i try and i try and i try I can't get no, i can't get no”... now doesn’t it? I can’t really imagine this song being about skipping dessert or a smoke. So you see, to borrow from the Christians, “No poop, no peace. Know poop, know peace”.

So tomorrow night, if you want to, you can try all three and let me know what you think. In fact, if you’re really adventurous, do them all at the same time, and see what makes the largest positive impression on your psyche. Personally, I find it disturbing to reach for the toilet paper with eclair frosting on my fingers, which tends to completely ruin the objectivity of the exercise, but that’s just me. Just don’t say you haven’t been warned, choose your dessert wisely (this means no Baby Ruths either).

Conclusions? Shit happens, but that’s not such a bad thing, especially after dinner, but probably not during dessert. Now get out of here, I need to lick my fingers so I can wipe...

The Odor of Rats and Fish, Part II

2008-11-11T14:47:00.001-08:00

Now on to Alaska, where the stench of a state steeped in corruption just keeps getting riper. Something stinks, and it ain’t just the fish guts rotting outside the canneries and freezers. Here’s a few puzzling numbers:

Despite a 12.4% increase in primary voting, and a record turnout in early voting, as well as a galvanizing national campaign, not to mention their own Governor on the GOP ticket, 3% less Alaskans “appear” to have voted than in the ’04 elections. After initially looking like turnout was even lower (-11%), tens of thousands of ballots have now “appeared”. Still, for a state most analysts predicted would have a significantly higher turnout, a lower turnout is quite anomalous.

Despite Rassmussen, and other, polls being remarkably accurate in predicting both the Presidential (dead on nationally) and congressional races (so far within very tight margins of accuracy in all the lower 48 and Hawaii, correctly predicting virtually all other senate races), Alaska is the anomaly.

Ted Stevens, down by 8-14 points, is in a dead heat for his Senate seat.

Don Young, down by 6 points, is up 8 points for his congressional seat.

The McCain/Palin ticket over performed the polls in the Presidential election, despite garnering less votes than George W. Bush did in 2004. Their 26 point (62-36) win overshoots the polls by about 12-16%.

So what do these numbers mean? Applying some basic math here, you’ll quickly note that the unexpectedly low turnout and the poll discrepancies match almost exactly, provided those “lost” votes are all Democratic. If, for example, you simply add 14% to the vote, and have them all vote Democratic, the numbers fall remarkably in line:

From 3% lower turnout to 11% increase (analysts predict 12-14% increase, primaries votes up by 12.4%).

Stevens from 1 point up to 12 points down (polls predicted 8-14 point loss).

Young from 8 point lead to 6 points down (polls predicted 6 point loss).

McCain Palin from 26 point win to 11 point win (polls predict 12-16 point win).

This is a good example of Ockham’s Razor, in my opinion. If you want to cheat in an election, the simplest thing to do would be either to not count some of the opponent ballots coming in, or to switch some of the votes. I chose the former simply because switching votes wouldn’t have affected turnout numbers. In a small, remote state, known for corruption, and with a Republican party steeped both in the levers of power and corruption, would it be that difficult to pull off?

Looking at the numbers as they stand, if you believe nothing is wrong, you have to believe that while Obama mobilized new voters nationwide, and in the state of Alaska as well (evidenced by registration numbers), that only in Alaska did they (and virtually only they) fail to show up and vote, despite the surge in early voting (as with the other states).

You also have to believe that Stevens (convicted of 7 felonies), and Young (under a corruption cloud himself) managed to get all of their predicted supporters out while their very vocal, organized, and publicized opponents somehow failed to do so on a grand scale. That they alone defied the polls, because their opponents simply, inexplicably, failed to show up.

You can’t realistically argue that the race was over by the time Alaskans went to the polls, and hence many didn’t vote, since such a large portion of them either voted early or absentee. The nature of the House and Senate races, as well as the Sarah Palin factor (for or against), argue against people staying away from the polls as well.

I suspect by the time all the votes now accounted for are officially counted, Palin/ McCain (reversed intentionally) will have pulled nearly identical number of voters to the GOP side as Bush did in ’04. It would seem with the scandals and mismanagement of the campaign, this would be a somewhat remarkable feat, but at least well within the realm of possibility, given the long-standing support base for the GOP within the state among previous voters, as well as Palin’s continuing, if diminished, popularity within the state herself.

But it doesn’t explain why the Obama camp’s documented new recruits didn’t show up, especially when they did everywhere else, and especially given that early voting indications were that they did in Alaska as well. Or that the anti Stevens and Young voters would likewise disappear into the wilderness. There is no justifiable reason they would have lost their enthusiasm. It would seem quite possible that, like inedible fish parts, they came in the front door, but were subsequently trimmed from the finished product and dumped out the back, which explains why a week later, there’s a lingering bad smell in the air...

The Odor of Rats and Fish, Part I

2008-11-11T13:18:00.000-08:00

I’ll say it: Joe Lieberman is a rat. Not a surprising view, I suppose, given my lefty leanings, but the reasons behind it are not the same as a lot of others wafting around on the airwaves these days.

For starters, I have no problem with Lieberman being for the Iraq war, at least on the grounds of principle. There are plenty of people I respect, on both sides of the aisle, who once supported or continue to support that fiasco. I can respect those who disagree with me, even while savaging their position.

It’s also not about supporting John McCain. Again, it is possible to have a difference of opinion with your own party (or caucus, as it now stands with Joe), even about supposedly partisan things like the presidential election. It would be mighty hypocritical to accept, and laud, Republicans such as Colin Powell giving Barack Obama their endorsement while not allowing that some Dems might feel the same way about John McCain.

No, my problem with Joe isn’t about these issues, but rather that Joe has decided to take reaching across the aisle to a new level, not on principal, but rather for calculated personal opportunism.

Few are talking about the fact that in 2006, with the Iraq war, and rampant opposition to it, moving the electorate to punish Republicans, Joe Lieberman was in trouble in the CT primaries. Large portions of the party hierarchy, as well as primary voters, were inclined to punish Joe along with the Republicans. Joe was losing. Enter a young freshman senator named Barack Obama. Yes that Barack Obama. He campaigned for Joe, when a lot of other Democrats were all too happy to see him go down. Turns out that, despite the help, Joe lost anyway.

So, despite losing the primary, and despite his promise to respect the will of the people, Joe decided to run as an independent, stating that it was important for him to win, the better to “help elect a Democrat to the White House”. Of course, Joe took support from Republicans, including Karl Rove, and beat a (deliberately?) weak GOP candidate to keep his job.

It all seemed like a good DC compromise: Joe would caucus with the Dems, and support them on most domestic issues, but would continue to support the GOP on national security matters. Given that the Democrat majority was only 51-49 with Joe (with Cheney ready to be the 101st vote should Joe vote GOP), he was now quite powerful, and despite his snub at the primary process, he was given the chair of an important Homeland Security committee.

