Nothing But Love :: golf blogger

HIATUS

i'm going to be taking a hiatus from blogging for a bit. i'm not sure if i'll be back or not. most of you know my e-mail address. feel free to keep in touch.

we're heading to montana saturday. nothing bad is going on right now -- i'm just not sure if i want to keep doing "this." i wind up spending too much time and emotional energy on it. and, for some reason, i don't like that about myself. i need to spend some time thinking about that.

on the other hand, i could be back after our montana trip. you never know, and neither do i.

JACKSON WILLIAM V.21

tomorrow is my second son's 21st birthday.

i don't think jackson will celebrate with the commonplace drunken debauchery of a 21 year-old male as he's celebrating this auspicious occasion whilst in rehab.

this is the first time we won't be together on his birthday. we will see him sunday, as we will be leaving saturday to travel to montana for the family week group therapy sessions. his counselor requested that we bring no presents except clothing that he'll use on his 20-day wilderness trip that he'll be on after we leave.

between the birth of our 2 sons, we had 2 miscarriages. we decided to try one more time. bill was wary, but i felt that our family was not complete; and so he agreed that we'd try the one last time. if it didn't work out, i agreed, we'd not try again.

i always got pregnant easily. the holding onto the pregnancy was more difficult. the convincing the babies to leave my womb easily was another matter entirely. matty was born on the THIRD attempt at induction nearly TEN FREAKING MONTHS after conception.

with jackson, i was hospitalized at 9 1/2 months after my blood pressure skyrocketed. after a failed induction attempt (i was starting to get used to these), i felt what i thought was my water break. i was thrilled -- that is until the student nurse felt it was her job to tell my doctor that it wasn't "water" but blood. my doctor was furious. i was terrified. bill was white. the fastest c-section in history (ok. so probably not the fastest) ensued. i was put under -- they thought. i have (had -- as anesthesia is not what it used to be) this little problem with anesthesia. my body was paralyzed. my mind wide awake. i felt everything, heard everything. i heard one of the doctors saying, "come on baby, come on. breathe. come on. you can do it." i heard the collective sigh of relief when he was coaxed to life. holy fucking shit, you don't want to hear this kind of stuff and not be able to scream. or do ANYTHING AT ALL.

he was a little peanut, 6 1/2 pounds. dr. told me that he wouldn't have made it if i hadn't been in the hospital when it happened, and i might not have made it either. thank you, god. thank you, doctor weinberg.

i am so grateful to have jackson in my life. he is a beautiful man. he has brought so much to all our lives. he has so much in him to give to the world. please, please god, PLEASE help him do this. i told him last night when he called that god didn't put him here to be a drug user -- that jax is here to do more. he told me that he knows that now. that he's going to try to figure that out and do it.

happy birthday, jax. i adore you.

photos

Review of JA Henckels Professional "S" Series 4" Paring Knife

CAUTION: DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME!

Pitting the JA Henckels Professional "S" Series 4" paring knife against the GE GFC305Y garbage disposal, the GE ("It brings good things to life.") garbage disposal was the clear winner, shattering the stainless steel knife blade into several pieces.

Note: Extraction of the stainless steel knife blade pieces was accomplished through the use of a small horseshoe magnet.

Note: Serious injury or death could result after performing such a test. It is highly recommended that you dispose of other knives and stabbing weapons before revealing the results of your test to any other household members.

Writing Lesson

I took a trip south to the country to help my good friend, DT, put up a barn. This morning I dug holes for posts. The place the owner chose for the barn was rocky ground.

"Why did he want it here?" I asked.

"I tried to talk him into the level spot over there, but he wanted it next to this storage barn. Thanks for the help. I didn't realize we would be busting up rock like this," DT replied with an apology.

"I'm glad to help. I suppose if you knew you could have called the Knox County Sheriff and gotten some of your former students. They've had experience."

