The idea behind Nerf footballs was that they were light and airy, easy to throw for little kids, and easy to catch without fear of getting a broken nose if there was a slight miscalculation. Who was the brilliant engineer who thought to put a note pad mounted on a piece of hard plastic in the damn football? Did somebody think that the purpose of having a soft football was so nobody would get hurt if he or she were hit in the face?. And what happens when you put something hard with corners inside something soft and hit someone in the face with it -- any little kid (not me ... honest; it was Rudy) knows what a rock inside a snowball does to a bus window ... you end up running like hell.
Well, apparently, too many kids' faces were on the receiving end of the football and got bloodied. The footballs were recalled. Damn, instead of mapping out plays inside the football on the pad mounted on a hard rectangular plastic piece with a pointy pencil or pen, kids will have to draw the play in the dirt.
Talking about smashing things, I picked up a 91 Chevy Cavalier, which was in great condition, that I was going to tool around in for a few months. This was a few months ago, but I never drove it. It was liberated by the J-Dogg (whose entry in Blog Madness 2003 you can read and vote for (#12), if you deem it worthy), who has the Hawaiian hula girl on the dash and fuzzy dice hanging from the mirror with after-market CD player and nice speakers (I climbed in the trunk to mount them under the back deck.).
It's a "beater," but it was in great condition. I say "was" because it seems that while drivers respect the integrity of a Lexus or Mercedes, they have no regard for a 91 Cavalier.
Just because it's a 91 model or a Chevy Cavalier and not a BMW doesn't mean it's there in the parking lot to be sacrificed in the interest of testing bumpers of SUVs. By the way, just because it’s a 91 Cavalier doesn’t mean that you can back into the front end smashing the plastic thingy and denting the hood and drive away without leaving your name and number, asshole.
blog it forward: NOW would be a GREAT time to check out jenb's site. you'll see that after dealing with infertility problems and health difficulties, she and her husband, mark, are the proud parents of beyonce err ... charlotte. jenb is hysterically funny, smart, and truly one of the best in blogworld. this is a really NICE person. a good person. her readers are awesome, too. count yourself as one of them after you visit.
First of all, don't shoot me. I'm watching Sting on the Bio Channel. Why the hell does the weekly test of the emergency broadcast system have to cut in with its "BR-R-R-R-A-A-A-CK! BR-R-R-R-A-A-A-CK! BR-R-R-R-A-A-A-CK!" while he's singing?
That is all.
Our friend, A, came today to clean and do some laundry, which helps me out because there is less chance for me to fuck up in that respect. It is worth the cost to have a built-in excuse. I can say, "Oh, that sweater? A must have done that."
And that excuse has been extended to whatever else might be damaged, broken, or otherwise out of place (except computer problems, which we blame on Mark). So, the mysterious fracture and repair of the concrete Boxer's front leg was obviously accomplished by A.
Today, she came bearing legal problems for me to solve. This is an ever-increasing sore spot with me. She has a feud with her credit card company and a certain huge multi-national internet service provider about some unauthorized charges to her credit card.
There are some charges for purchases in Florida, which her two college students visited over winter break. But, you see, her kids would never do something like that without permission. But people who work at AOL would. "They do things like that," she said.
Now, I'm not saying that A is wrong. Stranger things have happened, like her one kid driving through the closed door of the volunteer fire department through no fault of his own (it was dark and the driveway did look a little like the road) or like the same kid driving his motorcycle on the interstate without a license (how was he supposed to get to the trail to ride the motorcycle?), among other things.
I admit that I have given her legal advice in the past on many occasions over the years without demand or expectation of monetary consideration. We're friends, right?
Here's the deal. I'm the one who told her to go to the university's free legal clinic because her kid was a studentenrolled in the school at the time he signed the lease and I wasn't going to drive 3 hours one way for all the hearings to represent her when the landlord sued her because of something her son did.
I'm the one who told her she would win at trial and that she shouldn't pay the $3,000 the university's legal clinic lawyer told her to pay to settle. I'm the one who told her how to handle her lawyer so that he would understand that she wouldn't be bullied into settling and so that he'd make a money claim for her under the law against the landlord. I'm the one who explained why she would win, something her lawyer neglected to tell her.
She went to trial. She won. The court awarded her money.
She told me, while relating her woes with AOL and a Boston bank, that she and her husband were headed down this weekend to take her legal clinic lawyers out to dinner. After all, they spent a lot of time on the case and gave her good advice.
While A was whining, Stacey e-mailed me a request from work for Krispy Kremes. I left on the 45-minute one-way drive to Krispy Kreme. Before I got out the door, though, A did notice that I was getting "skinny." Too little, too late, A.
The J-dogg and I were headed home, listening to Tavis Smiley on the local NPR station.
Tavis interviewed Barry Schwartz, a psychologist and author of The Paradox of Choice: Why More Is Less, who said that all the choices we have in shopping is not a good thing. There is a problem with choice and abundance.
He said Bush's plan for choice among health plans will produce stress on those who need the health insurance the most, causing emotional and physical problems. He goes so far to say that the myriad of choices confronting each American contributes to clinical depression.
The solution? Schwartz said that people can get in a habit of appreciating what they have and figuring out the things for which they should be grateful and choose the time when to choose.
After listening for a couple minutes, philosopher J-dogg pointed out, laughing: "This guy is right. When you don't have a lot of cash, the choice between acid and cocaine can be very stressful. It's not drugs that causes grave emotional damage -- it's deciding which one you want when when you can't afford both."
Ah-h-h-h-h, yes. Drug addiction humor. I'll send that one to Reader's Digest.
