I have a fairly quick wit. If I am at a party where I don't know anyone, I will usually hang back to get the flow of the conversation, see who the smart ones are in the room and join in when I am directly spoken to. After I get a feel for the room I start slow, with a zinger out of left field. No one sees it coming and, yet, they are all laughing. Then I will hang back some more. Watching. Waiting. Timing is everything.
If I am among friends, I will start right in. Quips, quotes, and anecdotes flowing like tears in a soap opera. Everything is fair game. Most people think I am drunk. In fact, I usually tell people that the more I drink -- the funnier I think they think I am. It usually makes sense when they are drunk, too.
But all of this humor and apparent quick wit comes from years of living in my head. Watching other people tell the jokes and hearing the laughter. Years of saying to myself, "I shoulda said . . ." and having regrets for lost opportunities. Listening to the voices in my head argue over what my response would be the next time.
But all of that is in the past.
Ever since I started using Dr. Von Zell's Miracle Brain Cream. Dr. Von Zell's Miracle Brain Cream applies directly to the forehead and other bony areas surrounding the brain. It quiets the negative voices; the ones telling you not to say that in front of the boss; or the ones reminding you how much bigger her husband is than you are. And Dr. Von Zell's Miracle Brain Cream encourages the voices that say, "Hey, we all laughed when you thought it -- go ahead and say it!"
Dr. Von Zell's Miracle Brain Cream will give you the courage to be the life of the party by deadening the parts of the brain the have allowed us to survive this long. You will no longer worry about, "How will I face her tomorrow?" or "Isn't he connected, somehow?" All you will care about is how f**king funny you are.
So, if you hear voices, don't have a lot of friends anyway, and want to be the life of the party -- buy Dr. Von Zell's Miracle Brain Cream. Just $29.99 or two for $70. Dr. Von Zell's Miracle Brain Cream is not sold in stores so act now.
Dr. Von Zell's Miracle Brain cream may cause drowsiness, depression, diarrhea, vomiting, irregular heartbeat, thromboscular maculitus, pustules, stroke, cancer [in rare cases], baloney wiener syndrome, and earthquakes. Take only as directed.
.
Thursday, November 30, 2006
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
The Panda Porn Prognosticator
Today I want to talk about sex and panda bears. While we were visiting our son's over Thanksgiving someone mentioned teddy bears. Which got me to thinking about regular bears and that, in turn, got me to thinking about panda bears. For my own amusement and much to the annoyance of others, I did most of this out loud.
Eventually I got to the heart of the matter. Have you ever noticed that when ever panda bears are in the news it involves sex? Are they really that good or do they share a press agent with Tom Cruise? All of the stories about them are about their mating or inability to mate. Or sometimes about giving birth which I am pretty sure involves a sex component (Although after nine months who even remembers. Women talk about postpartum blues -- men should talk about post conception blues.). But with these bears, it is always about sex.
Most of the stories center around the panda bears not mating. The thing is, if the bears are paying attention, they can't help but know everyone is watching. Who can perform under those conditions? Hell, I can't even pee if someone is standing at the next urinal. The entire free world is watching with baited breath (whatever the hell that means) and the Internet is poised to erupt into a dis-information and mis-information frenzy the moment either bear reaches for the K-Y. The San Diego Zoo has a sign that says "Please Do Not Give Condoms To The Panda Bears".
So I thought, wouldn't it be funny to provide the male panda bears with a little panda porn. You know, just to get them going? And I got on a roll, here. I started speculating what pandas would find sexy or erotic. Would the girl bears wear see through lingerie? Or dress like French maids or Catholic school girls? And considering that they have hair everywhere, would they shave? And if so, what? If bears do it doggy style, do they give dogs credit for that position the way people do or have they named it after another species -- like koala style?
So, I had a good laugh about that and everyone else seemed to enjoy watching me laugh, and I thought that was the end of it. The very next morning, this headline was in the paper: Panda Porn Helps Spark Birthing Boom in Captive Breed. I'm not kidding. I had that conversation and THEN the headline came out.
I just wanted you to know how cutting edge we are here at Escape Velocity. Where our motto is: Yesterday's News Tomorrow! and, unlike pandas, we have no performance issues.
.
Eventually I got to the heart of the matter. Have you ever noticed that when ever panda bears are in the news it involves sex? Are they really that good or do they share a press agent with Tom Cruise? All of the stories about them are about their mating or inability to mate. Or sometimes about giving birth which I am pretty sure involves a sex component (Although after nine months who even remembers. Women talk about postpartum blues -- men should talk about post conception blues.). But with these bears, it is always about sex.
Most of the stories center around the panda bears not mating. The thing is, if the bears are paying attention, they can't help but know everyone is watching. Who can perform under those conditions? Hell, I can't even pee if someone is standing at the next urinal. The entire free world is watching with baited breath (whatever the hell that means) and the Internet is poised to erupt into a dis-information and mis-information frenzy the moment either bear reaches for the K-Y. The San Diego Zoo has a sign that says "Please Do Not Give Condoms To The Panda Bears".
So I thought, wouldn't it be funny to provide the male panda bears with a little panda porn. You know, just to get them going? And I got on a roll, here. I started speculating what pandas would find sexy or erotic. Would the girl bears wear see through lingerie? Or dress like French maids or Catholic school girls? And considering that they have hair everywhere, would they shave? And if so, what? If bears do it doggy style, do they give dogs credit for that position the way people do or have they named it after another species -- like koala style?
So, I had a good laugh about that and everyone else seemed to enjoy watching me laugh, and I thought that was the end of it. The very next morning, this headline was in the paper: Panda Porn Helps Spark Birthing Boom in Captive Breed. I'm not kidding. I had that conversation and THEN the headline came out.
I just wanted you to know how cutting edge we are here at Escape Velocity. Where our motto is: Yesterday's News Tomorrow! and, unlike pandas, we have no performance issues.
.
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Mood Gorning!
My dreams are dyslectic. Have you ever had one of those work-all-night dreams? You know, the endless, repetitive cycle, even if you wake up you go right back into it kind of dream? I don't have them a lot but when I do they are doozies. I get no rest when I have them. It is literally like working all night.
Last night I dreamt I was working in some kind of factory where everyone was shouting that we needed to make more procto-doohickies. That was the actual word from the dream. Procto-doohickies. I didn't know what they were but they sounded uncomfortable.
There was part of the dream where I was stacking boxes as they came off of the conveyor belt and, even though it was a dream, the boxes felt too light. As if they were empty. Then I was sent on an errand in this huge facility that, even though I presumably worked there, I was completely unfamiliar with where I was. So I was wandering the halls, and going in and out of doors and up and down stairs and was mostly lost.
At one point I became convinced that finding and seeing an actual procto-doohickie would somehow enlighten me and I would have total peace and understanding. There was even a part of the dream when everyone was running around naked. But the Freudians should not read too much into that since I am a nudist.
I never did find the procto-doohickie in my dream. As I awakened this morning, I lay there letting the last tendrils of Morpheus caress my brain with his ever-receding fingers until I had it.
I am always flipping syllables around within sentences or phrases to make new words or to change the meaning of the sentences. These are called spoonerisms. A good example would be: "He is nucking futs!" or "That's bass ackwards." One of my favorites is in Mel Brooks' Robin Hood: Men in Tights when the sheriff says, "He deered to kill a King's dare."
Anyway, I realized that the elusive "procto-doohickie" in my dream was "productivity" in real life. Which, from the sound of it, and as I intimated earlier, has always been a pain in the ass.
.
Last night I dreamt I was working in some kind of factory where everyone was shouting that we needed to make more procto-doohickies. That was the actual word from the dream. Procto-doohickies. I didn't know what they were but they sounded uncomfortable.
There was part of the dream where I was stacking boxes as they came off of the conveyor belt and, even though it was a dream, the boxes felt too light. As if they were empty. Then I was sent on an errand in this huge facility that, even though I presumably worked there, I was completely unfamiliar with where I was. So I was wandering the halls, and going in and out of doors and up and down stairs and was mostly lost.
At one point I became convinced that finding and seeing an actual procto-doohickie would somehow enlighten me and I would have total peace and understanding. There was even a part of the dream when everyone was running around naked. But the Freudians should not read too much into that since I am a nudist.
I never did find the procto-doohickie in my dream. As I awakened this morning, I lay there letting the last tendrils of Morpheus caress my brain with his ever-receding fingers until I had it.
I am always flipping syllables around within sentences or phrases to make new words or to change the meaning of the sentences. These are called spoonerisms. A good example would be: "He is nucking futs!" or "That's bass ackwards." One of my favorites is in Mel Brooks' Robin Hood: Men in Tights when the sheriff says, "He deered to kill a King's dare."
Anyway, I realized that the elusive "procto-doohickie" in my dream was "productivity" in real life. Which, from the sound of it, and as I intimated earlier, has always been a pain in the ass.
.
Monday, November 27, 2006
Mr. Lucky
Life is not unlike a football game -- sometimes you're up, sometimes you're down and eventually you're out of quarters. Speaking of slot machines . . .
I have a number of friends who go to Las Vegas, Atlantic City and Wilkes-Barre a lot. You know, all of the meccas for gambling. (That was a little ballot referendum humor there, folks.) But I rarely go to those places. This is because I have no luck at all. Zero, zip, nada, zilch, none.
When we go to Atlantic City I give myself a budget for how much I am willing to lose per day. It is usually $50 a day. I never even consider the possibility of winning. I go to the cashier's booth and get $50 in quarters and I play the slot machines until it is all gone. This sometimes takes several hours during which time some asshole in my little party will have won $20,000 picking their nose or something.
I, on the other hand have an intimate knowledge of the full mid-range of experiences that gambling has to offer. Sometimes I am up. Sometimes I am way up (maybe $120). Sometimes I am down to my last few quarters and my luck turns and I'm suddenly back up to $30 or so. But eventually and inevitably the last quarter is played and I shuffle back to my little group with my hands in my empty pockets. But at least I never lose big-time.
I have played other games like roulette and craps and blackjack. But the money goes faster and I end up having to spend more time watching someone else win. So I try to stick to gambling devices that bleed me slowly. It gives me time to think about how long I had to actually work for that money in the first place.
Besides, I'm not allowed to play blackjack in most of the casinos on The Strip. They tell me I hold up the game. Apparently, it is supposed to be a fast moving, visceral experience, but I have a little trouble doing all that math in my head. I do not instantly know how many more I need to stay at or under twenty-one when I have seventeen. Hell, it takes me a while to even realize I have seventeen, unless I have a ten and a seven. So, I tend to slow things down a little.
So much so, that I am the only person I know of who has been kicked out of Las Vegas for counting fingers.
.
I have a number of friends who go to Las Vegas, Atlantic City and Wilkes-Barre a lot. You know, all of the meccas for gambling. (That was a little ballot referendum humor there, folks.) But I rarely go to those places. This is because I have no luck at all. Zero, zip, nada, zilch, none.
When we go to Atlantic City I give myself a budget for how much I am willing to lose per day. It is usually $50 a day. I never even consider the possibility of winning. I go to the cashier's booth and get $50 in quarters and I play the slot machines until it is all gone. This sometimes takes several hours during which time some asshole in my little party will have won $20,000 picking their nose or something.
I, on the other hand have an intimate knowledge of the full mid-range of experiences that gambling has to offer. Sometimes I am up. Sometimes I am way up (maybe $120). Sometimes I am down to my last few quarters and my luck turns and I'm suddenly back up to $30 or so. But eventually and inevitably the last quarter is played and I shuffle back to my little group with my hands in my empty pockets. But at least I never lose big-time.
