Nothing But Love :: golf blogger

I Really Want to Quit

You asked for it. Yes, you did.

In addition to guns, tasers, billy clubs (and a copy of Kill Bill, Vol. 1 and 2), pepper spray, handcuffs, and knives, police in Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Delaware, and the U.S. Virgin Islands will be carrying barber shears so that they can take random hair samples of anybody they don't like.

The federal appeals court that covers the above states has ruled that cutting someone's hair for the purpose of testing it for drugs is not an unlawful search or seizure.

So, all you suspicious-looking characters out there -- you know who you are (god-damn Democrats) -- watch out. And the police don't need a warrant. They don't even need a reasonable suspicion. If they don't like your looks, what you believe in, or the color of your eyes, watch out.

This is the police we're talking about. Snip, snip, snip -- hair sample. What's next? The logic used by the court was that the hair is not really part of your body. It's on display to the public. It's not like pulling hair out by the roots so that DNA testing can be done. But in the court case, hair was taken from the guy's back and shoulder -- those are not on public display except in the locker room (look out Nicolette Sheridan!). Can the police ask a guy to take his shirt off to get a hair sample because there's a report that a hairy-chested man took a wallet from the health club? How about pubic hairs? Without a warrant. That's hair, isn't it? Just as long as they are cut and not pulled, it should be fair game without a search warrant.

While on the subject of not making much sense, Reverend Jerry Falwell was on "Meet the Press," I think. It's hard for me to listen to this guy. And he was talking over everyone, showing great disrespect for the others on the program. He was talking about religion, family values, God, gods, Jesus ... that was the two minutes I saw. Go ahead ... slam me. Tell me how I wasn't really listening. Tell me how I don't understand. Tell me about how I'm crazy ... well, okay ... you might have me there.

Family values. That's Falwell's big thing, like I'm hearing that the Republicans have these family and moral values that we over here on the far left do not have. And I take a look at a guy who went to law school with me. I'll call him Steve because that's what I've always called him. Steve was married for 20 years or so. He was a county prosecutor and then ran for and was elected to Congress on his first try.

He was recently re-elected for the third time with over 2/3rds of the votes cast in his Congressional district. As it turns out, family values weren't all that important to him or his constituents. Steve was cheating on his wife, which apparently is not that uncommon in the seat of our national government. An enterprising reporter caught Steve coming out of his mistress' front door one early morning. His mistress worked for him on his Congressional staff in D.C. But, he and she claim, it was only after she left his staff that Steve began his dalliance.

As things go in D.C., she left his staff and, having worked under a Congressman, joined a lobbying firm. Steve's the chairman of a committee his girlfriend has been lobbying. Steve called his wife after he got caught and told her he needed a divorce because he was going to marry the lobbyist. He's a Republican ... well, I guess, maybe not a real Republican.

Good old American family values, which have somehow become confused with religion, God, and the government, are not embodied by or defined by the Republican party. A "return" to "fundamentalism" and "old-fashioned values" might be perceived by many as "progress."

Forgotten is the Great Depression, when people learned that although they had worked as hard as they could, the vagaries of outside forces, over which they had no control, led them into poverty and soup lines. We are a couple of generations removed from that era. Most of the nearly one-third of the work force who became unemployed are no longer with us. School books on history give no perspective of the enormity of the suffering by individuals and families. The Great Depression is just another chapter to be covered, but glossed over, perhaps mentioned as the reason Hitler rose to power in Europe. The attitude that we are all in control of our own destiny is back ... with a vengeance.

The social programs that arose in that era, in which the belief that everyone was in control of their own destiny if they only pulled themselves up by their bootstraps was rendered asunder, and those social programs which were part of the reforms of Lyndon Baines Johnson's "The Great Society" and the civil rights movement of 40 years ago, are in extreme danger. Social Security, the bellwether of "civilized" nations is taking a beating. Medicare, another social program that is a cornerstone of "civilized" nations, is on the ropes, despite what Bush touts as a prescription drug plan that will save the elderly much money, in spite of his raising the Medicare premiums almost 20%, along with raising the co-payments. National health care ... oh, why even mention it as a possibility, despite the fact that the U.S. is the the only industrialized nation on this planet without it. Bush, the compassionate conservative, ignores the fact that there are well over 43 million with no health insurance, the fact that there are many more millions with only limited health-care coverage, the fact that millions more struggle to pay unpredictably skyrocketing health insurance premiums, the fact that rising malpractice insurance costs are due solely to poor insurance company investments, the fact that there are staggering long-term health care issues for an aging population, the fact that there are relatively poor health indicators for the rest of us, including increasing childhood obesity, and the fact that there is a wide and frightening disparity of health care available to the poorest and the richest. The President's idiotic solution is to put a cap on jury verdicts. Perhaps, if he did that in combination with a comprehensive national health care plan, he might be able to get us to bite on his sell-out to the moneyed insurance interests. He already fed everyone a line about Iraq for his oily friends in Texas.

But he believes he has been given a mandate. He believes that he is owed "political capital." He believes that he has become the one chosen to lead the U.S. back to respectability after the obvious moral and military degradation that he believes occurred under Clinton.

Manifest Destiny has taken on another name. As defined back in 1845 by John O'Sullivan, it was the "manifest destiny" of the U.S. "to possess the whole of the continent which Providence has given us for the development of the great experiment of liberty and federated self-government entrusted to us." This liberty talk is oh-so-familiar.

It is undisputed at this point that Paul Wolfowitz and "Scooter" Libby (Damn, pretty soon we'll have Tiffany and Capri running things with Scooter and Skippy.) authored the "Defense Policy Guidance," which has been the blueprint for Bush's foreign policy. The Pre-emption Doctrine sounds much like Manifest Destiny of the mid-1840's, which gave govenment the excuse to pillage and plunder nation-states that were Native Americans, destroying their ethnic identities, spiritual beliefs, and heritage and to invade other sovereign territories on the North American continent.

The Pre-emption Doctrine promotes a general strategy "based on a distinctly American internationalism that reflects the union of our values and our national interests. The aim of this strategy is to help make the world not just safer but better. Our goals on the path to progress are clear: political and economic freedom, peaceful relations with other states, and respect for human dignity."

With the pre-emption doctrine, which was developed long before Bush the Lesser assumed the reins of power and was foreshadowed with a letter to President Clinton in January, 1998, by a group known as the Project for the New American Century, which counted as signatories Donald Rumsfeld and Wolfowitz, Cheney and Libby, urging Clinton to remove Saddam Hussein from power and urging that as a new goal of foreign policy, the U.S., without support of other major powers and contrary to the findings of arms inspectors everywhere, started a skirmish in Iraq to depose Saddam and spread liberty and democratic ideals, like federated self-government, in a place that American soldiers would be greeted with open arms. You see, it's God's will, according to George the Crusader.

Chilling as it seems, the "political capital" that Bush thinks he is owed will be the foundation of expanding military operations. One of the national security strategy methods to ensure the goals of political and economic freedom is to "prevent our enemies from threatening us, our allies, and our friends, with weapons of mass destruction." North Korea. Iran. Syria.

That leads the administration into Palestine. I don't pretend to understand fundamentalist Christian thought. Literal belief in the Bible, parts of the Bible, or certain versions of the Bible as the word of God is difficult for me to comprehend. Those things in the Bible were written a long time ago, copied by clerics by hand, translated, re-copied by hand. Some "gospels" were omitted; some other writings substituted. Whatever. I will lose any argument on religion. I never took a bible studies class anywhere. I don't pretend to know who wrote what. I saw Godspell with Tom Hanks in a small supporting role. I've seen Jesus Christ Superstar. I got yelled at by the nun in the production of "Late Night Catechism."

All I know is that this faith-based, semi-fundamentalist, dry-drunk, rich boy, who never succeeded in business (or in balancing the books) and who went AWOL from the National Guard (and slammed someone who fought for "liberty and federated self-government," then had the audacity to protest the violation of human dignity) and that we have as a President of the most powerful nation on this slowly dying planet (which he refuses to acknowledge), believes, as do most fundamentalist Bible scholars, that Armegeddon will come in the Middle East. That's where we are headed.

The Bill of Rights and the 14th Amendment were passed to protect citizens, the minority in the main, from being preyed upon by the majority government. Many in the U.S. believe that because of the historical significance of religion in our society a faith-based society is something that was ordained by the founding fathers. Many believe that this country is blessed by some god (the good god, not the bad one). I received an e-mail from my uncle which says, in part: "It is said that 86% of Americans believe in God. Therefore I have a very hard time understanding why there is such a mess about having 'In God We Trust' on our money and having God in the Pledge of Allegiance. Why don't we just tell the 14% to Sit Down and BE QUIET!!!"