J-dogg, Jackal, Jack, or Jackson, whatever you want to call him, followed someone's suggestion and entered one of his posts from 2003 into the BlogMadness 2003 competition. Unfortunately, his entry, which is #12 in the Love Category, is in the same category as one submitted by -d.
I know Jackson is not into self-promotion; so, I'll do it for him. It's one of his better writings on addiction, recovery, and recognizing the need for compassion. I know he never comes to our little blog here; so, I can say that we are quite proud of him. Vote early and often.
So, I'm at the Reuters website and I click on the news story I want to read and I can't get there. The internet connection is down. I called Comcast because that's our internet connection. Comcast has commercials on every Comcast cable station about the advantages of its reliable, high-speed internet connectivity over every other kind of service.
I'm on the phone with Jason -- he's being polite, checking whether there are any problems in the area; and he says no, no problems.
"Start with recycling the modem," he says.
And I tell him, "Yeah, I'll do all that stuff and call you back, if it's still a problem."
Recycle the modem. It's like any other computer problem. Turn the thing off and on. But they call it "recycling the modem." Like it's some magical techno-only-we-know-what-we're-talking-about-you-stupid-normal-person thing that is so complicated that we don't know what's going on. I know the problem is at their end because I was right in the middle of doing something and the damn thing cut out. That's definitely a problem on their end, which happens more than they want to admit, but I'll do what they want and "recycle the modem," like I'm an idiot or something.
Don't you just love that kind of attitude. I'm paying all this money for reliability and high speed and all that shit that they advertise, including the customer service, and he can't even take the time to tell me my modem's working -- all he has to do is type in my phone number and pull up the operating status and se if it's working -- and if it's not, then check to see where the problem is. Isn't that how it works?
Whatever.
So I go upstairs to "recycle the modem." None of the lights are on. It's not working. Damn thing must be broken. The little plug thingy is plugged in on the back of the translucent, fin-shaped affair. Then I checked to see if it was plugged in to the power strip. And it was. No wonder Jason didn't tell me the modem was okay -- because it's not okay!
Some customer service -- he knew the modem wasn't working, but do you think he wants to 'fess up and admit that the thing is broken? No. That is not the American way.
But I'm not done with my diagnostic stuff. I'm not going to call yet. I'm not a fly-off-the-fucking-handle guy that everyone thinks I am. I only threw a hammer one time when a nail bent. I have a complaint about the on-off button on the power strip. It's hard to tell what position is "on" and what position is"off." So, I checked both power strips. The fin-shaped modem still didn't go on.
There are so many wires and plugs, some of them big-ass plugs. There was one plug that was just laying on the floor tangled in some other cords. I couldn't tell what that was for.
Except when I plugged it, the cable modem started working.
i'm actually sick to my stomach here. bill's sitting here telling me the latest rush limbaugh news. i don't think it will come as a surprise to anyone who's read anything on this site to hear that bill and i are not "fans." i hate what he says. hate it.
but come on here people. the man's an addict, admitted it, went for help, and struggles mightily each day to fight this problem. do we really want to be the kind of society that has no compassion at all, does not support recovery attempts, that only wants to punish those different or "less than perfect?" by definition, most addicts have done illegal things to obtain their next fix. duh. what the fuck are these prosecutors thinking to go after him NOW only because some really bright person in the da's office figured out after the fact that there were chargeable offenses involved.
jax has FINALLY come to a place in his sobriety (almost 2 years!) where he invites bill and me to hear him "lead" at his 12-step meetings. in jax's lead, he admits to A LOT of illegal acts to get drugs or the money to purchase drugs. shall i advise him to tone down his "honesty" in his attempts to deliver a message of hope for fear that there are people attending who are only there to gather information for law-enforcement agencies? don't talk to me about anonymity. yes, it's honored at the meetings, but most people in the program know most of the other members' last names.
what are we -- nazis? is it our intent to rid -- or at the very least shun and silence -- those different and deserving our love and support? maybe we could establish leper-like colonies again. that way we wouldn't have to even consider the existence of the less than perfect.
if i were god, i'd give each and every heartless, compassionless "perfect round peg" a taste of the powerlessness of the disease. a mile in an addict's shoes. just a taste.
hmmm. was that you, god? was that YOU giving this gift to rush?
We receive a notice from BFI every month to have the trash and recyclables out on the curb by 6 a.m. on Monday morning for pick-up. That's Garbage Day in our town -- Monday. In fact, it's against the law to put the trash out on the curb before sunset on Sunday and to leave any trash containers out after Monday at sunset. Large fines are involved -- minimum mandatory jail time, too. Almost as large a fine as when the lawn isn't mown to the prescribed height once a week (no jail time, though -- whew).
So I have a problem -- a legal problem.
Wednesday night was ver-r-r-r-ry windy. I think we got the wind from up north. Thursday morning when I let the dogs out at 2 a.m., 3:30 a.m., and 5 a.m., there was a Rubbermaid refuse container, at various locations each time about 30 feet or so from the front door in and around the tree.
In the morning yesterday, leaving for the office, I spied it over by the creek that runs through our property. And there it sits this morning. Nobody has come to claim it. I'm not going to touch the damn thing. Who knows what germs are on it? I'm hoping that the garbage police don't come by and see that there's a trash can out illegally. An offense like that does not look good, even if found innocent. And I have a good defense -- it's not mine!
