You're a guy. And if you're not a guy, just assume you're a guy ... just for a moment, as painful and disgusting as that may be. Go lift up the toilet seat to get in the mood -- and leave it up while you're reading this.
So, you're a guy ... and you think that you're like pretty cool and all, kind of virile, and, you know, like you have it totally together, you know, like most of the time, at least.
And you're talking to your wife, to whom you've been married for a long time. Now that you think about it, saying "to whom you've been married" is, even though grammatically proper, rather stilted; and you don't, you know, talk that way all the time. Anyway, you're talking to your wife and she starts telling you about a dream she had.
And in the dream, she says she was on a cross-country trip with Ike Barinholtz, the guy from Mad TV, and that little dude, Bobby Lee.
I mean, what the hell? How would you feel? Really. Ike ... Barinholtz. Bobby ... Lee.
Fuckin' A ... to the extreme.
I base a lot of my foreign policy decisions on some things that I think are true. One, I believe there's an Almighty. And, secondly, I believe one of the great gifts of the Almighty is the desire in everybody's soul, regardless of what you look like or where you live, to be free. -- George the Lesser, 4-23-2006
Is "Thou shalt not kill" in there somewhere?
A crew from "Spiderman 3" are in town shooting, apparently needing a place that looks like the seedy underbelly of New York City at a fraction of the cost. I didn't remember until I walked up the street and saw a car parked in a no-parking zone with a hand-printed sign that said "StAnd-IN." Several buildings that had been empty were now occupied by an "I -heart- NY Souvenir Shop," a deli, and a couple clothing stores. Two buildings that are being renovated carried big banners advertising loft condos and luxury apartments. The old bank building on the corner of 9th and Euclid was renamed, and someone was telling extras where and how to walk. I crossed 9th when I found that the cars on the street at that intersection were all stopped in certain positions, the drivers waiting for the call to start their engines.
It was at that point that Scout, the Beagle, decided to contribute to the ambience and started her little circle dance to find the exactly right spot to defecate on the sidewalk. So, when you're watching Spiderman 3, the guy bending over picking up the shit off the sidewalk, hand in a white plastic bag, happens to be me. I couldn't find the fucking stand-in to do that for me.
The physicists at the Fermi National Accelerator Laboratory nearly slipped one by me. Physicists discovered that a particle, much smaller than an atom so that it is kind of difficult to see, called, in physics parlance, the "neutral B meson," can reverse its identity three trillion times a second. Like when an alchemist changes ordinary lead into gold, this little mother transmogrifies from regular matter to anti-matter. This type of transformation is not unusual or surprising; after all, it has happened to a human being. Captain Kirk was split into two by a defective transporter, one good and one evil Captain Kirk, which, come to think of it, is not really the same thing because the neutral B meson itself switches every 4/10 ths of a trillionth of a second from its regular matter version into its upside-down, mirror-image, evil-twin, antimatter opposite and then back again in "flavor oscillations."
Did you ever wonder how physicists think up these things? Do they sit in a room and one of them says, "Hey, I got an idea. Why don't we get a neutral B meson to change from regular matter to antimatter and back? I think that would be cool!"
And another one chips in, "Do you think that in the future people will be able to shoot fire out of their eyes?"
And yet another says, "That's evolution, you dork! But that would rock! That antimatter thing would be pretty interesting."
"Okay. Let's do it!"
"I'm the decider, and I decide what's best." -- W.
Well, that's the problem. Low standards.
I got an e-mail from "National Bill Removal."
I deleted it. I will be watching my back from now on.
feeling good. looking good. determined.
thank you all sooooo much for your prayers. keep on keeping on.
So, Stacey wrote a blog post over there on the right ... that's my right looking out at you and actually your left while you're looking in ... entitled "What Happened," revealing what happened. But she didn't tell the whole story. And I haven't been able to get much sleep the last week because of it.
The J-dogg's car was impounded when he was arrested. Yeah, she left that out of her little explanation over there. So, I got a power of attorney from J-dogg so I could get the car. Stacey thought the guy at the towing place was rude. I brought that up to the lady taking care of me ... needless to say, the police were almost called; but we were able to work things out. That's a whole other story.
The plan was that I would drive the car and park it in the lot across the street, where we had paid the monthly rate. That was the plan ... a twenty-minute drive from the towing place to the parking lot. In the meantime, Stacey was going to drive her car home. Instead, 20 minutes later, I was sitting on the side of a busy main thoroughfare, waiting for her to answer her phone so that I could tell her to come get me.
I ran out of gas.