Flash ahead to the 2008 election. Joe decided to endorse his friend, and fellow hawk, John McCain, and even accepted an invitation to speak at the GOP convention. While this obviously caused some consternation, Joe promised that while he was following his principals (apparently forgetting the one about electing a Democrat as easily as the one about abiding by the primary votes), he would not “go negative” against his previous benefactor, Barack Obama.

Yet there he was, at the convention, savaging Obama’s record and integrity, and worse, out campaigning with McCain, Palin, and even down-ticket Republicans, where he continued to blast Obama (and his party, which he had claimed to never “really” have left) repeatedly at campaign stops all over America. For a while, it looked like an astute political move, even if reprehensible on a personal level.

But then came the election. McCain lost, in a big way. The senate shifted further to the Democrats (at least 56 votes, counting Vermont independant Sanders but not Joe), and Lieberman’s vote was no longer a tie breaker. Surely it seemed that Joe was due for some comeuppance. But Joe saw it as a chance to push for opportunistic leverage, especially in light of the fact that he now might be the magic 60th vote (if Democrats pull off a runoff and a couple close races still in the counting process). After meeting with Majority Leader Reid, and after saying that even losing just his powerful committee chairmanship was a no-go, and announcing that he had discussed joining the GOP caucus, it was clear that Joe was still trying to have it all ways. Most Democrats renewed their call for his head, citing that if he called their bluff and joined the other side, he would almost certainly kill his chances of re-election in 2012, dim as they already look.

But who was there to reach out and perhaps save him? Barack Obama. In a move certainly designed to signal his commitment to reaching across the aisle (even in his own party), Obama let it be known that he wanted Joe to stay in the caucus. The same Joe who had repaid his support in a time of great need by smearing his character during Barack’s time of need. Was it just political maneuvering? Was it more about securing 60 votes to defeat filibusters than about being truly magnanimous?

Perhaps, but consider this: The Democrats, even at 60 votes, would likely need some moderate Republicans, since there are a number of Conservative Dems whose votes can’t be counted on on all issues. Also, Democrats know that they will get Joe’s vote on most domestic issues (unless of course those too become for-sale), even if he’s on the other side, and that there are other, moderate Republicans that can be counted on to help on the filibuster issue, including perhaps John McCain. They know that forcing him to the other side, even in name only, doesn’t hurt them on most votes but hurts him back at home.

So why does Obama insist upon “re-habilitating” Joe? I think it’s because he’s exactly what he appears to be. Obama is truly about reconciliation, and is big enough to shrug off the cowardly actions of Joe for the betterment of the country, at a time when huge problems dwarf even obvious and deserved political repercussions. Joe should thank his lucky star that the winner’s not Hillary Clinton, who probably would have his testicles in a jar on her desk as well as his committee chairs and memberships. Or even that Obama didn’t leave it to his fellow senators.

On the other hand, Joe immediately running to talk to the Republicans, and making it public, indicates he’s exactly what he appears to be: Joe the Rat. Here’s hoping that the Democrats run a big name against him in 2012 (how hard would it be for Bill Clinton to move a few miles north of his Harlem offices?). Because even if the President-elect is willing to forgive for now, at some point, he has to realize that vermin is vermin...

Why did Obama Win? Money and Income?

2008-11-11T08:16:00.000-08:00

I don't feel much like writing today; or this week at all for that matter. So I copped something I ran across that's election/politics related in, of all places, Science Magazine. This statistical analysis (actually a book review) perhaps looks at how Americans vote from a perspective not normally examined by the main stream pundits.
Enjoy

Published in Science magazine, October 31, 2008, 322:676.
Many of us discuss elections, often with concepts like blue and red states. Andrew Gelman is a creative Columbia statistician who joined with four former political science students to dig deeper. The most creative analyses in the book use Gelman’s multilevel methods (pp. 179-181). But the technical background is near-invisible: here there are no equations and few numbers—rather, dozens of revealing graphics, all of which are very clear.

The book is unusual in its aim toward the general lay reader, not the political scientist. It is clear and crisply written. It quotes and refutes many widespread views of journalists and political pundits, even if also building on political science.

Three main findings illustrate their approach. First, rich individuals vote more Republican. Second, rich states (like Connecticut, with high average-income residents) vote more Democratic. These conclusions are contrasted with a third, very intriguing finding: In poor states like Mississippi income strongly predicts Republican voting, while in rich states like Connecticut, the rich and poor differ little in their voting. Such results are illustrated with scatter plots and line charts showing income versus level of Republican voting for citizens, but then repeating the same analysis for different types of states.

These three key ideas are refined by systematically adding other factors. Time: State voting differences have mostly emerged in the last 20 years. Religion: Surprisingly, church attendance seems more tied to voting Republican for the rich than for the poor. Class: State differences are stronger for upper income persons. Race: A great deal of party by income voting may be due to race, especially in the South. Polarization: The parties have grown more deeply divided on issues since the 1960s.

The elegance of the Gelman et al book comes first from the clarity of the income-party model, but also from its methodology. By consistently repeating similar analyses contrasting state and individual effects, they refute the “ecological fallacy” of stereotyping individuals’ behavior on the basis of data about where they live. For example, many have compared state income with state voting and falsely concluded that rich individuals vote more Democratic. The authors are able to quickly dispel this myth while simultaneously navigating the intricacies of the actual relationship between income and voting.

So what is missing? Most obviously there is little time devoted to the complicating effect of social issues. Past work has shown that while income explains many fiscal preferences, education is more powerful for social issues like abortion, the environment, gender roles, or minority tolerance. When these several variables combine in party voting, the results are not always linear or elegant. Gellman et al thus convey a view of income-based elites, more than an issue-specific view of multiple group activists. Income and presidential voting are hard to link neatly to such issue politics. Gelman et al thus continue an old tradition of class politics, despite decades of work stressing its decline—as in Terry Clark and Seymour Lipset, eds., The Breakdown of Class Politics. Gelman et al say almost nothing about political culture, although many analysts use culture to revise class-based models. Indeed many argue that a new political culture is emerging built on combing social with income-related issues (like David Brooks’ bohemian-bourgeois or Bobos, who are fiscally conservative and socially liberal).

Example: The culture wars debates have been probed by Morris Fiorina in Culture War? The Myth of a Polarized America and Bill Bishop in The Big Sort: Why the Clustering of Like-Minded America Is Tearing Us Apart. These bring in a wide range of other variables and processes. Gelman et al include many brief reviews of other sub literatures (like friends and neighbors p. 134), but do not use them seriously. They are especially critical of David Brooks’ books on Bobos, and Thomas Franks’ What’s the Matter With Kansas? Both Brooks and Franks’ stress how combing multiple dimensions (like abortion and taxes) generate new results; but Gelman et al mostly address each dimension separately, finessing the complex arguments. Or they present data on more complex points (like pp. 128-129) without joining them to their core model.