But I'll show up in the Police Blotter section of the local paper. The horror ... the horror!
this is why i'm not sleeping. laughing your ass off wakes you up good.
bill: i figured out what's going on on mars with the rover.
stace: oh yeah?
bill: the brits are pissed. and they secretly sent their "beagle" rover over to our rover to kick our rover's ass. their scientists are watching it on their closed circuit tv's right now i'll bet. billion dollar robot wars.
stace: **no words. just a snorting laughter fit. it's all over for me for at least a while now.**
*************
we stopped at starbucks this evening (i know, i know. go figure), and guess what? luxury, pristinely beautiful lexus mini-van in the handicapped parking space! shocking, right?
so we march right in there up to the counter and ask the girl to call the police as there's a car with no handicapped sticker in the spot. bill talks. i watch the patrons for their reactions. i spot her right away. waiting for her latte, she is. but i'm distracted from my desire to rip her head off by the 18 year-old clerk telling my husband, the lawyer, the ada-expert lawyer thankyouverymuch, that it's private property, and so, not against the law. now there are two people i want to kill. i have to choose. so i decide bill can handle the law debate, and i choose my victim. i go stand over by her, pretending to wait for my coffee, and dial the police on my cell phone. she listens while i tell the dispatcher that there's a car parked illegally -- not an emergency, officer -- at starbucks on detroit. but my lady gets her drink (she's really shaking right now) and almost runs for the door. i block her (i can move pretty fast when i'm pissed) and ask her if that's her car in the h-c spot. "yes, i just had knee surgery."
i wasn't ready for THAT excuse. i ask her if she knows what a temporary tag is. she says "no." i tell her ( i wasn't very polite, but i didn't destroy her -- i was caught off guard with that excuse. i won't be fooled again by that one) to ask her doctor. i come to my senses as she runs to her car that it was bullshit. dammit! denied!
a couple years ago, i called someone i considered a friend to alert her to a potentially dangerous situation in which her 17-year-old son was involved. we talked a long time, but it was the last time we spoke.
about a week ago, i came across an e-mail exchange from some time ago between me and a "friend."
i'm the kind of person who keeps e-mails, i-m's, cards. not for any kind of horrible reason -- for me, it's like a record of my life.
i asked this person some direct questions, the responses -- i now know -- were lies. i never thought about it until i reread the e-mails. i was crushed. i'm STILL crushed. i'm guessing she didn't feel comfortable being asked directly -- i wish she would have responded in that vein, rather than half-truths and non-truths.
it breaks my heart to think that friends should NEVER tell friends bad news. i can't live that way -- i just can't.
As a part of my on-going quest to maintain an adequate supply of gasoline in the tank to operate the white VW Beetle with the black "The Who" sticker on the back bumper, I stopped at my favorite BP station. The girl who screamed at me about talking on my cell phone while pumping gas, apparently, in retrospect, because she couldn't do two things at once, was nowhere to be found, which was a good thing.
The temperature was about 8° F, closer to absolute zero than I was comfortable with. A black Porsche affair pulled up to the other set of pumps to my right. I thought that cars like that didn't stop at a regular gas station, but went to special stations where the cars remained untouched by human hands. I was wrong.
A guy uncoiled from the driver's side door, wearing a grey ski jacket with a collar that was wrapped around his neck, effectively preventing anyone from garroting him. He stuck the gas pump nozzle in a place I would not have figured on, then he grabbed the windshield washer sponge/squeegee to clean his windows.
I always thought that the sponge/squeegee thingy was for washing windows, but I guess I was wrong about that, too. Porsche-Man started washing his car with the sponge part of the sponge/squeegee thingy. He started washing the front of the car and moved back towards the windshield. He then started to wash the side of the car. He was working very hard at cleaning his black Porsche, trying to remove all of the road grime.
My tank was full; so, I went in to pay, not wanting to allow any more heat to escape from my bald pate.
It must be the cold weather that makes people act strange. Here's a car worth $93,000 the guy was washing with a sponge/squeegee thingy. He could have gotten a discount on the car wash behind the gas station with a fill-up, where no human hands would have touched his little thing of joy.
Here are quotes from the State of the Union address that trouble me:
1. And America has always been willing to do what it takes for what is right.
2. I believe that God has planted in every heart the desire to live in freedom. And even when that desire is crushed by tyranny for decades, it will rise again.
3. So America is pursuing a forward strategy of freedom in the greater Middle East. We will challenge the enemies of reform, confront the allies of terror, and expect a higher standard from our friends.
I don't know about any of you, dear Readers, but this rhetoric scares the bejeebers out of me. Bush and his close advisors want to leave the legacy that they cured the ills in the Middle East -- that has been something that these guys have wanted since Bush the Elder was in office and was the plan for his second term.
If Bush the Lesser gets elected, I see none of the things he promised in the way of curing domestic ills coming to pass. I see pre-emptive wars in a number of places in the Middle East, however.
If so, the draft will be resurrected. You middle-of-the-roaders with boys 15 and older who are voting should remember that come November. Of course, you may be too young to recall the last draft. And the 52,000 body bags. And the devastation of families here and abroad. Yes, my friends, 500 deaths in Iraq is nothing compared to what is on the horizon if Bush is re-elected.
I don't claim to be an intelligent guy. I don't claim to be a student of politics. I hope someone out there can give a couple good reasons why I'm wrong. And don't give me the bullshit about Saddam being a ba-a-a-a-a-d man.
I expect that we will be hearing a lot of objectively unbelievable, twisted stuff from the mouthpiece tonight in the State of the Union address.
I know the state of the Union -- two words, it sucks. Like I have said before, Hooters down in the Flats in Cleveland, long a hot spot, closed. No need to tell me the tax cut must be permanent; no need to tell me Social Security should be privatized at a $100 billion a year for 10 years; no need to tell me one-half trillion dollars is really nothing compared to what has been accomplished in the last three years. And no need to brag about the new Medicare benefit. Where is the money coming from? A mortgage on the future? SHOW ME THE MONEY!