I have played other games like roulette and craps and blackjack. But the money goes faster and I end up having to spend more time watching someone else win. So I try to stick to gambling devices that bleed me slowly. It gives me time to think about how long I had to actually work for that money in the first place.
Besides, I'm not allowed to play blackjack in most of the casinos on The Strip. They tell me I hold up the game. Apparently, it is supposed to be a fast moving, visceral experience, but I have a little trouble doing all that math in my head. I do not instantly know how many more I need to stay at or under twenty-one when I have seventeen. Hell, it takes me a while to even realize I have seventeen, unless I have a ten and a seven. So, I tend to slow things down a little.
So much so, that I am the only person I know of who has been kicked out of Las Vegas for counting fingers.
.
Sunday, November 26, 2006
Happy (snail) Trails To You!
I'm taking a few days off during the Thanksgiving holiday. In place of my daily blog I have prepared a few of my snail-doodles.
Well, this is it for this batch of Snoodles (c). I hope you have found them amusing. Escape Velocity will return to our semi-normal stuff tomorrow. Until then -- you've been slimed.
Time to call in the C.S.I. (Crime Snail Investigators).
Parlez-vous . . . ?
Snoodles (c) will return in . . . On Her Majesty's Secret Snail.
.
Well, this is it for this batch of Snoodles (c). I hope you have found them amusing. Escape Velocity will return to our semi-normal stuff tomorrow. Until then -- you've been slimed.
Time to call in the C.S.I. (Crime Snail Investigators).
Parlez-vous . . . ?
Snoodles (c) will return in . . . On Her Majesty's Secret Snail.
.
Saturday, November 25, 2006
The Not Ready For Slime Time Players
I'm taking a few days off during the Thanksgiving holiday. In place of my daily blog I have prepared a few of my snail-doodles.
I have always enjoyed prop humor. It turns out that snails have closets, too.
.
I have always enjoyed prop humor. It turns out that snails have closets, too.
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Friday, November 24, 2006
Ask Your Mother
I'm taking a few days off during the Thanksgiving holiday. In place of my daily blog I have prepared a few of my snail-doodles.
I'm not sure why, but I rank marching band music right up there with bagpipes, accordions and yodeling. These snails may be on to something.
Later, that same day.
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I'm not sure why, but I rank marching band music right up there with bagpipes, accordions and yodeling. These snails may be on to something.
Later, that same day.
.
Thursday, November 23, 2006
Footless and Fancy-free
I'm taking a few days off during the Thanksgiving holiday. In place of my daily blog I have prepared a few of my snail-doodles.
I have always thought it was funny the way kids innocently ask loaded questions:
What do you call a guy with no hands and no feet who sticks to the wall? Art. Most of my Snoodles (c) humor comes from their inherent lack of hands and feet.
.
I have always thought it was funny the way kids innocently ask loaded questions:
What do you call a guy with no hands and no feet who sticks to the wall? Art. Most of my Snoodles (c) humor comes from their inherent lack of hands and feet.
.
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
And Now For Something Completely Different
I've decided to take a few days off from my daily blogging exercise during the Thanksgiving holiday. In place of my daily bloggerisms I have prepared a few of my Snoodles (c). These are snail-doodles.
I don't know . . . One of the voices in my head told me to do it. Anyway, I just think the idea of snails reaching Escape Velocity is pretty funny. Enjoy.
.
I don't know . . . One of the voices in my head told me to do it. Anyway, I just think the idea of snails reaching Escape Velocity is pretty funny. Enjoy.
.
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Holiday Travel
When I got up this morning, there was a note by my computer. It read: Go to Ned's today. These notes always freak me out a little.; the ones about Ned, I mean. I never know where or when they are coming from. Did Nina leave me the note, this morning, as a reminder or did I leave it for myself last night or am I going to leave it for me to find after my trip to Ned's?
You see, Ned is one of those "stranded aliens" that you never read about. Back in the 1950's we had what you could call some "close encounters." Most aliens races have a very strong entrepreneurial spirit, have very long life spans and, apparently, are rather gullible. So when a few of them dropped by to see where we were in our race-to-space, they looked at our magazines (like Popular Science and Astounding Stories) and dropped into our movie theaters and saw movies like The Angry Red Planet and The Day the Earth Stood Still. And they believed that we were just around the corner from interplanetary space travel, teleportation rays and flying cars. So a few of them told their friends to "go on ahead", they would catch up when we did.
They are still waiting.
In the mean time, they had to make a living. So, using the intergalactic version of the Swiss army knife, a few of them set up shop performing various necessary functions. My friend Ned has a travel agency.
My wife and I are going to visit our son and daughter-in-law in Ohio for Thanksgiving. Our older son and his family will be driving in from Colorado. We were going to drive but decided to go through Ned's instead.
Ned doesn't have a real impressive . . . ahh . . . I guess you would call it -- presentation. In fact, he has no presentation. Basically, he's a piss-bum at the bus station. He doesn't charge much for his services and his alien metabolism absolutely thrives on cheap wine. He wears loose clothing to cover his extra stuff and a certain . . . miasma floats around him, creating a wall of stink few people are willing to penetrate. Nobody looks too closely at Ned.
As I sat next to him, a handkerchief pressed to my face, I explained our travel plans. We negotiated a fee (three bottles) and he continued with his spiel. "You do realize the cost of your travel plans?" he asked. His rheumy brown eyes moistening the loose skin under them.
"Yes," I thought I was repeating myself. "Three bottles."
"No, not that!" he said impatiently. "I mean the COST. The trade off. The balance of nature."
"Uh, could you run it by me again. You dealt with my wife the last time. She wasn't clear on all the details." I explained
Ned hitched himself up a little higher in the orange plastic scoop chair and, with the air of a professor fallen on hard times, said, "Nothing in the universe is free. Motion, mass, energy, time all have counterbalancing components. Time travel, for instance, requires an equal mass sent in the opposite direction for an equal period of time. It is so complicated to calculate that few people bother." He paused to take a swig from a bottle wrapped in a paper bag, wiped his rubbery lips with his coat sleeve, and continued.
"Your trip to Cleveland will have similar consequences. What you are asking for is instantaneous transportation, in your vehicle, from your driveway to your son's neighborhood. Correct?"
"Yes" I answered. It sounded weird when he said it.
"Ah huh." he replied. "This will take a tremendous amount of energy and a balancing will have to occur."
"What kind of balancing?" I asked.
"Well, there is only so much energy available at any given time. If you consume a lot of it, there is that much less available for everyone else. In simpler terms, if you get there faster, other people will have to travel slower. But there is the dampening/averaging effect that disperses the counterbalance."
"That's good, right?"
"Normally. But you want to get there instantaneously. That is very, very fast. This is going to take a helluva lot of dampening and averaging." He sat there, looking at me with those sad eyes and his Richard Nixon jowls. I think he looked sad but it was hard to tell with Ned.
"O.K.? . . ." I tried to get the conversation kick-started again.
"You really don't know what I'm talking about, do you?" he asked me.
"Maybe you better spell it out." I encouraged.
"In order to dampen and average the counterbalance of the tremendous amount of energy necessary to transport you, your wife and your car instantaneously over that distance, all other transportation in this hemisphere will virtually grind to a halt. There will be long lines and delays at every airport, highways will be packed, cities will experience gridlock and the low price of your fare (three bottles from around the corner) will be counterbalanced by higher gas prices, increased airfare and fuel costs. Many people will be late or miss their holiday altogether, relationships will end, marriages will crumble and people will lose their jobs."
"All because my wife gets a sore tushy from a long car ride?" I asked incredulously.
"Yes." he said. Staring at me.
"O.K. then," I said briskly. "Let's do it and how much for the return trip?"
.
You see, Ned is one of those "stranded aliens" that you never read about. Back in the 1950's we had what you could call some "close encounters." Most aliens races have a very strong entrepreneurial spirit, have very long life spans and, apparently, are rather gullible. So when a few of them dropped by to see where we were in our race-to-space, they looked at our magazines (like Popular Science and Astounding Stories) and dropped into our movie theaters and saw movies like The Angry Red Planet and The Day the Earth Stood Still. And they believed that we were just around the corner from interplanetary space travel, teleportation rays and flying cars. So a few of them told their friends to "go on ahead", they would catch up when we did.
They are still waiting.
In the mean time, they had to make a living. So, using the intergalactic version of the Swiss army knife, a few of them set up shop performing various necessary functions. My friend Ned has a travel agency.
My wife and I are going to visit our son and daughter-in-law in Ohio for Thanksgiving. Our older son and his family will be driving in from Colorado. We were going to drive but decided to go through Ned's instead.
Ned doesn't have a real impressive . . . ahh . . . I guess you would call it -- presentation. In fact, he has no presentation. Basically, he's a piss-bum at the bus station. He doesn't charge much for his services and his alien metabolism absolutely thrives on cheap wine. He wears loose clothing to cover his extra stuff and a certain . . . miasma floats around him, creating a wall of stink few people are willing to penetrate. Nobody looks too closely at Ned.
As I sat next to him, a handkerchief pressed to my face, I explained our travel plans. We negotiated a fee (three bottles) and he continued with his spiel. "You do realize the cost of your travel plans?" he asked. His rheumy brown eyes moistening the loose skin under them.
"Yes," I thought I was repeating myself. "Three bottles."
"No, not that!" he said impatiently. "I mean the COST. The trade off. The balance of nature."
"Uh, could you run it by me again. You dealt with my wife the last time. She wasn't clear on all the details." I explained
Ned hitched himself up a little higher in the orange plastic scoop chair and, with the air of a professor fallen on hard times, said, "Nothing in the universe is free. Motion, mass, energy, time all have counterbalancing components. Time travel, for instance, requires an equal mass sent in the opposite direction for an equal period of time. It is so complicated to calculate that few people bother." He paused to take a swig from a bottle wrapped in a paper bag, wiped his rubbery lips with his coat sleeve, and continued.
"Your trip to Cleveland will have similar consequences. What you are asking for is instantaneous transportation, in your vehicle, from your driveway to your son's neighborhood. Correct?"
"Yes" I answered. It sounded weird when he said it.
"Ah huh." he replied. "This will take a tremendous amount of energy and a balancing will have to occur."
"What kind of balancing?" I asked.
"Well, there is only so much energy available at any given time. If you consume a lot of it, there is that much less available for everyone else. In simpler terms, if you get there faster, other people will have to travel slower. But there is the dampening/averaging effect that disperses the counterbalance."
"That's good, right?"
"Normally. But you want to get there instantaneously. That is very, very fast. This is going to take a helluva lot of dampening and averaging." He sat there, looking at me with those sad eyes and his Richard Nixon jowls. I think he looked sad but it was hard to tell with Ned.
"O.K.? . . ." I tried to get the conversation kick-started again.
"You really don't know what I'm talking about, do you?" he asked me.
"Maybe you better spell it out." I encouraged.
"In order to dampen and average the counterbalance of the tremendous amount of energy necessary to transport you, your wife and your car instantaneously over that distance, all other transportation in this hemisphere will virtually grind to a halt. There will be long lines and delays at every airport, highways will be packed, cities will experience gridlock and the low price of your fare (three bottles from around the corner) will be counterbalanced by higher gas prices, increased airfare and fuel costs. Many people will be late or miss their holiday altogether, relationships will end, marriages will crumble and people will lose their jobs."
"All because my wife gets a sore tushy from a long car ride?" I asked incredulously.
"Yes." he said. Staring at me.
"O.K. then," I said briskly. "Let's do it and how much for the return trip?"
.
