Nothing But Love :: golf blogger

LET ME SPELL THIS OUT

i'm waiting for bill to blog about the e-mail and comment he received critical of his right to and/or motives for posting his monthly list of american casualties each month. i think it might just be too hard for him.

if you scroll down on his side to his latest post and list and open the comments, you'll find a comment from "someone" with an e-mail address of somewhere@msn.com..

"use" the names? in what way is bill using the names? it is bill's intent to honor these soldiers by naming each of them. we have a 19-year-old son, a 22-year-old son, and a 23-year-old "semi-son." it's not too hard to imagine the grief and suffering surrounding the loss of these soldiers. we grieve for each one of them, their family, and friends. i'm sorry if you don't understand or believe that. too bad.

this is not a site that we maintain for the purpose of making money. we write here for a very limited "audience." first - for ourselves. we write because we want to. not because we're writers. but because we want to put something down. second - for family and friends who are interested. third - because we've met some very nice people here. it's very simple - don't come here if you don't like what we say. we don't care if we have 10 readers a day, as long as they're nice.

for you to think that bill's posting of the names (specifically the one that you search for and come here to find) is anything but his way of trying to honor these people by putting at least their name and hometown to a real person's name is some kind of dishonor to them - only because we have a different point of view on this "war" is ludicrous. you're wrong. period.

i would LOVE to believe that these soldiers fought to "maintain the freedom and democracy in the USA." believe me - that would feel so much better. unfortunately, i / we cannot. we believe, as the 9/11 commission also concluded, that there is no link between Iraq and al-Qaida in attacks against the United States. so yes, we remember 9/11. again, unfortunately, we don't find it possible to stick our heads up our asses and blindly "believe." there are too many reasons not to.

we believe that the president has a sacred duty to use and send our soldiers into harm's way ONLY when absolutely necessary. bush and others lied to us. he sent our children to fight for his own purposes. to die for his own purposes. not for ours. these people are not little green plastic army men. they were human beings. how many more will die?

and just for the record, don't assume that we believe that serving in the armed forces is in some way a dishonorable pursuit. we believe that the principles for which we used to stand - life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness for ALL - are worth serving, honoring, and yes, even dying for. i HAD encouraged my children to consider entering the armed forces when they were younger. i assumed (silly me) that we could depend on our leaders to use my children for honorable purposes [not gas for your hummer or to spread christianity or get revenge for daddy]. i thank god that neither one of them shared my misguided faith in the honor of our leaders.

i STILL believe that serving in the armed forces in honorable and admirable. i just wish our leaders were worthy of their faith.

ALL MY LIFE'S A CIRCLE

wonderbread. it's not possible to feel ambivalent about wonderbread. the haters even go so far as to deny that it is, indeed, bread. i am not a hater. even today, wonderbread is amazing stuff. a fresh loaf of wonderbread - nothing compares. when your mom brought that fresh loaf out of the bag (the loaf maintains the loaf shape much better when packaged upright in a paper grocery bag. the plastic bags destroy a good loaf of wonderbread, rendering it useless for most culinary delights other than wonderballs), you HAD to have a peanut butter sandwich and a glass of milk. with the bread (one slice only) folded over - NEVER CUT. never. if you worked the milk and sandwich right, you might be able to avoid having to scrape most of the sandwich off the roof of your mouth with a spoon.

the next best thing to the peanut butter sandwich was two slices of american cheese in between two slices of bread. again, the milk was mandatory. the bread stayed fresh for four or five days at least (i'm not going to ruin my memories by researching the ingredients and the reasons for this). after that, it was toast or grilled cheese sandwiches with campbell's tomato soup.

it's funny how a sound or a smell or a taste brings you right back to another time and place. wonderbread brings me back to brooklyn acres. a housing project in cleveland (brooklyn) administered by the veterans administration to provide low-cost housing for veterans of world war II and their families. i don't know exactly how long we lived there; i was born there, and we stayed until the family fell apart when i was about 6. i think my family lived there for about 10 to 12 years.

my father was a veteran of the navy, having enlisted at 17, serving in the pacific, and earning a purple heart. i don't know the details. he was a hero to us for a while.

there were four girls and my mother and father living in that tiny house. i remember the back "porch" -- really just a couple steps leading up to the back door. the overhang over the door made it a porch to us. the porch from which we hung blankets from the overhang to serve as our stage curtains when we put on our "shows." i have no idea what these "shows" were about. all i remember is that i always insisted that i be the one to wear the deep red corduroy skating skirt with the pink satin lining (go ask your mother what i'm talking about).

the summers were the best. the v.a. building across the street was where we paid our rent, got our shots and medical checkups, and played in the playground while our parents were taking care of business inside. it was also where the v.a. staff sponsored and held children's fairs, contests, parades, and anything else they could think of to do with us to entertain us. i remember bubble blowing contests, bike parades, coloring contests, races, and LOTS of parties. i remember standing in line for our polio shots for hours, while the staff handed out balloons and coloring books and crayons.

the grownups were like mysterious giants to me. we weren't really very well taken care of by my parents. we pretty much took care of ourselves. i remember being left alone when i was 4. well not really alone - if you count my 3-year-old sister. the neighbors were always around for us if we needed them. they fed us and took care of our needs a lot. when i was 5, i attended afternoon kindergarten. i got ready (by myself) and began my mile and a half walk to school by crossing the busy street that ran along the back of our house. i ran and fell on the curb. the car that passed by me stopped to help. i was very badly scraped. i had fallen face first onto the curb, and my face was a bloody mess. mrs.o'malley came out and picked me up and nursed me all afternoon until my older sisters came home from school. and my dad came home from wherever he was. probably a bar or the race track. my mom always worked as a bar maid, she must have been bartending a day job then.

i loved the o'malley family. 10 kids, a mom who didn't work, a loving, always-employed dad, and walter, my best friend. when i wasn't with my sisters, i was with walter. we lived on one corner. the o'malleys were catty-corner to us. the schneiders (their dad was a DOCTOR! and the kids weren't allowed to play with ANYBODY in the projects) were across the street from us on one corner, and paul and paulette's family (i can't remember their last name - just that i had a HUGE crush on paul who looked like paul anka to me) lived on the fourth corner.

every once in a while my parents would host a party. probably 30 more adults crowded into this little house, only possible because there would be a bunch of the men outside smoking, drinking beer, and telling stories. there would be DANCING in the house. yes, DANCING. adults all danced back in those "olden" days. the women would be wearing tight, slim skirts, high heels, and pearls. the men in their suits! and they'd dance. the cha cha. the samba. and slow dancing. in our tiny living room. we four girls would be sneaking out of bed all night long to watch until we were caught. and then we'd sneak back again.

i guess we were poor. i don't really know. i know my parents were always behind with the cheap rent. i know they somehow had enough money to pay for their alcohol. i know my godfather helped. he sent money a lot. that was when mommy grocery shopped. and brought home wonderbread, peanut butter, and american cheese, along with the beer. she'd buy bologna (baloney), too.

wonder balls. formed by taking a fresh piece of wonderbread, eating off the crusts, and forming the soft, soft interior into a ball with your hands. you'd either eat the ball right away or have a wonder ball fight. then you'd eat it. it wasn't gross to us back then.

baloney. ahh. baloney. lunchmeat of the gods. and entertaining, too. kitchen ceilings in 1940's and 1950's houses were different back then. they were smooth. and shiny. they'd be painted with high-gloss white enamel paint so they could be washed. [have you EVER washed a ceiling?] we'd take a slice of baloney, hold it flat in the palm of our hands, and throw it straight up to the ceiling. it would stick. until the weight of the slice of baloney pulled it down enough to release the vacuum and allow it to fall. it was great. except for the round grease marks left on the ceiling that we never thought to clean up on our own. mommy would walk into the kitchen and IMMEDIATELY notice that we had been "throwing baloney at the ceiling again" and THEN we'd clean it up. and be in beeeeg trouble.

the smallest things in your life make an imprint, and you don't have any idea what will come back to you. i love thinking that this date may be a pre-anniversary of great importance to me some day. maybe my first grandchild will be born on this date. something awesome. i look for clues in old date books, year books, newsletters on what those past days may have portended for me/us. i like to think about how people we meet today may someday play vital parts in our lives.

bill and i were FINALLY allowed to go and watch jax play at open mic jam night at mccarthy's pub last night. i've heard jax play. but not with a band. jesus christ, he's good. i mean really good. he played some stevie ray vaughn, some hendrix, and the ubiquitous band song from my day, deep purple's "smoke on the water." i started off with my mouth hanging open in awe, bill said i kept turning around saying "holy fuck!" i don't remember that. i remember turning around to bill during the hendrix song and saying " we made that!" and then i started thinking during "smoke on the water" about the thousands of times we heard that song when we were kids and how crazy it is / blessed we are to be able to sit here and hear it again. like this. so many years - and "moments" - later.

life is sweet.

If It's Soy, It Must Be Good

"They that can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety." -- Benjamin Franklin, 1759

That quote has nothing to do with what I encountered today on my one trip to Starbucks. Saffron (I think KathyHowe met her ... honest.) is a vegetarian or vegan or alien ... one of those ... and she suggested that I try soy milk in my mocha instead of skim milk. I decided against such a rash course of action without doing some research.