Enough of this whining. Let's move on to the truth. I picked up the J-Dogg at the local guitar store earlier and saw a newspaper on one of the benches near the door.
The reader will recall that the Department of War said there were secret operations going on in Iraq, which resulted in the caprture of the evil Saddam Hussein.
The headline from the Weekly World News announced that Bat Boy had been instrumental in capturing Saddam. There was a picture of Bat Boy, arms extended over his head in exultation, right there in Saddam's spider hole! I am hoping that Bush gives credit where credit is due tonight regarding the capture of Saddam, but I doubt that will happen.
And I wonder if George the Lesser will let us know that severely near-sighted, American-despising, 6-foot-tall, highly intelligent, mutant mole people living in caves, holes, lairs, and tunnels in Wyoming littered with books on making dirty bombs and delivering biological agents pose a threat greater than that of Al Qaeda to the security of the United States.
It's true! Don't believe me? I read about it in the press.
Don't believe everything you hear tonight. And don't believe that the President has your interest at heart. Unless your name is Karl Rove.
It's Martin Luther King, Jr., Day. I am somewhat disconcerted that nobody has suggested that the Iowa caucuses should not be held on this day. Couldn't they have been held yesterday -- or would that have been sacrilegious? If so, then isn't holding them today also inappropriate?
This day is a day to reflect on the philosophy of Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., and what we can do to make this nation a better place for all.
And here's what I'm thinking as I sit here watching the Star Trek marathon. There's a problem with a lot of people and their prejudices, whether they dislike people of color, an individual's ethnicity or species, or a person's gender preference. They seem to think that everyone they deal with for the first time thinks the way they think. Here's the deal. Not everyone thinks the way you think. Have you noticed that? I don't think the way you think I think.
Just because I'm a white, middle class male doesn't mean that I want to hear your racial slurs, ethnic jokes, or derogatory remarks about gays. Why do you think you can talk to me like I think the same way you do?
Why do people think that way?
What the hell is wrong with people? 123 people were arrested Saturday at a church that was converted to a pit-bull-fighting arena. The cops let the 5-year-old serving barbecued chicken to the patrons go home with her mother after her mother was booked, but the police are going to charge the mother with child abuse.
Apparently, this was big business in Covington, Georgia, with a quarter mill in cash being confiscated. About 70 law enforcement officers raided the place with the Georgia Air National Guard providing air support.
It was later reported that the chicken cook tried to run, but didn't get far. And a guy recovering from open heart surgery had some problems, but he fared better than one gentleman who tried to escape by diving out a plate glass window and smashed his head into a brick wall.
ok. first of all, a disclaimer: i could research this if i REALLY wanted to, but i'm not going to. i'm just going to vent and be pissy. i'm not like bill, who spends hours researching every little thing he writes. i just don't care THAT much.
the questions:
has there been a change of producers on "trading spaces" who have directed the designers to be more controversial (shitty) in their designing. i'm not going to even address doug, whom i have supported in a lot of his efforts (most turned out very nice, i thought); i'm only going to say that his medication seems not to be working anymore, as he is getting nastier and nastier. these people are SUPPOSED to be redecorating people's personal spaces! this should not be an opportunity for them to work out their own personal grievances against society in general, or against those the designer considers beneath him or her taste-wise.
this USED to be a good show! the designers did nice things to the spaces, and the people were generally appreciative. as they should have been. and we viewers enjoyed the show because we learned some things and learned how to do some things. it was great. more and more, i feel that i'm watching TLC's version of "punk'd." lately i've seen shows where people were "gifted" with cardboard furniture and walls, walls covered with feathers, and walls covered with straw. these are ALL hildy's work. what happened to her in these past few years that she's terrorizing these poor people? what did they ever do to her? these shows remind me of performance "art" pieces with people throwing around chicken shit and innards to "artistically represent" something.
and you know it looks like shit. the complicit neighbor / "friends" know it looks like shit, and the "victims" know it looks like shit. but we're all supposed to just eat these shit sandwiches with a big smile on our faces lest we be deemed ignorant of the "beauty" of these "designs." well i'm not keeping my mouth shut anymore. THE EMPEROR'S NAKED!
and what about these "friends?" that would be the end of that friendship for me.
i'm not watching it anymore. i'm exercising my right to change the channel. unless vern is on every show from now on. vern and laurie. two happy, well-adjusted people who know what their role is / should be.
bill asked me today when i was going to post something. as if i could keep up with him. but i guess i have been kind of a slacker, so here i am.
we spent the day bumming (target, bath and body works, costco, home depot, starbucks -- where people act like they have no idea what a handicapped spot is). we're waiting for jax to come home with a buddy so we can have some chicken soup and kick-ass cornbread, watching "queer eye."
the first post i ever made was at my first site, and i'm going to "run" it again, given our experience at starbucks today. cuz, really, i'm just lazy. read on, puhleez!
needing a mocha -- badly this morning, i am faced with my first decision (second if you count the choice i was forced to make between a mocha or a gingerbread spice latte) on my drive in to work. westlake promenade starbucks or north olmsted. north olmsted always has a slight edge cuz the people like me there more than the westlake store who staffs only people who want my husband -- the only exceptions are the straight males, of which the staff has maybe 2. for all shifts. AND the nice little handicapped parking space is a little harder to maneuver into. into which to maneuver. whatever.
and i'm running a little late. so as anybody knows, if you're running late, you stop closest to your destination because even if the stop would take the same amount of time wherever you stop, common sense tells you anyway that you won't be as late if you make the stop closer to your destination. don't argue with me about this. you know it's true.