Unfortunately, while Gelman et al recognize that their models have only some of the answers, they don't tell the reader how strong their models are. Work by others shows that using Gelman et al’s variables explain some 10-20 percent of the variance in voting, which makes clear that 80 percent is not explained. The strength of their work is that they built a tight, parsimonious argument. It resembles math model building, sans equations. Read Gelman et al along with others like Brooks or Bishop and you will find a richer interpretation by two smart journalists. Or Polsby and Wildavsky’s Presidential Elections is the political science classic. If future work extends the power of Gellman et al’s methods by adding a few more critical processes, this would enrich the study of American politics.

Conclusion: the book is fun to read, and even while too simple, it might become a minor classic.

The Marlboro Man In The Sky

2008-11-10T13:05:00.000-08:00

The simple fact is that an absolute conviction of something which cannot be proven is, inherently, stupid. A sufficient degree of intellect and education renders such stupidity willful, thus magnifying it into the realm of the consciously stupid, which is of course the stupidest form of stupidity there is.

While many people will find the above statement palatable and even laudable when applied to, for example, a belief in the existence of unicorns or that the earth is flat, when it is a currently acceptable and traditional belief such as religion (but generally only their own brand) being discussed, the same people will bridle at the perceived insult. The irony of this diametrically opposed set of standards is apparently lost on such people. In fact, they will often call the issuer of such a statement “arrogant”, “condescending”, and “bigoted”, ignoring that these are the very symptoms of those clinging to such insubstantial fantasies in the first place! Worse, they usually will shrug off the validity of the argument on the merits of their general intellectual capacities, which are often quite good. “It can’t be stupid because I’m not stupid” is a remarkably common such attempt at logic.

All of this begs a simple question: are otherwise intelligent people capable of behaving stupidly in a particular area while not being generally stupid? The answer is a resounding yes! I will give you an easy example. I happen to have an IQ that registers in the upper one percent of the general populace. I also smoke cigarettes. This can only be called a stupid behavior. What’s more, I know it’s stupid, and continue to do it anyway, multiple times per day in fact. That is willful, conscious stupidity, or what I have heard aptly referred to as “powerful stupid”. Does this behavior obviate my otherwise fine intellectual capacity? I think not. Rather, it merely proves that intelligent people are not immune to stupidity, and thus generally “smart” people don’t get to use that as a defense against the accusation that something they do, say, or think is indeed stupid. Larger importance or the intensely emotional nature of an issue does not make assumptions about it more or less stupid either. It only makes stupidity more costly. It bears mentioning that strong emotional attachment to something radically increases the chances of behaving in a reduced state of intellectual clarity. Ask anyone who’s been in love.

But why would otherwise bright people choose to engage in chronic stupidity? Getting back to my beloved cigarettes, I smoke because it’s enjoyable and comforting, I’m addicted, I’m habituated, and more or less I find people allow me to engage in the behavior without completely ostracizing me from the social collective (although that has changed to a substantial degree over the last several years). It can also be said that smoking fills several voids, such as nervousness, fatigue, irritability, or even simple boredom. It’s a crutch, without which I’d have to surmount these obstacles both large and small in a more engaged and constructive manner. In the process of pacifying myself, I’m displaying a dizzying amount of self-destructive laziness. The difference is that I am fully capable of recognizing and admitting this, and I don’t try to make you feel inadequate and damned if you don’t choose to share my stupid custom. That’s because I can logically determine that my cigarette habit is an unreasonable action based primarily on emotion and other primitive urges.

Now I wouldn’t be equating belief in god to smoking, would I? I concede that they do appear somewhat different in scope, at least initially. But there are quite a few corollaries. Suppose I told you that if you smoke cigarettes religiously (pun fully intended), when you died you would go to a very pleasant smokers lounge, where you would be treated to the finest Cuban cigars and exotic tobaccos for ever and ever, without ever being subjected to the slightest cough or wheeze? Sounds…well… stupid, doesn’t it?

The fact is people DO believe in God for a lot of the same reasons they smoke, namely to fill a void that they would otherwise be at a loss to fill (this is usually where I hear the loudest cries of condescension, but not a lot of strong rebuttals of the premise). It is comforting and enjoyable (Who doesn’t enjoy thinking they are an important cog in the greater universe? Or that when you die, you’re not simply gone?). It is traditional (a fancy word for a longstanding group habit). Consider also the fact that condemned prisoners have historically been offered both a cigarette and a clergyman, for the identical purpose, and you might begin to see the similarities.

Needing meaning is a void certainly filled by faith in “the divine”, but the void itself is not demonstrable proof that any such meaning really exists, anymore than the existence of a question pre-supposes an answer, much less any particular one. Filling that void is just as likely, if not more likely, the simple process of self-absorbed mollification as any noble quest for real truth. The devout are stubbornly unaware that they are merely separated by the caprices of time and location from calling the object of their worship Zeus or Baal, or any number of other names. When confronted with this fact, they almost universally respond with the caveat that humanity is so much more advanced than “back then”, which of course begs the question: “how many years of advancement do you think it will take before your superstition is relegated to the mythological scrap heap?” Better yet, how long until we stop manufacturing deities altogether? I’m guessing long after we quit smoking cigarettes, which is sad really, because cigarettes have killed far fewer people than have “god’s people”.

I submit to you that in the grand scheme of things a fundamental belief in the existence of a particular deity is more harmful than smoking. Sure, your cigarette habit will likely shorten your life, and possibly those of some of the people around you, if the research on that subject is accurate (a completely different can of worms!). It probably won’t, however, cause you to curb your intellectual curiosity and the application of reason in other areas of your life. Nor will the Marlboro smokers likely undertake to murder the Camel-smoking infidels any time soon. There will be no bloody fratricidal schism over the validity of menthol cigarettes. Smoking won’t cause you to theorize about the flaming death of all non-smokers at the hands of the almighty ashtray either. It’s entirely improbable that smokers will teach their children to hate gum-chewers, or that female smokers will be determined to be less important than and servile to the males. Smoking will not lead to pedophilia at the hands of smoking instructors, circumcision, forced conversion or torture of non-smokers, discrimination against minorities or homosexuals, or the shooting of doctors who prescribe smoking-cessation aids. It will not lead smokers to assume a smug stance of moral superiority. It will not start wars. Poor smokers will not be required to build monuments to the tobacco companies. Smokers will not engage in the bombing, suicidal or not, of the practitioners of rival addictions. They will not demand the inclusion of the word “tobacco” in the pledge of allegiance. Left to their own devices, smokers will merely gather in groups of various sizes, contentedly send puffs of smoke skyward, and gossip. Okay, the more careless will occasionally catch something on fire, although at least it will not be an anti-smoking activist tied to a stake!