I won't sit down. I won't be quiet. And I'm going to see "A Christmas Carol" Friday night. Peace.

LET THE SHOPPING BEGIN!

SCORE!

Raspberries

I don't get it. I have two sisters-in-law who are barbers. They've been in the barbering business a long time. There's the one sister with the freeze-dried collie, every attentively lying with head up, eyes unblinking, tracking every move you might make, and mouth slightly open, as if lightly panting so teeth and tongue are visible. And there's Stacey's younger sister, who was the last barber to cut a full head of my hair, oh-so-long ago, who owns an upscale shop in Cleveland's Tower City Center. And they don't get it, either.

Sitting in Danny Boy's this afternoon, I noticed two guys, one with a mullet and one with a comb-over, the quite elaborate swirly type of comb-over that takes a lot of time and hairspray to stay in place. I do not begrudge them their peculiar hairstyles. Whatever statement they're trying to make to the rest of the world is lost on me.

I didn't realize that lunch at Danny Boy's was merely a prelude of things to come because I was headed down to the House of Blues for the sold out reunion of the Raspberries. I never saw so many middle-aged people together in one place as I saw at this concert. The only people under 45 were the kids of the band members. I wasn't a big Raspberries fan back in the day, but Dr. Cyborg thought it would be a good time. And it was. The band had me on the second tune they did, a cover of The Who's "Can't Explain," upon which the band did a great job.

There were far too many comb-overs in the crowd, however. And are men not aware that purple or pink hair would be far better than the dye job in black that looks like a real good excuse for baldness? And worse than that was the rather short, stocky dude over to my left, who played the air drums all night, unconditioned permed gray hair down to the middle of his back with bald pate glistening. I, for one, will have nightmares featuring this guy.

On the railing in the first row of the balcony was a familiar face from the early 70's. G. Gordon Liddy. I never knew he was a Raspberries fan.

Jet Packs

I saw this in the New York Times:

"It's been my life's dream to see the parade live. Once it starts, it means the holidays are here. My other dream is to get a jet pack."
- NICHOLAS PERDUE, a 16-year-old at the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade.

Back when I was 10 and dreaming of having a flying car and a jet pack, who would have imagined that in the 21st Century, some kid would be dreaming about getting a jet pack. The dream has still not come to fruition.

He obviously has no hope for a flying car in his future.

Happy Thanksgiving!

This is one of those posts about what's happening around here ... you know what I'm talkin' 'bout ...

The turkeys are in the brine. I, again, for the 31st straight Thanksgiving avoided touching the cold, dead turkey skin and guts. I thank the turkey gods that Stacey is so understanding about this little phobia that rears its ugly head once a year ... maybe more ... like for unloading pigs for pig roasts ... and touching chicken. I can't believe she has put up with me for all these years, come to think of it.

It's going to be Stacey, Jackson, and me for dinner ... with two turkeys and the fixings, mashed potatoes, stuffing, corn, homemade cranberry sauce, plus three pies, sweet potato, pumpkin, and apple, for dessert. I guess we're hoping for a flash crowd (I don't mean to make fun of Stace. Or I actually do, but she plans it this way to put a few meals away in the freezer, which is nice for cold winter weekends when it's just nice to have a turkey dinner -- defrost, heat, and serve. It's great!)

Jackal makes his now-traditional Thanksgiving Day rounds with his AA buds to those less fortunate in the inner city. He'll get up at 7, meet up with some guys, help cook, then make deliveries. He'll be home at about 3, which is when we'll sit down to eat.

I made a visit to my shrink therapist yesterday. On the way there, this old guy ... ummm, well, I suppose that I'm an old guy ... this guy was older, like way, way, way older than me ... Whew! He was very ancient, like the kind of old guy that might not be driving in the next year or so unless he moves down to Florida and gets a license. He was the kind of ancient, old guy who wore a gray houndstooth little hat with a little red feather in the band. I didn't notice what he looked like as I passed the gray Mercury Grand Marquis CL with American flags on the back window and a bumper sticker that said "America -- Love It or Leave It" on the trunk lid that he was driving. I slowed up for the police car sitting up on the left in an office building driveway, and the old guy pulled up alongside me. I looked over to my right at him, and he looked over at me. I smiled and nodded. He shook his fist at me.

I'm trying to figure out what I did wrong. I can only think that he noticed the "The Who" sticker on the back bumper of the white VW Beetle and flashed back in time, still outraged at his teenaged son's fascination with the loudest rock band in the world.

Rock on! Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

Pee Post

I haven't seen much on a matter of utmost importance, which was the subject of a world conference held in Beijing last week, for which I didn't have time or money to attend.

The World Toilet Organization held its annual confab. The WTO (which everyone in the organization affectionately calls it) seeks to promote sanitation issues in public restrooms; create a world-wide awareness of the importance of a cool toilet environment; promote research in the ever-evolving fields of toilet usage and design, and cleanliness; promote the need for better toilet standards; generate the exchange of ideas on health and cutural matters related to toilets; and to publish and disseminate research and information on toilets, restrooms, and the sanitation of each.

It is no wonder that the public restrooms and toilets in the USA are disgracefully filthy. The USA is not a member nation of the WTO nor has the USA been invited to be a member. When it comes to toilets, the United States is not a world power and more like a third-world nation.

Invited to the conference, however, was a representative of the International Paruresis Association, which counts as its potential members those who find it particularly difficult or impossible to pee in front of or within earshot of others (The IPA recently filed suit claiming that one of its members was fired when he couldn't pee in the bottle for a drug test and that the firing was unlawful because he was discrimated against on account of his disability, which was, you guessed it, paruresis; but that suit is, in my opinion, doomed to failure as the disability does not substantially impair a major life function.)

I am pleased to tell you that soon the quality and cleanliness of America's restrooms will be changing for the better with the founding in September of this year, just 6 short weeks ago, the North American Restroom Association in Baltimore, Maryland, which, come to think about it, is at the mouth of the Potomac River, recipient of all of the effluent emanating from Washington, D.C. What better place for such an organization?

For one who hates using public restrooms and has seen with his own eyes vast crowds of concert-goers peeing in sinks they mistook for urinals, this is good news.

Oct./Nov.