As you can guess, about the only thing pasteurized cow's skim milk and soy milk have in common is that Vitamin A Palmitate and Vitamin D2 are added to each. And, of course, the latter is named "milk."

Soy milk is actually titled "soymilk," by the way, in a kind of industry practice, I guess, not wanting to run afoul of the Milk Council. Anyway, soymilk is not fat free, whereas, skim milk is fat free.

Soymilk has as its first ingredient stuff called "Filtered Water." This is the same thing that is in Coke and Pepsi products; so, I have to think that it is okay. That the words are capitalized causes me some concern because it might be a certain brand of water.

The next ingredient is "Whole Organic Soybeans." I did not open this particular carton of plain organic Silk Soymilk, but I find it very hard to believe that when the stuff is poured, it is lumpy with whole soybeans. Or maybe it is ... whatever. That totally turns me off.

Next in the hit parade of ingredients is "Naturally Milled Organic Evaporated Cane Juice." Cane juice is extracted from sugar cane. In the Amazon, tribal peoples ferment sugar cane juice to make aguardiente, which is a type of rum. What bothers me is this "naturally milled" thing. Like here in Ohio, we have these things called cider mills that are machines that grind and press apples to make apple cider. So, I'm assuming that they get this juice by naturally milling sugar cane, but I could be wrong because it might be the juice that is exaporated, which leaves cane sugar, and then this stuff is milled. What the fuck does "naturally milled" really mean. No artificial machines are used? A bunch of monkeys masticate the sugar and spit it out? What is the real story here?

Then the Silk people, a company called White Wave, Inc., claim that the next thing that is added is "Calcium Carbonate." Calcium carbonate is CaCO3, chemically speaking, and is used "in cements and mortars, production of lime, limestone is used in the steel industry; glass industry, ornamental stone, chemical and optical uses and as mineral specimens." Now, I doubt that the dudes at White Wave, Inc., really know why CaCO3 is in soymilk, since White Wave, Inc., is only a distributor, according to what is printed on the carton, not the manufacturer.

"Sea Salt" is an ingredient. That seems pretty clear -- but at Curezone.com, we are warned that something labeled "sea salt" may have "been harvested mechanically from dirt or concrete basins with bulldozers and piped through metal conduits", among other things. That seems pretty clear to me.

"Natural Flavors" are the next ingredient. Uhhh, like cow milk flavor is added ... or something like that? I'm not real clear on that like I was on the "Sea Salt."

And then there is the omnipresent ingredient in most foods: "Carrageenan." It's a thickener ... made from seaweed. Uhhh, yeah, seaweed. I guess "Whole Organic Soybeans" need a little help.

The last two ingredients are the vitamins, just as in good, ol' skim milk ... cow's milk.

And just to allay those fears that I know many of you have ... no Soylent Green on the list, unless that is considered one of the "Natural Flavors."

I think I'll pass on Saffron's suggestion.

TWO BLOGS ARE JUST TOO MUCH PRESSURE

it's NOT that i haven't cooked. and thus posted in the kitchen. i've got a rule (ok. guideline) that a photograph must accompany the post/recipe. a photograph of the dish. we've cooked a number of things in the past month that have been blogworthy. but. i either forgot to take a picture or the picture was crappy. i vow to do better this weekend.

saturday is the "eric clapton school of fine arts" graduation party. for those of you unfamiliar with this esteemed institution, let me explain. the ecsofa does NOT EXIST IN REALITY. it is what we call jackson's home school experience. got it? not real. a joke. meant to reflect the nontraditional educational experience we tried to provide for jax.

so we sent out gobs of invitations that "appeared" to be real graduation announcements and invitations to the celebration, complete with foil-lined envelopes and our choice of jax' graduation picture, the one i posted last month of him sitting on the front step playing his guitar with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. a pox on that friend of ours who told me she didn't like the picture. said it was ugly. i called her a bitch and told her that her kids were ugly. i thought that as long as we were being honest...

so it looks like we've got about 80 people expecting steak and lobster showing up at our house saturday. preparations are in full gear. pool closing tonight, bill's finishing up the work on his grill, tenderloins and lobster tails ordered. tents, tables and chairs reserved. shopping list prepared. lists galore.

matt and mel and mark and sarah will all be here for the festivities. they've got digital cameras and know how to use them, so... check out "the kitchen" sunday. and if you're in the cleveland, ohio, area on saturday... come on down!

The Boy Is Dead, Sir

Information is the currency of democracy. -- James Madison

Let me introduce you to Lance Cpl. Drew M. Uhles, hailing from DuQuoin, Illinois:

We like to say to children in school that we live in a country where anyone can become President of the United States. Drew Uhles will not be President of the United States. Any dream he had to be President or to be a mechanical engineer or a lawyer or to reach down and take his baby from the crib he made will not he realized, at least not in this life. Any dream he had was left behind in Iraq when he was killed there, at age 20.

George W. Bush is into high-fallutin' words, like "freedom" and "democracy," but I see no evidence of anything but lip service being paid to those concepts.

The servicemen and servicewomen stationed in Iraq are not fighting for freedom or democracy, that is, freedom here in the USA or democracy here in the USA.

Iraq did not attack the US. Iraq, despite what Bush and his henchmen and henchwoman claim, was not a threat to freedom and democracy here in the US or anywhere else in the world. Iraq had internal problems caused by Saddam Hussein. If Bush wanted to get rid of Saddam, he should have done so by means other than destroying the whole country of Iraq and polarizing this one.

But he fucked it up. Now we are into it up to our proverbial eyeballs with no end in sight to the killing and decimation ... and without any good reason. The fourth estate has not mentioned recently that Hans Blix and his teams of weapons inspectors found nothing in Iraq ... before Bush decided on this course of action, ignoring the probative evidence and relying on balderdash to support his own personal agenda and that of his father and close buddies. Bush the Lesser lied to his employer, the American people. Or to put it a different way, he violated the oath of office he took ... he sinned against his holy god, having sworn to that god on the Holy Bible. Regular people get fired for less than this debacle that he caused. Bush should be happy that he doesn't work for Wal-Mart ... he'd be gone from that job. There is still the opportunity to get rid of him, and it is more like an obligation to those brave men and women, 1,051 of them, who died in Iraq.

Moreover, Bush the Lesser continues on a course that will take this country further from the co-operation and tolerance necessary to make this planet of ours a habitable and hospitable place for future generations. The time when we could be proud to be "Americans" is apparently over.

These young men and women died in Iraq in September to fight the spread of communism in Southeast Asia help our President spread democracy to those who might be happier with a regular food supply, water, and shelter in an "insurgency" that Secretary of State Colin Powell, probably the only person in the Bush Administration who tries to be honest in spite of the gag they put on him, says will not get better in the foreseeable future:

Spc. David W. Johnson, Portland, Oregon · Spc. Clifford L. Moxley Jr., age 51, New Castle, Pennsylvania · Spc. Robert Oliver Unruh, Tucson, Arizona · Lance Cpl. Aaron Boyles, Alameda, California · Sgt. Timothy Folmar, Sonora, Texas · 2nd Lt. Ryan Leduc, Pana, Illinois · Lance Cpl. Ramon Mateo, Suffolk, New York · Pfc. Adam J. Harris, Abilene, Texas · Staff Sgt. Lance J. Koenig, Fargo, North Dakota · Sgt. Benjamin K. Smith, Carterville, Illinois · Sgt. Skipper Soram, Kolonia Pohnpei, Federated States of Micronesia · Pfc. Nathan E. Stahl, Mount Juliet, Tennessee · Sgt. Foster L. Harrington, Ft. Worth, Texas · Spc. Joshua J. Henry, Avonmore, Pennsylvania · Sgt. Brandon E. Adams, Hollidaysburg, Pennsylvania · Pfc. James W. Price, Cleveland, Tennessee · Sgt. Thomas C. Rosenbaum, Hope, Arkansas · Cpl. Christopher S. Ebert, Forest City, North Carolina · Cpl. Steven A. Rintamaki, Lynnwood, Washington · 1st Lt. Andrew K. Stern, Germantown, Tennessee · Lance Cpl. Gregory C. Howman, Charlotte, North Carolina · 1st Lt. Tyler H. Brown, Atlanta, Georgia · Sgt. Jacob H. Demand, Palouse, Washington · Maj. Kevin M. Shea, Washington, D.C. · Lance Cpl. Dominic C. Brown, Austin, Texas · Staff Sgt. Guy S. Hagy Jr., Lodi, California · Lance Cpl. Michael J. Halal, Glendale, Arizona · Spc. Benjamin W. Isenberg, Sheridan, Oregon · Lance Cpl. Cesar F. Machado- Olmos, Spanish Fork, Utah · Cpl. Jaygee Meluat, Tamuning, Guam · Lance Cpl. Mathew D. Puckett, Mason, Texas · Cpl. Adrian V. Soltau, Milwaukee, Wisconsin · Sgt. Carl Thomas, Phoenix, Arizona · Staff Sgt. David J. Weisenburg, Portland, Oregon · Pfc. Jason T. Poindexter, San Angelo, Texas · 1st Lt. Alexander E. Wetherbee, Fairfax, Virginia · Petty Officer 3rd Class David A. Cedergrene, South St. Paul, Minnesota · Spc. Edgar P. Daclan Jr., Cypress, California · Spc. Lauro G. DeLeon Jr., Floresville, Texas · Sgt. James D. Faulkner, Clarksville, Indiana · Spc. Michael A. Martinez, Juan Diaz, Puerto Rico · Pfc. Jason L. Sparks, Monroeville, Ohio · Spc. Clarence Adams III, Richmond, Virginia · Spc. Yoe M. Aneiros, Newark, New Jersey · Spc. Chad H. Drake, Garland, Texas · 1st Lt. Timothy E. Price, Midlothian, Virginia · Lance Cpl. Michael J. Allred, Hyde Park, Utah · Capt. John J. Boria, Broken Arrow, Oklahoma · Staff Sgt. Elvis Bourdon, Youngstown, Ohio · Pfc. David P. Burridge, Lafayette, Louisiana · Spc. Tomas Garces, Weslaco, Texas · Lance Cpl. Derek L. Gardner, San Juan Capistrano, California · Pfc. Devin J. Grella, Medina, Ohio · Lance Cpl. Quinn A. Keith, Page, Arizona · Lance Cpl. Joseph C. McCarthy, Concho, California · Cpl. Mick R. Nygard- Bekowsky, Concord, California · Spc. Brandon M. Read, Greeneville, Tennessee · Lance Cpl. Lamont N. Wilson, Lawton, Oklahoma · Spc. Charles R. Lamb, Casey, Illinois · Pfc. Ryan M. McCauley, Lewisville, Texas · Sgt. Shawna M. Morrison, Champaign, Illinois · Staff Sgt. Gary A. Vaillant, Trujillo, Puerto Rico · Petty Officer 3rd Class Eric L. Knott, Grand Island, Nebraska · Lance Cpl. Nicholas Perez, Austin, Texas · Capt. Alan Rowe, Hagerman, Idaho · Lance Cpl. Nicholas Wilt, Tampa, Florida · 1st Lt. Ronald Winchester, Rockville Center, New York · Spc. Joseph C. Thibodeaux, Lafayette, Louisiana.