so, north olmsted it is. and they have those two REALLY, REALLY nice handicapped parking spaces. before i pull into the parking lot, i can see one is taken up by a really, really big suv. i don't know what kind, jax, sorry. i think it's called a gargantuan. no handicapped thingy as far as i can see. oh. but wait. the car (is that proper to call it a car?) is RUNNING. as everybody knows, if you leave your car RUNNING, it's a-ok to park in a handicapped spot. it implies you're in A HURRY. you know. a HURRY. but wait. that's not all. there's a REALLY, REALLY cute dog in the passenger seat. so OF COURSE he could park there!
there's an oh-so-cute, wiggly young woman tapping at the REALLY, REALLY cute dog's window, singing "hi cutie pie." this is really a nice looking dog by my standards -- it's an all-white (coulda been an albino) bull dog. so he didn't like her calling him that. his reaction was not friendly, and i'm happy about that for some inexplicable reason. i get out of the car as gracefully as i can, cuz she's standing right next to me waiting. being cute. for what i don't know. she must think she can talk this dog into changing his first impression of her. so i get out and she turns to me all cute like and says, "cute, huh?" i say "yeah, nice dog -- does he have a handicapped sticker?" cute doesn't bring out the nice in me, as you all know. cute and nice. overrated. she says all cute like, "i don't know, it's not my car." really? thank god, cuz if it were, you might want to consider getting a different dog is what i'd like to say. but i want to hurry up so whoever does belong to this dog and car can see a handicapped person actually going to starbucks. a handicapped person in a hurry. some REALLY, REALLY cute young guy comes out of starbucks. the two cute young people catch each other's eye. the cute girl (woman?) says, "really cute dog" as i'm approaching him. i say, "yeah. cute. fucking asshole." he's beaming as i pass him cuz he's caught the attention of a really, really cute girl. evidently with his REALLY, REALLY cute dog and big car (?). you know what they say. big car. big gas bill. must have money.
so as far as i can see, i've played a part in this really, really cute hook-up. when they're done talking about the dog, they can talk about me.
i hope the dog bites her. i hope the guy spills his coffee in his big car. i wish he woulda said something back to me. i had a lot more to say to him. fucking fuckwit asshole. i woulda said fucking fuckwit fuck, but i thought that would have been over the top. maybe not.
i'm not in a good mood.
It's our beagle's first winter. Scout enjoys romping in the snow, so much so that at 2 a.m., she stayed out for about a half hour.
And she was smart about it. Every time I yelled at encouraged her to come in, she would perform her little "I-gotta-take-a-dump" dance; so, I closed the door, not wanting the temperature in the house to get much lower than the standard wintertime night-time indoor temperature of 43 F. After all, 3 degree outdoor air will suck the relative warmth right out the door. I just put up my hoodie and curled up on one of the couches.
At about 2:30, Scout scratched on the side window. I opened the door and threatened to kick her ass invited her in. She stopped right there, head dipping down. She smelled something. And she ignored me. She apparently is immune to the variations of the word, "fuck," because she wasn't interested in anything other than what she smelled, especially coming into the house, no matter how many variations I used.
Her tongue darted out of her mouth. How was I supposed to know she was going to lick the aluminum plate just outside the door?
And how do you tell a dog not to lick the metal a second time after she gets it unstuck the first time?
I was in Giant Eagle the other night after 10 ... with Stacey. My nighttime grocery clerk buddy, Bob, was not there. I haven't seen him in a while. Hell, I haven't been to the store after 10 p.m. in months. That's probably because I go to bed early now, which has actually been ... highly therapeutic. And as a further consequence of being undercover early, my movie-watching has taken a nose-dive.
As a movie buff, the top 100 movie list making the rounds, like at -d's blog, piqued my curiosity. I looked through the whole list. I thought that -d left out a few of the all-time greats when she copied the list, but everyone's list was the same.
I was shocked that several of my all-time favorites did not make the list, but this is understandable, as the list is heavily weighted with American films. There are a few foreign flicks, the standards for any list, on the Top 100, but conspicuous by its absence is one of the greatest Japanese films of all time, overlooked 100% of the time, directed by Noriaki Yuasa, Gamera. The movie is better by many magnitudes and more instructive than the Godzilla series, which I believe has cast a dark shadow over this classic. The special effects are excellent. The lessons it teaches about the advantages of U.S. cooperation with the U.N. in combating terror and evil are not lost upon the viewer.
The original 1965 movie was edited, with scenes being added for its release in the U.S. in 1966, and that edited version, called Gammera: The Invincible has been released on DVD.
Be forewarned, however, that, in the DVD, the famous "Ball of fire!" sequence about 24 1/2 minutes into the film, in which Gamera makes his first appearance in the skies of Japan, has been modified. The old man's "Ball of fire!" exclamation has been deleted, much to my chagrin, the original Japanese having been used.
There are a lot of countries that have strange laws. In Singapore, if a person is caught with a pound or so of marijuana, the death penalty can be imposed. That's barbaric, you say?
Pakistan recently abolished the death penalty for juvenile offenders, that is, those who committed crimes when under the age of 18. The Democratic Republic of Congo established a moratorium on executions of juvenile offenders.
That leaves two countries in the world which have put juvenile offenders to death since 2000 and still have the penalty on the books. Iran is one of them.
The United States of America is the other. I guess I'm one of those left-wing, bleeding-heart liberals who thinks that the death penalty should be abolished in the U.S.
I'm not going to claim that when Oklahoma executed Scott Hain on April 13, 2003, he was a juvenile. The guy was 32 years old when his lethal injection was administered; and he had been convicted of kidnapping two teenagers, locking them in the trunk of a car, and setting it on fire. There are three very bad people out there waiting for Texas to end their lives for some gruesome, horrific, vomit-inducing-if-described-in-detail-or-in-general crimes they committed while under 18. That was over 10 years ago -- they'll die by lethal injection in the Spring. Most would say lethal injection is too good for them.