Monday, November 20, 2006
The Art of Choosing a Movie
We went to see the new James Bond movie on Saturday. I was pretty skeptical going in but it was a very enjoyable movie. It had some amazing action sequences and by the end of the movie I was totally buying the new Bond. But that's not what this blog entry is about.
I get out to the movies a couple of times a month. My wife and I used to go every Friday night. It was a dinner-and-a-movie kind of ritual that we enjoyed. More recently I tend to go, when I do, mid-week to catch a movie I'd really like to see while it's on the big screen. But something weird has been happening.
The people who go places on the short bus are showing up at over 75% of the movies I've been going to. I don't mean to appear insensitive to their situation -- but they can be very disruptive during a movie. And you can't even anonymously complain in the dark and yell, "What're you, retarded?" because they are.
In the meantime, it is just weird that they are showing up at most of the movies I choose to see. And what I am saying by that is not that we have similar tastes in movies but that they are going to the exact same viewings. Sometimes I go on a Tuesday and sometimes I go on a Thursday. This week we went on a Saturday. Sometimes I like to wait a couple of weeks to see a movie (especially if it is popular) to avoid the crowds. Sometimes I can't wait, myself, so I go the first week something is on. Sometimes I wake up, look at what is on via the Internet listings, and go on the spur of the moment to see a B-movie that grabs my interest.
And there they are, talking loud, spazzing out and calling everyone "Buddy". They are pretty hard to miss. They always come into the theater late, distract everyone from the beginning of the movie until they settle down and loudly go to the bathroom at least twice during the show. Again, I feel sorry for them, they can't help it and they deserve to get out to see a movie, too. So, I'm not complaining about that per se.
I guess what's bothering me is not that they are disruptive or that they seem to be at a very high percentage of my randomly selected viewings of an eclectic grouping of movies. What bothers me is that I seem to be making the exact same choices that they are.
.
I get out to the movies a couple of times a month. My wife and I used to go every Friday night. It was a dinner-and-a-movie kind of ritual that we enjoyed. More recently I tend to go, when I do, mid-week to catch a movie I'd really like to see while it's on the big screen. But something weird has been happening.
The people who go places on the short bus are showing up at over 75% of the movies I've been going to. I don't mean to appear insensitive to their situation -- but they can be very disruptive during a movie. And you can't even anonymously complain in the dark and yell, "What're you, retarded?" because they are.
In the meantime, it is just weird that they are showing up at most of the movies I choose to see. And what I am saying by that is not that we have similar tastes in movies but that they are going to the exact same viewings. Sometimes I go on a Tuesday and sometimes I go on a Thursday. This week we went on a Saturday. Sometimes I like to wait a couple of weeks to see a movie (especially if it is popular) to avoid the crowds. Sometimes I can't wait, myself, so I go the first week something is on. Sometimes I wake up, look at what is on via the Internet listings, and go on the spur of the moment to see a B-movie that grabs my interest.
And there they are, talking loud, spazzing out and calling everyone "Buddy". They are pretty hard to miss. They always come into the theater late, distract everyone from the beginning of the movie until they settle down and loudly go to the bathroom at least twice during the show. Again, I feel sorry for them, they can't help it and they deserve to get out to see a movie, too. So, I'm not complaining about that per se.
I guess what's bothering me is not that they are disruptive or that they seem to be at a very high percentage of my randomly selected viewings of an eclectic grouping of movies. What bothers me is that I seem to be making the exact same choices that they are.
.
Sunday, November 19, 2006
Today's Word is "tedium"
I'm having a little trouble with this retirement thing. Maybe because I feel like I'm still too young to retire or maybe I feel like I am trapped in a repetitive lifestyle.
I spend my days keeping busy. Hell, I have enough stuff to do to last several lifetimes. I don't think it is the days I am complaining about. I think it is the people I have surrounded myself with. And I'm not quite sure what I mean be that, even. It's just that everything I do is the same. Every time I do it. Let me give you an example.
I went to a house party last night. It was hosted by nice people and all of the neighbors and summer regulars from the resort attended. There was plenty of good food, the music was tasteful and appropriately in the background, the small talk was pleasant but banal. And maybe that's the problem.
Banal is an adjective that means "so lacking in originality as to be obvious and boring". Now, I'm not saying anything was wrong with the party, itself. I believe the problem lies in my perception of things surrounding me. Everyone else was having a good time but I was just . . . there.
It's just that I have been to the same party more times than I care to remember. I make the same small talk with the same people; hear and tell the same jokes; laugh at the same anecdotes and drink the same booze. How many times can I go to the same party?
I think I need a change in my life. I spent 42 years in the workplace. The last fifteen years of it I traveled extensively in the northeast eleven states. I had variety and a change of scenery. Now, I haven't even gone on vacation in over three years. I just keep going to the same party with the same people.
I'm thinking about skipping the next party and going straight to the hangover.
.
I spend my days keeping busy. Hell, I have enough stuff to do to last several lifetimes. I don't think it is the days I am complaining about. I think it is the people I have surrounded myself with. And I'm not quite sure what I mean be that, even. It's just that everything I do is the same. Every time I do it. Let me give you an example.
I went to a house party last night. It was hosted by nice people and all of the neighbors and summer regulars from the resort attended. There was plenty of good food, the music was tasteful and appropriately in the background, the small talk was pleasant but banal. And maybe that's the problem.
Banal is an adjective that means "so lacking in originality as to be obvious and boring". Now, I'm not saying anything was wrong with the party, itself. I believe the problem lies in my perception of things surrounding me. Everyone else was having a good time but I was just . . . there.
It's just that I have been to the same party more times than I care to remember. I make the same small talk with the same people; hear and tell the same jokes; laugh at the same anecdotes and drink the same booze. How many times can I go to the same party?
I think I need a change in my life. I spent 42 years in the workplace. The last fifteen years of it I traveled extensively in the northeast eleven states. I had variety and a change of scenery. Now, I haven't even gone on vacation in over three years. I just keep going to the same party with the same people.
I'm thinking about skipping the next party and going straight to the hangover.
.
Saturday, November 18, 2006
Takin' a Cruise
Out of a deep and sincere respect for Tom-Kat's privacy, Escape Velocity will go dark for twenty four hours. We won't be sending our crack team of reporters (Or is it our team of crack reporters? I always get that wrong) to cover the wedding. We won't be flying overhead in the Escape Velocity corporate helicopter, trying to get exclusive aerial video of the wedding party. We won't be renting a white tux and sneaking in as a waiter or skinning the neighbor's dog and sneaking in as Fido.
We won't speculate whether the whole marriage thing would even be happening if Tom hadn't shot himself in the foot and ruined his career by speaking in public without a script. We won't be poking into his private life and wondering why a gay man is going to all the trouble to appear to have fathered a child and then organize a sham wedding when Hollywood already accepts gays with open arms.
Wait a second . . . was I talking about Tom Cruise or Michael Jackson?
We won't be speculating if it is too late to rescue Katie and have her deprogrammed. Or how easy it was to program her in the first place. Or where I can get me one of those.
We won't be doing any of that stuff because we will be glued to the Internet and Weekend Access, and Entertainment Tonight's weekend show, and E!, and The Insider, and . . . whatever else we can find. So out of respect for their privacy and Tom-Kat's right to sell their own video for $20,000,000, we won't be posting a blog today. On this most special of days.
Say . . . didn't Katie Holmes used to be an actress or something?
.
We won't speculate whether the whole marriage thing would even be happening if Tom hadn't shot himself in the foot and ruined his career by speaking in public without a script. We won't be poking into his private life and wondering why a gay man is going to all the trouble to appear to have fathered a child and then organize a sham wedding when Hollywood already accepts gays with open arms.
Wait a second . . . was I talking about Tom Cruise or Michael Jackson?
We won't be speculating if it is too late to rescue Katie and have her deprogrammed. Or how easy it was to program her in the first place. Or where I can get me one of those.
We won't be doing any of that stuff because we will be glued to the Internet and Weekend Access, and Entertainment Tonight's weekend show, and E!, and The Insider, and . . . whatever else we can find. So out of respect for their privacy and Tom-Kat's right to sell their own video for $20,000,000, we won't be posting a blog today. On this most special of days.
Say . . . didn't Katie Holmes used to be an actress or something?
.
Friday, November 17, 2006
Career Planning
I have been thinking about what I want to be if I grow up. Friend to the masses, popular among certain lower class women, bon vivant, nudist. All of these things immediately spring to mind. (Well, I'm not sure you would call it springing. It's more like a shuffle-step-hop kinda thingy.) Where was I . . . ?
Oh, yes. What I want to be.
I was thinking about becoming a cartoonist. It has certain benefits. You can work in your pajamas. If you're like Scott Adams, you only have to pretend you are smart. You can set your own hours. And some places deliver pizza.
All I need is some basic artistic talent. All I need is some basic artistic . . . some basic . . . Well, I can doodle. It's not nearly as fun as diddling but they're both silly words, anyway.
So, I've been doodling recently. I've been trying to come up with a character everyone can identify with. Or a group of characters that would allow me to explore the complex synergy between them as well as comment upon society's social and moral fabric and the ethical dilemmas each of us faces daily. Or it could be about fuzzy little animals. I'm torn.
I'm not very good at drawing faces. Which is why Picasso never became a cartoonist. And perspective is a challenge for me. Or, at least, that's what my liberal friends tell me. And shading is a drag. So I need to draw something simple yet 2-dimensional. Simple . . . yet 2-dimensional . . . Hey! Is anyone doing a cartoon about Al Gore? Naw! Forget it. I'm not real good at drawing trees, either.
I thought about doing a cartoon about a family of snakes. I think the snake in Johnny Hart's B.C. is pretty funny. So I practiced drawing snakes saying funny stuff to each other. The only problem is that when they talk to each other -- they are facing each other. Which means I have to draw them in profile . . . Guess what a one eyed snake looks like!
So it's back to the drawing board. (Whoa! Now I know what that means! Cool.) I have a few other ideas I'm kicking around and in the meantime I won't quit my day job. Which isn't too tough, considering I'm retired.
Now, where did I leave that number for the pizza guy? And I better get rid of all these one-eyed snake sketches. He might think I'm gay.
.
Oh, yes. What I want to be.
I was thinking about becoming a cartoonist. It has certain benefits. You can work in your pajamas. If you're like Scott Adams, you only have to pretend you are smart. You can set your own hours. And some places deliver pizza.
All I need is some basic artistic talent. All I need is some basic artistic . . . some basic . . . Well, I can doodle. It's not nearly as fun as diddling but they're both silly words, anyway.
So, I've been doodling recently. I've been trying to come up with a character everyone can identify with. Or a group of characters that would allow me to explore the complex synergy between them as well as comment upon society's social and moral fabric and the ethical dilemmas each of us faces daily. Or it could be about fuzzy little animals. I'm torn.
I'm not very good at drawing faces. Which is why Picasso never became a cartoonist. And perspective is a challenge for me. Or, at least, that's what my liberal friends tell me. And shading is a drag. So I need to draw something simple yet 2-dimensional. Simple . . . yet 2-dimensional . . . Hey! Is anyone doing a cartoon about Al Gore? Naw! Forget it. I'm not real good at drawing trees, either.
I thought about doing a cartoon about a family of snakes. I think the snake in Johnny Hart's B.C. is pretty funny. So I practiced drawing snakes saying funny stuff to each other. The only problem is that when they talk to each other -- they are facing each other. Which means I have to draw them in profile . . . Guess what a one eyed snake looks like!
So it's back to the drawing board. (Whoa! Now I know what that means! Cool.) I have a few other ideas I'm kicking around and in the meantime I won't quit my day job. Which isn't too tough, considering I'm retired.