Sgt. Michael A. Uvanni*Sgt. Jack T. Hennessy*Sgt. Russell L. Collier*Sgt. Christopher S. Potts*Staff Sgt. James L. Pettaway*Staff Sgt. Richard L. Morgan Jr.*Spc. Jessica L. Cawvey*U/I pending notification of next-of-kin*Spc. Morgen N. Jacobs*PV2 Jeungjin Na Kim*Staff Sgt. Michael S. Voss*SGT Andrew W. Brown*Pfc. Andrew Halverson*Pvt. 2 Carson J. Ramsey*Pfc. James E. Prevete*Sgt. Pamela G. Osbourne*Pfc. Anthony W. Monroe*Staff Sgt. Michael L. Burbank*Pfc. Aaron J. Rusin*Capt. Dennis L. Pintor*Spc. Michael S. Weger*Spc. Jaime Moreno*Pfc. Oscar A. Martinez*Cpl. Ian T. Zook*Spc. Christopher A. Merville*Lance Cpl. Daniel R. Wyatt*Spc. Jeremy F. Regnier*Lt. Col. Mark P. Phelan*Maj. Charles R. Soltes, Jr.*2nd Lt. Paul M. Felsberg*Lance Cpl. Victor A. Gonzalez*Spc. Ronald W. Baker*Pvt. 2 David L. Waters*Spc. Josiah H. Vandertulip*Staff Sgt. Omer T. Hawkins, II*Spc. Bradley S. Beard*Pfc. Mark A. Barbret*Spc. Alan J. Burgess*Sgt. Michael G. Owen*Spc. Jonathan J. Santos*U/I pending notification of next-of-kin*Lance Cpl. Brian K. Schramm*Cpl. William I. Salazar*Capt. Christopher B. Johnson*Chief Warrant Officer William I. Brennan*Spc. Andrew C. Ehrlich*Sgt. Douglas E. Bascom*Lance Cpl. Jonathan E. Gadsden*U/I pending notification of next-of-kin*Lance Cpl. Richard P. Slocum*Sgt. Dennis J. Boles*U/I pending notification of next-of-kin*Cpl. Brian Oliveira*Staff Sgt. Jerome Lemon*Sgt. 1st Class Michael Battles Sr.*U/I pending notification of next-of-kin*Pfc. Stephen P. Downing II*Spc. Segun Frederick Akintade*Sgt. Maurice Keith Fortune*Lance Cpl. Jeremy D. Bow*Lance Cpl. Michael P. Scarborough*Lance Cpl. Travis A. Fox*Cpl. Christopher J. Lapka*Lance Cpl. John T. Byrd II*Sgt. Kelley L. Courtney*Pfc. Andrew G. Riedel*Pfc. John Lukac*1st Lt. Matthew D. Lynch*Sgt. Charles J. Webb*Spc. Cody L. Wentz*Cpl. Jeremiah A. Baro*Lance Cpl. Jared P. Hubbard*Sgt. Carlos M. Camacho-Rivera*Pvt. Justin R. Yoemans*Spc. Quoc Binh Tran*Spc. Brian K. Baker*Lance Cpl. Sean M. Langley*Spc. Bryan L. Freeman*Cpl. Nathaniel T. Hammond*Lance Cpl. Shane K. O’Donnell* Lance Cpl. Jeffrey Lam*Staff Sgt. Clinton L. Wisdom*Spc. Don A. Clary*Lance Cpl. Branden P. Ramey*Staff Sgt. David G. Ries*Cpl. Robert P. Warns II*Lance Cpl. Thomas J. Zapp*Cpl. Joshua D. Palmer*Lance Cpl. Abraham Simpson*Sgt. David M. Caruso*Cpl. William C. James*Lance Cpl. Nicholas D. Larson*Lance Cpl. Nathan R. Wood*Command Sgt. Maj. Steven W. Faulkenburg*Sgt. Lonny D. Wells*Lance Cpl. Juan E. Segura*Staff Sgt. Todd R. Cornell*Staff Sgt. Russell L. Slay*Master Sgt. Steven E. Auchman*U/I pending notification of next-of-kin*Spc. Travis A. Babbitt*Sgt. John B. Trotter*Maj. Horst G. Moore*Staff Sgt. Michael C. Ottolini*Pfc. Dennis J. Miller, Jr.*1st Lt. Dan T. Malcom Jr.*Lance Cpl. Erick J. Hodges*Lance Cpl. Aaron C. Pickering*Staff Sgt. Gene Ramirez*Cpl. Romulo J. Jimenez II*Petty Officer Third Class Julian Woods*Lance Cpl. Wesley J. Canning*Lance Cpl. Justin D. Reppuhn*Cpl. Theodore A. Bowling*Cpl. Peter J. Giannopoulos* Spc. Thomas K. Doerflinger*Staff Sgt. Sean P. Huey*Staff Sgt. Theodore S. Holder II*2nd Lt. James P. Blecksmith*Lance Cpl. Kyle W. Burns*Spc. Raymond L. White*Cpl. Jarrod L. Maher*Sgt. Morgan W. Strader*Lance Cpl. David M. Branning*Lance Cpl. Brian A. Medina*Cpl. Nathan R. Anderson*Cpl. Brian P. Prening*1st Lt. Edward D. Iwan*Sgt. Jonathan B. Shields*Lance Cpl. Nicholas H. Anderson*Sgt. James C. Matteson*Cpl. Kevin J. Dempsey*Lance Cpl. Justin M. Ellsworth*Sgt. Byron W. Norwood*Spc. Jose A. Velez*Lance Cpl. Benjamin S. Bryan*Lance Cpl. Victor R. Lu*Lance Cpl. Justin D. McLeese*Capt. Sean P. Sims*Pfc. Cole W. Larsen*Sgt. Catalin D. Dima*Cpl. Nicholas L. Ziolkowski*U/I pending notification of next-of-kin*Cpl. Dale A. Burger Jr.*Cpl. Andres H. Perez*Lance Cpl. George J. Payton*Lance Cpl. Jeramy A. Ailes*Lance Cpl. Travis R. Desiato*Sgt. Rafael Peralta*Cpl. Marc T. Ryan*Lance Cpl. James E. Swain*Pfc. Isaiah R. Hunt*U/I pending notification of next-of-kin*Lance Cpl. Bradley L. Parker*Lance Cpl. Shane E. Kielion*Capt. Patrick Marc M. Rapicault*Lance Cpl. Antoine D. Smith*Lance Cpl. William L. Miller*Cpl. Lance M. Thompson*Pfc. Jose Ricardo Flores-Mejia*Spc. Daniel James McConnell*Staff Sgt. Marshall H. Caddy*1st Lt. Luke C. Wullenwaber*Sgt. Christopher T. Heflin*Lance Cpl. Louis W. Qualls*Lance Cpl. Michael W. Hanks*Lance Cpl. Luis A. Figueroa*Lance Cpl. Dimitrios Gavriel*Lance Cpl. Phillip G. West*U/I pending notification of next-of-kin

Oh, The Places You'll Go!

No matter how long George Bush the Lesser wants to keep those rose-colored glasses on, the picture will not change. The War in Iraq doesn't get better by renaming it an "insurgency," which connotes a small group of dissatisfied losers fighting the government that is in power. This is no small thing. This war has turned into a Viet Nam-like conflict. Without the body bags on the nightly news. The FCC might levy fines if that were to occur.

I read in the New York Times that school loan funding or guarantees by the government would be cut, making it necessary for those who need assistance to look elsewhere for funds or forego college.

Hmmm ... who would this affect the most? The underclasses, I would say. The great mass of teens of the middle class who want to go to college or technical school to better themselves, but cannot afford it? The great mass of teens of the working and unemployed poor who want to go to college or technical school to try to end the seeming unending cycle of poverty, but cannot afford it?

What can they do?

Uncle ... Sam ... Wants ... You!

The North Korean regular army fighters number over a million. The number of young men and women the U.S. has stationed in Iraq is about 135,000, mostly reservists and National Guardsman, many in their late 30's, 40's and some even in their 50's.

You see what I'm talkin' about?

You see the plan here?

You see the Bush "WAR ON TERROR?"

You see death and maiming and life-long care for 18-to-23-year-olds?

You see grieving mothers and fathers?

You see bloody riots in the streets here in the States?

Do ya?

"BOOK 'EM" AND "BUTTERBALLS"

thanksgiving always gets me thinking about my mom. not for the sentiments one might normally associate with the beginning of the holiday season. it’s all about the “butterball.”

bill and i always get to giggling about mom, cuz she would say EVERY YEAR to us on the phone, “so, did you get a butterball?” the butterball turkey was unmatched by any other kind of turkey, fresh or frozen. when she’d ask the question, i’d say (loudly for bill to enjoy), “yup – got a butterball” or “nope, got a fresh turkey” or whatever. but since she died, i’m finding it harder and harder not to get a butterball.

anyway, bill and i got to talking ‘bout the butterball this morning; and started getting a little choked up thinking about all things m.a. (her name was mary alice – EVERYBODY called her m.a). the mistiness turned to laughter when i said “how cool is it that her last words were “book ‘em, dano?” really, i mean, HOW COOL IS THAT?

One-Act Play

Scene I

Judge's chambers: A handsome, dashing bald lawyer is seated across from gray-haired older man, who sits behind a desk, a large decorative gavel next to the phone among the paperwork. A younger man with greasy, slicked-back hair, the prosecuting attorney, walks in without knocking.

Prosecutor: Sorry to interrupt, Bill. Judge, they got that woman in the holding cell. Apparently, she's not getting medication and was talking to someone who wasn't there on the way over.

Judge: So, what are we going to do?

Pros: The officer said to drop the felonies if we can get her admitted to the hospital.

Judge: I can't do that. We're not equipped at this court to monitor her like that. Maybe she will waive the hearing and agree that it can go over to the county. She can get help through them.

Pros: She's never going to understand. You need to appoint a lawyer for her.

Judge: She said Tuesday she didn't need a lawyer, but maybe you're right.

Bill: What? What are you two looking at? Are you ... lookin' at me?
_________________

Scene II

Modern courtroom with cameras and microphones, computer monitors, and state of the art sound system that transmits the proceedings to the Clerk's office and the hallway outside the court room, which is crowded with people sitting in four rows in the rear of the room. The same handsome, dashing bald lawyer stands below the high podium upon which the same judge is seated behind the intricately carved, bullet-proof desk-like affair. The same prosecutor stands to the lawyer's right, leaning on a rail. On the lawyer's left is a mousy-looking woman in an orange jumpsuit with uncombed hair and no make-up.