I bring this up because Ohio killed Lewis Williams yesterday morning. And he didn't go quietly. Or privately. The ACLU sued, claiming that executions should be public. This one was public as part of the settlement of the lawsuit. Lewis Williams went to the death chamber kicking and screaming, forcibly subdued and carried by four prison guards. He was strapped to the table, struggling and screaming he didn't do it all the while, tried to break the restraints so the needles couldn't be put in his arms, continuing to scream maniacally that he was innocent, and struggled and screamed as the venom was pushed from the syringe until his vocal cords were paralyzed by one of the drugs.
Not like the movies.
And Kenneth Bruce was killed last night in Texas' second execution of the year. And Kevin Zimmerman and Billy Vickers are set to go on the 21st and 28th in Texas, too. One a week in Texas.
Just got me to thinking. Which many, of course, will say is a very bad thing.
I'm not into Cleveland Browns football. I haven't been since way before Art Modell pulled a Robert Irsay-like move and secretly negotiated the move of the Browns to Baltimore, re-named the team the Ravens, copied some janitor's team logo, ended up paying out a bunch of dollars to the guy, then won a Super Bowl.
I got turned off to pro football when the players went on strike way back before the turn of the century. The first time.
I came across a note I wrote to myself a few weeks back when the the Browns-Bengals game was on as background. I noticed that one of the Bengals players carries the moniker, Rudi Johnson.
I checked on his background. He's not German, like Rudi Gernreich, the designer of the topless bathing suit. He went to Auburn, like Bo Jackson, who played two pro sports, one with an artificial hip.
Does Rudi sign his name with one of those smiley faces over the "i," and does he say, "Rudy, with an 'i'" when asked his name?
Just thought I'd ask.
The official state amphibian of Ohio is the BULLFROG. The measure designating the noisy critter, hundreds of which reside in my friend DT's pond, was passed the other day.
Now why in the hell are we paying our state legislators to waste their time and our tax dollars on such a stupid endeavor. I'm wondering how long and hard the Bullfrog Lobby campaigned for passage of the bill.
I'm writing the governor. We now need a state reptile.
my old site was visited by somebody at halliburton.com recently. they found me through a search for "stacey." just "stacey." i'm really not sure if i should be alarmed or proud.
I bought Girl Scout cookies today. I suppose it's a good cause. I don't recall what I paid last year. Today, I bought them from a lawyer. I assumed, maybe wrongfully so, that he was retained asked by his daughter to sell cookies for her. I paid what he asked me to pay.
Come to think about it, I saw no price on the form emblazoned with the Girl Scout logo. Come to think about it, I didn't have to pay up front last year; I paid on delivery. Come to think about it, the amount he wanted was divisible by 3, a sure sign that a lawyer is in on the take.
Fucking lawyers.
"I'm lookin' for my missing piece," is part of the lyric for a song in Shel Silverstein's The Missing Piece, which was one of my favorite books to read and sing to the boys when they were younger.
Well, Oscar Hernandez is probably pretty pleased today that somebody found his missing piece. How could he hack it off with a machete? Well, he is from Texas, the same place as George the Lesser, who has emasculated many and much in the last three years.
It's past time to weigh in on this issue. The Ohio governor has already signed the bill that permits all good citizens to carry concealed weapons; and in less than 90 days, you're going to have to watch to whom you give the finger and tell to fuck off. I doubt that the application process will weed out those who think the one-free-murder law was also passed.
What is the one-free-murder law you ask? It seems that there is a tiny group of individuals who believe that everyone should be entitled to kill one person, and only one, without any recourse by the government. This group believes that this law will, in fact, quell the rise of violence in America because exercising this non-transferrable right would open the killer up to retribution; therefore, it is not often that anyone would exercise the right. I haven't fully analyzed the complexities and inanities of the group's position, but I am worried that the "concealed-carry" law in Ohio will bring out the closet crazies of the world.
Who out there will be carrying a piece?
__________________
By the way, I thought I'd point out to Bush supporters everywhere that, back in November, U.S. casualties in Iraq surpassed the number of Americans killed in the first three years of the Vietnam War, according to Reuters' analysis of Pentagon statistics; and since Saddam Hussein was captured, 27 Americans have died in Iraq.
http://www.liberaloasis.com/bushin41point2.htm
thanks to tuesday for the link.
You take the fucked-up car charger to Verizon, so you can get a replacement. You look around, but can't find one. In reply to the dumbass bitch who is in customer service who asks if you need help, you say, "I need a new car charger like this one," handing her the car charger.
She inquires of you, "What kind of phone do you have?"
You say, "I just need a new charger like that one."
She presses you for an answer, "What kind of phone do you have?"
You ask, "What difference does it make?"
She replies, "Then I'll know what charger you need."
You exclaim, "I need one like that!"
She is unrelenting in her passion, "What kind of phone do you have?"
You decide, "Give me the charger. I'm leaving."
She continues to pound away, "What kind of phone do you have?"
You finally relent, "Samsung Pocket PC."
She gives you that tight-lipped smile that is suppressing a laugh, "This is not the charger for that phone."