"Oh, yeah, that kid, hell, he's 31 now, pleaded guilty to killing that guy, hacking him up, and burying the body parts; so, Lee didn't have to go for jury duty," DT said.

"That was the one you had in first grade?"

"Yeah, I told the principal he was weird, needed help, and that he'd probably kill someone some day if he didn't get help. A lot of people said that while he was in school."

"Good you didn't call the Sheriff. He would've sent that kid over. He's got skills with these tools I'd rather not see."

We broke up layers of rock with a pry bar to dig the holes. Using a power augur was out of the question ... it would have gotten hung up on a rock and caused someone serious injury. I've learned over the years that the "someone" is usually me. We took turns on the hand post hole digger. We then decided to sacrifice precision, and DT dug down through the sedimentary rock with the backhoe, making for more shoveling to set the posts. We got the posts set and broke for lunch.

DT drove me to the bank to deposit a check I had. I endorsed the check. The signature, though, was not mine. I mean, I was the one who signed my name; but the signature looked nothing like mine. It was as if another person was in my body controlling my hand -- or not controlling my hand. I tried to sign my name; but my hand went all jagged on me, making spiky letters at an odd angle. I couldn't tell if I even spelled it right.

"HOW I SPENT MY SUMMER VACATION" BY MY THIRD GRADE TEACHER

did you see this on cnn? holy crap! i don't know about you, but i'm pretty careful when i choose fonts to include on a project, and i can't imagine choosing this by "mistake." zoom on it if you want. look at the name of the font.

REPOST : STEP TWO

you've been warned. this is another recycled post (this one is from 11/1/04). i just got off the phone with jackson's counselor with his weekly update (he's doing well). he's starting on his second step (Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity). the conversation got me thinking about jax and his difficulty with finding his god. here's the post in its entirety (and in red!):

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.

that's my prayer for today for you, my darling.

Cracked

In this warped, freaky world, the President made a speech before the United Nations, banging his shoe on the lectern, announcing, "From Beirut to Baghdad, people are making the choice for freedom. ... And the nations gathered in this chamber must make a choice as well."

I'm trying to figure out how the United Nations General Assembly, "the nations gathered in this chamber," is supposed to do that. The United Nations is as far from a democratic organization as it can get. Five nations on the Security Council, the permanent members (United States of America, China, France, Russia, and the United Kingdom) have the power to individually veto any proposal ... even if 180 member nations in the General Assembly are in favor of a proposal.

So, where is the choice in the United Nations? Where are the democratic ideals of which Emperor Bush is so proud reflected in the United Nations? He was disingenuous today, as he has been for the last six-and-one-half years ... yes, that's right, since long before the election in 2000.

Remember, there's that old saying from Texas that says, fool me once, shame on — shame on you. Fool me — you can't get fooled again.

I hope that's true; otherwise, we'll be attacking Iran soon.

Peanut Butter

I made peanut butter cookies the other day, then I made more the day after that. I like peanut butter cookies; and I enjoy making cookies, but I find making peanut butter cookies more difficult than most things in life.

I heard that. Let me explain. First of all, the answer to the question you had after you exclaimed "what" is "Yes, he is fucking nuts;" but I used the real word, the word you were thinking but didn't say out loud because the kids are around or you are morally opposed to saying such a word. And that's okay. I don't hold it against you.

It's the peanut butter. I hate touching peanut butter. I hate being touched by peanut butter. Don't get me wrong. I stuck my finger down Matt's throat when he couldn't breathe because his throat was blocked by peanut butter and pulled out a huge glob of peanut butter, saving him from peanut butter pneumonia. But I hate touching peanut butter. I hate being touched by peanut butter.