And in addition to these 69, three U.S. soldiers were killed in Afghanistan in September:

Staff Sgt. Robert S. Goodwin, Albany, Georgia · Staff Sgt. Tony B. Olaes, Walhalla, South Carolina · Spc. Wesley R. Wells, Libertyville, Illinois.

Debate that.

Price Increase at Starbucks

I am more than a little perturbed with Starbucks. There will be a price increase on October 6th, once they hold their customer appreciation day on September 29th. That, I hear through the Starbucks grapevine, is just the first of two price increases. Raising the price of a mocha incrementally will only exacerbate the impact on the old budget, not act as a palliative.

I stopped at my regular Starbucks last night. They didn't have any of the insulating sleeves. This is a bummer because I order my venti, two-pump, non-fat, no-whip mocha extra hot. Of course, the new teenaged employee behind the counter giggled and gave me another cup so that I could "double-cup" it. Not the same, I tell you.

Today, I stopped on my way back from court. Different Starbucks ... no venti cups.

Are these the reasons for the price increases? No sleeves, no cups.

In local news, the mayor of the suburb East Cleveland, Emmanuel Onunwor, resigned after he was convicted in federal court of accepting bribes and shaking down developers. It turns out that his replacement, Saratha Goggins, isn't a thief, like her predecessor, but a killer, having stabbed a guy named O'Neal Price to death in 1982. That's politics.

Happy Birthday, J-Dogg!

Today is Jackson's birthday. We aren't supposed to make a big deal about it. What else would we get him for his birthday but a guitar, which he already plans to play Tuesday night at the open mic night at McCarthy's Pub in Lakewood after his usual A.A. Big Book meeting, which breaks up at about 9:30.

So, if you're in the area, lend him your support and stop by.

On Being Railroaded

In the local rag that the delivery person surreptitiously leaves down at the end of the driveway by the street that I refuse to pick up and look at until garbage day, after which I toss it in the garbage, there is a story about the hubbub in town over the re-paving of a road along the railroad tracks, which separate our town, which the imprisoned former mayor-felon said is blessed by God, from the dregs of the Earth to the south. Originally, sewers, sidewalks, and two more traffic lanes were to be part of the project to accommoddatte three new housing developments, the cost of which was to be charged to the property owners along the road, which is parallel to the railroad tracks, upon which trains fly by at about 70 mph, and which is a favorite, but unpublicized, spot for those who want to put a quick end to things.

That project was to cost a couple farmers with acreage fronting on the road, whose homes have been paid off for many, many years, a couple hundred thousand bucks each. In the meantime, those in three new upscale housing developments, who are pushing for the project with great vociferousness, would pay nothing, since none of their properties have any frontage on the road. The railroad, while having frontage, has little acreage, and would pick up about 6% of the cost. Needless to say, the project has been stalled by the several farm property/home owners who refuse to sell to developers and who will foot most of the bill.

What is even more insane is that a group of the people in the new upscale housing developments want the grade crossing changed at a cost of a couple million dollars. Now, nobody told these yuppie types to move into these new upscale developments. It is fairly obvious to anyone driving on the road where the entrances to these developments are located that the railroad tracks run alongside the road. And it is fairly obvious to most of us that trains make a lot of noise when going 70 mph down the tracks, whistling as they approach the crossing ahead. If someone wants to pay several hundred thousands of dollars to experience such pleasures, then that's okay with me. But stop the fucking whining.

And the railroad grade crossing? The gates and flashing lights work. The sight lines are not the best, I will admit. Be careful when driving there. Go a different way when you're coming home from the country club a little tipsy. Sell your house to some other lame-brain and move.

I've never had a problem driving the white VW Beetle with the black "The Who" sticker on the rear bumper at that crossing.

And to you out there complaining: From the vantage point you have in the driver's seat of your SUV, SUT, or luxury pick-up truck, you should have no trouble at all seeing.

APOLOGY? NOT AN APOLOGY? YOU DECIDE...

i don’t know. i hope you’ll tell me if i’m wrong. i try to be rational and reasonable about this stuff, but i seem to be getting more and more defensive about the handicapped parking space thing.

i work in an office building with a large parking lot. plenty of spaces for all the people who work in this building. and there are 4 very nice handicapped parking spots. for the most part, only 2 people use those spaces all day long. there is a dental office and a real estate title office where there are visitors quickly in and out, some of whom have handicapped placards.

my point is that there are plenty of parking spaces available to non-handicapped people AND handicapped people. obviously, the handicapped entrance is more convenient than most spaces – the most convenient spaces are “reserved” spots.

often, probably once a week, there is a car or a truck parked in the handicapped spot. these drivers can be categorized as follows:

BLOGOSPHERE II or MY LITTLE CIRCLE OF FRIENDS

bill ordered some concert tickets on line for jax today, and it started him on an internet purchasing frenzy. he e-mailed me, asking me if i wanted anything. well not ANYTHING. you know what i mean.

so i sent him the link to a site from which i purchased a couple christmas presents last year – some WONDERFUL ghiradelli chocolate and caramel syrups. i sent him the account information on the site for us and a wish list for some syrups to add to our espresso “bar.”

shortly thereafter (lol), my phone rang here at work. bill: “did you get the e-mail?” before i could say “what e-mail?” it popped up in my inbox.

Hello Stacey,
Thank you for your order. It will go out on today's UPS truck. Please pick one more flavor for me to add to your box.

BTW, did you ever get a new espresso machine?

Is this not one of the coolest things EVER??!! what a month for us in the blogosphere. first, kathyhowe and her magical organizing powers “fixed” bill’s business! and we had the best time, too! then philip and lucy! through the lucypaste investigation, i met jen! and now this! “moonandsun” is totally recognizeable as a commenter to us. she has no site, but leaves the very, very nicest, warm comments to all of us. everytime she leaves one, bill and i talk about “her.” i’m so glad to have received this new “gift!”

the other day, jen said “i love the blogosphere!” and i thought, hmmm, “maybe i do, too.” yup, i do.

WIMPS and Neutrinos

If you have been a regular reader for some time or an irregular reader from time-to-time, you realize that this website updates you on scientific news of great importance in every day life, which I translate into plain English.

I found this somewhat alarming tidbit, otherwise unexplained on Harper's Weekly website: "Astrophysicists suggested that a highway of dark matter ripped from the dwarf galaxy Sagittarius, which is being consumed by the Milky Way, is streaming right through Earth."

You would think that this would be big news, but it's not. The "dark matter" is not matter, that is, stuff you can hold in your hand, at all, but some idea in a bunch of pesky scientists' minds.

And they say I'm crazy. If I walked into my shrink's office and said something like this, he would commit me in a nano-second or bump up my medication.

It's kind of like that neutrino thing. Neutrinos are little itty-bitty pieces of parts of atoms, or maybe not, coming from the Sun and other stars, or maybe not, that we can't see and we can't detect, even though they are going right through the Earth and everything on it. Give me a fuckin' break.