You say, "I know. That charger is for my wife's phone. Now, give me the charger so I can go someplace else."
mark posted this week about his feelings about sex. the comments were really interesting. i’ve thought a lot about some of them, and i’m compelled to write about some of my thoughts here. sucks to be you. sorry.
first of all, two of the commenters referred to the mythical concept of “one true love.” they didn’t believe in it and, therefore, felt that this “excused,” indeed, compelled (if you have a brain cell in your head) sexual relations that arose out of a non-committed and no-emotions-involved relationship. i’m not going to go into how i feel about sex between non-“involved” partners (cough. i think it’s bullshit.). i’m going to talk about the concept of “one true love.”
i will have been married for 30 years this june to my high school sweetheart. i also don’t believe in the “one true love” idea.
don’t get me wrong. i love this man dearly. i can’t imagine loving any man more. as i’m sure you’ve noticed, he’s brilliant, funny, compassionate, honorable. and much, much more. he challenges me, entertains me, and loves me.
he’s committed, as am i. we chose to make a life together a long time ago. i knew that he was a man (not much more than a boy, really) who had the capacity to commit to this life (and the ability to be happy in that), and i thought he’d be worth the work that would be involved to make that commitment last. i think that’s the trick. it’s not magic. you need to commit only to a person that is worthy of your commitment. and then make yourself worthy, too. falling in love is the easiest freaking thing on earth to do. passion and great sex are easy. loving someone is hard. i’m not talking about loving as in how you feel – i’m talking about loving as in what you DO. how you honor your partner, your commitment. it’s hard. some days you do it well, some days you’re ok, some days you fail miserably.
i think we’ve had a relatively happy, successful marriage. it’s NOT been perfect. it’s been downright terrible at times. horrible. what’s kept us going has been our respect and honor for each other AND our commitment to each other. i’ve got faith that that will help us through whatever comes along. i know he’s worth it, and *i* sure as hell am.
i don’t believe for one second that we couldn’t have been happy with other partners. i’m glad i chose THIS man, however. i try to think about what that choice means everyday.
Carnegie Endowment for Peace
Washington, D.C.
Dear Sir or Madam:
I didn't read your report on the Iraq thingy because it was just too long. It's longer than Old Man and the Sea, which I never read, so I probably won't read it. I, like our President, believe in briefings; so, I heard about your report briefly. The report was on NPR. They're liberals.
It's hard for me to believe that Iraq posed "no imminent threat" to the USA because nine U.S. soldiers were killed today. It's hard for me to believe there's no credible evidence that Iraq had no weapons of mass destruction. The 35 U.S. soldiers wounded yesterday should be evidence enough that there are weapons of "mass destruction."
I just don't understand why you think our President would lie to us. Or why you think our Vice-President would lie to us. Or why our Secretary of State would lie to the U.N.
And even if they did, it was definitely for our own good. It's not like Bush lied about getting a blow job by an intern.
Sincerely,
Billy
i got an e-mail this morning from my darling sister, diann. i love her dearly. she's a good soul, a wonderful woman; but i guess we haven't had enough political conversations.
here's the e-mail.
Please Sign Letter To President Bush.... and Forward...Please do NOT let this petition stop and lose all these names. If you do not want to sign it, please forward it to everyone you know.
Thank you!!! ONCE YOU HAVE CLICKED FORWARD GO TO THE BOTTOM OF
THE PAGE AND PLEASE SIGN THE PETITION TO PRESIDENT BUSH THEN SEND THIS ON UNTIL THERE ARE 1000 NAMES.
THE 1000TH PERSON SEND IT ON TO THE E-MAIL BELOW:
President@WhiteHouse.gov
mailto:President@WhiteHouse.gov
To add your name to the bottom, click on "forward." You will be able to add your name to the list and then forward it to your friends.
Or, if you prefer, you can copy and paste, and then add your name to the bottom of the list.
Dear President Bush:
Many of us were deeply touched to hear you recite a portion of Psalm 23 in your address to this great nation in the dark hours following the terrorists attacks. We were encouraged and comforted to know that we truly had a believer working with us and for us in our nation's highest office.
We, the people of America, are requesting that you lift the prohibition of prayer in schools. As the pledge of our great country states, we are to be One nation, under God." Please allow the prayers and petitions of our children in schools without the threat of punishment. Currently, adults and children in the school are prohibited from mentioning God unless of course His name is uttered as part of a curse or profanity. Madeline Murray O'Hare is dead. Let her legacy of atheism in our schools die with her! Sincerely, We,The People of the United States of America Mark 10:13-14 "People were bringing little children to Jesus to have Him touch them, but the disciples rebuked them..When Jesus saw this, He was indignant. He said to them, "Let the little children come to Me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these."
PETITION TO REINSTATE PRAYER IN PUBLIC SCHOOLS:
signatures of believers followed. diann was #967. here’s the reply i sent to diann AND all the people to whom she sent the e-mail.
diann,
there are many true americans who believe in god who don't agree with this. are offended by it. one of them is me.
i get so many of these during the year, and i'm always silent. i just delete them. but i need to say that the sarcastic, nasty tone of the language implies that anyone who believes differently is not a true american at the very least.
i know that i prayed a lot while i was in school and didn't feel the need to be led in prayer in a group. i never felt that that was prohibited to me. and i also never felt the need to ask others to join me. i never felt that the privacy of my conversation with god diminished me or it.
i believe that this country was founded upon -- and god knows -- continues to try (yes, i understand the irony in using god's name in this sentence) to adhere to the principles of separation of church and state. i believe that's a good thing. i don't believe that leads to chaos and evil.
that's my two cents. i hope YOU are not offended. i've sent this to the people on the list to whom you sent the e-mail because i don't want the impression to stand that i agree.
i love you. god bless you.