And so, making peanut butter cookies is a most difficult thing to do. Peanut butter will not come off with just water. It takes soap and water to separate peanut butter from human skin. I thought about wearing purple latex surgical gloves that I found on my way out of the hospital one night, but I couldn't find the box. Do you realize how fucking difficult it was to get the last of the peanut butter out of the jar while trying not to get the goo on the back of my hand. Use a longer-handled spoon might be a suggestion, but then control is lost in getting the last of the peanut butter out of where the bottom meets the side of the jar. If the spoon slipped and flicked peanut butter into my face, then that would have been a catastrophe beyond compare. Unless the peanut butter went into my eye and gooeyed up my contact lens. That is worse, certainly, and actually outlawed. Very cruel. Specifically prohibited by Article 3 of the Geneva Conventions, which is the part Bush wants to change ... peanut butter eye torture.

The end result, peanut butter cookies, far outweighs the incidental contact with peanut butter while making the cookies. So, while more difficult than most things in life, making peanut butter is a tolerable exercise.

Not so for the peanut butter sandwich. I hate touching peanut butter. I hate being touched by peanut butter. I hate eating peanut butter. And adding jelly doesn't make it, either. Don't even try to go there.

Here's the problem, though. Ever since I have been married, it has been my yoke to make peanut butter sandwiches. Not for me. Never for me. I have been told by my lovely wife, however, that I make the best peanut butter sandwiches she has ever had in her life. I realize that this might be a hollow compliment so as to keep me on the hook making peanut butter sandwiches for her. It happens like this sometimes, "You make the best peanut butter sandwiches. Can you make one for me?" And it's three in the morning. So, I make it for her. And she says, "Mmmmm, you make the best peanut butter sandwiches," as I present it to her on a silver platter.

I hate making peanut butter sandwiches. It's the peanut butter. It invariably gets on me. It matters not how careful I am. Peanut butter's very nature dictates that it attach to human skin. It cannot be stopped. I hate touching peanut butter. I hate being touched by peanut butter. But I make the sandwiches nonetheless. It is one of the things I do. It is one of the things I will always do. No matter the risk.

***For some inexplicable reason, this entry was posted four times. Some people left comments on the three entries I deleted. I offer my sincere apology to the three 148 people who commented. I'm sure there was some way to move them to the one entry I didn't delete, but I didn't feel like finding out, and it was easier to offer an apology.***

UP, UP, AND AWAY

now i won't be able to get that song out of my head. pfffft. the 5th dimension. hold on while i go download from i-tunes..... [i remember seeing the 5th dimension at wixy 1260 appreciation day at geauga lake in either 1967 or 1968. smokey robinson and the miracles were the other year. can't remember which was which. do the math. i'm old.]

holy crap! a lot of recordings named "up, up, and away!" i got the only one that matters -- to me.

jeez-o-man, do i LOVE i-tunes and my mac
and my i-pod! you don't know what you're
missing if you're using a pc. i used pc's for
20 years, and i'm sold on macs now. thanks
to my i-t guy, matt (our son matt),
for insisting on the changeover.

hey! how do you like this artistic stuff? i love trying it
every once in a while.

go to mandarindesign.com for the instructions.

anyway. i started out wanting to post on something else, but i got distracted and can't quite remember where i was going. wait. it's coming to me. montana. the desert is no place... cooking blog blues. my aunt. pumpkin spice lattes. jax. in no particular order. i think i'll start chronologically. kindasorta.

we knew when we sent jax off to montana that there was a "family week" portion of the treatment. "addiction is a family disease..." blah, blah, blah. there was the same thing in utah where jax went at 16. at the aspen achievement academy in utah, treatment was ENTIRELY in the desert. totally basic stuff. dig-your-latrine (no toilet paper), find-your-water (and "drop" it to kill bacteria), make-your-fire-with-your-fire-bow (no matches) kind of camping. we were to join him and his graduation group in the desert and camp with them. jax was worried about gimpy mom and sent us the infamous "the desert is no place for a handicapped woman" letter. laugh, laugh, i thought i'd die (another song allusion). but, as it turns out, he was soooo right. at least for THIS handicapped woman. bill and i are fond of saying that the holiday inn is about as basic as we like to go. i lasted for a day and a half in the desert, then HAD to go sleep on a bed the next night and be "jeeped" back in the next morning for the all-important "bring these people to their knees weeping family/group therapy sessions." bill and jax were never more thrilled to have me in their family. they got to come. jax had his first shower and toilet experience in 7 weeks, his first mattress, his first candy bar. do not get me wrong. i am sooooo glad to have had the experience, as limited as it was. i have never seen a sky so clear and beautiful. the scenery. ohmygod. it was (i'm stuck here trying to find a word to begin to describe it)...(minutes pass)...umm...breathtaking? gorgeous? ask bill how many times i elbowed him out of a deep sleep to look at what i was looking at (do NOT go there. i KNOW not to end a sentence with a preposition. i'm trying to make a point here).