Now, where did I leave that number for the pizza guy? And I better get rid of all these one-eyed snake sketches. He might think I'm gay.
.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Ripped From the Headlines
Sometimes I'm not sure who is dumber, the headline writers or me for reading them. Why don't we have a little reader poll? The question of the day is: Is anyone dumber than me? While you are thinking about that -- here are some recent headlines and my first thoughts about them (These are real headlines.):
Emmitt Smith wins 'Dancing With Stars' -- And Troy Aikman has won Best Female Vocalist.
White House sued over global warming -- I thought they always said you couldn't do anything about the weather. I also heard you can't sue city hall. These people aren't paying attention at all.
Obesity could hit economies as hard as malnutrition -- Harder, if we stop for lunch.
Warm weather wrecks bears' winter slumber -- And you don't see them suing the White House.
Man accidentally shoots himself in the groin -- It was a botched suicide attempt. He was thinking with his little head and, apparently, he flinched.
Russia, U.S. disagree on Iran sanctions -- Grown-ups shouldn't argue in front of the kids. Besides, they should save the arguments for the important stuff -- like money and that thing she won't do in bed.
Soldier describes genesis of rape plan -- Gen. 1:1 In the beginning God created the heavens and hot chicks . . .
Iran says about to take 'final step' in atomic plan -- Is this the part where they connect the red wire . . . or is it the blue?
Oral Roberts upsets No. 3 Kansas -- Jimmy Swaggart just pisses people off.
US Airways offers $8B to buy Delta - They already have enough planes and stuff but there are a couple of stewardesses on the Baltimore to Miami run who look like they might be worth it.
Microsoft Zune hits stores, nobody notices -- I heard about this on my iPod.
.
Emmitt Smith wins 'Dancing With Stars' -- And Troy Aikman has won Best Female Vocalist.
White House sued over global warming -- I thought they always said you couldn't do anything about the weather. I also heard you can't sue city hall. These people aren't paying attention at all.
Obesity could hit economies as hard as malnutrition -- Harder, if we stop for lunch.
Warm weather wrecks bears' winter slumber -- And you don't see them suing the White House.
Man accidentally shoots himself in the groin -- It was a botched suicide attempt. He was thinking with his little head and, apparently, he flinched.
Russia, U.S. disagree on Iran sanctions -- Grown-ups shouldn't argue in front of the kids. Besides, they should save the arguments for the important stuff -- like money and that thing she won't do in bed.
Soldier describes genesis of rape plan -- Gen. 1:1 In the beginning God created the heavens and hot chicks . . .
Iran says about to take 'final step' in atomic plan -- Is this the part where they connect the red wire . . . or is it the blue?
Oral Roberts upsets No. 3 Kansas -- Jimmy Swaggart just pisses people off.
US Airways offers $8B to buy Delta - They already have enough planes and stuff but there are a couple of stewardesses on the Baltimore to Miami run who look like they might be worth it.
Microsoft Zune hits stores, nobody notices -- I heard about this on my iPod.
.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
It's the MOST Wonderful Time of the Year
I was making fun of Wal-Mart the other day in Escape Velocity. I make fun of them in my regular life a lot, too, but I'm referring to my November 4th News-blog where I said:
Wal-Mart Cuts Prices For Holidays. The story says their earnings for the third quarter were off. So they are being forced to take these drastic measures. As I read this story, one of the voices in my head started singing Linda Ronstadt's Poor, Poor, Little Me. I wonder if Wal-Mart is set up to take donations?
I admit my reaction to this mega-store's plight was a little callus. I mean they've always been nice to me. They even take back all the crap we buy there that doesn't work -- no questions asked.
I do hate it in the winter time when they lock the entrance to the garden shop. They have this store front, you see, that is about a quarter of a mile long and a parking lot that matches it. In the summer you may enter the building from either end of the parking lot. In the winter they lock the garden shop entrance so, if you have to park on that end of the building, because the lot is full, it's quite a hike. It is even worse if you know you want to buy something that you KNOW is just inside the garden shop door. This means you have to walk a quarter mile out side the store to get to the other door, a quarter mile inside the store to get what you came for, a quarter mile back to the main entrance inside the store again, and then another quarter of a mile outside the store to get back to the car.
I don't know about you, but there aren't too many things that I am willing to walk a mile for. I have the TV remote duct taped to my hand, for God's sake. I spent three days making sure my leather recliner is exactly halfway between the kitchen and the bathroom. So I'm not going to walk a friggin' mile at Wal-Mart! (Interestingly, during the winter months, they sell exercise equipment at that end of the store.)
Annnnyway . . . I saw a follow up story in the news a couple of days later that said Wal-Mart and Target were in this fierce price cutting war because of Wal-Mart's declaration to cut pricing to avoid a repeat of their off third quarter earnings. Again, I thought, "Serves them right, the pricks. How dare they want to make all that money?" Then, "If they are cutting prices that much, that stuff must have been way over priced to start with."
Then I saw another story yesterday that said Wal-Mart was going to cut prices, yet again, in their toy departments. Now remember, all of these stories have been prominently featured among the national news headlines, so somebody thinks these are important news stories.
Or are they?
There have been holiday sales since Eve discovered fig leaves were good for wearing as well as eating; since Noah opened his first pet store after the flood. Look, I know Wal-Mart is so big that their profit affects the GNP but what's with the flurry of news stories about Wal-Mart's price cutting during the holiday sales season? Or is it back door advertising?
Has Wal-Mart discovered that they could save millions of dollars in advertising by handing out a few well-timed press releases instead? Is this the equivalent of a Blue Light Special on the front page of the paper?
I didn't know. So Escape Velocity sent a team of crack reporters to the Donald Oppenheimer Institute of Informational Knowledge. There we interviewed Dr. Ronald Oppenheimer and asked him what Wal-Mart was up to.
"Well," He began, Taking a soiled hanky from his back pocket, blowing his nose, opening the rag to examine its contents, refolding it and then proceeded to polish his eyeglasses with the same rag. All the time he appeared in deep thought. "Here at the Donald Oppenheimer (Donald was my father) Institute of Informational Knowledge we have developed the science of Oppenmetrics. We did this to enhance our status as expert witnesses in matters like these. That and I like the way it sounds: Opp-en-met-rics. It just flows off of your tongue, don't you think?"
He had to ask his question twice because our crack team of reporters were distracted by a brownish-green smear on Dr. Oppenheimer's left eyeglass lens. After a few moments they were able to get the interview back on track and re-ask the question concerning the efficacy of the recent Wal-Mart news stories.
"After analysing all of the data and applying the sound principals of Oppenmetrics I have come to this conclusion: They are a bunch of greedy bastards. And what's up with one just entrance during their busiest time of the year?"
.
Wal-Mart Cuts Prices For Holidays. The story says their earnings for the third quarter were off. So they are being forced to take these drastic measures. As I read this story, one of the voices in my head started singing Linda Ronstadt's Poor, Poor, Little Me. I wonder if Wal-Mart is set up to take donations?
I admit my reaction to this mega-store's plight was a little callus. I mean they've always been nice to me. They even take back all the crap we buy there that doesn't work -- no questions asked.
I do hate it in the winter time when they lock the entrance to the garden shop. They have this store front, you see, that is about a quarter of a mile long and a parking lot that matches it. In the summer you may enter the building from either end of the parking lot. In the winter they lock the garden shop entrance so, if you have to park on that end of the building, because the lot is full, it's quite a hike. It is even worse if you know you want to buy something that you KNOW is just inside the garden shop door. This means you have to walk a quarter mile out side the store to get to the other door, a quarter mile inside the store to get what you came for, a quarter mile back to the main entrance inside the store again, and then another quarter of a mile outside the store to get back to the car.
I don't know about you, but there aren't too many things that I am willing to walk a mile for. I have the TV remote duct taped to my hand, for God's sake. I spent three days making sure my leather recliner is exactly halfway between the kitchen and the bathroom. So I'm not going to walk a friggin' mile at Wal-Mart! (Interestingly, during the winter months, they sell exercise equipment at that end of the store.)
Annnnyway . . . I saw a follow up story in the news a couple of days later that said Wal-Mart and Target were in this fierce price cutting war because of Wal-Mart's declaration to cut pricing to avoid a repeat of their off third quarter earnings. Again, I thought, "Serves them right, the pricks. How dare they want to make all that money?" Then, "If they are cutting prices that much, that stuff must have been way over priced to start with."
Then I saw another story yesterday that said Wal-Mart was going to cut prices, yet again, in their toy departments. Now remember, all of these stories have been prominently featured among the national news headlines, so somebody thinks these are important news stories.
Or are they?
There have been holiday sales since Eve discovered fig leaves were good for wearing as well as eating; since Noah opened his first pet store after the flood. Look, I know Wal-Mart is so big that their profit affects the GNP but what's with the flurry of news stories about Wal-Mart's price cutting during the holiday sales season? Or is it back door advertising?
Has Wal-Mart discovered that they could save millions of dollars in advertising by handing out a few well-timed press releases instead? Is this the equivalent of a Blue Light Special on the front page of the paper?
I didn't know. So Escape Velocity sent a team of crack reporters to the Donald Oppenheimer Institute of Informational Knowledge. There we interviewed Dr. Ronald Oppenheimer and asked him what Wal-Mart was up to.
"Well," He began, Taking a soiled hanky from his back pocket, blowing his nose, opening the rag to examine its contents, refolding it and then proceeded to polish his eyeglasses with the same rag. All the time he appeared in deep thought. "Here at the Donald Oppenheimer (Donald was my father) Institute of Informational Knowledge we have developed the science of Oppenmetrics. We did this to enhance our status as expert witnesses in matters like these. That and I like the way it sounds: Opp-en-met-rics. It just flows off of your tongue, don't you think?"
He had to ask his question twice because our crack team of reporters were distracted by a brownish-green smear on Dr. Oppenheimer's left eyeglass lens. After a few moments they were able to get the interview back on track and re-ask the question concerning the efficacy of the recent Wal-Mart news stories.
"After analysing all of the data and applying the sound principals of Oppenmetrics I have come to this conclusion: They are a bunch of greedy bastards. And what's up with one just entrance during their busiest time of the year?"
.
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Is That a Song in Your Head or . . .
I woke up this morning with this song in my head:
I just want to celebrate another day of livin'
I just want to celebrate another day of life
I put my faith in the people
But the people let me down
So I turned the other way
And I carry on, anyhow
That's why I'm telling you
I just want to celebrate, yeah, yeah
Another day of living, yeah
I just want to celebrate another day of life
This particular song happens to be I Just Want to Celebrate by Rare Earth from 1971. You know how some people kid around and say they have voices in their head? Well, I have music in my head.
Now, before you say, "So what? Everybody gets music stuck in their head", I need to let you know that I haven't heard this song for years. I don't especially like this song and IT WOKE ME UP! It was like an alarm radio went off. I sat bolt upright in the dark, looked at the clock (it was 5:20 AM), and said, "Ah shit! Not again."
You see, one of my many quirks is that my life has a soundtrack. Everywhere I go, no matter what I am doing, there is music in my head. And I'm not talking about hearing my own voice doing a vague, or even passable, rendition of some song you hear on the radio or on TV. I mean I hear the song as it was originally performed by the original artists. I am talking full blown soundtrack.
I'm the only person I know of that can listen to their iPod without earbuds.
I have heard various theories, such as: "So you're into music. You think thematically. Maybe in another life you would have been a composer. Or maybe you would have scored movies. Maybe you think your life is some big adventure that requires a soundtrack. Maybe you think you are the center of the universe and you require a theme song."