So, comparatively speaking, smoking is merely dumb on my part. And yet, while a full-scale assault is being waged on the practice, religion, the world’s runaway leading killer, is being happily taught by parents to their children the world over, and with society’s blessing to boot. Is it any wonder that I feel the need for another cigarette?

What's in a name?

2008-11-10T08:07:00.000-08:00

Maybe I should have done this a long time ago but I was probably too busy fucking around to pay much attention. Or perhaps I was too accepting of the classifications already defined by society and allowed myself to be pigeonholed like so many others before me. I grew up Presbyterian. I'm a musician. I'm a writer. I'm white. I'm middle class. Soon I'll be divorced.

But in one of my rare "light bulb" moments (that I have like once a decade or so), I have decided to shun all labels, categories, or stereotypes typically placed on members of our society and state quite simply that I have become my own religion.

From now on I will forever be known as Leader of the Church of Dave. (Not to be confused with the Davidians, Davidites, or Daveaholics.)

Anyone can join, of course, although I don't know why anyone would want to. I'm sure that after the first few services you'd tire of the relentless way in which my beliefs are formed, that is completely random in nature and without any seeming basis in fact. I know what I believe and I believe what I know. Others can believe what they want. As long as it makes them happy it's okie dokey, just don't expect me to follow suit.

Maybe the music will be good.

In my church, everything will be known as God. That pen you're holding--God. The bug crawling up your leg (sorry, we're still looking for a more suitable meeting place but you know how zoning laws can bog things down)--God. Every time you scratch your crotch or experience one of a variety of personal bodily functions--God. Of course, I'm God and so is everyone else.

Koo koo ka choo.

In my religion there will be one tenet, and that is: All is good so long as you don't step on anyone else's toes. Toes apparently are sacred and I can respect that. They are also God. So I guess I could say "don't step on God."

There will be no standards to live up to, as one man's sins are just as Godly as the next. There will be no offerings asked for, but if you'd like to contribute I'm sure I could find it in my heart to accept the God that comes out of your leather God thing that fits in the back pocket of the denim Gods typically worn to cover up your God parts.

The church of Dave will meet semi-regularly on whatever day of the week I feel like. I have determined that there is no one particular day of the week to worship that is more Godly than the next. Likewise, there is no particular time of day I am more inclined to be attentive to your needs than another. If I wake up at 3:00 in the morning on a Thursday and feel like holding service then I'll open the church doors. And if I fall asleep in the middle of my sermon, then that's okay as well.

By the way, there will be no daycare provided, but children of all ages are welcome. I swear I won't make them drink Kool-Aid from a syringe.

One thing I can guarantee is that there will be food fit for a God. Good wholesome food and none of that fast food crap like KFC (or any other Yum Corp. franchise for that matter), which, as far as I can determine, is not in any way shape or form...God.

Being God, I have the ability to anticipate the questioning skeptics. Does being God make me feel special? Yes, most definitely. As God, do I have any special powers? Probably, but no more than any other God. One of the powers I've discovered, though, is the ability to influence those around me in ways neither they nor I could ever imagine. In fact, recently I realized that if I sit in front of my TV and stare at it long enough I can grow so irritating that the people I know and love will stop talking to me (this power works especially well on my soon to be ex-wife). The extra added benefit to this is that under certain circumstances, I can even make the lights coming from the moving picture box entertain me.

What a treat.

I suppose there's a name for people like me, but in my religion we don't put labels on things. Thank God...I mean, me.

(Right about now is where you all chime in and in your best Tiny Tim voices say:

May Dave bless us, everyone of us.

Brennan Blogs: Yes on Proposition 8 - The 8th Deadly Sin?

2008-11-08T15:53:00.000-08:00

70% of African Americans voted yes. 51% of Latinos voted yes. 49% of Caucasians voted yes. You know who did not vote yes? Me. Lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy, pride, and... "yes" on California's Proposition 8? I think so.

For those uninformed (or firmly entrenched hiding under a rock due to the threat of Governor Sarah Palin's rise to power), this past election Tuesday on November 4, 2008, California voters were asked to decide whether people can get married. These "people" just happened to be of the same sex. In the most liberal state in the union (maybe outside Hawaii), such voters decided that maybe they were not so liberal and that, maybe, once again, they'd rather not ask and rather avoid being told.

Although quite irrelevant to this conversation, I am not gay. However, I do want to get married one day and fortunately, for whatever reason, maybe even a flip of god's coin, I am allowed to do so in my socially-permissible heterosexual bliss. Over 100 years ago you might have read the same thing from someone like me praising their right to vote and their right to own land, thanking their lucky stars that they were born with male genitalia. Even earlier in our history, someone like me might have discussed the guilty fortune he felt from being born with less pigment in his skin and, because of that, being given all the rights that the United States Constitution affords.

(On a side note, isn't it interesting that African-Americans were given the right to vote before women were? And that now, we have the first African-American president prior to the first woman president? Makes one contemplate where the lines of discrimination may truly be drawn... but... I digress).

Is denial of gay marriage akin to slavery? No. To the women's suffrage movement? Probably not. That's not the point. Unfortunately, racism, bigotry, discrimination... it's all subtle and often deceptively innocuous. Who cares if gays cannot get married, they still have domestic partnerships... umm, right? At the time these issues are raised, they don't seem like such a big deal to common folk, even those who are actually tolerant. Often we just assume its only a matter of time until such problems are resolved and that, in the mean time, we don't have to deal with them, gleefully swimming in our willful ignorance. Truth is, eventually these issues are resolved, but in the interim, even those truly tolerant and accepting forget to vote, they forget to make a fuss, and, with feigned shock, they watch their fellow human beings denied their inalienable rights.

The real problem with this attitude is that people, such as the aforementioned well-dressed vice-presidential nominee, are allowed to say, and feeling good in doing so, that they are "tolerant." After such quick and flippant comments to convince themselves of their own righteousness, they are satisfied and feel that they have done enough. They get to say, "I am 'tolerant' of blacks, I am 'tolerant' of immigrants, I am 'tolerant' of Jews, and I am 'tolerant' of "gays." They then sleep at home at night feeling they have done heaven's work... until, that is, their so-called "tolerance" is actually tested by a family member, a neighbor, a friend, or, as in this case, a proposition.

The real problem is that it's not, never enough to be just tolerant.

I am tolerant of hot weather. I am tolerant of the useless parsley and too much salt that comes with my meal. I am tolerant of my mother asking me for the 10,000th time to help me fix her computer. The thing is - could I do without hot weather? Could I do without that useless parsley and salt? Could I do without always having to help my mother out with her computer? Yes, of course I could do without all those things, and, in fact, I'd prefer to. That's tolerance, i.e. understanding that undesirable conditions exist to which you can do nothing about and so you live life day to day "tolerating" such things.