I'm telling you right now that, on a much smaller scale, and to analogize to something more mundane, when the J-dogg said, upon the discovery of a bottle of Stolichnaya, that his friend, Adam, asked him to hide the vodka bottle in our house and that's why I found the vodka bottle, I didn't believe him; yet, because these people are "scientists" with second and third degrees, we are expected to believe a cockamamie story like this "dark matter" tale. Dark matter is ... get this ... made up of something called WIMPS, or weakly interacting massive particles, which cannot be seen, cannot be detected by ordinary mortals, cannnot be reasoned with, but speed along at 670,000 miles per hour, and are pouring through the Earth and us.

Can't they come up with something better than this crap?

Nukes

The BBC sent questions to the presidential candidates. In answer to whether he would explore the development of more nuclear weapons, President Bush replied that because "the evolving security environment requires a flexible and responsive weapons-complex infrastructure," the U.S. would develop mini-nuclear bombs.

Kerry stated succinctly, "I would end the pursuit of a new generation of nuclear weapons."

How many of you out there really believe that President Bush penned that response? That's a lot of big words strung together, and not one of them is "freedom," "democracy," or "liberty."

Afraid To Do It

There is this one thing in life that I have been afraid to try. It's like I'm in a comfort zone and don't really want to take the risk. It might not turn out the way I envisioned ... I guess that's where the fear comes in. But as some famous dead guy, Jimmy Piersall, I think, said, "There is nothing to fear but fear itself." Wait, he said, "Fear strikes out." Whatever.

Let's say I've thought about this for a while, but haven't taken any steps toward bringing it to a fruition. Today, well, today was the day that I decided to cast caution to the wind.

I went through a fucking pound of red seedless grapes and couldn't catch one in my mouth. I opened the sunroof of the white VW Beetle with a black "The Who" sticker on the rear bumper, and while driving (Please, do not attempt this unless you are a professional driver on a closed course.), threw a grape out the sunroof ahead of the car, and tried to catch it in my mouth as it came back through the sunroof.

I don't pretend to know much about fluid mechanics, aerodynamics, and good, old, general physics, but the grapes curve depending upon what kind of spin I put on them ... or whether I put no spin at all on them, kind of like a knuckleball in American baseball, or whether I put them in my mouth first to wet them.

And then there's the speed at which I would throw them out the window and the speed I had the Beetle traveling. Fifty was way too fast and I'd lose them over the top; 25 was way too slow because they'd just crash to the road ahead of the Beetle. At about 42-to-44 MPH (or like 67-to-70 KmH for my Canadian and other metric friends), I was able to fire a couple of them out in front and they'd end up plunking into the seat beside me, except that I caught one of them in my right hand, snatched right out of the air.

Then there was one of them that I thought I had a chance at, but then there must have been a cross-wind or a double yellow line or something because it curved and I would have to swerve left ... I would have had it, I bet, but there was an oncoming SUT, a Cadillac, I think, with a woman driver ... I know it was a woman, you know the type, probably sells real estate, because the grape hit the windshield right where her head was ... bitch got right in my way.

CAN YOU SEE THE REAL ME, CAN YA'? CAN YA'? or WHO ARE YOU? WHO-WHO? WHO-WHO?

edited: ok. i added links. heh.

i think today's the day to write about the state of the blogosphere. as it relates to me. in my humble (shut up) opinion.

wow. hard to evaluate. lucy and jen wrote about it very nicely. i'll write "staceyly." i'm two people (not really - not clinically - just for the purpose of explanation here). one person you know. the blunt, mouthy, sometimes foul, opinionated, emotional, passionate about those i love, mom, wife, friend, person. i'm all of those (on the one hand) and another you might not have seen (on the other hand). i'm also very private. shocked? maybe some of you are. i know some of you aren't. i'm very protective of some of my thoughts and feelings, and i don't think that's unusual. it doesn't change what you see (read) here. i don't fake anything - i just don't share everything. i'm pretty sure that's the rule here in blogworld, maybe in all of human civilization, not the exception. it's not personal (heh - funny word to use here in my open blog). it just is what it is.

i was e-mailing with jen this morning and trying to express my thoughts about blogworld. my blogworld is pretty small. i'm pretty careful about the circles with which i choose to get involved. it takes me a while to enter a blog with both feet. i read for usually a couple months, and then, if i'm comfortable...

i don't want to overstate the obvious, and i hope this doesn't come off as snooty, but some circles are nicer than others. i'm having a very hard time with my words here, but i persevere. just for you. cuz i'm like that. and you appreciate it, doncha?

i don't want to fight in blogworld. i'll stay away, thankyouverymuch, if the blog is itching for a fight. you know: mean, mean, mean, and stupid. i don't do mean, and i don't do stupid. i won't do it at mean-stupidblog.com, and i won't tolerate it here. i've said it before: it's a big world wide web. if you don't like it here, i couldn't care any less than i do. i like my little circle of friends here and am happy to make new ones, but...

understood?

i have made some people that i really, really do consider friends. hard not to know a person from reading their blogs, for the most part. i'm sure you guys know some things about me that my "real" (as opposed to "virtual") friends don't. maybe even my sisters. and my bloggy friends and i e-mail each other, sometimes instant message each other, and have developed close relationships. it's cool.

wow, this is trite. and obvious. and most probably boring.

i've met some of you in person, and have not changed my original opinions of those of you i have met. it's the weirdest feeling to realize you're talking to somebody and feel you've known them forever, and you just met them an hour ago. weird. and cool. i hope to meet more of you. i know i will.

so ... lucy and philip are getting married! i cannot believe how tickled i am by this news! two awesome, awesome bloggy friends, who, imho (shut up, i said!) are PERFECTLY matched. i said it a month ago! ask kathy! i did, too!

go send lucy some (christine, i'm stealing your word here) mojo. philip's conspicuously quiet. which bill understands perfectly. DUH.

He's Got Hair

I have a client who got caught up in a bar fight in what I would describe as a "good-ol'-boy" neighborhood. My client and his brother, both Black (oops, African-American is the preferred nomenclature, dude), were grossly outnumbered; so, I tend to believe my client when he says that he and his girlfriend, who is white, and his brother tried to flee, but that he had to hit one of the good ol' boys in the head to get him off his brother. They managed to get away and went to the local village police station, where my client was arrested.

In any event, he's sitting in jail. At a pretrial conference with the prosecutor, I was asked by the prosecutor to convey a plea bargain to my client. I went down to the jail to talk to him. After a long talk, he decided not to accept the deal.

In the conversation, I told him that I'd try to get the bail lowered, to which he replied that he had a driving under suspension charge and he was sitting for that. I asked him how that happened, and he said he didn't show up at the probation department to see the probation officer.

Lawyer: There's got to be more than that to the story.
Client: She said that I should serve the six months and the judge said okay.
Lawyer: So, you're in for six months?
Client: Yeah.
Lawyer: What's your P.O.'s name?
Client: You won't get a hold of her. She's on fraternity leave.
Lawyer (laughing): Fraternity leave?
Client (laughing): I thought it was funny, too. A P.O. having a baby.

Not a Peep Out of You

I ran into ... er ... something disturbing yesterday, yet not unexpected in today's want-it-all, enronic world.

I know what you're thinking. What is this fucking lunatic going to write about today?

Actually, there are two things about which I will write. Sue Niederer is the first. Her son was blown up in the war in Iraq, which has turned recently turned into a fucking "security problem," an "insurgency," instead of a WAR, a war in the last 19 days of which, 48 U.S. soldiers (yes, 48) have been returned to their homeland in unseen body bags, unseen by the general public on the nightly news because President Bush believes that such a sight might be disturbing to those whose loved ones have been killed, not to mention those who watch the television news shows, which now spew forth nothing more than what one might see on reality TV. This blatant censorship by the government is only one example of the erosion of freedom in this country.

And what’s more, Sue Niederer, whose son was blown up in the war in Iraq, had the absolute, unmitigated gall to attend a public gathering, with a ticket to teh event in hand, at which Laura Bush was campaigning for her husband and attempt to voice her political dissent by holding up a sign that said Bush killed her son and then to try to ask Laura why her two daughters weren't over in Iraq helping to quell the "insurgency" (Well, they might have a hard time getting into the service, what with their criminal records, drug and alcohol problems, and rich daddy and all.). Of course, Sue was shouted down by the partisan Bush crowd.

And then she was arrested for trespassing. I guess her son was fighting for freedom and democracy only in Iraq, and we can count Sue Niederer as another casualty of the "insurgency."

If you're still with me at this point, I will point out the other disturbing thing I saw. It was a package of Peeps, not the yellow chicks, the Peep purists' only and ultimate Peep, but in the shape of pumpkins. I am tired of the Peep company trying to force these passionlessly smiling faux Peeps upon the populace.

When you think about it, these little marshmallow pumpkin treats and the company's attempt to foist them upon the American public are symbolic of what the American government is doing to "We, the People."