All good theories, except that often times the music I hear has nothing to do with whatever I am currently doing. I don't hear Dean Martin or Bobby Darren when I am being terminally cool. I don't hear the classical strains of some cello solo when I gaze at the distant mountains or Lalo Schifrin's Mission Impossible music while driving my sports car.
I hear Julie Andrews singing the theme from The Sound of Music during funerals. I hear German beer hall music while making love and Pink Floyd while I'm drifting off to sleep.
Some of the music I am familiar with and some of it I honestly don't remember even hearing before. I have found that real, live music will neutralize it, so I listen to my music collection a lot or I'll have the TV on in the background.
Every now and then I will like what is playing in my head and just go with it. I love it when Sousa happens to be on while I'm cutting the grass. I finish in, like, half the time. Wagner is a little dangerous, though. (Try goose-stepping behind a self propelled mower.)
So if you ever see me and wonder why my mood doesn't match everyone else's in the room, it probably has something to do with my personal soundtrack. David Rose's The Stripper during Sunday school will always disturb the Baptists and Billie Holiday's Strange Fruit at a comedy club is just wrong. Fortunately it is mostly culture specific and I don't have to listen to that pingey Japanese music or Rap.
And thank God it's not a laughtrack. I already have performance issues.
.
I just want to celebrate another day of livin'
I just want to celebrate another day of life
I put my faith in the people
But the people let me down
So I turned the other way
And I carry on, anyhow
That's why I'm telling you
I just want to celebrate, yeah, yeah
Another day of living, yeah
I just want to celebrate another day of life
This particular song happens to be I Just Want to Celebrate by Rare Earth from 1971. You know how some people kid around and say they have voices in their head? Well, I have music in my head.
Now, before you say, "So what? Everybody gets music stuck in their head", I need to let you know that I haven't heard this song for years. I don't especially like this song and IT WOKE ME UP! It was like an alarm radio went off. I sat bolt upright in the dark, looked at the clock (it was 5:20 AM), and said, "Ah shit! Not again."
You see, one of my many quirks is that my life has a soundtrack. Everywhere I go, no matter what I am doing, there is music in my head. And I'm not talking about hearing my own voice doing a vague, or even passable, rendition of some song you hear on the radio or on TV. I mean I hear the song as it was originally performed by the original artists. I am talking full blown soundtrack.
I'm the only person I know of that can listen to their iPod without earbuds.
I have heard various theories, such as: "So you're into music. You think thematically. Maybe in another life you would have been a composer. Or maybe you would have scored movies. Maybe you think your life is some big adventure that requires a soundtrack. Maybe you think you are the center of the universe and you require a theme song."
All good theories, except that often times the music I hear has nothing to do with whatever I am currently doing. I don't hear Dean Martin or Bobby Darren when I am being terminally cool. I don't hear the classical strains of some cello solo when I gaze at the distant mountains or Lalo Schifrin's Mission Impossible music while driving my sports car.
I hear Julie Andrews singing the theme from The Sound of Music during funerals. I hear German beer hall music while making love and Pink Floyd while I'm drifting off to sleep.
Some of the music I am familiar with and some of it I honestly don't remember even hearing before. I have found that real, live music will neutralize it, so I listen to my music collection a lot or I'll have the TV on in the background.
Every now and then I will like what is playing in my head and just go with it. I love it when Sousa happens to be on while I'm cutting the grass. I finish in, like, half the time. Wagner is a little dangerous, though. (Try goose-stepping behind a self propelled mower.)
So if you ever see me and wonder why my mood doesn't match everyone else's in the room, it probably has something to do with my personal soundtrack. David Rose's The Stripper during Sunday school will always disturb the Baptists and Billie Holiday's Strange Fruit at a comedy club is just wrong. Fortunately it is mostly culture specific and I don't have to listen to that pingey Japanese music or Rap.
And thank God it's not a laughtrack. I already have performance issues.
.
Monday, November 13, 2006
Out of the Closet
I was reading with vapid interest the other day that Elton John thinks all religion should be banned. I guess he finds God's rules against sodomy inconvenient to his lifestyle. So, in order to live his life in a manner consistent with his own moral and ethical code, you know, according to his beliefs, everyone else in the world should be denied their belief system.
It was interesting that Sir John was not specifically bashing Christianity for a change, however. He seemed to be bashing religion in general. I guess this is because of all of the liberal assholes who have infiltrated and have corrupted the Western religions; the various branches of Christianity that have accepted gay unions, marriages and clergy. These liberal churches are probably where he plans on marrying his queer lover. I may not like the Eastern religions with their bomb throwing zealots, but at least they stay true to the tenants of their faiths.
Elton John said that religion promotes hatred and spite of gays. Again, why should every group have to accept everybody or anybody that does things contrary to the founding principals of the group? Why is it not a good thing to stay true to yourself? Isn't that what these sodomites want for themselves? And why is intolerance such a bad thing? Why should we have to tolerate bad behavior or things which we find personally offensive? If everyone is going to stand up on a soapbox and shout about their rights and their thin skins because someone utters a politically incorrect comment, why can't truth and decency have a voice too?
We have been taught by TV and our media culture that Gays are that quirky fellow next door. They dress better and have a high sense for decoration. They are sometimes flamboyant but are always gentle souls. All of this dis-information causes well meaning straight people to stand up for gay "rights"
The truth of the matter is that they are degenerate deviants. They are corrupting our society and culture like a cancer. They may be well dressed gourmands but they are also butt-fucking, cock-suckers who are so perverse as to have anonymous sex through holes in men's room walls. They prey on young boys, hoping to turn them to their sick lifestyle and there is NOTHING funny about them.
I am sick and tired of having to pretend that there is nothing wrong with being gay. I am beyond caring whether I offend someone with my honest opinion. No one seems to care if I am offended by their obscene lifestyle. So I am coming out of the closet of fake tolerance and am declaring myself anti-gay. Not homophobic. I do not fear these degenerates. They disgust me.
So Sir Elton John can take his criticism of religion and cram it. I'm sure it will be a familiar feeling.
It was interesting that Sir John was not specifically bashing Christianity for a change, however. He seemed to be bashing religion in general. I guess this is because of all of the liberal assholes who have infiltrated and have corrupted the Western religions; the various branches of Christianity that have accepted gay unions, marriages and clergy. These liberal churches are probably where he plans on marrying his queer lover. I may not like the Eastern religions with their bomb throwing zealots, but at least they stay true to the tenants of their faiths.
Elton John said that religion promotes hatred and spite of gays. Again, why should every group have to accept everybody or anybody that does things contrary to the founding principals of the group? Why is it not a good thing to stay true to yourself? Isn't that what these sodomites want for themselves? And why is intolerance such a bad thing? Why should we have to tolerate bad behavior or things which we find personally offensive? If everyone is going to stand up on a soapbox and shout about their rights and their thin skins because someone utters a politically incorrect comment, why can't truth and decency have a voice too?
We have been taught by TV and our media culture that Gays are that quirky fellow next door. They dress better and have a high sense for decoration. They are sometimes flamboyant but are always gentle souls. All of this dis-information causes well meaning straight people to stand up for gay "rights"
The truth of the matter is that they are degenerate deviants. They are corrupting our society and culture like a cancer. They may be well dressed gourmands but they are also butt-fucking, cock-suckers who are so perverse as to have anonymous sex through holes in men's room walls. They prey on young boys, hoping to turn them to their sick lifestyle and there is NOTHING funny about them.
I am sick and tired of having to pretend that there is nothing wrong with being gay. I am beyond caring whether I offend someone with my honest opinion. No one seems to care if I am offended by their obscene lifestyle. So I am coming out of the closet of fake tolerance and am declaring myself anti-gay. Not homophobic. I do not fear these degenerates. They disgust me.
So Sir Elton John can take his criticism of religion and cram it. I'm sure it will be a familiar feeling.
Sunday, November 12, 2006
Success?
There is a story about a guy who wanted to write so badly that he did.
He wanted to be loved so badly that he was.
In fact, he wanted everything so badly that, when things began to go badly, he was not sure if he was succeeding or not.
There. That didn't go so badly. Did it?
.
He wanted to be loved so badly that he was.
In fact, he wanted everything so badly that, when things began to go badly, he was not sure if he was succeeding or not.
There. That didn't go so badly. Did it?
.
Saturday, November 11, 2006
Complications
They are all dead. It's like a bad dream but I am sitting here with the bodies of my wife, my best friend, three Girl Scouts, and a UPS guy stacked up like so much firewood. Eventually, someone will find me with the bodies and, when they find my DNA on the Girl Scouts, I am sure no one will listen. So I've gotta explain.
I guess it all started on a hot December morning in 1951 Georgia. My mother was about ready to give birth to me in a dusty army camp called Fort Benning. She would later say it was so hot that day that the Christmas candles in the windows of our cheap base housing unit melted in the sunlight. I was . . . What? Oh. I'm sorry. I went too far back? Let's start again.
Earlier today I had gone out for a nature hike and, as I was tramping through the nearby woods, I spotted a perfectly delightful specimen of a Yellow Thrush. I tried to remain perfectly still as I studied its movements. My binoculars allowed me uncanny access to its magical wanderings as the vagabond bird flitted from one diversion to another. Suddenly, it paused upon a branch, puffed out its golden breast and began to . . . What now? Still too far back? OK.
When I returned from my walk, I came home and had crazy monkey sex with my wife. As we lay there, exhausted and spent, was when I first noticed the Girl Scouts. They were sitting side by side on the couch, swinging their little legs, staring at us.
"How long have they been there?" I asked my wife.
"Since before you got home." She replied casually.
Always the polite host, I got up from under the kitchen table and shook hands with the paramilitary waifs. When I finished, they each looked at their hand, as if I had somehow defiled them, and wiped it on their little brown uniforms. At that point I noticed my nakedness and pulled on a pair of nearby boxers. And I swear to God, that is how my DNA got on their clothing.
"What are they doing here?" I asked.
"Well, when I got back," my wife answered, as she pulled a sun dress on over her head, "they were beating Danny to death with that fireplace poker. They were taking turns."
That would explain the blood splatter on them and the bloody pile of bones and the Hawaiian shirt by the fireplace. "But why would they do that!" I over-emoted.
"He must have stiffed them on the macaroons, again." she said.
As I stood looking at the seemingly peaceful little girls, two of them made claws of their hands and pounced on me. "What the hell!" I screamed. The third one attacked my wife. Out of the corner of my eye I saw them stumble onto a still running chainsaw and I realized Danny must have been taken by surprise while he was cutting firewood. The saw was still running because he always duct taped the trigger to avoid having to restart it. (His arms were kind of puny and he was always asking either my wife or the neighbor kid to pull his cord.) Neither of them stood a chance against the still running saw.
Meanwhile, I had my hands full with the other two hellcats. One of them had her legs wrapped around my neck and was trying to gouge my eyes out while the other one was clinging to my thigh and snapping a pair of pinking shears at my crotch. I stumbled backwards and impaled the one on my back on a marble phallus that Nina brought back from an adult flea market that the local volunteer fire department holds a couple of times a year.
That just left the one on my leg. I grabbed her by the hair, swung her twice over my head and let go. She landed with her head in the fireplace; her hair and skull an instant fireball; her little legs kicking a frantic tattoo on the hearth.
Then everything was quiet. Except for the deep throated purr of the idling chainsaw motor and the hiss and pop of brains frying in the fireplace.
What a morning. I actually saw a Yellow Thrush today. As I wandered into the kitchen I wondered if Danny had left any of those macaroons for me. I was hungry . . .
. . . Suddenly the doorbell rang. As I peered out the side window I saw the UPS truck . . . Uh, Oh!
.