The United States of America, even liberal California included, still only "tolerates" homosexuality.

Ironically, on this same election day of November 4, 2008, we finally demonstrated some acceptance. The United States of America decided not to just tolerate African-Americans, but in choosing Barak Obama as president, the United Stated of America finally and unequivocally stated that "you are black and we accept you." Homosexuality may be tolerated, but it is not accepted. Homosexuality is the black sheep. It is the disclaimer before an introduction. It is the "Will" to some Debra Messing clone's "Grace." Worst of all, it is still the issue and controversy at the forefront of many present-day debates. This remaining stigma attached to homosexuality ensures that it is still only tolerated and not accepted. The very notion that it was the central issue to a proposition in multiple states is indicative of that fact.

The most disappointing part was that to reject Proposition 8, one didn't even need to accept homosexuality, but only needed to read the 5th and 14th Amendments of U.S. Constitution. Those pesky Amendments, much to the disdain of social conservatives on the far right, guarantee all citizens equal protection under the law by state governments and the federal government, respectively. By voting "yes" on Proposition 8, voters did not just deny same-sex marriage, but they also indicted their own Constitution. A vote of "yes" on Proposition 8 declared that some people can have all the rights and all the protections most of us hold so dear, but, for whatever reason, others cannot. It is irrelevant as to who those people are that are currently being denied such rights and protections. At one point it was women, at one point it was African-Americans, and, now, in this case, it just happens to be homosexuals. Lest we forget, for example, there was a time in U.S. history where interracial marriage was illegal. Accordingly, this is nothing new. Discrimination, as it has always existed since the dawn of civilization, has no face but rather an amiable canvas that is ever changing and ever convenient.

We can discuss the merits between promoting tolerance versus acceptance, as we very well should, but the fact is that a denial of rights for some is an indictment on our own insecurities, an indictment on our commitment to our own values and morals, and an indictment on our confidence in our common man and our own country. By only promoting tolerance without true acceptance, denying a selected group their rights in the process, we deny ourselves a free and welcome society, sheltering ourselves from a nation where we can truly love our neighbors instead of being afraid of them.

To me, that is not only a shame, but it is also the 8th deadly sin.

Brennan Writes His First Blog

2008-11-07T19:07:00.000-08:00

Allow me to gloriously introduce myself. Imagine trumpets, streamers, shots a-plenty, and scantly clad women. Yes, for this entry only, your wildest dreams may come true... that is, of course, if you have a good imagination and know how to day dream. Sorry, but this will be the first of many disappoints my John McCain-like "friend."

My name is Brennan. Hellooooooooo internets. I've never blogged before, but I've always found my thoughts to be quite provocative and insightful. However, for the most part my interests are sadly confined to the plain, the ordinary, and the cliche - politics, movies, food, and the opposite sex. I have a big id. Yes, it's not the size of the id that matters but rather how one uses it and, thus, I use my id a lot (PS - for those who don't know what an id is, check the name Sigmund Freud circa 19th century; for those that already know what an id is, you can applaud your ego... and your super ego).

This blog has stolen the best and the brightest of the lowest denominator of society, yet I find myself among this fine company looking up, not down. That said, what to expect from me? As you can already ascertain, not much.

Let it be known that those who read my entries on this blog will find such entries separating themselves from my peers through shear luck and tasteless obscurity. I will not hold back. Sometimes I may even use a swear word... hide the children. However, mostly you will read about my adventures in dating and my quest to find the perfect J.A.P. (Jewish American Princess)... or at least a sufficient non-Jew that can provide the requisite Jewish guilt needed to put me in my comfort zone. You will read about my exploits in pizza eating, my complaints about fox news (a.k.a. conservative zombie television)/MSNBC (a.k.a liberal zombie television), and my utterly mundane anecdotes about the latest Netflix movie which happened to bestow its presence on my DVD player. Although my content will, apparently, lack substance, those who read my entries will soon discover it takes a certified muzzle to silence this Jewish tongue. If you read the small print at the end of the 1st Amendment, you will find the phrase "except for Brennan." This seldom used addition to the 1st Amendment was added on February 18th, 1980... the day of my birth. Yes, in the case of this man, the government was for once proactive. I am an equal opportunity offender and apparently the one person in this country that can force bi-partisan action.

Now you have raised expectations. You have read my supposed wit and think "hmm, this guy might be entertaining." Rookie mistake. Before it's too late I must stop you from such suddenly raised expectations. I beg of you - do not allow any optimism to creep in. I have a master's degree in psychology and a juris doctorate, but do not let my credentials fool you - I am, in no better terms, a philistine. I am what those who reside in the holiest of lands of San Diego often call uncouth scum. I say this now to warn all you readers... all one of you. Do not raise your expectations for they will surely find you underwhelmed. Resist all temptation to learn anything from me or you will surely find yourself amongst the least learned. I promise you, at best, after reading my tripe you will offer a simple request to the local webmaster, you will undoubtedly speak these four simple, yet sacred words - "please delete this post"....

All of you people look the same to me.

2008-11-07T15:18:00.000-08:00

Blogging and corresponding on the internet is waaay better than talking to you in real life. If I talk to you in the street, I have to look at you, which means I will be subject to the stereotypes that are tied to your appearance, and you might be concerned about making a good impression – snappy suit, good posture, well-groomed. I would have to be nice and pretend to listen while taking your measure. Your words, once spoken, would instantly vanish, and our conversation would be immediately forgotten. Oh sure, I might recal tidbits - a joke or something memorably clever or wise, but mostly you would tell me about things that only matter to you. You certainly wouldn't lay forth your secrets or shortcomings, we wouldn't discuss grave problems or work out their solutions, in fact we probably would keep things light and pleasant. And when you were through talking, I would be left with a general opinion of you. "Nice guy", or "Ass" usually covers it.

That is the way I view political races. Words written by others and delivered in a fancy way to make people like you, while spinning what your opponent says to make people not like him. Social niceties and meaningless fluff.

Face to face, you tell me that you voted for Obama, and are thrilled that he won. I respond that I love the idea of Obama being our president. What a proud day for our country, and what an image to portray to the World! I love the idea of a black man ruling the nation, and what it means to so many who struggled against racism and oppression. He will force some white people to change their perceptions, and root out into the light those who won’t. He will give hope to black people that all things are possible in this land of opportunity. And then we will hug and dance and sing “God Bless America” while waving the flag and giving thanks for Abraham Lincoln.