Judge: Ms. Smith, you've spoken at length with your lawyer and ...

Lady (interrupting): I'm not Ms. Smith. I am Jane Smith.

Judge: Very well, Jane Smith, you have had an opportunity to speak with your lawyer. Has he explained what is happening?

Lady: Yes, yes, yes, yes. He's bald. My neighbor is bald.

Judge: Then you will waive the preliminary hearing and the case will be transferred to the common pleas court.

Lady: Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. We didn't talk about waving. He said we would not have a hearing. I'm giving up my right to have a hearing. That's what we decided. I don't know anything about waving, except there are too many flag-wavers out there. I'm not waving one.

Bill: Let the record reflect, your Honor, that Ms. Smith ...

Lady: Jane Smith!

Bill: Jane Smith is giving up her right to a preliminary hearing and that the prosecutor has given me all of the reports and records.

Judge: Okay. What about bond?

Prosecutor: We would like a high bond, unless we can be assured that she'll take her medications.

Lady: No, no, no, no. I'm not on medication.

Pros: You refused the medication at the jail.

Lady: I'm not on medication. Are you on medication? Antbody?

Pros: Unfortunately, I am.

Lady: Viagra? You taking Viagra?

***************Uproarious laughter****************

UM. NO REASON. JUST WANTED TO POST THIS.

we are bill and stacey. this side is stacey. over there---> is bill. married 30 years. 3 kids. jax is 19, a recovering drug addict (clean and sober for almost THREE YEARS!), mad guitarist. matt is 23, married to the beautiful and brilliant mel, t.a.-ing and in graduate school at THE ohio state university, working toward an eventual Ph.D. in computer science. mel works for ***** (i'm not sure mel wants her workplace posted, thus the asterisks). atari is their cat. matt and mel have just purchased their first home and will be moving in right before christmas. mark is 25, rose-hulman institute of technology graduate, lives at this precise moment in time (subject to change) in baltimore, maryland. looking for a job. mark is our semi-kid. sarah's his awesome girlfriend. derp is mark's ferret. mark's been part of our family since he was 16. these young men are the heart and soul of our lives. we are crazy proud and passionately supportive of each of them.

bill's a lawyer. and a lot more. works from home. stacey's a former stay-at-home mom, now working outside the home for the last 4 years. she'd like to be working at home again. she was diagnosed with m.s. 10 years ago. we've got 2 dogs. sheba (louise) and (beagle) scout. a white beetle with a "who" sticker on it. we love starbucks. and ourbucks (our own little coffee bar in the kitchen). we love to cook. we're wet-the-bed, bleeding-heart liberals. informed, opinionated. we are square pegs.

the name "nothingbutlove" is tongue-in-cheek. we're not a p*rn site or a vanilla blog. don't come here thinking you'll find "nothingbutlove."

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dear faithful and regular readers: you knows we loves ya. just thought we needed to say it again.

Braking His Heart

[Note to Readers: Do NOT try this at home. This should not be construed to be instructional in any way, but a simple recital of a true story based on the sworn testimony of three people.]

So, on this particular Thursday afternoon, after his wife had been bugging him for about two weeks that her brakes were pulsating and she was afraid that there was something wrong, Ray picked up new rotors and brake pads for the front wheels to replace the brakes on the front. He'd had a rough day at work and didn't want to hear any more complaints about the brakes. He parked his Econoline van in the usual place at the end of the driveway over on the right edge of the drive as far as he could go. He backed his daughter's car straight out of the garage on the right side of the driveway just ahead of his truck.

He got into his wife's car and backed it up down the left side of the drive and pulled forward and to the right into the garage so that it was parked at an angle so there was room to change the brake on the left front without a problem. He replaced the brakes and needed to test drive the car. His wife came out to tell him that she was starting dinner, and he replied that he wanted to finish what he started and was going to test drive the car. His wife said that she would do it because he was filthy and would get her car all greasy and dirty. He acceeded to her demand. He had already picked up all his tools and put them in a plastic bucket. Ray walked down the drive toward his van.

His wife got in the car and turned the ignition key to start the car. She buckled her seatbelt. She depressed the brake pedal, which went all the way to the floor. She put the transmission in "reverse," and the car started to move backwards. She pushed harder on the brake pedal, which was already against the floorboard. She steered the car so it would stay on the driveway. She noticed a car coming down the street to her right. She was very afraid she was going to run into the street and hit the car, but felt there was nothing she could do but push harder on the brake pedal, which she did. She continued to roll down the driveway. She didn't see anything in the rear view mirror. She was afraid that she was going to go across the street and up the driveway of the house across the street and smash into the house; so, she turned a little, veering to her right as she was backing up, bumped down over the curb, rolled across the street, and up onto the neighbor's lawn, finally being stopped by a fencepost.

She looked across the street and saw Ray laying on the apron of the driveway, partly in the street, motionless and wondered what had happened to him.

Ray had a somewhat different perspective. He was walking close to his truck, reaching the rear end of the truck when he felt something slam into the back of his legs, turned to look, saw it was the car, tried to put his arm on the trunk and jump on, but the car sucked him under.

The right rear wheel rolled over his chest. He was under the car and being squeezed as he twisted and rolled underneath the car. The front wheel rolled over his chest nearer to his neck. Then he was looking at the sky, laying there, unable to take a breath. He tried to move his left arm, which was pinned under him, but could not move it. He tried to move his right arm, but couldn't. He figured both arms were broke or his back was broken. He tried to move his right leg, and it moved. He figured his spine was okay, but he still couldn't breathe. He looked up and saw his daughter's face. She was yelling something to him. He tried to focus. "Breathe, Dad! Breathe, goddammit, breathe!" He tried and could only take very shallow breaths. She continued urging him to breathe. He figured he was going to die in the street there, having been run over by his wife.

RESPONSE TO ANONYMOUS

early this morning, there was a comment in my teacher story below that was posted anonymously. don't take my removal of the comment personally. the comment was interesting -- i just don't allow anonymous comments. but i DID want to address the questions implied therein. this post will be removed in a day or two -- i'm hoping that the commenter will see this. if not, oh well, i tried.

actually i was not the one who came up with the idea of the form. it was the guidance counselor, at a meeting with ALL jax's teachers (except mrs. a, who did not attend, to the consternation of the g. c. who had set up the meeting 2 weeks in advance so that ALL teachers could be there. and, silly me, i thought it was PART of her job, not taking up valuable time (or "taking time out of their schedule"). and jax's behavior was never an issue. mrs. a plainly never liked jax. i guess i didn't make this clear (this was not the first or only hint of that). i don't know who she liked, really, because she was very cruel to some other students (to the point that matt and jax would be extremely uncomfortable), she'd make fun of students often. she was a bully (and not a very good teacher either). there was a whole history behind this; i see that i didn't make that clear. not just OUR history -- larger than that. nobody at that meeting said ANYTHING positive about mrs. a. she was clearly a "problem" in the school, and i was shocked that they were so openly non-supportive of her. it was unusual, i thought. this was a bigger problem (not just for us) than just her purposeful (i felt) exaggeration of a non-issue. simply put, i believe she needed a little bit of comeuppance.

lucy hit the nail on the head with her remark about tenure. i was trying to make the point that (in spite of popular politically correct thinking) all teachers are not saints. they're people. some good, some bad. i guess i didn't do that very well.

lawyers are people. some good, some bad. priest are people. some good, some bad. doctors are people. some good, some bad.

the deification of teachers is not a good thing. open your eyes. be your child's advocate. that does NOT mean taking your child's side in ALL things (supporting crap behavior will kick you in the ass someday -- crappy behavior by your child OR the teacher).

in general, i'm REALLY tired of all the teacher deification nowadays. don't get me wrong. my kids have had a couple AMAZING teachers. truly amazing and wonderful people and teachers. i will appreciate them always. but i'm not gonna award that status to every teacher out there. i think that's dangerous (think about what's happened in the catholic church). and counterproductive. i've met teachers who've got a chip on their shoulder from the get-go. i had a junior high band teacher tell me that, of COURSE, she couldn't seat the chairs (band geeks will know that means seat the musicians in order of ability so that the first chair has the more complex part, and on down the line) because she HAD 4 classes every day at 2 DIFFERENT SCHOOLS (2 miles apart). ohmygod. take a nap on your three-month vacation. so yeah, maybe i do have an attitude. SOMEBODY has to.

Category 6 Survivor

I spent four agonizing hours watching the CBS two-part movie, Category 6. Not only did it depict the worst storm in the history of the Windy City, the movie was one of the worst in the history of television.