IMPRESSIONS

jackson got his eyebrow pierced again yesterday.

he had it pierced the first time almost exactly three years ago. within a couple months, the shit hit the fan for him (and all of us who love him) when we all found out that he was using drugs. in fact, in only those couple months, jax went through 8 thousand dollars worth of cocaine. he hit the wall big time. it was a terrible time. for all of us. but it all had to happen.

sometime in early 2002, he took the ring out. it was some kind of symbol to him (i’m not naive enough to not realize that it was also a kind of manipulative gesture) of his desire to change. it was a hard time for him. he didn’t leave for rehab until february 21, and he was still using. trying not to use. but failing miserably.

we don’t like to think a lot about that jackson of late 2001/early 2002. and for bill and me, the eyebrow ring was a kind of bad memory. when we picture him in our minds from those days, he’s wearing it.

he’s brought up the idea of getting another one a couple times. i’m pretty sure our reaction was comparable to being hit – hard – in the stomach. but yesterday, he called and ASKED us if he could get one. bill answered the phone, and jax caught him at a bad moment in the middle of a construction project, so bill knee-jerked and responded negatively. not in the “i say no” response, just in the general “i don’t like it at all” papa-bear way. and then bill did what he always does (especially when he's worried he bungled), he handed the call off to me. i talked to jax for a bit, he was a little bit upset/worried over dad’s very negative attitude and mood; and i told him i didn’t have a problem with it, that it was up to him, and we talked about the way people perceived people like jax. i told him that dad was most likely just in a bad mood over his project, frustrated, and just probably took it out on him. i told jax i’d talk to bill. bill took a break, had a cup of coffee, and concurred.

“people like jax:” i’m talking about the way he looks. he’s not your average abercrombie and fitch clone. inside or out. but let's address the "out." he’s a big guy, about 6 feet, over 200 pounds, long hair, tattoos, ears pierced, snake-skin cowboy boots. i think he’s kind of a scary-looking character to a lot of people. the people who know jax laugh at me when i say this, but i think it’s true. i couldn’t care any less than i do. i love the way he looks. he has the most beautiful hair – it will kill me when he cuts it. kill me.

this is the deepest, most loving, centered, considerate 18- (19 in a couple weeks) year-old kid you’ll ever meet. ever. bill and i get such a kick out of going out to dinner with him – he invariably drives separately and has to leave early for an a.a. meeting or work. people have been sitting around us (sometimes with their clone kids) and cutting quick looks at this odd family for a while. he gets up to leave, bends over to kiss me and then bends down to give his dad a quick kiss on the cheek, too. later dudes. i’ll call you. weirds the onlookers right out. i love it, love it, love it. take THAT!

AND this guy called us to ASK us if he could do it. i’m thinking i’ve got a different picture in my mind now of the brow-pierced kid. hope it hits others that way, too. but i'm not gonna lose any sleep over it.

I Sing the Body Electric

I decided not to do electrical work after tripping the breaker three times and having to go down in the basement to turn the power back on.

I noticed that a prescription is no longer needed to buy defibrilators. That's a good thing. I see definite possibilities here for practical jokes.

Three Can Play This Game

I graduated from college "with real high distinction," or whatever they called it (I didn't really care too much ... two-time All-American was good enough for me), then I went to fucking law school, finishing as fast as they would allow me (the law school dean thought I was "reckless" in taking extra classes each quarter ...). I didn't get all this education for nothing, man.

I went out and bought her her very own Yu-Gi-Oh toothbrush.

And because she claims that she can't see very well, it's got a red handle, as opposed to the stylish dark blue one that is mine and that she has been using.

Road Crew

I don't mean to insult anyone out there (Do you notice that when people preface a remark with this phrase, they really do mean to insult someone?), but the city workers in this town act like they are God's gift to the citizenry. They are out there working hard to seal the cracks in the road with some kind of tar. The tar mixture is heated up; and a guy wipes it into the cracks, making jiggly black lines all over the road.

This doesn't seem too difficult, but there's one guy with the tar wiper dipenser thingy, one guy showing him where to fill the cracks, like the guy with the dispenser thingy can't see, and one guy guarding some kind of multi-colored tank from which a hose emanates, which hose leads to the dispenser thingy. All three of them are wearing bright orange hunting vests.

Then there's a pick-up truck parked half on and half off the road with a yellow light strobe, strobe, strobing, in the front seat of which another guy is sitting, fiddling with something in his lap, cigarette dangling from his lips, bouncing up and down. A woman stands kind of in front and to the left of the strobe, strobe, strobing truck with a droopy orange flag in her left hand, a paper cup in her right hand, and tight jeans.

Just behind the truck with the yellow light and fully off the road is a big city truck, with a big yellow tank on the back. There is a woman standing at the rear holding onto the spigot that sticks out of the tank, apparently waiting to pour tar into the little multi-colored tank from which the hose emanates, leading to the dispenser thingy, or coffee. She is holding a paper cup in the other hand, also, and there are other paper cups sitting in a row on a ledge on the side of the tanker truck, leading me to believe she is pouring coffee. In the tanker truck, the guy sitting in the driver's seat is wearing a red construction helmet, meditating and doing deep breathing.

Now, I pull up to this scene and I want to turn right on the main road up ahead of where the strobing pick-up truck is parked and the woman is standing with the flag drooping down. I carefully pull around the pick-up and pull up to the line in the street where I'm supposed to stop, giving a wide berth to the guy with the tar dispenser thingy and the crack identifier guy. The light is red. The light turns green.

I know that when I turn right, the guy with the tar dispenser thingy is going to walk right in front of the white VW Beetle with a black "The Who" sticker on the rear bumper that I am driving. The woman in the black Range Rover waiting behind me blew her horn. She didn't toot-toot her horn, she laid on it. I looked to the crack identifier dude for guidance since the betty with the flag was oblivious to everything. The crack guy said something to the tar guy, who laughed. The crack guy signaled to me to turn, making that swing of the arm as if I was the bull and he was the matador. So, I pulled around the corner.

The fucker with the tar dispenser thingy pushes the dispenser thingy out ahead of him right into my path! I swerved to the left, just missing the dispenser thingy. I should have run it over, but then I would have gotten tar all over the white VW Beetle with the black "The Who" sticker on the back bumper.

I shudder at the thought of what would have happened to the operator ... oh, not of the tar dispenser ... of the Beetle.

No, He Wasn't Disabled

As promised, here is the first picture I took with the camera on my phone of a handicapped parking spot violator:

What is that ancient slogan about mail delivery?

TWO CAN PLAY THIS GAME

i'm coming clean today. i've had a secret for a couple of months. i don't know how it's going to be received on the homefront (bill).

a couple months ago, i learned (via our blog) that bill didn't know i was using "his" toothbrush in the shower. refresher: *i* put a basket in the shower about 15 years ago with a toothbrush and tube of toothpaste. i told bill that he could use it, too, if he wanted. there was never any attempt to deceive him and let him think that this was for his personal use only. i don't know. there's never been more than one toothbrush at a time in there. i have no idea how to reconstruct his thinking - i have no desire to try - scares me, to be perfectly honest. i don't know how he could have missed my using this thing for the past fifteen years. he's often in the bathroom, too, while i'm showering. AND i like to do the fritoh-bandito hum-song while i'm brushing. he must have heard me.

anyway, after i complained about the new toothbrush in the shower (it was too pointy!!) and asked him to throw it out, he did. WITHOUT POINTING OUT HIS BELIEF THAT THE FREAKING POINTED TOOTHBRUSH WAS HIS. then he blogged about it. i guess it freaked him out that i was sharing a toothbrush with him. he was grossed out and went out and bought TWO new toothbrushes for the shower. his is a blue and red thing (i think it's like a power rangers toothbrush - i can't see exactly what it is in the shower cuz i'm blind without my glasses. mine's white - and I DON'T LIKE HOW IT FEELS IN MY MOUTH. so ...

i've been using bill's power rangers toothbrush for the past couple of months. i put a little toothpaste on mine and rinse it off without using it.

Even the Dogs Wouldn't Eat It

I bought a Mama Reno's Pizza Pack, you know, the thin, "pizza" with some kind of tasteless red stuff on the top, paper thin slices of "pepperoni," and seven shreds of white stuff sprinkled on top of a crust that is left over from the white, tasteless, starch planes out of which Catholics cut little round hosts. They are usually packed in pairs because if there was only one, people could take them out of the store because they are invisible if looked at edge-on. In case you don't understand, I drew a schematic (that's engineer-talk).

Anyway, I thought I would bake the second one for lunch, the first one having been made according to the instructions, which are printed in 3-point type on the little label. The first one was way underdone ... and it was late at night ... I mean, I did eat a couple pieces ... and it tasted terrible, but hey ... if it tastes that bad, it must not be fattening; otherwise, it would taste good.

Today, I thought I'd vary the baking process. I fired up the oven and the baking stone, setting it at 450 F, and I let it warm up for a while. Actually, I got to working and forgot about it for a while. So, later, it crossed my mind that I hadn't eaten lunch and about an hour ago ... 2 o'clock ... I put the pizza in the oven. I went back to working and 45 minutes later smelled something. Mmmmm ... pizza. They must put some kind of artificial odor in the pizza because they smell okay when they are baked.

I went down to get my lunch, pushed the button on the espresso machine and drew three shots ... it's all fucking automatic ... it did tell me to fill the water "reservoir" ... you know those fancy espresso machines ... they can't just say "tank;" they gotta be all continental and use French -- "reservoir."