But here, the written word is more permanent, precise, planned and edited. Each word has value and purpose. And what I say here, I may not tell you in polite conversation. I won’t mention that I don’t care about the genealogy of any President, only his politics. We are at war, and I have no idea whether Obama is worthy of the position of “Commander in Chief”. I have no idea if he will have the fortitude to make the correct decisions during the time that we are most vulnerable – during the transition period from old regime to new. Since I believe that “Classified Military Intelligence” is much more accurate and reliable than what we read in the newspapers, I believe that our President will become aware of information that may require him to change his opinion of the war and what needs to be done. Will our president have the fortitude to jeopardize the honeymoon period of his Presidency to do what is best for America? Is he satisfied with beating the odds and becoming President, or will he view this as merely a key to the door of opportunity that lays ahead. Will he endeavor to become a great leader, not just a great politician?

What I won’t tell you is that I am concerned about the economy, and have no idea what Obama’s qualifications are in leading us through this recession. I don’t see how raising taxes will help, and have strong concerns about a common majority in the House, and Senate.

What I won’t tell you is, I care nothing of Obama’s race nor Bush’s religion, as long as nothing influences his duties as our leader other than the facts before him.

The people have spoken, they have cast their vote for change, and change has been delivered. But change away from a dark past is simply not good enough. What is needed is change toward a brighter future. And now everything that candidate Obama has spoken will be replaced by what President Obama does. I wish him well.

Forgetting Sarah Palin

2008-11-07T14:38:00.000-08:00

OK, I’ll admit it. I miss Sarah Palin already. I know she’s still around, but mostly as a living obituary. Whether or not she lost the election for John McCain is irrelevant, she’s just good entertainment, the rare public figure that chronically writes its own satire. Case in point: one of Tina Fey’s most devastating SNL bits consisted of looking into the camera and quoting Ms. Palin virtually verbatim. I will admit that sometimes the characterizations went a bit over the top. The one where the actress playing Ms. Palin talks about “When Putin rears his head” was especially egregious... Oh wait, that was Sarah herself! But is there more to the story, and are we writing her off too quickly? Can she make the lampooning work for her?

One of the most delicious things about her is the fuzzy line between the satire and the truth. Supporters who claim that she is a victim of the “Liberal Media”, who turned her into a caricature for political purposes, completely miss the most obvious truth about her: she is a caricature, someone who has benefitted from a most serendipitous rise to prominence through transparent, single-minded ambition/ opportunism, exquisite timing and luck, and a chirpy obliviousness of what any of it means beyond fulfillment of her enormous, and growing, yet vacuous ego. And in every case, she's used the caricature, even added to it.

I suspect Ms. Palin “discovered” herself during her participation in a beauty pageant, or at least discovered her inordinate need for attention. But it was as a small town mayor (after some training on the city council) that she put together the Holy Trinity of Sarah: Attention, Opportunism, and Narrow (some would say feeble)-Minded Pettiness. There is ample evidence that she ran Wasilla much as you would expect from a narcissistic beauty queen, especially one whose primary intellectual grounding came from evangelical religion. She promoted her friends, feuded with opponents, and apparently tried to exercise her power to ban books she didn’t approve of (moving to fire the recalcitrant librarian, and only backing off in the face of a recall threat), demonstrating both a lack of the basic understanding of prudent governance, and a whopping sense of entitlement and power, however petty the issue might be. She was particularly savvy at both attracting and marshaling support, however, and was reelected. Somewhere along the way, she also picked up that ridiculous, faux Fargo accent that seems to be, at least in Alaska, unique to her.

While in Wasilla, she made alliances with Senator Stevens, the most powerful man in the state, and a powerful DC-based lobbying firm, both of which she used to enrich her town’s budget. Unfortunately, her boondoggle of a public-works project, the Wasilla sports complex (which is a tale of greed, stupidity, and incompetence to lengthy to detail here), as well as her general fiscal mismanagement, left her town $22 million in debt, despite the $27 million in federal funds she brought in. But of course, this was to be expected, because attention and power, not governance or responsibility, were the things that mattered most to her. And quite frankly, there wasn’t enough of either in Wasilla. But things were about to change...

After failing to win a 5-way race for Lt. Governor, and after the winning governor replaced his own state senate seat with his daughter (which many assert left her furious), Palin accepted an appointment to the state energy commission, where she served briefly as its chair and head of its ethics dept. She left amid recriminations of her fellow commission members for ethical violations. It would be something she used again, successfully, against the governor.

As for her tenure as governor, I could go on and on about hiring personal, and unqualified, friends from Wassila to staff the Alaska government, the Troopergate and Bridge to Nowhere fiascos, etc., but again, it doesn’t matter. Those were just more of the same characteristics that define her administrative indifference and pettiness. I have every reason to believe that at some point (born out by her falling approval numbers once it was widely disseminated what she’d actually been doing), her constituents would have become aware of just how far the gulf is between her reach and grasp. But her impeccable luck and timing would strike again very soon, in a phone call from John McCain. Say what you will about her, but give her one thing, she is spectacular at rising to, and perhaps beyond, her level of incompetence.

It’s fair to say that Sarah’s apparently inerrant belief that everything is about her is somewhat mitigated, at least in the presidential campaign, by the fact that an erratic and struggling McCain campaign rolled her out in such a way as to make everything precisely about her. While I’m sure at least some staffers had reservations about her grasp of national issues, hence the need to hide her from the media for as long as possible, they underestimated the pure animal attraction that Ms. Palin has to both the limelight and opportunity, and apparently, them to her. As the campaign raged (and the GOP ticket fell further behind), more and more it seemed that Palin had shifted from being a vital team member to being her own candidate (perhaps already thinking of 2012). Ultimately, she had to be barred from speaking to the American people on election night, seemingly having no clue that she had just lost an election. Perhaps in her mind, she hadn’t. She did show a remarkable deftness at the politically-requisite grand hypocrisy, evident in her comfort at attacking the opponent for wanting to re-distribute wealth, while simultaneously promoting her own record of taking money from the oil companies of Alaska, and re-distributing it to the citizens (which might also have explained some of those high approval ratings). Not to mention the further hypocrisy of mocking the Democrats as pro-regulation and anti-business, while stating that she "stood up" to the oil companies.

Palin is very much like George W. Bush in that her charisma is, while admittedly of the lowest common denominator, extremely potent, and coupled with a ferocious need for power, an almost comical mixture of cock-surety and utter lack of self-examination, glued together with aggression in the place of thoughtfulness, presents itself as not one but three caricatures: the one seen by the partisan supporter, the one seen by everyone else, and the one seen by and about herself. I have every reason to believe that neither Sarah nor W. has any real idea that the “misunderestimations” of the public are in fact the reality of the situation. Hence, they are incapable of changing the behavior, and in fact retreat more fully into it, using it, both with predatory calculation and unintentionally comical buffoonery. Both are masters of turning less-than-adequate into larger-than-life.