Perhaps the other person who watched it can tell me if there is going to be a sequel. The film maker, whoever it was, left a couple story lines open, The new guy taking over the National Weather Service -- a nerdy-looking bald guy characterized as being ultra-stupid -- hired the intern chick and asked Brian Dennehy, the old-timer National Weather Service boss, to stay on as a consultant. There seemed to be something going on there between Brian and the intern chick that could develop in a sequel.

The other story line, and I fully expected this to be resolved tonight, involved Randy Quaid playing Tommy the Storm Chaser. Yes, that's right. And they must have told Randy to play the part like the guy he played in the movie, Quick Change. Comic relief and craziness in the middle of the worst storm and worst movie in history.

Randy buckled his seatbelt and road his SUV up inside one of the 23 dozen tornadoes that decimated Chicago along with a fucking Canadian hurricane during the biggest blackout in history, which was caused by an antiquated power grid hacked by a disgruntled employee of the power company from his apartment with his Apple IIe computer and by a greedy newk-you-ler power company, which was running its 12 nuclear power plants in Chicagoland way above capacity and dumping boiling water into the Chicago River, killing all the fish, during the worst heat wave in Chi-town history. I need to leave Randy Quaid for a moment here as he was ride-em-cowboy, yippy-yi-ky-yaying his way up the funnel cloud, laughing and howling like a maniac, while his dog in the passenger seat was yakkin' up a bone.

The evil guy who ran the nuclear (NEW-klee-err) power company killing the environment and raping consumers by way over-charging the regular power company -- why, I don't know -- ended up getting blown up Bruce-Willis-Nakatomi-Plaza-style by a helicopter coming to pick him up, which couldn't be controlled in the gale force winds and blew up, sweeping him over the side of some skyscraper while burning up. If the flames didn't kill him, the fall would.

And then there were the two human interest stories. Maybe there were three, one involving the only black guy in Chicago, who helped rescue the pregnant woman, whose husband was flying the Air Force plane that was checking out the bad weather. Now, while freeing the pregnant chick, he broke his leg, but was not abandoned by the investigative reporter chick, for whom he was camera man. Well, yeah, that was part of the preggo woman stuck in the elevator story line; so, there were only two human interest stories, I guess.

Then there was the story of the teenaged blond chick, who was dating a juvenile delinquent, who she dumped and who, as a result of that dumping trauma, arm-robbed a bank in which he found the teen chick and her mom, who was married to the lying, cheating bastard in charge of the electric company, who was sleeping with the whore public relations director employed by the evil nuclear power company; and the teenaged blond chick tried to negotiate with her ex-boyfriend, who was holding 70 people hostage in the bank, which was automatically cut off from the rest of the world and the mall, in which it was located, when the electricity went out, by offering to sleep with him right there in the bank; but he shot her by mistake, trying to kill the security guard who wanted to get in on the action. Or that's the way it would have played out in the NaNoWriMo book version of the movie.

I don't want to give away the surprise ending with the bleeding-to-death, teenaged chick, whose hormonally-crazed, bad-boy ex-boyfriend was crushed when the mall glass ceiling blew down, but her lying, cheating dad drove through the fucking hurricane from Hell Canada and flying cars (Hey, there's no such thing as a flying car!) to the mall to pick up his daughter, pissed-off wife, and son, who wore his helmet as he rode his damn bike, dodging tornadoes, to find his mother and sister at the only shopping mall in Chicago. And he picked up the pregnant wife of the Air Force airplane pilot, who was in labor, but didn't sweat one bit, despite the fact that she was stuck in an elevator in an old building in 100-degree heat, after talking to the pilot on some top secret communications device that he somehow copped from the black guy. What the hell ... you're all on the edge of your seats -- here's the surprise ending.

The lying, cheating fucktard bastard drove to an abandoned airfield, McCormick Field, just outside of Chicago, where there were people walking around, to rendezvous with the Air Force plane, which landed at the airfield in the eye of the hurricane and took off with the girl and her family and the pregnant wife of the pilot. The pilot claimed on the secret communications device, when talking to the lying, cheating fucktard bastard, that there was a medic on board the plane. There wasn't. He flew to Area 51 to get medical treatment for the bleeding-to-death tennaged girl and have his baby delivered.

Oh, y'know, I mentioned that misguided dude who hacked the power grid. He tried to restore power by removing the computer virus he planted in the electric company's computer, but he spilled his coffee on his laptop and a huge blue lightning bolt shot right through his chest, electrocuting him. Clearly, he had no experience with electricity.

In any event, I'm wanting to know what happened to Randy Quaid, riding the wind in his red Dodge Durango. The film maker should have gone all the way with this one ... the movie ended 10 minutes before the hour, so I'm thinkin' that maybe in that last few minutes cut from the movie, Randy Quaid unbuckles his seat belt as his red Dodge Durango is teetering on the top of one of the antennas on the Sears/K-Mart Tower, where he was deposited by the tornado, and slides down the antenna, dog under arm, to cheering crowds. I assume we'll see that as the beginning of the sequel.

At each commercial break, CBS touted its show, Survivor. I don't watch it, but my curiosity was piqued. The show is shot on some island ... Xanadu, I think. I thought I saw Olivia Newton John prancing around while some guy said, "If you question a woman's ability, she'll snap your neck!"

Now I might watch the re-runs if that happens, especially if it's Olivia Newton John snapping some dude's neck, just like in a Steven Seagal movie.

That would be cool. Reality. Really.

I AM A HORRIBLE, HORRIBLE PERSON. not.

did i tell you this story? forgive me if i did. i can't find it. so here goes ...

when the jackal was in 8th grade, often his favorite thing to do in the mornings before school (at that time he was not home schooled - he attended what i like to call the abercrombie and fitch school of assholes. really i don't mean that in a bad way) was play a little guitar. invariably, he'd show up at the breakfast table chewing on a guitar pick. don't say "ew." it's not unusual for guitar players to chew on guitar picks.

he'd put the pick in his pocket, eat breakfast, and then put the pick back in his mouth. i never made a big deal out of it, having played the guitar when i was younger and tasted a bit o' the pick myself. don't hate me.

jackson's first class of the day was english. his teacher was / probably still is an asshole. matty had had her also. she taught neither of my kids a thing. not a thing. bill and i spent a lot of time teaching matty how to write when he had mrs. asshole. [it worked out pretty well for him no thanks to mrs. a who had not one clue. his senior ap english teacher at saint ed's wrote on his college recommendation letter that matt was "the single most talented writer he'd had in senior ap english classes in 15 years."] mrs. a was wrong a lot in what she taught the kids. she was nasty. and a self-righteous prig that believed the hype about all teachers being saints, despite what they really DID. she would denigrate kids in class. not just my kids. she had issues. she was / probably still is a bitch. [shocker: teachers can be bitches, too. yes, they can.]

anyhoo. at the time, jax was not doing what you'd call real well in school. bill and i had asked each of his teachers to fill out a daily form for us. basically, the form was a check list inquiring if jax had handed in homework, participated in class, was prepared for class, alla that shit. and there was a space for comments. each day, jax brought me the signed forms from each of his teachers. so one day, mrs. a sends home the form. he'd done what was required of him that day basically, BUT. mrs. a. writes that jax was in the habit of "eating guitar picks."

i think i was in a pretty bad mood that day - you may have noticed that that happens once in a while here in "nothingbutlove" land.

so i sent back a note to mrs. a that said pretty much this:

dear mrs. a: thank you, THANK YOU, for the note about this disturbing behavior. you'll never know how much i appreciate your attentive supervision of jackson. i will always be grateful that you clued me in to this frightening and possibly pathological behavior. i am immediately making arrangements to have jackson psychologically assessed. a less observant and conscientious teacher may have mistaken this behavior for the benign, albeit annoying habit of merely "chewing" on a guitar pick. indeed, i, myself, am guilty of that. but "EATING" guitar picks! that's an entirely different pathological can of worms. i'm on it right now. thanks ever so much."

i got called into school the next day. actually, bill and i BOTH got called into school. the principal, mr. h, jackson's counselor, AND THE SCHOOL SYSTEM PSYCHOLOGIST were in attendance. mr. h, said to me when i walked into the office, "stacey, stacey, stacey. what did you have to go and do that for?" i told him that mrs. a was just jealous cuz i was a better writer than she'd EVER be. mr. h. agreed that that was a pretty good bet. and i turned to the school psychologist and asked her if she'd read it, cuz it was pretty good.

the meeting was NEVER going to accomplish what mrs. a had hoped. the principal, counselor, system psychologist, and bill and i pretty much agreed that mrs. a was a jerk. they all recommended that jax be moved to a teacher that they thought was a better fit. bill and i politely declined the offer. we had no real expectations of any real academic progress for jax for that year in english, given what mrs. a had to offer. but we felt that he might as well learn to deal with jerks in authority. so he stayed. we worked with him ourselves on writing.

go ahead. yell at me. i was mean to a teacher.