I had the espresso in the cup on the counter and went to the oven to get the pizza. It didn't look good at all. It was all dark with darker little circles on it. Burned to a fuckin' crisp. Well, not all the way through. The bottom was still kind of off-white ... the color of asbestos, probably. I did cut saw crack it into four pieces. And Scout the Beagle was sitting there, looking at me. And Sheba the Boxer was standing there, saliva dripping from her mouth. So, I left the pizza on the board thingy and started to carry it to the front door to fling the pizza out the door, intending for the dogs to chase after the four pieces. Well, I did eventually do that, but only after knocking over the cup of espresso, which I did clean up. The dogs were getting quite eager at that point; so, I flung the pizza out the door, and they rough-housed after it.

They sniffed at the pizza. Scout may have licked a piece. Sheba walked away, growling under her breath. Scout looked back at me with disdain. I closed the door. I suppose that I will have to go clean it up when I leave for the post office, which is right about now.

Skunkfest 2004

In an employment situation, this conversation took place recently between a woman who was just hired and was just introduced to an almost-19-year-old fellow employee:

Woman: "Is that your Mitsubishi out there?"

Boy: "Yes."

Woman: "The guy I sleep with has one just like it."

It sounds to me like she is really committed to this relationship ... this week.

And I know that I have been remiss in keeping you apprised of the wild and wonderful things that happen in this part of the country. I beg your forgiveness for failing to notify you of one of the major events on the North Ridgeville, Ohio, community calendar, which was held Saturday: Skunkfest 2004. I like skunks. I swerve to avoid hitting the little buggers when they're in the road, whether dead or alive.

And I am sorely disappointed because there were contests, games, and awards planned at this celebration to benefit "skunk rescue and education." You can e-mail the organizer of the event to make your plans to attend Skunkfest 2005 at daisyphew@comcast.net or to make a contribution to save the skunks.

Free Plastic

This afternoon, Jackson was driving and I was the passenger in the big red penis, coming back from Sandusky, which is the setting of the Chris Farley, smash-hit comedy Tommy Boy; and I saw a sign in the front yard of someone's house. The sign was red-lettered on a white background, not lettered by human hand, but by machine. It announced, FREE PLASTIC.

I know that if my grandfather were alive, he would be right there, getting as much free plastic as he could pack into his white 1972 Pontiac Ventura. Of course, my grandmother drove because she never trusted him behind the wheel, except I think that he just liked being chauffeured around; so, he continued the deception that he was a terrible driver for many years until his death.

Not that my grandfather would have anything in mind for the free plastic. It was the fact that it was free which was the reason for getting the stuff. If toilet paper was on sale, he'd get toilet paper in mass quantities even though he was stocked up for the next century. He'd just pile it on top of the plastic he got for free.

And you would think that he'd be out bright and early for garage sales on Thursday mornings, but you'd be wrong. You see, there was a difference between stuff you could get on sale or free on the one hand and "udder pipple'z kaa-ropp" on the other.

Strange what a stupid sign advertising plastic free for the taking can lead someone to think about. He'd be out in his back yard when I got there, on the paint-stained stepladder, in a white, ribbed tank top against browned skin, dark brown trousers hitched up by leather suspenders, reaching up high, picking peaches, speckled bald pate glistening in the late afternoon sun. He rarely wore a hat. Maybe that's an inherited trait, like the baldness. And maybe not hiding the bald head was inherited, too. And he was strong, even as he reached his 80th birthday, grafting the Delicious apple branch onto the McIntosh tree.

He lay in bed, the body that had been through so much, beating "the" cancer when that was a death sentence, surviving exploding ingots showering molten steel over him at the mill, beating back killers out to break the union on a solidarity march from the mill to Public Square, was failing. He fought, 82 years old, covered with fever blisters, refusing to go with "them," staring with cornflower blue eyes and gasping to his grandson, who hovered over the old man, stroking his grandfather's bespeckled head, "Billy, I'm tired. They want me to come with them, but I'm not ready."

He recovered to be less mobile around the house, unable to get up and down ladders, but able to make an impression upon his first great grandchild, who would end up in his "grandpa's" lap with every visit.

The deterioration was inevitable and steady, until, at age 86, he lay in a hospital bed, eyes blankly looking into space, not speaking, sinking, finally ready to go with "them" on his final journey. And his great grandson, three years old, holding his father's hand, mature well beyond his three years, wanting to say goodbye to his playmate and friend, asked his father to pick him up so that he could see his life-long friend.

"Grandpa, you have blue eyes, just like mine," the little blonde boy pointed out.

His great grandfather turned his face toward the little one and smiled, eyes sparkling. He went with "them" later that night.

Signals

I went into the grocery store last night to pick up a couple of things that turned into a few bags, but I didn't get any peaches. There was a huge display with peaches, all ready to roll down the inclined display table if the wrong one were pulled out. There was something wrong. The sign said: "READY-TO-EAT Fresh California Peaches."

Why were these particular peaches "ready-to-eat?" Are there peaches sold that are not "ready-to-eat?" I've never seen a sign that said that I should wait a few days to eat peaches ...

This morning I was driving all over north central Ohio, starting with an 8:15 a.m. hearing in a court 50 miles away. The judge complimented me on my yellow Patagonia courier bag. That was a good thing. Before that happened though, I was sitting in the jury room at a huge table with two other lawyers in the case. They were talking. I had entered some billing stuff into my Samsung Pocket PC and then was day-dreaming, waiting for the judge. There was some kind of plastic thing attached to the underside of the table. It was like a telephone jack or something, maybe even some kind of electrical outlet, by the feel of it.

So, I stuck my index and middle fingers into the two rectangular openings because that is what you do if you're curious about stuff like that. I think they were some kind of buttons, maybe to release the table top or something like that, even though it was a solid, old oak circular table about 10 feet in diameter.

All of a sudden, two huge deputy sheriffs, one male, one female, burst into the room with their nine millies drawn. "Is there a problem?"

"Huh? What?" I replied, shaken out of my daydream mode. The other two lawyers asked what was going on.

The female deputy said, "We got an emergency call. A panic button call from here. Anyone here push the panic buttons under the table?" she asked, looking directly at me.

Oops.

MODERN MEDICINE

i’ve been avoiding medical checkups for a while, only seeing the doctor when i absolute HAVE to – ear infections, knee pain, etc. i put that "etc." in there for the sole purpose of making it SEEM like there have been other visits. there haven’t. bill has become increasingly impatient with me, KNOWING that i’ve ignored some stuff. so at the beginning of august, he took things into his own hands and made doctors' appointments for me. general checkup, orthopedic exam, and gynecological exam.

let’s see. so far i’ve been diagnosed with (i need bullets for this):

i can’t fucking WAIT for the results of the mammogram, pap smear, and sonogram. that was sarcasm.

P.S. bill read this as i was writing it and said: "you're not going to thank me for this???!!!" oh yeah. thanks. hrmph.

The Cassini People Were Right

I must tell you that I come forward and divulge what I have seen only with great trepidation. I could not find anything at all in the automotive literature on this topic; so, I continue to be puzzled and am fighting a rising feeling of fear, which is caused by the paranoia engendered in me by our government officials concerning terror threats and all things having to do with strangers in our midst.

I wrote down the license number of the car on my palm so that I could easily lick my palm and wipe off the evidence if I were to be apprehended by the "authorities." It could happen, you know.

Before I go any further, however, I should tell you that I am not one of the lunatic fringe of those believers that extra-terrestrials are infiltrating our society in human form nor am l one of those crazy government conspiracy theorists. But sometimes you can't ignore such ideas; after all, they could be true, you know.

The car I saw this morning was one of those fancy Saturn LS300 sedans, black in color. That should tell you something right there. Saturn ... there is no other car named after a planet, except Mercury, and nothing can live on Mercury because it's 800 degrees there. And if you consider something like this relevant, right now, there's that Cassini space probe checking out Saturn. He wasn't driving a Chevy or a Ford or a BMW. He was driving a Saturn, and that should tell you something.

Driving the black Saturn was what appeared to be a male. He was wearing glasses, the kind with silver frames. He was in his late 50's or so, trying to look younger, maybe much younger, because he had obviously dyed his hair some kind of color not known in nature, not known in nature on this good, green Earth, that is. And he had a comb-over, the kind with 17 hairs combed over one at a time, like they cover more space if carefully placed, certainly not a normal thing to do, at least not in my book pamphlet.

I know exactly what you are thinking rlght now, that you've heard this all before. Maybe you can't recall exactly where or when, but you know you've heard it before; and I realize that. I don't mean to imply that there is something wrong with your memory, or that you are not of your right mind, but you hear weird things like this from time to time and can't figure out where or when you heard it. Maybe you even remember something about the Cassini people and how the Cassini people were right. I can't help you there. I don't know for certain what you would be talking about. I never heard that before.

And while all this stuff about the car and what-appeared-to-be-a-male behind the wheel of the car might be unusual, if you happen to look at it from a skewed perspective, or just run-of-the-mill, if you look at it from my point of view, there was one thing that made everything make some sense, to me, at least.