Waiting for the court administrator to finish up her meeting with the judge so that we could set a hearing date to get a settlement approved, I sat in the hallway outside the courtroom with three other lawyers. Seated directly across from me was a girl, dark hair cut short, probably about 17, wearing blue jeans with a pink sweater over a white blouse, dirty pair of Nikes on her feet. Next to her sat a skinny guy, maybe 18 years old, closely cut red fuzz hair, like on a G. I. Joe doll, with a few red hairs masquerading as something of a beard on his chin and a metallic stabbing weapon sticking out of his skin just under his bottom lip. He had an "x" tattooed on the web between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand, wore a pair of jeans with gashes in the knees, a t-shirt with a band name I didn't recognize and don't remember emblazoned above some colorful graphic with a skull and fire and maybe trolls frolicking around under a black unzipped hoodie.
Before they sat down, he had asked, "Where's juvenile court?" I replied, "Check in through that door," which apparently cemented our relationship as good friends because he told me when they emerged from the door, "They'll call us," like I was now a part of his legal defense team.
The other three lawyers gossiped about a lawyer, who had once been involved in our case. He had parted the company of the group of lawyers with whom he was associated, and they were laughing about a letter I had sent him in response to an insult he had cast my way in correspondence to me. They opined that his brazen style didn't fit in with the law firm. The kid with the deadly weapon sticking out of his face chipped in, "Lawyers can be real assholes," which is not a good thing to say to a group of lawyers.
"What are you here for?" I asked the boy.
"Petty theft," he replied, just as the juvenile court bailiff came out of the courtroom and asked the girl in the pink sweater for her name. She told him, and the bailiff invited her to walk through the metal detector. As she stood up, the red-haired kid stroked her on the butt with his left hand; then, he stood up and took a step toward the metal detector.
"Who are you?" the bailiff asked him with an authoritative air.
"I'm her stepfather. Her mom couldn't make it."
You've all used or seen hot-drink cups with plastic lids with the little oval sipper hole in the edge, courtesy of Dixie or Solo or Insulair. And many of you have, you know, checked out how much is left in the cup by peering into the little hole, like looking into a microscope.
And if you suspect that there is still coffee in the cup, it's not a good idea to look into the hole to check how much is left while tipping the cup toward you, like looking in a telescope. Especially not when you're driving. In front of a police car.
here's what happened.
a little more than a year ago, jax fell in love.
hard. verrrry serious for him. and for her, he thought. the problem was, relationship-wise, that the girl wanted to be "friends" with the previous boyfriend, a guy who beat the crap out of her at least several times. that was tough for him -- that she could accept someone like that back into her life, even as a friend.
program-wise -- SHE thought he was "cured." SHE didn't think he needed to make the program the huge part of his life that it had been. so...
supposedly, he stayed clean until the last turbulent week of the relationship. sometime in may, i think it was.
idiots that we are, we didn't notice the changes in him until around august. he was angry, lazy, immature. he couldn't hold a job, he was draining us. emotionally and financially.
he continued on a downward spiral, not being able to find a job, ruining holidays, letting us down when we needed him for something. was just an asshole. it was hard.
still, he insisted he was clean. that he was just depressed. we sent him to two doctors. they didn't catch anything. pffft.
we tried to get him to go to meetings. he resisted. he didn't like those a.a. people.
when he got arrested for trying to steal some sudafed (one of his old drugs of choice), we STILL believed him (it was my first try, mom). but by that time it really didn't matter to us if he was using or not. we told him he had to sign a contract with us that included working a program (and attend meetings every single day) if he wanted to continue stay with us. within one week, he found -- and walked out on -- a job, was arrested again, and charged with another petty theft and possession of paraphernalia.
we told him that the only way we would let him back in with us was that he had to agree to whatever his therapist recommended (he had an appointment the next day, last monday).
john, his therapist, called us tuesday morning, told bill that it was a HUGE problem, to get him into inpatient immediately. we called the facility he recommended right that minute. john called. jax got the first bed open on wednesday morning.
he signed himself in. he says he's willing and ready. says he's being honest. he calls us twice a day. half the time he's angry and ranting about the center, though. it does seem to be lessening a little. his counselor, pam, is tough and on the ball. i have a lot of hope. i'm guessing he'll be there for 28 to 45 days.
writing and reading this over is amazing. am i brain dead or what?
i said to bill last week, "what if we really wrote about our lives on the blog?" here i am.
keep praying, peeps.