Stacey
i also copied some people. not too many. just some people who’ve sent me those same kinds of e-mails and a couple of other friends.
npr was talking about the “division” in this country that the presidential candidates are having to navigate. this division purportedly is about half and half. half believers and half non-believers. i disagree. it’s much more complicated. it’s believers who object to separation of church and state, believers who don’t object, AND non believers. and i guess others, too.
just open your hearts AND minds, people.
I thought that this was a free country. I mean, every time I told Rudy, the bully up the street who would dig his dagger sharp chin into my back when I let him get me on the ground on my stomach in a fight, that he couldn't do something, he'd say, "Free country." And he'd stick his chin out so I knew he meant business.
In a "free country," a guy can sell his urine on the open market for whatever price he can get. That unscrupulous individuals might use the urine to try to pass a drug test is something so foreign as to be laughable. Laughable, man. How many of us really think that someone would buy pee for that stupid reason.
There are so many other reasons, all legitimate, to buy pee on the open market. I don't need to recite those reasons here, since it would take too much time.
I wasn't vigilant and my pee futures went right into the toilet yesterday when Kenneth Curtis lost his appeal for selling pee on the open market, the good old boys on the South Carolina Supreme Court finding that he did it to help others pass drug tests. Urine fraud.
Kenny's claim that this is a free country and he could sell his pee to whomever he wanted is, legally, a crock of shit.
I have been balancing up on the tightwire when it comes to cats. My mother has cats that are 17 and 18 years old; and she and my dad had cats while I was a teenager. One of them, a mean, gray, long-haired monster with an opaque eye it must have gotten in a fight, went missing one fall afternoon. Found a cool cat skull and skeleton the following summer under the living room window. I can't say that I shed too many tears over that nasty critter.
And I'm not as gleeful as you might imagine over the decision of the Chinese government to immediately execute every civet cat (Sorry, you need to log in. It's just not any newspaper, y'know, "It's All the News That's Fit to Print.") in captivity at restaurants, on farms, and in wild-animal markets in the Guangdong Province, which is near Hong Kong. It's not all cats in China; it's not even all cats in Guangdong.
Why are these cats at restaurants, on farms, and in wild-animal markets, you ask? Possibly because the owners keep the cats to control the rodent population in those places, you ask?
No. Because the cats are eaten in the winter months. Oh, those Guangdongers love their cats, considering the evil creatures a delicacy. Perhaps the Soup Lady has a delightful recipe for all you cat afficionados out there.
Well, I will tell you what did bring me to tears was being told that an item I really, really wanted was sold out. What hath God wrought? And I'll let y'all make the obvious jokes.
When Mark said two-oh-one for the time of the movie, I thought that I could handle Middle Earth for a couple hours on Christmas. But it turns out that with the eight or so alternate endings that were shown in succession, he was talking two HUNDRED and one minutes, which is ... what, 3 hours and twenty-one minutes of mind-numbing digital effects.
If you don't want to know more, go no further than this. If you don't care or want an honest review of the last part of The Lord of the Rings trilogy, entitled Return of the King, read on ...
I once reviewed a movie for the junior high school newsletter; so, while not a true professional, I do have experience in this field. My thoughts on Return of the King go something like this:
1) I'm very pleased that we went to a matinee and did not pay the evening rates for tickets.
2) I dozed off twice; so, I figured out that Gollum convinced Frodo that Sam was out to get the ring, and that's why Frodo was all alone fighting a huge spider. The fight scene was altogether too long to be falling down in spider webs and other icky shit, but I understand that getting all spun up in silk by the giant spider got Frodo where he needed to be for the denouement and, therefore, gave Sam the opportunity to be the hero, which I think he was ... at least, in a couple of the endings, he was the hero; and I ended up disliking Frodo, so I'm glad that Sam did so well and Frodo ... well, whatever.
3) That PG-13 rating is an indication that parents can bring their 4, 5 and 6-year-old brats into the theater to scream and cry because these ugly cocksuckers that fight for Evil are the things that might come out of the closets at night -- I realize that "fuck" and "shit" were not in the Middle Earth lexicon, but the bad guys killed like close to a million good guys, catapulted their heads onto screaming women and children, and were just plain, old bad-dream ugly slaughtering innocent women and children, not to mention getting smashed, stabbed, and festooned until Middle Earth was free from tyranny. PG-13? I think not.
4) There was no disclaimer that animals were not harmed during the4 making of the film. This troubles me greatly. The elephants were brutalized. That woman chopped off the head of an ostrich that was digitally altered so that it could fly ... or something. But it was terrible the way the animals were treated.
5) Speaking of the woman with the cleft chin just like Viggo Mortensen, who insead of falling in love with her opted for the non-human elf-chick played by Liv Tyler, who killed the flying ostrich-turned-dragon-that-didn't-breathe-fire, could we get a little bit more creative with the script? "No man can kill me!" says the evil guy with no face, kind of like the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come; and after he gets stabbed in the back -- yes, in the back -- by a non-human, back-stabbing little Hobbit, she whips off her helmet-mask affair, like you knew she would, and exclaims, "I am a woman!" and she runs the sword through the guy's head. And she gets shocked! Being knowledgeable about electricity, I can tell you that this kind of thing is impossible nowadays. Maybe in Middle Earth, things like this were commonplace, but I just couldn't relate.
6) If I have to look at that actor, Ethan Allen ... or whatever name that guy who played Frodo the Hobbit goes by ... in another movie, I will not go. In fact, I will not be watching Close Encounters of the Third Kind, Day the Earth Stood Still, or E.T. ever again because I know the little rat bastard was in one of those movies; and I have seen too much of his artificial-looking face in the last three years ... and in six months or so, any time you turn on cable, one of those Lord of the Rings movies will be on. I may give up TV at that point.
If you have any comments or any criticisms of this review, all feedback is welcome.