I guess it all started on a hot December morning in 1951 Georgia. My mother was about ready to give birth to me in a dusty army camp called Fort Benning. She would later say it was so hot that day that the Christmas candles in the windows of our cheap base housing unit melted in the sunlight. I was . . . What? Oh. I'm sorry. I went too far back? Let's start again.
Earlier today I had gone out for a nature hike and, as I was tramping through the nearby woods, I spotted a perfectly delightful specimen of a Yellow Thrush. I tried to remain perfectly still as I studied its movements. My binoculars allowed me uncanny access to its magical wanderings as the vagabond bird flitted from one diversion to another. Suddenly, it paused upon a branch, puffed out its golden breast and began to . . . What now? Still too far back? OK.
When I returned from my walk, I came home and had crazy monkey sex with my wife. As we lay there, exhausted and spent, was when I first noticed the Girl Scouts. They were sitting side by side on the couch, swinging their little legs, staring at us.
"How long have they been there?" I asked my wife.
"Since before you got home." She replied casually.
Always the polite host, I got up from under the kitchen table and shook hands with the paramilitary waifs. When I finished, they each looked at their hand, as if I had somehow defiled them, and wiped it on their little brown uniforms. At that point I noticed my nakedness and pulled on a pair of nearby boxers. And I swear to God, that is how my DNA got on their clothing.
"What are they doing here?" I asked.
"Well, when I got back," my wife answered, as she pulled a sun dress on over her head, "they were beating Danny to death with that fireplace poker. They were taking turns."
That would explain the blood splatter on them and the bloody pile of bones and the Hawaiian shirt by the fireplace. "But why would they do that!" I over-emoted.
"He must have stiffed them on the macaroons, again." she said.
As I stood looking at the seemingly peaceful little girls, two of them made claws of their hands and pounced on me. "What the hell!" I screamed. The third one attacked my wife. Out of the corner of my eye I saw them stumble onto a still running chainsaw and I realized Danny must have been taken by surprise while he was cutting firewood. The saw was still running because he always duct taped the trigger to avoid having to restart it. (His arms were kind of puny and he was always asking either my wife or the neighbor kid to pull his cord.) Neither of them stood a chance against the still running saw.
Meanwhile, I had my hands full with the other two hellcats. One of them had her legs wrapped around my neck and was trying to gouge my eyes out while the other one was clinging to my thigh and snapping a pair of pinking shears at my crotch. I stumbled backwards and impaled the one on my back on a marble phallus that Nina brought back from an adult flea market that the local volunteer fire department holds a couple of times a year.
That just left the one on my leg. I grabbed her by the hair, swung her twice over my head and let go. She landed with her head in the fireplace; her hair and skull an instant fireball; her little legs kicking a frantic tattoo on the hearth.
Then everything was quiet. Except for the deep throated purr of the idling chainsaw motor and the hiss and pop of brains frying in the fireplace.
What a morning. I actually saw a Yellow Thrush today. As I wandered into the kitchen I wondered if Danny had left any of those macaroons for me. I was hungry . . .
. . . Suddenly the doorbell rang. As I peered out the side window I saw the UPS truck . . . Uh, Oh!
.
Friday, November 10, 2006
I Really Do Think About This Stuff
I've been thinking about relative value, recently. This came about because I had to buy a big blue tarp to cover my tiki bar for winter storage. The roof part of the tiki bar comes off and is about the same height as the base, so I put them side-by-side and covered it all over with a big blue tarp. I bought the tarp with every intention of it being disposable.
Because of the odd shape and size that I had to cover, I had to buy a tarp much larger than I needed. I draped the tarp over the disassembled bar, pulled it tight on one side and laid a board on top of the tarp and screwed the board and the tarp to the deck. I then pulled the tarp tight on the opposite side and repeated the process. When I had all four sides secured to the deck, the tiki bar was neatly covered with a tarp that would not blow away. Finally, I used a razor knife and trimmed away the excess tarp and threw that away.
Now, I know what you are thinking. "What happened next?" "I have never heard such a fascinating tarp story in my entire life." "Johnny, you are so clever and . . . masculine!"
Yes. I am. And thank you. But the point of my story is that I bought the big blue tarp for $35 knowing I would cut it up and dispose of it in the spring. This was well worth it to me because I had just finished re-finishing and polyurethaning the bar and I viewed it as protecting my investment.
I also have a 10x12 deck gazebo that has a vinyl roof with a gazillion streamers sewn in, that makes it look like a thatched roof. It really looks cool. I noticed at the end of the season that the gazebo roof faded over the summer and that some of the thatching looked a little tattered. This was the first year for it and I thought that was a little quick. So we pulled out the paperwork and ordered a new top. I took the current top off for winter storage and plan on using it next year again -- but now I have a spare.
The replacement tiki gazebo roof cost $35.
I thought, "Huh?"
This gazebo cover is custom made to attach to the gazebo framework. It has grommets and Velcro and precisely cut angles and double seams and has two pieces to accommodate the cupola. And a shitload of fake thatching meticulously sewn in place. For $35.
So, I'm asking myself is this the best deal I've ever heard of or are the big blue tarp people a bunch of gyps? This is when I began thinking about relative values. The gazebo roof was only $35 because it was a component of the larger product -- the tiki gazebo. And I guess they price replacement parts based on their actual replacement cost, relative to the cost of producing the entire product. Whereas, the big blue tarp people are pricing their product on the basis that the big blue tarp is the entire thing so -- how much will the market bear?
Another way to say this would be perceived value. The sum of the components should not exceed the value of the whole. Conversely, it should not be cheaper to buy all of the components separately.
And that's what's wrong with Hollywood. The individual components (actors) cost way more than the total product would justify. The workmanship is shoddy and at least, with my tiki roof, I don't have to listen to its pinhead views on anything.
So I feel like I got a great deal on my replacement tiki gazebo roof but it should weather a little better than it does. I think the big blue tarp people make an OK product but it is just a big sheet of vinyl so I think it is over priced. And I think a free Tom Cruise movie with free popcorn and sodas with free refills and free hot dogs would not be worth the gas to get there.
Tiki Gazebo Roof -- * Blogbooger (out of ****)
Big Blue Tarp -- ** Blogboogers (out of ****)
Tom Cruise -- still ***** Blogboogers (out of ****)
.
Because of the odd shape and size that I had to cover, I had to buy a tarp much larger than I needed. I draped the tarp over the disassembled bar, pulled it tight on one side and laid a board on top of the tarp and screwed the board and the tarp to the deck. I then pulled the tarp tight on the opposite side and repeated the process. When I had all four sides secured to the deck, the tiki bar was neatly covered with a tarp that would not blow away. Finally, I used a razor knife and trimmed away the excess tarp and threw that away.
Now, I know what you are thinking. "What happened next?" "I have never heard such a fascinating tarp story in my entire life." "Johnny, you are so clever and . . . masculine!"
Yes. I am. And thank you. But the point of my story is that I bought the big blue tarp for $35 knowing I would cut it up and dispose of it in the spring. This was well worth it to me because I had just finished re-finishing and polyurethaning the bar and I viewed it as protecting my investment.
I also have a 10x12 deck gazebo that has a vinyl roof with a gazillion streamers sewn in, that makes it look like a thatched roof. It really looks cool. I noticed at the end of the season that the gazebo roof faded over the summer and that some of the thatching looked a little tattered. This was the first year for it and I thought that was a little quick. So we pulled out the paperwork and ordered a new top. I took the current top off for winter storage and plan on using it next year again -- but now I have a spare.
The replacement tiki gazebo roof cost $35.
I thought, "Huh?"
This gazebo cover is custom made to attach to the gazebo framework. It has grommets and Velcro and precisely cut angles and double seams and has two pieces to accommodate the cupola. And a shitload of fake thatching meticulously sewn in place. For $35.
So, I'm asking myself is this the best deal I've ever heard of or are the big blue tarp people a bunch of gyps? This is when I began thinking about relative values. The gazebo roof was only $35 because it was a component of the larger product -- the tiki gazebo. And I guess they price replacement parts based on their actual replacement cost, relative to the cost of producing the entire product. Whereas, the big blue tarp people are pricing their product on the basis that the big blue tarp is the entire thing so -- how much will the market bear?
Another way to say this would be perceived value. The sum of the components should not exceed the value of the whole. Conversely, it should not be cheaper to buy all of the components separately.
And that's what's wrong with Hollywood. The individual components (actors) cost way more than the total product would justify. The workmanship is shoddy and at least, with my tiki roof, I don't have to listen to its pinhead views on anything.
So I feel like I got a great deal on my replacement tiki gazebo roof but it should weather a little better than it does. I think the big blue tarp people make an OK product but it is just a big sheet of vinyl so I think it is over priced. And I think a free Tom Cruise movie with free popcorn and sodas with free refills and free hot dogs would not be worth the gas to get there.
Tiki Gazebo Roof -- * Blogbooger (out of ****)
Big Blue Tarp -- ** Blogboogers (out of ****)
Tom Cruise -- still ***** Blogboogers (out of ****)
.
Thursday, November 09, 2006
ABC Loses Last Lost
Personally, I'm getting a little sick of the TV show Lost.
Last year they would show two or three new episodes and then a repeat. Or they would be off for four weeks then show a recap clip episode to catch you up. Then back to maybe three new ones and another break. And on, and on, and on.
This year they have listened to the fans. They have shown six episodes and are now taking a twelve week break while they show some other series and then they are coming back with sixteen weeks of new episodes. In the mean time, they jerk us around for three months with a cliff hanger episode to keep us wanting more.
Then ABC acts like they are having to make tough decisions on how to present their show. They say they have a 35 week season and only 22 episodes. What to do? What to do? So their great plan to eliminate endless repeats is to take a twelve week break in the middle of the season?
All they are trying to do is capitalize on a so-called hot time period to introduce another lame-o series to the schmucks who have been programmed to turn the TV on at 9:00 Wednesday nights.
If they really cared about their viewers and the fans of Lost they would run 22 episodes in a row, like 24 does. Then run their wannabe program for twelve weeks either before or after the Lost season.
TV programmers are gutless, drones in empty suits who could not care less about what is best for a show or it's fans. And that is why their office has a revolving door and why they are losing in the ratings to Criminal Minds.
We are starting a new ratings system here at Escape Velocity's ivory tower. It is called Blogboogers. And the more you get the worse you are. An example would be:
Tom Cruise -- ***** Blogboogers (out of ****)
So, in the spirit of fair play, and in light of the medication I'm on, and Kate does have a sweet ass, I am giving Lost -- *** Bloogboogers (out of ****).
.
Last year they would show two or three new episodes and then a repeat. Or they would be off for four weeks then show a recap clip episode to catch you up. Then back to maybe three new ones and another break. And on, and on, and on.
This year they have listened to the fans. They have shown six episodes and are now taking a twelve week break while they show some other series and then they are coming back with sixteen weeks of new episodes. In the mean time, they jerk us around for three months with a cliff hanger episode to keep us wanting more.
Then ABC acts like they are having to make tough decisions on how to present their show. They say they have a 35 week season and only 22 episodes. What to do? What to do? So their great plan to eliminate endless repeats is to take a twelve week break in the middle of the season?
All they are trying to do is capitalize on a so-called hot time period to introduce another lame-o series to the schmucks who have been programmed to turn the TV on at 9:00 Wednesday nights.
If they really cared about their viewers and the fans of Lost they would run 22 episodes in a row, like 24 does. Then run their wannabe program for twelve weeks either before or after the Lost season.
TV programmers are gutless, drones in empty suits who could not care less about what is best for a show or it's fans. And that is why their office has a revolving door and why they are losing in the ratings to Criminal Minds.