In my continuing quest to keep America safe, I would like to report that the Consumer Products Safety Commission says that Kinder chocolate eggs with a toy surprise inside have been sighted on the shelves of some stores. The sale of Kinder chocolate eggs is banned in this country because people can choke on the little surprises inside the eggs.
The ban took effect in August, 1997. There's nothing quite like 10-year-old chocolate.
Disney Personal DVD players sold in several styles, Princess, Fairy Flowers, Mickey Classic, Mickey Mouse, and Power Rangers, have been recalled. 102,000 of them have been sold in the past year. Marketed to younger children as electronic babysitters, the DVD players may explode and burst into flames while recharging, with unpredictable results.
An adult toy, a Crain power saw, has been recalled because the plastic handle might break off, "causing the user to lose control of the saw which could kick back and present a laceration hazard if the blade is in motion." The dealer will fix it ... at no charge! Here's hoping that the company will fix any arms and legs that are cut off ... at no charge.
LandRoller "Terra 9" Roller Skates are funky-looking with two gigantic wheels on each boot to help the skater keep balanced on cracked pavement and uneven surfaces. Of course, to be effective, the wheels should stay on. Unfortunately, the wheels can fall off. I think that's a bad thing.
Winter is all but over in most parts. You would think that a recall of Polaris Snowmobiles would have taken place a long time ago, maybe during the winter when people were buying and then riding on them.
While you're sitting in bed tonight with your Brookstone Foldable Massaging Bed Rest with Heat, enjoying the relaxing heated massage with your glass of milk in the cup holder, realize that the heat could be the result of the unit melting and charring.
Take care and good night.
I've been trying to cope with the behavior of a drug addict, not the drug use and the actions prompted by the need for money and drugs, which were done clandestinely and beyond my purview, but the chameleon-like personality changes, equivocal excuse-making, and blatant lies.
He would be sweet and charming at times, smiling and affable; at other times, he would be dark and ill-tempered, sarcastic and nasty. He made excuses for failing to perform his responsibilities and for the nefarious activities in which he engaged. He lied about what he did and what he planned to do, even though proof that the facts were otherwise was obvious to everyone.
It strikes me that President Bush, who has a history of drug and alcohol abuse and who eschewed a 12-step recovery program, has been behaving exactly like a drug addict, which affects not only his family and small group of friends, but billions of people on the planet.
Perhaps, a Constitutionally-authorized intervention is in order.
I found it.
It's on the way to the treatment place on a country road way out in the middle of nowhere. The drive is interminable, then around a slight bend and down a dip into a hollow, the sign appears. The blue guy with the white beard, red hat, and red leotards ... Papa Smurf ... with "Smurf Storage" in Smurfy print curving around his head. I found where they keep the Smurfs.
Yesterday, I went to the federal courthouse for a hearing. I didn't bring a briefcase or bag ... never know what I miht have left in there that could be construed as a weapon. Of course, I had to empty my pockets and walk through the metal detector. The U.S. Marshal asked me if my phone/PDA had a camera. I replied that it did. He asked me what else it could do; so, I explained the functions that I could recall. He was most impressed with the fact that I could log on to the internet and do legal research right there and then.
Then he said, "You can't take it with you."
"What?"
"I can't let you take a camera in there with you. It's not permitted. No cameras or other recording equipment. ... You'll get it back when you leave."
"What if I need to refer to my schedule?"
Why do you need to do that? This is federal court. The judge won't care about your schedule."
So, I locked up my PDA in one of the little lockers in which the cops put their guns and headed up to the courtroom.
While waiting for the judge, I mentioned that my phone was confiscated because it had a camera. The lawyer on the other side of the table, a woman, said, "I didn't have to give him mine. I have a camera ... he even asked me. Told me not to use it."
Life is so unfair.
this is jax playing "little wing." download it, but don't misuse it; or i'll hunt you down and hurt you. you know i will.