For some strange reason, and I don't pretend to be omniscient and all-knowing, like some bloggers and some blog readers who just sit there smugly and chuckle to themselves, the driver's side headrest, the thing sticking up behind this gentleman's quite unnatural head, and not the passenger's side headrest, mind you, where nothing corporeal was seated, was wrapped with aluminum foil, and not just any kind of aluminum foil, crinkled up aluminum foil. And that was what really piqued my curiosity ... crinkled up aluminum foil where none should be.

And From Iraq ... The George Bush Show!

I didn't count the dead in August. The president should know the number. Why doesn't someone ask him on the campaign trail? Politely. All I know is, 7 more soldiers were killed by the Sunni Muslims today and 2 others were killed by the Shiites yesterday, to go along with the 5 others killed during the first three days of September.

What group of Iraqi people were supposed to be welcoming the liberating troops with open arms? Blame that one on Dick Cheney ... he said that. So did George Bush the First. Maybe they didn't hear George the Lesser announce the end of hostilities back in May.

Here's the list, George. Please give it to Big Dick so he can read it to you.

On August 30th, Staff Sgt. Aaron N. Holleyman a 26-year-old from Glasgow, Montana, with the 1st Battalion, 5th Special Forces Group (Airborne) was killed when his military vehicle hit a mine in Khutayiah, Iraq.

Airman 1st Class Carl L. Anderson Jr. died in combat near Mosul as a member of the 3rd Logistics Readiness Squadron, 3rd Mission Support Group on August 29. The 21 year old hailed from Georgetown, South Carolina.

27-year-old Los Angeleno Sgt. Edgar E. Lopez, 1st Battalion, 2nd Marine Regiment, 24th Marine Expeditionary Unit, 2nd Marine Expeditionary Force, died due to hostile action in Babil Province on August 28.

Lance Cpl. Nickalous N. Aldrich, age 21, from Austin, Texas, and the 2nd Battalion, 4th Marine Regiment, 1st Marine Division, 1st Marine Expeditionary Force, was killed in Al Anbar Province, Iraq, on August 27. Also, on August 27, 19-year-old teen, Pfc. Luis A. Perez, attached to the 223rd Transportation Company, Army Reserve, who called Theresa, New York, home was killed when his convoy vehicle hit an improvised explosive device in Fallujah, Iraq, on August 27, and Spc. Omead H. Razani, also 19, from L.A., and a member of the 1st Battalion, 506th Infantry Regiment, 2nd Brigade, 2nd Infantry Division, died in Habbaniyah, Iraq.

Cpl. Barton R. Humlhanz, from Hellertown, PA, and the Marine Expeditionary Unit Service Support Group 24, 24th Marine Expeditionary Unit, died at age 23 from injuries received in hostile action in Babil Province, Iraq, on August 26, 2004.

Pfc. Nicholas M. Skinner, from Davenport, Iowa, and Lance Cpl. Alexander S. Arredondo, from Randolph, Massachusetts, both 20 years old and part of the Battalion Landing Team, 1st Battalion, 2nd Marine Regiment, 24th Marine Expeditionary Unit, 1st Marine Expeditionary Force, were killed by hostile action in Najaf, on August 26th and 25th, respectively, and Spc. Marco D. Ross, yet another 20-year-old, from Memphis, Tennessee, and the 115th Forward Support Battalion, 1st Cavalry Division, was killed by a mortar in Baghdad on the 25th. In Tikrit that day, Spc. Charles L. Neeley, only 19, of the 454th Transportation Company, Army Reserve, hailing from Mattoon, Illinois, was killed.

42-year-old Staff Sgt. Donald N. Davis, of Saginaw, Michigan, with the 660th Transportation Company, Army Reserve, died in Fallujah, Iraq, on August 24. Lance Cpl. Jacob R. Lugo, 21, from Flower Mound, Texas, and the 3rd Battalion, 7th Marine Regiment, 1st Marine Division, 1st Marine Expeditionary Force, was killed the same day in Al Anbar Province.

A rocket-propelled grenade claimed the life of Staff Sgt. Robert C. Thornton Jr., 35, from the 1st Squadron, 7th Cavalry Regiment, 1st Cavalry Division, and Rainbow City, Alabama, in Baghdad on August 23, 2004.

On August 22nd, 30-year-old Cpl. Christopher Belchik, from Jersey, Illinois, and the 2nd Battalion, 2nd Marine Regiment, 2nd Marine Division, 2nd Marine Expeditionary Force, was killed in Al Anbar Provine, and 2nd Lt. Matthew R. Stovall, a 25 year old from Horn Lake, Mississippi, with the 367th Maintenance Company, 298th Corps Support Battalion, Mississippi Army National Guard, was blown up by a bomb in Mosul.

Cpl. Nicanor Alvarez, 22, hailing from San Bernardino, California, attached to the 1st Combat Engineer Battalion, 1st Marine Division, 1st Marine Expeditionary Force, Sgt. Jason Cook, 25, of Okanogan, Washington, and Pfc. Nachez Washalanta, 21, from Bryan, Oklahoma, both of the 1st Light Armored Reconnaissance Battalion, 1st Marine Division, 1st Marine Expeditionary Force, were killed in action in Al Anbar Province on August 21, 2004, as were Pfc. Kevin A. Cuming, 22, from North White Plains, New York, a member of the 1st Squadron, 7th Cavalry Regiment, 1st Cavalry Division, Lance Cpl. Seth Huston, age 19, of Perryton, Texas, and the 2nd Battalion, 1st Marine Regiment, 1st Marine Division, 1st Marine Expeditionary Force, and Gunnery Sgt. Edward T. Reeder, 32, from Camp Verde, Arizona, with the Headquarters and Service Battalion, 1st Force Service Support Group, 1st Marine Expeditionary Force.

My good friend, DT, had Pfc. Ryan A. Martin, 22, as a student in Mount Vernon, Ohio. Pfc. Martin was killed along with another member of the 216th Engineer Battalion, Ohio Army National Guard, 1st Lt. Charles L. Wilkins III, 38, from Columbus, when a bomb exploded near their vehicle on August 20, 2004, near Samarra.

Cpl. Brad P. McCormick, 23, from Overton, Tennessee, 3rd Battalion, 24th Marine Regiment, 4th Marine Division, Marine Corps Reserve, died in hostile action in Al Anbar Province, Iraq, on August 19, 2004.

Lance Cpl. Dustin R. Fitzgerald, 22, from Huber Heights, Ohio, and Sgt. Harvey E. Parkerson III, 27, from Yuba City, California, were killed in Al Anbar Province, Iraq, on August 18, 2004, as was Jacksonville, Florida's Sgt. Richard M. Lord, 24, of the 1st Battalion, 8th Marine Regiment, 2nd Marine Division, 2nd Marine Expeditionary Force.

Lance Cpl. Caleb J. Powers, 21, hailing from Mansfield, Washington, and the 2nd Battalion, 4th Marine Regiment, 1st Marine Division, was also killed in action in Al Anbar Province, on August 17, 2004.

Spc. Brandon T. Titus, a 20 year old from Boise, Idaho, attached to the 2nd Battalion, 14th Infantry Regiment, 2nd Brigade, 10th Mountain Division (Light Infantry), died when an improvised explosive device detonated near his checkpoint in Baghdad, Iraq, on August 17, 2004; and Pfc. Henry C. Risner, 26, from Golden, Colorado, a member of the same unit, was killed August 18, under similar circumstances.

Thirty-year-old Sgt. David M. Heath, from LaPorte, Indiana, of the 1st Battalion, 41st Infantry Division, 3rd Brigade, 1st Armored Division was killed in an attack by small-arms fire and rocket-propelled grenades in Sadr City, Iraq, on August 16, 2004.

2nd Lt. James Michael Goins, 23, serving with the 2nd Battalion, 12th Cavalry Regiment, 1st Cavalry Division, and from Bonner Springs, Kansas, died as a result of hostile fire in Najaf, Iraq, on August 15, 2004.

Pfc. Fernando B. Hannon, just 19 years old, with the 3rd Battalion, 1st Marine Regiment, 1st Marine Division, 1st Marine Expeditionary Force, from Wildomar, California, Pfc. Geoffrey Perez, a 24-year-old from Los Angeles, with the same unit, and Spc. Mark Anthony Zapata, 27, of the 2nd Battalion, 12th Cavalry Regiment, 1st Cavalry Division, from Edinburg, Texas, were killed by hostile fire in Najaf, Iraq, on August 15.

23-year-old Sgt. Daniel Michael Shepherd, from Elyria, Ohio, of Company A, 1st Battalion, 16th Infantry Regiment, 1st Brigade, 1st Infantry Division, was killed when his M2 Bradley Fighting Vehicle hit an improvised explosive device in Ramadi, Iraq, on August 15, as was Pfc. Brandon R. Sapp, 21, from Lake Worth, Florida, attached to the 2nd Battalion, 7th Cavalry Regiment, 1st Cavalry Division.

Lance Cpl. Kane M. Funke, 20, from Vancouver, Washington, with the 2nd Battalion, 7th Marine Regiment, 1st Marine Division, 1st Marine Expeditionary Force, and Lance Cpl. Nicholas B. Morrison, 23, of Carlisle, PA, with the 2nd Battalion, 2nd Marine Regiment, 2nd Marine Division, 1st Marine Expeditionary Force, died due to hostile action in Al Anbar Province, Iraq, on August 13.