just got this e-mail from my darling friend, marlene: Please don't say you have to sleep on the ground again.....you have that system figured out, right, that the Holiday Inn is best for you? (and any other sensible adult)
Glad its going well. Knew it would. Just takes time. one step forward, two steps back, then forward again on pace. So few rehabs stick in just one try. He'll be ok. very wearing on good parents. Hang in there.

back to montana. anyway, we THOUGHT that the family week thingy was going to be in october. at the end of the total 60-day treatment. as it turns out, it's in OCTOBER. between the traditional 30-day treatment and the wilderness trip. we have to be in kalispell montana (closest airport) on october 1. but we get to stay in a hotel in kalispell at night. no wilderness camping "attempt" this time for us. ah well. except for the fact that there doesn't seem to be a starbucks in kalispell, montana, we should be quite comfortable. i AM freaking out -- not just a little -- at the little, teeny, "prop" notation on the flight information. because i think that's code for propeller. they can't fool me. and me all out of xanax. i say the following with all due respect for alcoholics and addicts everywhere: i think it might be time for me to start drinking. now. i mean today.

my aunt: yesterday, my sister and i joined our cousins (hi janice! hi dani!) to visit their mom, my aunt marianne, at the rehab facility where she's being led back to health. it was sooooo great to see her and dani and janice. except, for the fact that i ... umm ... never. stopped. talking the entire time. i swear to god it was 1,897,843,895:74 (stacey's words:everybody else's words combined). AND THEY ACTED LIKE THEY WERE JUST FINE WITH IT. that's love. aunt marianne kept touching my knee and smiling like she was totally ok with it. um. i'm blaming it on the 2 pumpkin spice lattes i had before the visit.

speaking of starbucks pumpkin spice lattes: try one. if you're a nube, get one full on. it's like a dessert, but you'll love it. if you're not a nube, order it with only 2 shots of the pumpkin spice flavoring, nonfat (but get the whipped cream, you idjit -- i know it's NOT nonfat, but i'm pretty sure the barrista won't report the infraction).

cooking blog blues: i suck. i have been cooking -- and baking -- like a mad woman for the past 3 months and not posting much of it. i feel like such a schmuck that other cooking blogs continue to link to it. too much responsibility. so i'm making a quarterly resolution here: post!

speaking of cooking: yesterday, after visiting with aunt marianne, janice drove me to meet bill at ... (shutup! don't START with me!) ... starbucks, where i had ANOTHER pumpkin spice latte (I FREAKING TOLD YOU TO SHUT UP. DON'T MAKE ME GET UP HERE). stopped at the grocery store on the way home for ... well ... groceries. called friends on the way home who came over and shared the pot of stew i put on for dinner (no, i didn't post my recipe) and one of the little pumpkin cakes i made friday night (NO, I DIDN'T POST THE RECIPE). we had the greatest time laughing -- and eating -- most of the night at the dining room table. i LOVE friends who'll spend the evening at the dining room table. for some inexplicable reason, sam had never had stew before. they're more goulash people, according to sam. good times (snl allusion).

jax finally called at about 11 our time. he sounds really good. it does my heart good to feel that. he's excited that we're coming. but he's living and working at living in the moment. good on him.