Thursday, February 27, 2003:
My Thoughts That Come From Listening To Music
If you haven't noticed from my occasional "Song Of The Day" posting, music is a huge part of my life. Music heals the spirit. It helps you get out of holes. It cheers you up. It's like having one of those amazing conversations with a close one. Music of substance gives me one of those chills down my spine that no amount of L.S.D. can replicate. It is an amazing thing. Music of substance: Zeppelin, Hendrix, Springsteen, Tommy Bolin, and Stevie Ray Vaughan. Chills down the spine, baby. I love listening to S.R.V. and feeling like I just stepped into a wind tunnel. When I hear the "Boss," I feel like exploding with positive energy. He truly did save Rock 'n' Roll. Stairway to Heaven makes me think of my late Grandma M.A. I remember when I first heard that song, I put it on repeat and prayed for my Grandma to be saved. Indeed, she was. She is in Heaven right now. Looking down on my family. Loving us. Hugging us. Never letting go. Music helps me get in touch with my heart, soul, and spirituality. It is a wonderful thing. Just pop on Bruce Springsteen's Thunder Road while driving down an empty highway. It creates a friend out of thin air. I can't tell you how many times a good song has saved me from going into the store and getting some robitussin. This whole rant came into my mind as I was driving home tonight from a meeting. I was alone until I turned on the radio. Just listen to S.R.V.'s version of Little Wing with your eyes closed. Music is my true love. It is what I want to do for the rest of my life. It would be a true gift from God if I could play guitar to the world for the rest of my life. Love music. Hear music. Cherish music. Never let those last few notes go. Keep them in your head and in your dreams.
Jackson // 11:03 PM
i am so tired. the last four days feel like twenty. bill’s exhausted, too. he’s sound asleep. god, i know he needs a good rest. matty’s on the road back to columbus after jumping in his car to head here yesterday around noon. i can’t imagine how he’s feeling. i came out here to write because i couldn’t sleep, because i didn’t want to wake up bill with my sniffling, and because i couldn’t stop thinking about everything in general, and trying to remember jax’s words about “thunder road” specifically.
i found them.
we sat in the car this morning (this afternoon?) so jax could have one more cigarette and listen to one more song. it was “thunder road.” i hid my weeping (i hope) from bill and jax in the back seat, but matty saw and was applying pressure with his elbow against my arm, silently telling me to try to hold it together for just a little while longer. i did the best i could.
when i had my first child (matt), i was shocked at what i felt. felt like my chest had a cinderblock pressing on it all the time. when i let myself think about how much i loved this kid, i could barely breathe.
i wanted another child so much, and i felt we wouldn’t be a “complete” family without just one more. two miscarriages, and then we decided to try just one more pregnancy. we decided that if this last one didn’t “stick,” we’d stop. it was fate. whatever.
jackson “stuck.” and then i worried the whole pregnancy that it would be so hard for this next child to find his or her own place in this tight, little, perfect, little family. god just couldn’t please me, i guess.
then another cinder block on my heart. holy shit. this was unbelievable. scary as hell cuz when you feel this much, have this much, you have SO MUCH TO LOSE.
hug your kids like fricking crazy. say a prayer for them, and say a prayer for jackson.
Last night, he played '"Voodoo Child," "Foxy Lady," and "Red House."
Fucking awesome.
Today, he's in rehab.
I bought plums from one of the vendors at the West Side Market Friday afternoon. The little sticker on the plums traced the fruit back to Chile. My wife is into washing fruit before it is eaten, which, I suppose, might be a good thing; however, I read a report a few years back that said pesticides on fruit imported from Chile is not a problem. Be that as it may, if washing lends her some peace of mind, it's a good thing. But she doesn't just rinse the fruit under a shower of water, she gives the plums a bath. If she soaked that long in a tub, her fingers would be shriveled like a prune.
And here's a problem. She didn't remove the little stickers from the plums before soaking them; so, when I tried to peel the little sticker off the plum I planned to eat, it wouldn't come off. It was permanently stuck to the plum, as if the sticker was now a part of the plum. When I tried to pull the sticker off, the skin came with it. Just what kind of glue is on the stickers? The American Chemical Society claims that:
The adhesive that secures the sticker is food grade and not harmful if swallowed. If glue residue remains, dab it a few times with the removed label. Otherwise, rinse with warm water, then dry and polish with a clean dry towel. The labels themselves are usually made of FDA-approved, lead-free vinyl. They are not edible and must be removed, however if you accidentally eat one, it will not harm you.
If the label is not the "usual" label, of what is it made? I hope it's just a paper product. And what is a "food grade" adhesive? One company markets a "permanent adhesive specially designed for adhesion to fresh fruits and vegetables with an edible skin." Permanent ... that answers the question. Perhaps, she should have soaked the plums in toluene to remove the stickers.
Then, of course, there's the "food grade" adhesive used to splice rubber belts together. So, "food grade" is somewhat misleading, just as all things government are misleading. Just because it's called "food grade" doesn't mean it's made of something that might be food by some stretch of the imagination.
And here's another problem with soaking fruit, as I see it. If the fruit is laden with pesticides, then the fruit will be taking a bath in pesticide-laced water, absorbing some of the liquid. But I refuse to think about that one any longer.