1st Lt. Neil Anthony Santoriello, 24, from the 1st Battalion, 34th Armor, 1st Brigade, 1st Infantry Division, hailing from Verona, Pennsylvania, was killed when an improvised explosive device detonated near his mounted reconnaissance patrol vehicle in Khalidiyah, Iraq, on August 13, 2004.

Sgt. Daniel Lee Galvan, 30, of the 2nd Battalion (Assault), 25th Aviation Regiment, 25th Light Infantry Division, from Moore, Oklahoma, was killed when the helicopter he was in developed mechanical difficulties and crashed in Salerno, Afghanistan, on August 12, 2004.

Capt. Michael Yury Tarlavsky, 39, 1st Battalion, 5th Special Forces Group (Airborne), from Passaic, New Jersey, was killed when his unit came under attack from small-arms fire and grenades in Najaf, Iraq, on August 12, 2004

On August 11th, Staff Sgt. John R. Howard, 26-year-old from Covington, Virginia, Medium Helicopter Squadron 166 (Reinforced), 11th Marine Expeditionary Unit, 1st Marine Expeditionary Force, and Reston, Virginia's, Lance Cpl. Tavon L. Hubbard, 24, with Command Element, 11th Marine Expeditionary Unit, 1st Marine Expeditionary Force, were both killed in a helicopter crash in Al Anbar Province.

Capt. Andrew R. Houghton, 25, 1st Squadron, 4th Cavalry Regiment, 1st Infantry Division, of Houston, Texas, died on August 9, 2004, at Walter Reed Army Medical Center in Washington, D.C., of injuries he received when a rocket propelled grenade blew up near his vehicle on July 10, 2004, in Ad Dhuha, Iraq

Teenager Lance Cpl. Jonathan W. Collins, from the 2nd Battalion, 4th Marine Regiment, 1st Marine Division, 1st Marine Expeditionary Force, whose home is in Crystal Lake, Illinois, died in hostile action in Al Anbar Province, Iraq, on August 8, 2004.

Rick A. Ulbright, 49 years old, a Department of the Air Force civilian assigned to the 33rd Field Investigative Squadron, from Waldorf, Maryland, expired at Kirkuk Air Base, Iraq, from wounds received during a mortar attack on August 8.

22-year-old Pfc. David L. Potter, with 115th Forward Support Battalion, 1st Cavalry Division, from Johnson City, Tennessee, died in Baghdad, Iraq, on August 7, 2004.

Sgt. Bobby E. Beasley, 36, 3rd Battalion, 116th Infantry Regiment, 1st Brigade, 29th Infantry Division (Light Infantry), Virginia Army National Guard. from Inwood, West Virginia, was killed when his vehicle struck an improvised explosive device in Ghazikel, Afghanistan, on August 7, 2004.

Also on August 7, Staff Sgt. Craig W. Cherry, 39, 3rd Battalion, 116th Infantry Regiment, 1st Brigade, 29th Infantry Division (Light Infantry), Virginia Army National Guard, from Winchester, Virginia, was killed when his vehicle struck an improvised explosive device in Ghazikel, Afghanistan.

Cpl. Roberto Abad, a 22-year-old with the Battalion Landing Team, 1st Battalion, 4th Marine Regiment, 11th Marine Expeditionary Unit, 1st Marine Expeditionary Force, hailing from L.A., was killed in hostile action in Najaf, Iraq, on August 6.

Spc. Joshua I. Bunch, 23, from Hattiesburg, Mississippi, with the 91st Engineer Battalion, 1st Cavalry Division, was killed when individuals using small-arms fire and rocket-propelled grenades attacked his vehicle in Baghdad, Iraq, on August 6, 2004.

Mount Hermon, Louisiana's Lance Cpl. Larry L. Wells, age 22, Battalion Landing Team 1st Battalion, 4th Marine Regiment, 11th Marine Expeditionary Unit, 1st Marine Expeditionary Force, was killed in hostile action on August 6.

Pfc. Raymond J. Faulstich Jr., 24, of the 89th Transportation Company, 6th Transportation Battalion, 7th Transportation Group, who lived in Leonardtown, Maryland, was killed when the enemy attacked his convoy with small-arms fire and rocket-propelled grenades in Najaf, Iraq, on August 5, 2004.

Spc. Donald R. McCune, 20, 1st Battalion, 161st Infantry Regiment, 81st Brigade Combat Team, Washington Army National Guard, from Yplsilanti, Michigan, died August 5, 2004, in a hospital in Landstuhl, Germany, of injuries sustained when an improvised explosive device detonated near his patrol on August 4 in Balad, Iraq.

Sgt. Yadir G. Reynoso, age 27, from Wapato, Washington, and Sgt. Moses D. Rocha, 33, of Roswell, New Mexico, both with the Battalion Landing Team 1st Battalion, 4th Marine Regiment, 11th Marine Expeditionary Unit, 1st Marine Expeditionary Force, died due to injuries received from hostile action in Najaf, Iraq, on August 5, 2004.

Gunnery Sgt. Elia P. Fontecchio, 30, 3rd Battalion, 7th Marines, 1st Marine Division, 1st Marine Expeditionary Force, from Milford, Massachusetts, died from injuries received from hostile action in Al Anbar Province, Iraq, on August 4, 2004.

Lance Cpl. Joseph L. Nice, 19, of the 3rd Battalion, 7th Marines, 1st Marine Division, 1st Marine Expeditionary Force, calling Nicoma Park, Oklahoma, home, died due to hostile action in Al Anbar Province, Iraq, on August 4, 2004.

Sgt. Tommy L. Gray, 34, 215th Forward Support Battalion, 1st Cavalry Division, of Roswell, New Mexico, died when he became caught between two motor pool vehicles in Taji, Iraq, on August 3, 2004.

Capt. Gregory A. Ratzlaff, 36, Medium Helicopter Squadron 166, Marine Aircraft Group 16, 3rd Marine Aircraft Wing, from Olympia, Washington, died of a non-hostile gunshot wound at Forward Operating Base Duke near Najaf, Iraq, on August 3, 2004

Cpl. Dean P. Pratt, 22, 2nd Battalion, 1st Marine Regiment, 1st Marine Division, 1st Marine Expeditionary Force, hailing from Stevensville, Montana, was killed in Al Anbar Province, Iraq, on August 2, 2004, as was Sgt. Juan Calderon, Jr., age 26, of Weslaco, Texas, in a firefight.

Pfc. Harry N. Shondee, Jr., 19, 2nd Battalion, 12th Armored Cavalry Regiment, 1st Cavalry Division, from Ganado, Arizona, died on August 3, 2004, of injuries received when a bomb detonated near his vehicle while he was on patrol in Baghdad, Iraq, on August 2. Harry probably saw Spc. Justin B. Onwordi, 28, from Chandler, Arizona, die while sitting next to him in that vehicle.

Spc. Anthony J. Dixon, 20, of Lindenwold, New Jersey, and Spc. Armando Hernandez, 22, from Hesperia, California, were killed when a bomb went off near their guard post in Samarra, Iraq, on August 1, 2004.

Medicare and the Damage Done

The David Berger National Memorial is on the front lawn of the Jewish Community Center on Mayfield Road in Cleveland Heights, Ohio.

President Bush has claims that he is the ONE who will defeat TERRORISM, like terrorism is some kind of person or group, kind of like Saddam Hussein, who, I guess, was not the answer to all the problems in Iraq and elsewhere, what, with 1,000 families of U.S. soldiers and scores of thousands of Iraqi and Afghan families suffering this morning, having been joined by thousands of Russians.

Back on this date in 1972, weight-lifter David Berger was ready to compete in the Olympic competition. He died at the hand of Palestinian terrorists. Others more educated about the events of that dark day in history, when one type of innocence, was lost have written more eloquently than I can; and I do not want to get get into a discussion of the whole Palestine issue here.

I have a few questions this morning, without trying to be morose, trying to understand what's happening, on the anniversary of a day that many will remember as being part of their own personal "Terrorism 101," and being nobody of any importance, but just a guy out here living from day-to-day digging ditches.

WHERE'S KATHY?

The '96 Everest Expedition

Being in charge of washing clothes, I liberated a t-shirt. It was Matt's shirt, which he got when he worked at the Wilderness Shop. It's a Mountain Hard Wear shirt that gives people the idea that the wearer went on an Everest expedition in 1996. I'm wearing it right now. I was wearing it when I stopped in at Starbucks after dropping Stacey off at her office.

While I was waiting for my mocha, a muscular, athletic-looking, ruddy-complected, tight-tank-top-wearing, fake-bald guy came over to me and said, motioning with his Starbucks cup, "That's something I want to do."

"What's that?" I asked, not realizing he was really talking to me.

"Climb Everest," he said. "Did you make it to the summit in '96?"

"What?" I asked, then I realized, "Oh, this ... yeah, you get a t-shirt when you reach the top. It was pretty cool."

"Fuck you," he said, and turned on his heel.

I called after him, "There's a little stand there run by the Sherpas ..."

I don't think he heard me say that. Probably mad because he thinks I got the t-shirt for free.