GET OVER YOUR FUCKING SELF

one of my absolute favorite things that people do is take offense to some "thing" one says (because, yaknow, one MUST have been trying to be offensive to this other person because, yaknow, that's what you DO to people in your life or in the life of the people you care about) and not having the balls / grace / maturity / ability to say, "what the fuck?" because it's not WORTH it to put it on the table. it feels ohsomuch better to hold on to it, like your own little private gift. oh it must feel so good to do that.

it must. cuz why the hell wouldn't you just say "what the fuck?" and allow the "offender" to say either "i can't stand your ugly, stupid person, and you god damned well deserved that and much, much more." or. "holy hell, man i'm really sorry. that DID sound like that! and i sure as hell didn't mean THAT! I'M REALLY, REALLY SORRY."

here's the deal: if i'm not happy and want to offend you, you'll goddamned know it. you won't have to wonder.

and if i think you've said or done something to offend ME, i'll do one of two things.

In Which I Admit I'm An Idiot

I was supposed to have a jury trial today in a case in which the wife backed the car down the driveway and ran over her husband (No, nobody you know, but, damn, if it isn't a good idea to some readers.). Last week, I asked the J-dogg to take me down to the courthouse to file some stuff in anticipation of the trial; and I wrote this post over the weekend because J-dogg and I had a blast. It becomes timely because John McCain, waiting until after Bush finally was elected, today, roundly criticized the President for his stand on global warming.

At one point on the 40-mile drive, Jackal and I were discussing fuel economy standards, noticing that almost half the vehicles on the road are vans, SUV's, and pick-up trucks of various sizes.

Why don't the fuel economy standards set by the federal government include vans, SUV's, and pick-up trucks, he asked. Many of these vehicles are high-end luxury types with all kinds of bells and whistles. DVD, GPS, ATC, AWD, etc., are standard features on many, many vehicles, for which the consumer pays a premium. People are paying 50, 60, 70 grand and more for these things. If people are willing to pay these prices, why can't the auto makers build in fuel efficiency and fuel economy into the vehicles and charge it off to the consumer, he wondered.

We were thinking that there must be the technical capability to do this. After all, nobody is asking engineers and scientists to make cars fly.

Why can't the government include these vehicles in the fuel economy standards and increase the fuel economy standards while they're at it? It could all be done without a lot of fanfare under the George W. Bush veil of regulatory secrecy.

That's a stupid question.

I'm an idiot. Sorry.

I don't know why I care. People with Hummers can afford to pay for gasoline because of the tax cuts they've gotten, while those who live hand to mouth drive older cars that get bad gas mileage and contribute hydrocarbons to the atmosphere, compounding the problems caused by pollution from coal-fired power plants, just like the one down the road from us (discharges warm water into Lake Erie, too).

I won't ask if there's any chance at all that the U. S. will be a signatory of the Kyoto Treaty. Then I would prove once and for all that I truly am an idiot.

Peppermint Meringue Kisses

The plan was to make Peppermint Meringue Kisses. The end step before putting the kisses in the 250° oven is to put the meringue mixture into a pastry bag and squirt the kisses onto the greased baking sheet.

Now, I was using a spatula to like scoop the meringue out of the copper bowl into the plastic bag with the decorating tip. My better half grabbed a spoon. I admit that the spoon was like a pretty good idea. More efficient, less messy, and like none of those drips I had to eat, which was the good part about the way I was doing it.

Stacey was having like a hard time with the pastry bag. I admit that I had put on the wrong tip, so I volunteered to change it to the one that would like make those cool swirly things. On her next try, she like squeezed a couple out. I wanted to do that job -- you know how it is when you're a little kid and how you like really want to like drive the car but your dad won't let you -- that's what it was like. She was doing this cool thing, and I was just standing there watching and I really wanted to do it; but then a small piece of pulverized peppermint got like, you know, stuck in the tip, which she like got out with a toothpick, one of the, you know, sharp ones.

Same exact thing happened the next try. Good thing, I'm thinkin' -- I told her I'd take over -- you know, like now I got to do the cool job. I saw Martha Stewart, you know, making the meringue things once before she like went to, you know, like shovel shit on that pig farm prison in West Virginia; and she said it was like, you know, easy to do, while she was squirting out the little kisses onto the greased baking sheet. She really, you know, yammered in that. you know, Martha Stewart kind of way to make sure the baking sheet was well-greased. It was like the only thing she like talked about, so, you know, the meringue things wouldn’t like stick. That was something how like she used to be talking the whole time she was doing something, like she could do it in her sleep, y'know. And, well, now, she's, you know, down in prison.

Back to what I was sayin' before. It was like real easy to use the pastry bag, mostly, you know, considering this was like my first time. It was pretty damn cool, I must say. You gotta admit that a pastry bag is like a pretty neat thing. But yaknow, it shouldn't explode. Not like that anyway. Not so peppermint meringue goes like all over your shirt and pants and bare feet and the floor. But those dogs, they do like their peppermint meringue.

Vacation Plans

The U.S. troops, at the cost of 31 lives for the cause of freedom and democracy, have liberated occupied ethnically cleansed swept through Fallujah.

Can I now book my flight and make my reservation at the Baghdad Hilton?

Joanne Simpson

I got this e-mail this evening:

Sent you an email on this yesterday, which was a second time to have done so. Oh, the world of cyberspace!! All you need to do is sign the form. She fills in the name and legal information about your lawyer on this end. Please don’t forget to have your signatures on it go through the same process of notarization, etc. as everything else.

Elaine

This is the third one that Joanne sent to me ... er, Elaine. I don't know anyone named Elaine. I don't know Joanne Simpson.

A G-28 is a notice of appearance as an attorney in an immigration case -- I haven't handled an immigration case since one of my clients was deported for selling drugs, a lot of drugs. I'd have to look up what a 171 might be, but it's probably something important, like the form she needs to fill out to get into the country.

And who is Nancy? Is Nancy a lawyer? And why isn't she doing her job, like dealing directly with Elaine? And don't you speak Spanish in Guatemala?

And of course the other two e-mails didn't get through, Joanne. You sent them to me, you dumbass, not to Elaine. Don't blame me if this immigration deal gets fucked up.

And Joanne, I've reported this to the abuse department. I hope they are able to straighten out the problem. And in case you haven't heard, George Bush was elected. You had better get your ass in gear and get Elaine into the country while you have the chance because the opportunity is not going to last very long.

Just sayin'.

Dog Food

I've been buying a dry dog food called Beneful ... I think it's a Purina product. I have noticed that the dogs are deliberate in the manner in which they eat the food. There are a number of different morsels that comprise the food:

From left to right is the order in which they eat the dog food. I'm wondering if they eat the best-tasting pieces first or if they save the best-tasting pieces for last. They obviously are not in the school of eating that promotes mixing up the food and eating it all together.

I could never understand why people would mix up corn and mashed potatoes and glop a forkful down. First off , mashed potatoes is not a food that one mustr masticate; but when corn is added, that changes the texture of the mashed potatoes and the way the mixture is eaten ... chewing seems to be required, except I wouldn't know because I will not mix foods like that.

It has taken me a long time to ... er, choke down like meatloaf. I'll be damned if I'm going to chop it up and mix it with mashed potatoes! Or anything else. If that's what someone is going to do, why not just make a hamburger and mashed potato casserole?

That argument that all the food goes into the same place doesn't make much sense to me. I'll grant you that it does end up in the stomach. Here's a little experiment to show you why that makes no sense. What's that near you ... a bag of potato chips or are those, heaven forbid, pork rinds (Think about where those pork rinds have been -- on a fucking pig! How could you even touch them??). Put a few of those chips ... or rinds (This says something about pork rinds ... The President loves them!!). Chew them up. DON'T SWALLOW! Now, spit out that glob of goo. Now, pick it up and eat it.

Disgusting, no? I think you know what I mean. And those of you who won't admit it and actually ate the glob of goo just to teach me a lesson, deep down you know what I mean.