matty (our oldest and i-t guy) had the foresight to rip and burn all of jax's beloved led zeppelin collection (believe me -- he had it all. jax is a l-z freak. as is matt) before j pawned it all. it's an excuse to meet matty and mel for lunch next weekend and get the copies. i feel verrrry guilty that it must seem that all i think about is jax. i'm sorry, matty, for that. i adore you. i am so grateful that god put you in my life. thank you for you. and give mel a hug from me.

here's one of my favorite pictures of matty and the jackal. and the infamous betsy. [i know i speak and write as though you all know what i'm talking about. sorry to those of you who don't. please don't think i'm mean when i say THIS about THAT: sucks to be you.] jax was 6, matty was 10.

It's My Ball

I saw snippets of the press conference held out-of-doors in which W and David Gregory got into an animated discussion on the torture issue. He needs the tools -- the rack, the iron maiden -- to force the terrorists to tell him what he wants to hear. If he doesn't get the tools, he's telling his people to stop interrogating everybody.

One thing comes to mind: Go ahead. Take your ball and go home. And take your team with you.

Walking the dogs at 1:30 in the morning, I counted eight people sleeping on the hillside down by the river. The other day, one of them had hung his laundry out to dry on a fence. And we weren't hit by a disastrous flood caused by years of slipshod work by the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers. How could this be happening in the United States? What kind of country is this?

The dry drunk occupying the White House criticized Colin Powell for pointing out the obvious ... that the Emperor has no clothes ... telling us that "It’s unacceptable to think that there’s any kind of comparison between the behavior of the United States of America and the action of Islamic extremists who kill innocent women and children to achieve an objective."

The U.S. government has spent one-third of a trillion dollars ($1,000,000,000,000) in Iraq, decimating an entire country, ostensibly in the name of democracy, liberty, and freedom; yet, the United States is sacrificing the lives of innocent men, women and children right here in this country to achieve that objective.

Between 40 and 60 million people in this country do not have health insurance [Source: Sam Felsen]. A 2005 survey done by the U.S. Conference of Mayors found that 15% of persons in homeless situations are employed. One in three homeless men is a military veteran [Source: ABC News]. In 2004, 12.7% of the U.S. population, or 37 million people, lived in poverty, 36% of which were children. [Source: National Coalition for the Homeless, June, 2006].

There is no comparison. The United States is clearly far ahead of the "Muslim extremists."

Strange Friday

It started last night. I did something I haven't done in a long, long time and stopped at McDonald's. Stacey wanted a filet-o-fish and a cherry pie. I thought I'd try the cherry pie, paying the extra 20 cents for two of them. I took a bite ... fucking burned my mouth ... after a few minutes, I took another bite. Does McDonald's pay Amish women to make these fucking pies? There was red goop in it, but no cherries. I suppose some people actually like pies like this ... not me.

I was at the West Side Market today. I stopped at my favorite cheese stand and paid $5.44 for a couple kinds of cheese. There's a guy that sells apple-cured meats and I got some smoked apple-cured turkey and smoked apple-cured ham, totaling $5.44. If I played the numbers ....

Before that, we went to the bank, and I told Stacey, "I hate coming to this branch. People there are rude" because last time I was in the fucking branch, I was scolded for asking for a counter check to get cash instead of using the ATM machine for a cash withdrawal and was further scolded for not having my ATM card with me, much to my chagrin; and she said, "Let's go to another one," but we were there; I went in. I was at the counter, filling out deposit slips ... and it wasn't like there were 27 deposit slips, but just two ... when I heard, "What are you doing in here? Get out of here!" S.O.P. at this branch, I guess. I turned to see who was talking ... it was the branch manager, the new branch manager, who was the manager at the branch we used before we moved, smile beaming at me, and who I hadn't seen in months. She invited me to sit down and re-cap what had been going on in our lives in the last six months.

When I got back in this morning from walking the dogs, I found this stuck in our door:

ROFLMAO Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha ... oh, man ... you have got to be kidding ... hahahahahahahahaha!!!