We are starting a new ratings system here at Escape Velocity's ivory tower. It is called Blogboogers. And the more you get the worse you are. An example would be:
Tom Cruise -- ***** Blogboogers (out of ****)
So, in the spirit of fair play, and in light of the medication I'm on, and Kate does have a sweet ass, I am giving Lost -- *** Bloogboogers (out of ****).
.
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Can't We Just All Get Along?
DEAR GABBY,
I found out yesterday that a bunch of my friends are losers. Or everyone thinks they are, anyway. Well, the thing is, see, they lost. Now . . . these other guys, the friends of the not losers (I can't bring myself to call them winners) are going to start acting all smug and stuff. And I was wondering, is it OK to still call them "boogerbrains" and how deep should I dig the hole to avoid detection by the methane probes?
signed: PERTURBED IN PENNSYLVANIA
DEAR PERTURBED,
Not losing doesn't make a person a winner but not winning sucks. It might be best, for the time being, not to call the friends of the not losers "boogerbrains" to their faces but I don't see any reason not to refer to the friends of the not losers as "boogerbrains" when talking about them with your other friends of the not winners. Six feet but use plastic sheeting and duct tape.
signed: GABBY
.
I found out yesterday that a bunch of my friends are losers. Or everyone thinks they are, anyway. Well, the thing is, see, they lost. Now . . . these other guys, the friends of the not losers (I can't bring myself to call them winners) are going to start acting all smug and stuff. And I was wondering, is it OK to still call them "boogerbrains" and how deep should I dig the hole to avoid detection by the methane probes?
signed: PERTURBED IN PENNSYLVANIA
DEAR PERTURBED,
Not losing doesn't make a person a winner but not winning sucks. It might be best, for the time being, not to call the friends of the not losers "boogerbrains" to their faces but I don't see any reason not to refer to the friends of the not losers as "boogerbrains" when talking about them with your other friends of the not winners. Six feet but use plastic sheeting and duct tape.
signed: GABBY
.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Democracy Inaction!
Well, I was there when the polls opened today. I think it was a famous Democrat who once said, "Vote early and vote often." Or maybe it was one of the judges for the Miss Nude America pageant. Whatever.
I have learned two things from being in buildings hosting government run activities. Never make eye contact and wash your hands after you pee in the cup. Especially if they are serving pastries.
One of my personal rules for voting is that I always vote the straight party ticket. That is because I think the worst Republican is always better than the best Democrat. If I were a Democrat I would think that the worst Democrat would always be better than the best Republican. The reason for this is that, no matter how much you like and trust the odd member of the opposition party, they will, more often than not, align themselves with their own party's agenda on the big votes and big issues. You know, the ones that made you become either a Republican or a Democrat in the first place. So by voting for the "good ol' boy" that you know or like from the opposition is the same as giving away your vote on the hot button issues.
Another of my personal rules for voting is to actually vote. I developed this rule after years of watching TV. No, not the political ads or the Public Service Announcements. I'm talking about the Neilson ratings. I learned a long time ago that demographically, whatever I do, about 495,000 other people think and do the same thing. I am part of a demographical statistical grouping. And the quickest way I know of to get a TV show cancelled is to tape it while I watch another one live. That's why I have a bank of four TV's in my living room; each one with picture in picture. I feel like a Bond villain when I'm watching TV. . . Sooooo, I figure if I don't vote or if I vote stupidly, about 495,000 other people are going to do the same thing. (Or am I doing what I'm doing because someone else is the Alpha Male of the statistical, demographical group?) Whoa, that's deep, man.
I like to vote early, also, because when I watch the early results I know they are talking about me. It's almost as good as running for office, myself.
There you have it. A blueprint for Democracy.
I have learned two things from being in buildings hosting government run activities. Never make eye contact and wash your hands after you pee in the cup. Especially if they are serving pastries.
One of my personal rules for voting is that I always vote the straight party ticket. That is because I think the worst Republican is always better than the best Democrat. If I were a Democrat I would think that the worst Democrat would always be better than the best Republican. The reason for this is that, no matter how much you like and trust the odd member of the opposition party, they will, more often than not, align themselves with their own party's agenda on the big votes and big issues. You know, the ones that made you become either a Republican or a Democrat in the first place. So by voting for the "good ol' boy" that you know or like from the opposition is the same as giving away your vote on the hot button issues.
Another of my personal rules for voting is to actually vote. I developed this rule after years of watching TV. No, not the political ads or the Public Service Announcements. I'm talking about the Neilson ratings. I learned a long time ago that demographically, whatever I do, about 495,000 other people think and do the same thing. I am part of a demographical statistical grouping. And the quickest way I know of to get a TV show cancelled is to tape it while I watch another one live. That's why I have a bank of four TV's in my living room; each one with picture in picture. I feel like a Bond villain when I'm watching TV. . . Sooooo, I figure if I don't vote or if I vote stupidly, about 495,000 other people are going to do the same thing. (Or am I doing what I'm doing because someone else is the Alpha Male of the statistical, demographical group?) Whoa, that's deep, man.
I like to vote early, also, because when I watch the early results I know they are talking about me. It's almost as good as running for office, myself.
There you have it. A blueprint for Democracy.
- Vote early
- Vote often
- Vote a straight party ticket
- Never make eye contact
- Wash your hands after voting
- Watch plenty of TV
- Don't fuck up your statistical, demographical grouping
- And get some rest -- the 2008 campaign season starts tomorrow
Monday, November 06, 2006
An Ode To Football
Ah, football!
The glorious sport.
Jocks and their straps,
And all that sort.
Satellite dish,
And 60 inch screens.
The mortgage to bookies,
The death of our dreams.
The dash for the 40,
The 30, the 10,
Dance in the end zone,
Then start it again.
The wife's in the kitchen,
To get some more beer.
Back she comes naked,
The better to cheer.
And now its forgotten,
The score and the game.
Till 9 o'clock Monday,
And more of the same.
.........................................................>
(Is ode French for smelly poem?)
.
The glorious sport.
Jocks and their straps,
And all that sort.
Satellite dish,
And 60 inch screens.
The mortgage to bookies,
The death of our dreams.
The dash for the 40,
The 30, the 10,
Dance in the end zone,
Then start it again.
The wife's in the kitchen,
To get some more beer.
Back she comes naked,
The better to cheer.
And now its forgotten,
The score and the game.
Till 9 o'clock Monday,
And more of the same.
.........................................................>
(Is ode French for smelly poem?)
.
Sunday, November 05, 2006
Saddam Hussein to be Hung
Saddam Hussein and two others have been sentenced to death. He was convicted and sentenced to hang for crimes against humanity in the 1982 killings of 148 people in a single Shiite town. Those people were executed because they were SUSPECTED in an assassination ATTEMPT against Hussein.
So, because he thought that maybe someone tried to kill him, just to be on the safe side, he ordered them ALL killed. This is called Ruling Through Fear (theirs and his). His lawyer must have thought that was a fair way of dealing with the situation because when addressing the court, he reiterated the reasons for the killings and kept shouting, "Where is the crime?" "Where is the crime?"
Noted American liberal asshole Ramsey Clark, former U.S. Attorney General under Lyndon Johnson, has been acting as a defense attorney for Saddam Hussein during his trial. Prior to the reading of the verdict on Sunday, Ramsey was ejected from the trial after he handed the judge a note calling the trial a travesty. Of course, you can't fault Ramsey for his reaction, since most liberals think justice is a travesty and that only their perversions of what is right and wrong should be the accepted norm. He was just proving to the world, once again, what assholes most liberals are.
Iraq's Shiite Prime Minister said, after the verdict, "The verdict placed on the heads of the former regime does not represent a verdict for any one person. It is a verdict on a whole dark era that was unmatched in Iraq's history."
I disagree. This trial may be putting an end to a dark period in Iraq's history but for justice to be done, and in order for others to learn the lessons of that history, this verdict must be viewed as being specific to the individuals who committed the crimes. Hussein spent his life trying to put himself above or outside the law. Wasn't that the point of the trial? To demonstrate that he was subject to the same rule of law as everyone else? The verdict placed on the heads of the former regime MUST represent a verdict for each individual. Otherwise their convictions will be considered symbolic and these men become martyrs.
In a final note, Saddam, speaking through his lawyer, told the Iraqi people to "pardon and do not take revenge on the invading nations and their people" (wink, wink) and to "unify in the face of sectarian strife" (nudge, nudge. You know what I mean? You know what I mean?)
.
So, because he thought that maybe someone tried to kill him, just to be on the safe side, he ordered them ALL killed. This is called Ruling Through Fear (theirs and his). His lawyer must have thought that was a fair way of dealing with the situation because when addressing the court, he reiterated the reasons for the killings and kept shouting, "Where is the crime?" "Where is the crime?"
Noted American liberal asshole Ramsey Clark, former U.S. Attorney General under Lyndon Johnson, has been acting as a defense attorney for Saddam Hussein during his trial. Prior to the reading of the verdict on Sunday, Ramsey was ejected from the trial after he handed the judge a note calling the trial a travesty. Of course, you can't fault Ramsey for his reaction, since most liberals think justice is a travesty and that only their perversions of what is right and wrong should be the accepted norm. He was just proving to the world, once again, what assholes most liberals are.
Iraq's Shiite Prime Minister said, after the verdict, "The verdict placed on the heads of the former regime does not represent a verdict for any one person. It is a verdict on a whole dark era that was unmatched in Iraq's history."
I disagree. This trial may be putting an end to a dark period in Iraq's history but for justice to be done, and in order for others to learn the lessons of that history, this verdict must be viewed as being specific to the individuals who committed the crimes. Hussein spent his life trying to put himself above or outside the law. Wasn't that the point of the trial? To demonstrate that he was subject to the same rule of law as everyone else? The verdict placed on the heads of the former regime MUST represent a verdict for each individual. Otherwise their convictions will be considered symbolic and these men become martyrs.
In a final note, Saddam, speaking through his lawyer, told the Iraqi people to "pardon and do not take revenge on the invading nations and their people" (wink, wink) and to "unify in the face of sectarian strife" (nudge, nudge. You know what I mean? You know what I mean?)
.
Saturday, November 04, 2006
More: It's News to Me
Every now and then there is enough lunacy in the news on one day that it starts backing up the toilets here at Escape Velocity headquarters. It's time to flush again.
..............................................................................>
I saw a political attack ad sponsored by some chick looking for anti-feminist issues to run against. Apparently, she didn't like the way her male opponent voted on some health-care bill so here is the gist of her ad. (The names have been changed to protect my faulty memory.):
200,000 women a year are diagnosed with ovarian cancer. Bill Smith voted to allow insurance companies to cut benefits for these patients. His campaign received $100,000 in campaign contributions from powerful insurance interests. Bill Smith is Wrong for Women.
When I saw this political ad, even though it had a male voice-over, it sounded kinda shrill to me. Once I did the math, I thought, "What's the big deal? Even if there was a direct quid pro quo, that's only 50 cents per woman."
...............................................................................>
Neil Patrick Harris Says He Is Gay. That's like saying Mel Gibson is easily excitable. Or that Katie Couric wasn't worth the money.
...............................................................................>
Reducing Body Temperature Extends Life Span Of Mice. Is that why old ladies are cold all of the time?
...............................................................................>
Naked Man Arrested For Concealed Weapon. EL Cerrito, CA. -- It seems a naked man was masturbating along a nature path, in view of hikers. When the police arrived they (for some reason) asked him if he had any concealed weapons. It turns out he had a 6 inch awl, wrapped in electrical tape, hidden in his anus. When I started reading this account, I pictured him sitting under a tree. Now, I'm thinking he must have been standing.