So, the dogs have the right idea, eating the morsels one at a time and not mixing up the flavors. The beagle has yet to eat what she has thrown up. That, too, proves my point, whatever it is.
_____________________

Speaking of food, head over to "The Kitchen" for something new.

Bueller? Bueller?

Is it possible that Diebold, the ballot scanning machine maker, the CEO of which was responsible for getting Bush millions in campaign contributions, took care of George Bush the Lesser with its secret computer software code? Is there a conspiracy at the highest levels of the American government to subvert the will of the People? Was there a bloodless coup d'etat on November 2nd?

Is there anyone like Jim Garrison out there?

Oliver Stone?

Bueller? Bueller?

Civility and Civil Rights

Civil rights.

I find it interesting that when we speak of civil rights, many of us are neither civil nor right. Rather than exhibit the qualities of which Jesus Christ preached, or which Mohammed taught, or of which the Buddha spoke, we cast aspersions and denigrate and degrade others. I find myself guilty.

I am not a religious person; I am not a believer that the Bible is holy or that the words went from a god's mouth to Esther’s ear, although Esther might have thought so (Reading Book 1 of Esther leads me to believe that divorce is an okay thing, which is not what I learned from Sister Mary Oliphant.). I am not gay. I have been married for over 30 years to the same woman. I really would like to know what overriding governmental interest is served by barring gay marriage.

The social institution of marriage has been around for a long time. I could have done more research on the subject of the origins of the tradition, but I didn't; and I am guessing that the one major in Sociology that I had in college probably had a course on marriage, which probably gave me the answer, but that was way before the turn of the century and very difficult to remember.

I know that arranged marriages used to be the thing. The monarchies that existed in Europe were built on the practice, which turned out to be a lot of in-breeding, until the mid-to-late 1800's. So, marriage, rather than the voluntary union of two individuals, was the forced joinder of two persons for economic or political gain. Arranged marriages, the bedrock of many societies for many centuries, is now frowned upon by nearly all societies in favor of marriage based on the free choice of those who love each other, those who have genuine affection for each other, true trust of each other, shared values between each other, all of which are part of a true marriage relationship.

A wedding vow between two relative strangers does not create a true marriage relationship from what had existed, that is, nothing. There is no magic wand. Although words can create a ceremonial marriage, whether it be in a faith-based ceremony, a civil ceremony, or whether it be in private between two individuals, there are no words that can create a true marriage founded on love, affection, trust, honor, and shared values.

In the past and in many lands today, women who married became the property, the chattel, of their husbands and were unable to act for themselves. Women could not transact business and could not own property independent of their husbands.

In this country, at least, and maybe elsewhere, like in Canada, too, wives are not considered property and can act independently, although there are still barriers for women with respect to the marketplace, in jobs, earning potential, and the manner in which they are treated. In this country, although the Equal Rights Amendment was never enacted, laws against discrimination on account of sex have been passed as a part of the Equal Employment Opportunity Act, which provides a remedy for the victims of discrimination on account of sex, among other things.

Marriage used to be a permanent bond from which there was no "escape," but now we allow divorce (I will not comment upon the use of the term "escape," when I realize that there are economic ties, offspring ties, and lasting emotional ties that do not really make divorce an "escape.").

Marriage was, until relatively recently, restricted along racial and religious lines, while now people of different races and religions are free to marry. Although some states still have laws on the books that outlaw marriage between persons of different racial groups, those laws and the attendant restrictions have been thought by many to be anathema to our sense of personal freedom.

Personal freedom. Where do we get the idea of personal freedom? It has a long history and has evolved, with each generation grafting its own ideas and meaning to the philosophy.

The founding fathers of the United States of America, with the Bill of Rights, tried to restrict the control of the government over what they considered significant personal freedoms of individuals. Unfortunately, written into the Constitution were concessions to various conventions that existed which did not meet the lofty ideals and goals that were mentioned in the Declaration of Independence as being the reason for such a declaration and the blood spilled for "freedom."

The Bill of Rights was felt by many to be inadequate to protect personal freedoms. After the War Between the States, the United States Constitution was amended. The 14th Amendment to the Constitution states, in part, that:

No State shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States; nor shall any State deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws.

What's that all mean? The meaning, never really clear, has evolved over the years. Be that as it may, those rights that "are essential to the concept of ordered liberty" are those that are protected by the due process clause of the 14th Amendment.

And what does that mean? Rights essential to the concept of ordered liberty or to the American scheme of justice are those so rooted in the tradition and conscience of our people as to be called fundamental. Llke marriage.

Those who would want to restrict the definition of marriage would claim that marriage of one man and one woman is rooted in the tradition and conscience of the American public. But should people who make that commitment to each other founded on love, affection, trust, honor, and shared values be denied the protections of marriage just because they are of the same sex?

Homosexuality is not a new phenomenon. It is not an illness. It doesn't rub off on someone who is a heterosexual. It is within the spectrum of the normal human condition. The percentage of those who are homosexual has remained relatively constant through the centuries. It appears from some research that homosexuality is genetic in origin. But there is some kind of religious thing out there that I don’t understand. Homosexuality is, I’m told, outlawed by the Bible as an abomination. I’m trying to figure out under the theory of intelligent design what purpose the designer had in making people homosexuals, if it’s such a bad idea. And if God did it … why did He say it’s an abomination. It makes no sense to me ... God loves all his children, doesn’t He? I’m going to stop right here because I’m confused about these religious things and evolutionary theories and natural selection.

Let’s look at this stuff another way. My President is planning, according to one of his buddies, Karl Rove, is going to push a Constitutional amendment defining marriage or banning gay marriage. A marriage amendment to the United States Constitution was proposed last year in this form:

Marriage in the United States shall consist only of the union of a man and a woman. Neither this Constitution, nor the Constitution of any State, nor State or Federal law, shall be construed to require that marital status or the legal incidents thereof be conferred upon unmarried couples or groups.

Backers of the amendment never mustered close to an adequate number of votes to bring the amendment to the states for ratification. In June, 2003, however, the U.S. Supreme Court, by a 6-3 vote, struck down bans on gay sex, ruling that a Texas anti-sodomy law was an unconstitutional violation of the right to privacy, with right-winger Anthony Kennedy, opining that Texas "cannot demean their [homosexuals] existence or control their destiny by making their private sexual conduct a crime."

So, what the heck is wrong with gay marriage?

Justice William O. Douglas, long despised by conservatives, is one of my personal heroes. He authored the majority opinion in the case of Griswold v. Connecticut, which closed the bedroom doors to state scrutiny in a case striking down a Connecticut law that made the use of any "drug, medicinal article, or instrument for the purpose of preventing conception" a crime. Douglas, writing for the Court, affirmed that marriage was a fundamental right and held the government had no place in regulating behavior in the bedroom. He wrote,

Marriage is a coming together for better or for worse, hopefully enduring, and intimate to the degree of being sacred. It is an association that promotes a way of life, not causes; a harmony in living, not political faiths; a bilateral loyalty, not commercial or social projects. Yet it is an association for as noble a purpose as any involved in our prior decisions.

Even earlier than this elucidation of the right of marital privacy was the statement by the United States Supreme Court that the concept of ordered liberty "denotes not merely freedom from bodily restraint but also the right of the individual to contract, to engage in any of the common occupations of life, to acquire useful knowledge, to marry, establish a home and bring up children, to worship God according to the dictates of his own conscience, and generally to enjoy those privileges long recognized at common law as essential to the orderly pursuit of happiness by free men."

Justice Douglas did not pen the opinion to which I cite above. That opinion of the United States Supreme Court was written in 1923 by Justice James Clark McReynolds, a staunch conservative and leader in striking down Roosevelt’s early New Deal framework, who voted against the Tennessee Valley Authority, the Social Security Act, and the National Industrial Recovery Act, during the Depression. McReynolds never married and is thought to have been one of the most unpleasant individuals to sit on the high court. He was a racist and anti-Semite; there is no official photo of the Supreme Court for the 1924 term because he refused to sit next to Justice Louis Brandeis as protocol dictated. He brought to us the notion that a part of the liberty we enjoy, one of the self-evident truths upon which this country was founded, is the right to marry.

William O. Douglas has stated, however, that: [T]he rule of law implies equality and justice in its application. … The rule of law, evenly applied to minorities as well as majorities, to the poor as well as the rich, is the great mucilage that holds society together.