Oh, I almost forgot ... check out this video on You Tube.

Loggerheads

What's all the fuss about up on Capitol Hill? Republican senators and George W. have come to loggerheads over a proposed bill expanding presidential powers. It does no good to negotiate any kind of deal with Bush the Lesser. It's been done before.

Senators, please search your short term memory. Remember the hullabaloo about the McCain Anti-Torture Bill? Bush ignored that law, despite endorsing it wholeheartedly in a big-deal news conference with Senator McCain.

History has been repeating itself over and over and over ... and while that has been occurring, support for the USA has eroded from almost universal support of the countries of the world on September 12, 2001, to ... well, Tony Blair is the only one left in the world who supports the U.S. And he's cursing himself under his breath for not standing up to Bush and disagreeing with the Cheney, et al., misguided policies.

An Essay: Dave

I have a friend. I know that surprises most of my readers, but most times truth is far stranger than fiction; and yes, I have a friend. I call him Dave. That's not his real name. I mean that Dave really isn't his real name. I mean to say that I call him Dave. Why? Because I've always called him Dave. And he has always answered me; so, it's something that works. Why change now? I know his real name because when he testified as an expert a long time ago in a trial, the judge asked him his name, like judges do, and Dave told him his real name. But I was used to calling him Dave by that time and decided to keep calling him Dave.

Dave is secretive about his past. He may or may not have been in the armed forces. He was in something. I've seen pictures, that is, honest-to-goodness printed photographs made long before the digital photography revolution, which appear to be unretouched; but if Dave was in something, not the Army or the Navy or the Marines, but something, then the photos may not be totally accurate renditions of reality as it was known back then.

Dave took flying lessons a while back and got his pilot's license. He then got his commercial pilot's license; so, he could haul stuff and people around, in addition to teaching people how to fly. He bought a plane. Oftentimes, people go in together and get a plane because planes can be expensive to buy and maintain. I drew up all the legal paperwork for his plane ownership consortium. The purpose language, why the three of them formed the group, is vague ... the nobody needs to know my business kind of language, which is all well and good and not a bad thing. I amended the paperwork several years ago because one of the guys in the group ... well, there is no other way to put it ... disappeared. Dave said he was leaving town and gave me some explanation, but I never saw the guy after that ... he disappeared. Come to think of it, I never met him face-to-face or talked to him over the phone in the first place.

For the last few years, I've been hinting about going up in the plane, getting some flying lessons here and there, that kind of stuff that friends will do. And Dave said on many occasions that we should go for a plane ride and that I could learn to "drive" the plane and all. A number of times, I flat out told Dave that I was going to meet him at the airport; and he said okay, but then he'd call and tell me that the weather was bad, too windy, too cold, too rainy, kind of like the space shuttle and NASA. And any number of times, he's told me the plane "is broken." He was waiting for a part for about two months, then he said he was making the part; but then the FAA inspector wouldn't certify it for flight. And then he was "re-upholstering the seats." And then the propeller was "cracked." And then he said he "took the plane apart." Why? He wanted to see how it was put together. Then there were the times that "can't fly -- President's in town," or Dave was going out of town on business or out of town for a personal matter, things like that.

I've never been on a ride in Dave's plane. I've never even seen his plane. I don't even know where the airport is.

One day, I was on the phone with Dave's wife and asked her if she had ever been flying with Dave; and get this, she said that she had never even seen his plane and that flying and plane things were Dave's and she wasn't interested at all.

Then I was talking to Dave's daughter and casually mentioned the flying thing and whether she had ever been flying with Dave; and she said she had never been flying with Dave, which I thought was strange, indeed. Then I asked her is she had been to the airport, and she said she had been. And I asked her if she saw her dad's plane, and she said she did see it. I asked her how she knew it was really her dad's plane, and she said that she saw her dad's jacket in the plane. And then I asked her if she ever saw any documentation showing that he dad owned the plane, and she said she hadn't. And then she said, and why she said this I don't know, "I guess that could have been any plane and he just said it was his plane." And then she laughed.