...............................................................................>
Wal-Mart Cuts Prices For Holidays. The story says their earnings for the third quarter were off. So they are being forced to take these drastic measures. As I read this story, one of the voices in my head started singing Linda Ronstadt's Poor, Poor, Little Me. I wonder if Wal-Mart is set up to take donations?
...............................................................................>
Elections Head To Tense Finish. You know what helps me relax?
..
..............................................................................>
I saw a political attack ad sponsored by some chick looking for anti-feminist issues to run against. Apparently, she didn't like the way her male opponent voted on some health-care bill so here is the gist of her ad. (The names have been changed to protect my faulty memory.):
200,000 women a year are diagnosed with ovarian cancer. Bill Smith voted to allow insurance companies to cut benefits for these patients. His campaign received $100,000 in campaign contributions from powerful insurance interests. Bill Smith is Wrong for Women.
When I saw this political ad, even though it had a male voice-over, it sounded kinda shrill to me. Once I did the math, I thought, "What's the big deal? Even if there was a direct quid pro quo, that's only 50 cents per woman."
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Neil Patrick Harris Says He Is Gay. That's like saying Mel Gibson is easily excitable. Or that Katie Couric wasn't worth the money.
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Reducing Body Temperature Extends Life Span Of Mice. Is that why old ladies are cold all of the time?
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Naked Man Arrested For Concealed Weapon. EL Cerrito, CA. -- It seems a naked man was masturbating along a nature path, in view of hikers. When the police arrived they (for some reason) asked him if he had any concealed weapons. It turns out he had a 6 inch awl, wrapped in electrical tape, hidden in his anus. When I started reading this account, I pictured him sitting under a tree. Now, I'm thinking he must have been standing.
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Wal-Mart Cuts Prices For Holidays. The story says their earnings for the third quarter were off. So they are being forced to take these drastic measures. As I read this story, one of the voices in my head started singing Linda Ronstadt's Poor, Poor, Little Me. I wonder if Wal-Mart is set up to take donations?
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Elections Head To Tense Finish. You know what helps me relax?
..
Friday, November 03, 2006
An Apology
I made a mistake. I was attempting satire in my previous posting about John Kerry but it was a botched attempt. Anyone with any understanding -- you know who I mean -- would know that my wording, and possibly my usage of words, were clearly to blame. I never meant any insult to liars and cowards and my comments were a botched attempt to denigrate Mr. Kerry. But not his office, which I deeply respect.
I do not want to become the issue or the focal point, as it were, in this very divisive campaign. It is more important that the message gets out. And I am willing to let that part remain a little vague because, since I now have all the media attention, that message, if there was one, would get lost anyway. It is therefore much better for the country and this campaign that I remove myself from an area where I should not have been in the first place and have all the media coverage follow me for the next several days than it would be for me to remain a distraction to the more important issues, whatever they are, back there with the candidates.
What I meant to say was: "John Kerry is a liar and a coward -- just ask John Kerry."
I hope this clears everything up . . . no, seriously . . . I, uh . . . I'm . . . um . . . I'm sorry.
I do not want to become the issue or the focal point, as it were, in this very divisive campaign. It is more important that the message gets out. And I am willing to let that part remain a little vague because, since I now have all the media attention, that message, if there was one, would get lost anyway. It is therefore much better for the country and this campaign that I remove myself from an area where I should not have been in the first place and have all the media coverage follow me for the next several days than it would be for me to remain a distraction to the more important issues, whatever they are, back there with the candidates.
What I meant to say was: "John Kerry is a liar and a coward -- just ask John Kerry."
I hope this clears everything up . . . no, seriously . . . I, uh . . . I'm . . . um . . . I'm sorry.
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Now What Do I Do?
Well, I finished the last of my "end of summer" chores yesterday. I have tried to create a low maintenance, low impact lifestyle for my self, these last few years. As a result, I haven't stopped working since I retired.
I wrote a blog last spring about all of the spring time chores required to "open up" our tiki themed deck; the deck staining, the yard work, and various maintenance items. Throughout the summer, when I should have been lazing around the pool, I worked on a variety of "tinker" projects. Now, well into the fall season, I believe I have finally exhausted my list.
The deck furniture is safely stored away in the garage, I rebuilt a section of my tiki bar that was warped by the summer heat and rains, polyurethaned the tiki bar prior to winter storage, replaced a cracked o-ring in the hot tub, maintenanced and covered the golf cart and the ATV, re-painted the trim on the garage, and remodeled our living room, bedrooms and my garage office.
At one point, the list of things to do became so long I bought two white boards to keep track of things. In other words, I had to organize my list.
I have mentioned on these pages that I believe retirement is a myth. I have one of my favorite comic strips framed in my office. It is from The Neighborhood by Jerry Van Amerongen. It depicts a guy standing on his front porch, looking expansively at his yard and house, both hands planted firmly on the front rail, and the caption says, "Ahh, Saturday morning and not a chore in sight!" The next panel shows him just after the rail collapses and he is face down in the dirt, surrounded by splinter railing and a sagging porch roof.
Things aren't quite that bad around here but it does seem like it never ends. There will always be a list. Which reminds me of another of my soon-to-be-famous quotes:
"If we can't laugh at ourselves . . . that still leaves a pretty long list."
I wrote a blog last spring about all of the spring time chores required to "open up" our tiki themed deck; the deck staining, the yard work, and various maintenance items. Throughout the summer, when I should have been lazing around the pool, I worked on a variety of "tinker" projects. Now, well into the fall season, I believe I have finally exhausted my list.
The deck furniture is safely stored away in the garage, I rebuilt a section of my tiki bar that was warped by the summer heat and rains, polyurethaned the tiki bar prior to winter storage, replaced a cracked o-ring in the hot tub, maintenanced and covered the golf cart and the ATV, re-painted the trim on the garage, and remodeled our living room, bedrooms and my garage office.
At one point, the list of things to do became so long I bought two white boards to keep track of things. In other words, I had to organize my list.
I have mentioned on these pages that I believe retirement is a myth. I have one of my favorite comic strips framed in my office. It is from The Neighborhood by Jerry Van Amerongen. It depicts a guy standing on his front porch, looking expansively at his yard and house, both hands planted firmly on the front rail, and the caption says, "Ahh, Saturday morning and not a chore in sight!" The next panel shows him just after the rail collapses and he is face down in the dirt, surrounded by splinter railing and a sagging porch roof.
Things aren't quite that bad around here but it does seem like it never ends. There will always be a list. Which reminds me of another of my soon-to-be-famous quotes:
"If we can't laugh at ourselves . . . that still leaves a pretty long list."
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
John Kerry is a Liar and a Coward
What war does John Kerry think we are fighting? In fact, what year does he think it is? He has been in the headlines recently for telling a group of California students on Monday that those unable to navigate this country's education system "get stuck in Iraq".
Naturally, the White House demanded an apology from Kerry for "troop bashing" saying, "The members of the United States Military are plenty smart and they are plenty brave . . ."
What strikes me about Kerry's comments is the 60's mindset. Back then we had a military draft. It was possible to get a draft deferment while you were in college. That system was geared to taking the lower income and less educated young men first; those who could not afford a college education or those who did not have the aptitude for higher education.
We do not have a military draft today, Mr. Kerry. All of the brave men and women serving in the Armed Forces today are there because they are proud to serve their country and they understand what sacrifice and selflessness is. And you are trying to turn their sacrifice and their deaths into something dirty for your own shameful political ends.
Everyone knows how you, Mr. Kerry, "served" your country. Another of the rules back then was that you could get shipped home from Viet Nam after being wounded three times. We all know how you promoted minor injuries (that any brave soldier would have shaken off) as qualifying wounds and how you actually initiated the paperwork yourself, a job normally left to a superior officer. And we still remember how you came home and launched a political career protesting and jeering the sacrifice of your fallen comrades. How you lied about troop misbehavior to gain favor with your liberal friends. It is difficult to forget such cowardice under fire.
Today, there is no "navigating" necessary to avoid military service. Those who do not choose to serve do not have to. Those who choose to serve do so proudly. People like you have no right to criticize their patriotism or their sacrifice or their choices.
Freedom has always been paid for with blood. We are at war and your comments, Mr. Kerry, are giving aid and comfort to the enemy. Your shameful behavior in the past and your shameless rhetoric of the present indicate a person devoid of character and unworthy of consideration. You had to lie in the past to make your specious points and you are lying today with your inflammatory comments.
You are constantly accusing the president of lying and publicly demanding that he "come clean." Well, another thing that everyone knows about liberals is that you are always guilty of the behavior you are decrying the most. It is called a diversionary tactic and you aren't fooling any one.
I heard a good analogy in a TV show called The Unit. While questioning the appropriateness of a group of war protesters she said something like this, "You wouldn't yell at or denounce a group of firemen going to put out a fire, would you? Well, our troops are trying to put out another fire. A fire that seeks to destroy our homes, our families and our way of life. They are bravely facing the flames of terrorism, daily, so that you can be safe in your homes. They are just doing their jobs."
And, apparently, Mr. Kerry's job is mis-information. He is acting as point man for all of the cowards and traitors who would criticize our troops during a time of war. Fortunately, he isn't making any more sense now than he did back then. And only fools believe him.
Naturally, the White House demanded an apology from Kerry for "troop bashing" saying, "The members of the United States Military are plenty smart and they are plenty brave . . ."
What strikes me about Kerry's comments is the 60's mindset. Back then we had a military draft. It was possible to get a draft deferment while you were in college. That system was geared to taking the lower income and less educated young men first; those who could not afford a college education or those who did not have the aptitude for higher education.
We do not have a military draft today, Mr. Kerry. All of the brave men and women serving in the Armed Forces today are there because they are proud to serve their country and they understand what sacrifice and selflessness is. And you are trying to turn their sacrifice and their deaths into something dirty for your own shameful political ends.
Everyone knows how you, Mr. Kerry, "served" your country. Another of the rules back then was that you could get shipped home from Viet Nam after being wounded three times. We all know how you promoted minor injuries (that any brave soldier would have shaken off) as qualifying wounds and how you actually initiated the paperwork yourself, a job normally left to a superior officer. And we still remember how you came home and launched a political career protesting and jeering the sacrifice of your fallen comrades. How you lied about troop misbehavior to gain favor with your liberal friends. It is difficult to forget such cowardice under fire.
Today, there is no "navigating" necessary to avoid military service. Those who do not choose to serve do not have to. Those who choose to serve do so proudly. People like you have no right to criticize their patriotism or their sacrifice or their choices.
Freedom has always been paid for with blood. We are at war and your comments, Mr. Kerry, are giving aid and comfort to the enemy. Your shameful behavior in the past and your shameless rhetoric of the present indicate a person devoid of character and unworthy of consideration. You had to lie in the past to make your specious points and you are lying today with your inflammatory comments.
You are constantly accusing the president of lying and publicly demanding that he "come clean." Well, another thing that everyone knows about liberals is that you are always guilty of the behavior you are decrying the most. It is called a diversionary tactic and you aren't fooling any one.
I heard a good analogy in a TV show called The Unit. While questioning the appropriateness of a group of war protesters she said something like this, "You wouldn't yell at or denounce a group of firemen going to put out a fire, would you? Well, our troops are trying to put out another fire. A fire that seeks to destroy our homes, our families and our way of life. They are bravely facing the flames of terrorism, daily, so that you can be safe in your homes. They are just doing their jobs."
And, apparently, Mr. Kerry's job is mis-information. He is acting as point man for all of the cowards and traitors who would criticize our troops during a time of war. Fortunately, he isn't making any more sense now than he did back then. And only fools believe him.
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