Our President, who campaigned prior to the 2000 election, claiming that he was compassionate, that he would unite the country, and who recently said that he would reach out to those who did not vote for him, looks to cater to those with "morals" (I thought one of the Ten Commandments, by which we seem to measure morality nowadays, is "Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor," which commandment the President has ignored and violated time and time again) and refuses to apply the rule of law even-handedly. Could this be the reason this society is coming apart at the seams? It is the reason that there is a hue and cry against gay marriage.

Justice Douglas, in discussing the City of Jacksonville’s vagrancy laws, spoke of rights not written in the Constitution or the Bill of Rights. Personal freedoms, one of which is the right to marry, are those unwritten rights, the amenities of life. "These amenities have dignified the right of dissent and have honored the right to be non-conformists and the right to defy submissiveness. They have encouraged lives of high spirits rather than hushed, suffocating silence."

Gay men and lesbian women have suffered in that hushed, suffocating silence for too long. We must honor love, commitment, affection, true trust, and shared values between two individuals of whatever gender, not by defining "marriage" as between one man and one woman and restricting the right to marry, but by embracing these men and these women, who were "endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights," by allowing them to enjoy the personal freedoms, the amenities of life, that are part of the liberty we all should enjoy in this country and for which young men and women are dying on foreign soil tonight.

Forget Flying Cars ... I Want My Jet Pack!

Here I am, thinking I'm behind the times and that for the sale price of $72.99, plus shipping and handling, I could tool around above town with my very own jet pack.

Well, I was wrong. I thought that was kind of inexpensive for such a technologically-advanced gizmo. This jet pack has load vector compression straps. They sure make it sound like it can fly ... they claim that it's "steady on the approach."

Where are the real jet packs? You know what I'm talkin' about. Just like the flying cars, we were supposed to have jet packs to get us around.

I found it!

The flying Jetpack is an incredible machine that uses vertical to forward flight capability allowing its pilot to fly and hover at will without the use of wings or a fuselage. Control is achieved by shifting body weight and through vectored thrust. It is capable of carrying a 250 lb pilot. The top speed is approximately 50 mph and it can remain airborne for up to an hour!

Yeah, that's what I'm talkin' about! Vectored thrust! Bring it on!

Hold on, there ... what's this? "Ducted fans?" Does that sound like a jet to you? "Rotax 503, 2 cylinder, 2 cycle, air-cooled, 50 hp" engine? Does that sound like a jet to you?

I'm just a little confused. Wait, there's a picture!

They gotta be kidding. I'm not wearing that to the office.

Jose, Can You See?

No sour grapes from me. No conspiracy theories from me. If you would have told me 10 years ago that over 59,000,000 people would have cast their presidential election ballots for a recovering, cocaine-abusing alcoholic, who went AWOL from the Air National Guard, and was a cheerleader in college, I would have told you that you were a lunatic.

It turns out that he didn't get all those votes, though. In Ohio Republican stronghold Franklin County, where the state capital, Columbus, is located, Precinct 1-B in the Gahanna area, 638 votes were cast. It is safe to say that nobody waited more than a couple minutes to vote there, which is substantially unlike a polling place out in suburban, predominantly-black Canal Winchester, where voter number 1450, who arrived at 7:15 a.m., waited 2 1/2 hours to cast his ballot for Kerry, and where many left before voting to go to work, hoping to return later. I guess that's one way to limit access to the ballot box in an area which may have been pro-Kerry.

Oh, by the way, of those 638 votes that were cast at Precinct 1-B in Gahanna in Franklin County, Ohio, Kerry picked up 260 votes and Bush chalked up 4,258 votes.

More disappointing than George Bush the Lesser being elected with more votes than any president in history ... Oh, I'm an asshole. That's what the guy in his brand new Ford Super-Sized Expedition with the temporary tag called me as I was starting to write this post when I pointed out he was in one of the handicapped parking spots illegally. He claimed that he ran into the building to throw some stuff in the mailbox. A good excuse? Running? I said, "There’s a spot right over there. You won’t park there because it has a "reserved" sign?" That’s when he called me an asshole. "Stupid asshole," actually.

I must admit to you right now that I did not remain as calm as I could have and said, "Fuck you," which is definitely not the right thing to say; but I was starting to write about how disgusted I am about the passage of the lousy marriage definition amendments in Ohio and 10 other states, and he interrupted me. I was angry.

So, I'm sitting in the white VW Beetle with the black "The Who" sticker on the back bumper and kind of blocking his forward motion ... did I leave that part out -- the part about pulling in front of this monstrous hunk of gas-guzzling mostly-foreign steel, plastic, and Naugahyde.

He took unkindly to me talking like a Republican to him and slid out of his big-ass American assault vehicle. And then he ordered me, "Get out of that car, asshole (not even a capital "A")!"

And he said it like so totally authoritatively ... I mean, what was I supposed to do? I felt like if I didn't like comply with the dude’s command, I was going to be in big trouble or something. I didn't want to be fuckin' with the wrong guy by not getting out, for crying out loud, if you know what I mean.

So, I got out of the Beetle. Now, I don't really know what this blond dude was thinking. He was about 35. Maybe he thought I was older than I am. Or maybe he thought I was as old as I am. Or maybe he thought that only a pussy drives a white VW Beetle. Or maybe he thought I was afraid of a short guy with hair, let alone the big hair that he did have. Or maybe all those.

I really don't know what he was thinking, but when I got out, he tricked me and scrambled quickly back into his SUV; then, he backed up and pulled around the Beetle. I think he was trying to make like he was going to hit me. And as he drove away, he lowered the window and flipped me the bird.

Typical. One of those "W" stickers on his brand new vehicle.

I WILL IF YOU WILL

dear president bush:

i cried myself to sleep last night. i need you to help me. i can't do this every night. i need you to understand that you are my president, too. that you represent me, too. and the entire population. not just the half that voted for you. it's called public service for a reason. i pray that you will consider that you now (this term) serve more than you have heretofore [that means before now].

please try to understand that there are many of us (not an insignificant number - in spite of how you may qualitatively deem us insignificant) who do not feel safer, better off, or optimistic about the future. please, please, please look deep inside yourself and try to see how you just may have contributed to our deep dissatisfaction and fear. please, please, please try to find a way to take advantage of this gift of 4 more years to do some real good. to acknowledge and serve at least more of us. not just rich, white christians.

understand who i am. i am a 50 year-old white woman, raised as a christian (i do admit to being a non-believer, according to your criteria), married to a (mostly) succesful lawyer for over 30 years. if i feel disenfranchised [that means powerless], how are we (me AND you) to have any hope at all that the future holds anything better for ANYBODY except for the very, very small (let's be honest for once here) group of people for whom you really do work.

you were elected because you have tapped into a very fragile and flawed character aspect of our american psyche. we americans feel that it's our right to feel that our agenda and actions are completely pure and benign. it's a much more difficult and painful task to seriously look at and actually admit what your character flaws and misguided behaviours may have been. [see how delicately i put that?] get serious about working these steps again.

AA Step 8: We made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all.

AA Step 9: We made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.

AA Step 10: We continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong, promptly admitted it.

i promise that if you try, i will. cuz i can't cry myself to sleep every night. i just can't.

AND STILL MORE

another self-indulgent, masturbatory post. i sent this e-mail to the jackal earlier this year during an e-mail exchange about god.

dear jax,
a long time ago (funny, i think i was exactly your age), there was a lot of shit going on in my home life. a lot of what i remember about it was the culmination of a whole series of events -- i wound up with a huge bruise and a sore neck from a slug i took to my face from my "stepfather person."

anyway, it was a tough time for me. dad was away at onu. i felt alone. i had a couple friends who were serious christians who told me that god would comfort me if i would only ask him. i so envied the way they saw their relationship to god, and desperately wanted what i thought they had. it really bugged me that i could not "get" it in the same way they did -- no matter how hard i tried. and i did try. hard. felt very bad that that "magic" wasn't there for me.

it took me a long, long time to feel comfortable with the god i KNEW i knew, but it was in such a different way.
you're so intimately involved with people of deep faith who know god in such a different way, jax. in a different way than you do. and you may not know you know god, are not sure about this god stuff at all, but someday you'll "get" it. god is right there with you, IN you, in us, in your brothers, in your guitar, in the snow, in the grass, in the DOGS. god is our love for you, your compassion for others, your struggles to be the best person you can be, the music you make. god is not -- for me, and i think for a lot of people, including you and dad, where others tell us to look. he's just there. we feel it, but not in the same way others do, so we wonder -- is that god? yes, it is.

you'll be just fine with that. someday. maybe today.