America is both a forgiving and forgetful nation, two maxims that Sarah Palin will surely count on moving forward. Bush will melt into the past surprisingly quickly, and Ms. Palin will be able to re-cast herself yet again, perhaps as a victim, certainly as a star. Ironically, her very incompetence will likely end up serving her well, as she gains time in the public eye and smoothes out a few of the rougher edges. It may come to be seen as her development stage, stuffed under the populist persona and feckless charm still well established. Name recognition counts, and she now has that in spades, plus she has the “outsider” status nailed with a Democratic government in place. All she needs now is some time. Without a higher authority to answer to, it is possible that she may cobble together a better organization for her political furtherance, or at the very least, a less conflicted one. (Word of advice though Sarah. If you think the Dems and the media play rough, wait ‘til you get a load of the good-old-boys you did an end-around on.)

So laugh off, or worse, forget Sarah Palin at your peril. Relegate her to the status of a failure if you will, as a bitter McCain staffer did by labeling her and her husband “Wasilla hillbillies looting Neiman Marcus from coast to coast”. But remember, she’s lost before, and runner-up status is usually a prelude to something bigger. A runner-up beauty queen became mayor. A runner-up Lt. Governor became Governor. In Sarah’s world, it makes perfect sense then that a runner-up VP could take the top job. Perhaps she’s not finished failing upward, because she’s already forgotten the failure, and already sees the next leap. It can’t happen again, can it? You betcha!

Why Ask Why

2008-11-07T10:30:00.000-08:00

I was involved in a very common discussion the other day, dealing with the fundamental question of the purpose of life (also known as “Why am I here?”). As I listened to one of the most widely-held and theologically-based arguments, that the universal need to ask the question is itself evidence of a purpose (and by the same theological theory, something God has placed in all of us to draw us into a search for Him/Her/It), it got me to thinking about the purpose of the question, rather than the question of the purpose, so to speak.

This need is, to me, eminently and empirically explainable by the very nature of sentience. All sentient creatures share a common characteristic: Curiosity. Among less advanced sentient creatures, this curiosity is limited to simple, substantive, survival-based questions: Can I eat it? Will it eat me? Mostly fight, flight, eating (survival of the individual), and procreation (survival of the species) related questions driven by primal urges (boredom and entertainment also factor in, especially as the level of sentience rises). These are things not needing language or abstracts to ask or investigate. Such questions are easily answered by a rudimentary semblance of the scientific process: investigation, of the trial and error variety.

Creatures with greater levels of sentience begin to develop abstract questions, and consequently develop communication tools, namely complexity of language, in order to articulate and answer these questions. As a small aside, this is why I am such a ridiculously obsessed advocate of the importance of the acquisition of superior language skills above all other academic endeavors.

A human child is an excellent example of the gradations of sentience. It starts out relatively primitively, asking first the basic survival questions (Is the stove hot? Can I eat this crayon? How do I get over there?), and then later, as its brain and communication skills develop, more abstract and intelligent questions (Where do babies come from? What is love? Where does the sun go at night? And of course, the big one, why?).

Inherent in curiosity is a desire for knowledge. Lower level creatures seek simple answers to simple questions, and are usually satisfied with not fully knowing, so long as the basic survival imperatives are properly answered (It doesn't taste good. It doesn't run from me. It doesn't chase me. Hey! what's that over there?). Credibility, the natural partner of curiosity, is established in that the item or situation in question either falls within the parameters of a small, mostly survival-based array, and is acted upon accordingly, or it does not, and is subsequently ignored. A wolf has learned that a large rock is something that cannot be walked through, but likely has no interest in why the rock is there in the first place, or even what, exactly, a rock is, having ruled out the possibility that it will attack him, or that it is suitable for eating or mating purposes.

As the aforementioned child develops, its ability to generate and articulate more esoteric curiosities outstrips its ability to grasp the more complex answers. But its corresponding need for the other component of higher-level, intellectual curiosity, credibility, does not, for the most part, allow it to be satisfied with simply not knowing. For that reason, humans have developed a variety of fables, fairy tales, and simplistic place-holder answers to assuage the child, temporarily, until it is developed and experienced enough to fully understand the complete answer.

The dilemma is, however, that even for a fully formed adult, there are questions that defy concrete answer. Over the development and collective experience of our species, those questions have ranged from simple things like what is beyond a large body of water, what are the smaller elements that make up larger things, and how those things are interconnected, to even more complex and abstract queries about whether there is a purpose to things in general, and if so, what that purpose is.

The basic divergence of theology and science is simply that the former uses a postulated theory (faith) of the largest of the unknowable abstracts (the greater purpose) to explain the intervening questions back to the known (sort of a reverse engineering process), while the latter uses the known to extrapolate ever widening theories about the next layers of the unknown, and seeks to prove or disprove those extrapolations through rigorous, measurable investigation, leading to a larger portion of the known, and an ensuing extrapolation of new theories to measure and investigate.

Science accepts the unknown as undiscovered territory that can be eventually discovered factually through the progression of the scientific process. While not always true individually, science is collectively able to discard or modify previously held theories in light of new evidence. It seeks to prove and disprove theories (themselves based upon evidence) by further gathering of evidence, and holds any theory (no matter how long or widely believed that theory is) true only so long as it conforms with all known evidence. It is a journey toward an unknown destination (or perhaps an endless journey in an somewhat unknowable direction), by means of an ever more complex and accomplished system of trial and error.

Theology assumes a knowledge of the "end" issues, and postulates a wide divergence of purposes and reasons to the unknown between the tangibly known and the faith-based and inviolate end. As such, it is inherently susceptible to confirmation bias, that being a pre-disposition to rank and believe or disbelieve evidence based upon how it conforms to the original belief, as opposed to how that evidence stands both on its own merit and in conjunction with the other evidence at hand. It is a journey toward a known (or at least believed) destination, by means of trial and faith.

In the end, neither science nor theology can give us proven answers to everything, especially the question about life's purpose. It is certainly possible, perhaps even likely, that science will never discover any ultimate purpose. It is also possible that any or all current theological explanations could be wrong, or worse, simply place-holding fables designed to salve our curiosity/ credibility dilemma, thus enabling an inability or unwillingness to grasp newer or more complex possibilities. So the fundamental question is not really so much what our purpose is, but instead how important (and why) it is for each of us to have a satisfactory answer, the level of certainty required for that satisfaction, and what standards and methods we find credible in our search. Implicit in this is a knowledge that if we pre-suppose even the origins of our search, we are not really involved in a legitimate, completely open-minded search at all, but rather a search for confirmation of biases already held.

Obama, the Porch, and Grandpa Roscoe

2008-11-07T09:52:00.001-08:00

Obama, the Porch, and Grandpa Roscoe

Posted using ShareThis

No Country for Smart Men?

2008-11-06T14:14:00.000-08:00

Congratulations to Keith Ellison of Minnesota, the first Muslim elected to the U.S. House of Representatives! So now we can add Muslims to the list of Blacks, Women, Gays, Latinos, Jews, and Immigrants.

It seems there's only one group that has yet to taste the "tolerance" of the electorate: Atheists. I guess you can be anything you want in America, as long as you're not too rational. Apparently, believing the holocaust never happened (despite overwhelming proof to the contrary) doesn't bar entry, but believing that god doesn't exist (despite no proof to the contrary) does.

In a senate race, Elizabeth Dole sought to demonize (literally) her opponent by "informing" the public in a campaign ad that Kay Hagen (the opponent in question) had attended a meeting sponsored by "Godless people" (atheists). Hagen defended herself not by repudiating the nature of the attack, but by "proving" her Christian bona fides. Had she simply attacked the idea of anti-atheism in campaign ads, she would have certainly lost.

Funny how our scientists (you know, the men and women who explain our universe and whose research leads to every bit of the modern life we enjoy?) are overwhelmingly atheistic. Of course, this just might explain why our civilization seems to lag so far behind our technology...

Beginnings

2008-11-06T12:52:00.000-08:00

Welcome one and all to our little home!

I'd like to thank Exick (not his real name, but maybe he'll share that with us later), who was gracious enough, if unelected ;-), to set up our new conspiracy of minds. Hopefully, more of our friends will arrive and begin sharing soon (I see David already has).

I'll try not to dominate the postings in the future (if I can control myself at all), but I wanted to make sure we got off to a busy start. I have invited several friends and relatives to check in on us, and I hope to hear their comments as we move forward. Please, if you are reading this, enlighten us with your presence and thoughts, and if you would, invite your friends to join us. I suspect that some of our commentators will ultimately end up as contributors, who knows?

For the uninitiated, the founders/ contributors of this blog come from a subset of a sports fan site. We were all drawn into a forum thread titled "Please Delete This Post". It is a third-generation homage to the original PDTP, which started out with a poster issuing this now-famous line after inadvertently posting a link that contained porn! What ensued in the original thread, and those that followed, was a "sublimely inane" series of thoughts, musings, rants, poems, links, and food menus, an organic community of anonymous souls posting in a stream-of-consciousness way that grew into our little phenomenon. Most of us are not first-generation PDTP'ers, but we hope we have kept the tradition alive and well.

Alas, the sports site in question cannot accept posts on controversial subjects such as race, politics, etc., which is understandable given its mission. We decided that we'd like to explore those topics more fully together, so that's why we're here, and why here is called Please Delete This Blog.

I hope every reader enjoys it as much as I know I will...

I just want to say...

2008-11-06T11:52:00.000-08:00

I don't know if it's the relief of finally having this damned election over and done with, or if it's the reality of another NBA season picking up steam, or perhaps it's the kung pao in the chicken, but here we are, a group of internet colleagues finally figuring out a new way in which to feed our lust for intellectual, smart alecky discourse. The only thing I wish to say at this point is welcome, and what a crazy world this is where something of this nature is even remotely possible. Where guys from completely separate walks of life in completely separate parts of the country are serendiputously thrown together to create an ever evolving, never ending work of pop art.

Myself, I'm a fiction writer, which by definition has no basis in any sort of fact or reality. I swear to god I could never create anything near this crazy.

Company

2008-11-06T11:49:00.000-08:00

My shadow fell across my path

And gave me pause to see

A soulless blank facsimile

That looked a lot like me

It flitted forth and back again

Ahead, aside, arrear

Whispered vacant, dreary thoughts

In a reflection of my ear

We walked for hours he and I

Conversing in the sun

Connected, tethered, mingling

‘Til nightfall left but one

I woke and rushed at morning’s light

To see what he would say

But he seemed oddly silent, faint

‘Neath cloudy skies of gray

How strange our friendship surely seems

At distance hard to see

I’m not quite certain if I know

Which one is really me

A Dark Day

2008-11-06T10:29:00.000-08:00

Nov. 4, 2008, an historic and proud day for certain. A day when one Barack Obama was judged by the electorate “not by the color of his skin, but by the content of his character”. Martin Luther King Jr. could not have been more pleased, were he still with us.

So why do I call it a dark day? Is it a reference to African Americans? Yes, but not in the way you might think. On the day when America moved so symbolically toward a post-racist environment, the state of California, and more importantly, 69% of its African American voters, voted Yes on Proposition 8, thus rendering homophobia alive and well.

With “yes” at around 52% of the vote for the odious proposition, it appears that mathematically, had a majority of African Americans voted “no”, it would have been narrowly defeated. Shame on the voters of California! But on this wonderful day of racial togetherness, I heap even more shame on more than two-thirds of its black voters! What a wonderful way to celebrate a major defeat of racism, by foisting your homophobia upon your neighbors. I guess it’s true that pink is the new brown. Bravo, and well done!

Genesis

2008-11-06T00:13:00.000-08:00

Ann Nixon Cooper is 106 years old.

She was born just a generation past slavery; a time when there were no cars on the road or planes in the sky; when someone like her couldn't vote for two reasons - because she was a woman and because of the colour of her skin.

And tonight, I think about all that she's seen throughout her century in America - the heartache and the hope; the struggle and the progress; the times we were told that we can't, and the people who pressed on with that American creed: Yes we can.

At a time when women's voices were silenced and their hopes dismissed, she lived to see them stand up and speak out and reach for the ballot. Yes we can.

When there was despair in the dust bowl and depression across the land, she saw a nation conquer fear itself with a New Deal, new jobs, a new sense of common purpose. Yes we can.

When the bombs fell on our harbor and tyranny threatened the world, she was there to witness a generation rise to greatness and a democracy was saved. Yes we can.

She was there for the buses in Montgomery, the hoses in Birmingham, a bridge in Selma, and a preacher from Atlanta who told a people that "We Shall Overcome." Yes we can.

A man touched down on the moon, a wall came down in Berlin, a world was connected by our own science and imagination.

And this year, in this election, she touched her finger to a screen, and cast her vote, because after 106 years in America, through the best of times and the darkest of hours, she knows how America can change.

Yes we can.

America, we have come so far. We have seen so much. But there is so much more to do. So tonight, let us ask ourselves - if our children should live to see the next century; if my daughters should be so lucky to live as long as Ann Nixon Cooper, what change will they see? What progress will we have made?

This is our chance to answer that call. This is our moment.

This is our time, to put our people back to work and open doors of opportunity for our kids; to restore prosperity and promote the cause of peace; to reclaim the American dream and reaffirm that fundamental truth, that, out of many, we are one; that while we breathe, we hope. And where we are met with cynicism and doubts and those who tell us that we can't, we will respond with that timeless creed that sums up the spirit of a people: Yes, we can.

Thank you. God bless you. And may God bless the United States of America.