So, I'm thinking that this plane thing is a cover because Dave is the busiest "kind of retired" guy I know. He's a "consultant." But he "consults" an awful lot. When I asked him to go to lunch recently, he said, "I'm working." And I asked, "What about Thursday?" And he said, "Let's see ... hmmmm, I'm working." And I said, "Friday?" And he said, "Working that day, too." And I said, "How 'bout Saturday?" And he replied with one word, "Flying." And I asked, "Are you avoiding me?" And he said, "No, I'm really busy with consulting work."

There it is -- consulting.

But there was this time a few months ago that I called him and told him that somebody told the J-dogg, who was at an AA meeting, that somebodty was coming by to kick the shit out of the J-dogg after the AA meeting that night, and Dave said, "I'll pick you up in 15," and hung up the phone.

We reached the parking lot at about 11, a few minutes before the meeting was supposed to end. Dave quizzed an old man sitting in a pick-up truck and checked out all the cars in the lot. Dave walked toward me and asked if I needed a weapon, and I said, "I have this glass bottle in my pocket," and he said that would be good.

And I asked him if he had a weapon, and he laughed and said, "No, not A weapon." Then he said, "I'm ready."

Nothing happened. Nobody showed. Which was good.

I think Dave is still in something ... not the Army or the Marines or the Navy. Or maybe he just works for somebody ... as a "consultant."

And why the hell didn't the U.S. invade Tonga to impose democratic ideals on that population as opposed to Iraq?

Where Were You?

The daily newspaper carried an article about auspicious events, events which cause people to remember where they were at the moment a person became aware of the event. The article listed a number of them ... from the date the stock market crashed in 1929 to the date Hurricane Katrina struck.

I won't quarrel with many of them. The assassination of President Kennedy is one of those events the author cites. I have no doubt that those of my generation will tell you where they were and what they were doing at the time the announcement was made.

But what about January 22, 1973 ... the day Roe v. Wade was decided. I don't think that's a date that is recalled with such clarity that even a majority of us knew what we were doing when we heard about it. Maybe so. I could be wrong and the only person on the planet alive at the time who doesn't know where he was and what he was doing. The author, Fran Henry, a local reporter, forgot to include the first edition of Monday Night Football, September 21, 1970 (No, I didn't know the date, only that I was in the grandstand that night.), which I'm sure more remember than Roe v. Wade.

July 20, 1969. Neil Armstrong hopped off the LEM and didn't disappear in lunar quicksand as some had feared. It was a live television event ... from the Moon's surface or 30 Rockefeller Center, as some claim. Either way it happened, most people know where they were, and it was probably watching the grainy gray-and-white picture on the television.

In more recent history, how about January 28, 1986? Challenger exploded on lift-off. Certainly, teachers and space enthusiasts would recall where they were. I don't know about others.

And how about November 9, 1989? Where were you when the Berlin Wall was torn down? I saw it on the news, maybe that day, maybe the next; or maybe I read about it in the newspaper ... I don't remember. Maybe most people in Germany or Berlin do; but nobody's ever asked me where I was when the Berlin Wall was torn down.

How about July 7, 1981? Anybody recall where they were for that auspicious event? The woman on the left side of this blog sent the neighbor up to the baseball diamond, where I was coaching a little league team, to tell me to get my ass home and take her to the fucking hospital because she was in labor. Yes, she used that kind of language even back then; but the boy child was just too comfortable and secure where he was ... couldn't get him out until the next night.

Okay, so that isn't on the author's list, but March 1, 1982, is on the list. I laughed when I saw this thing on her list. The author claims that it is one of "a cavalcade of days lodged firmly in our memories ...". Yes, she actually used the word cavalcade.

And she has the unmitigated gall to tell me that August 16, 1977, should be permanently etched in my brain, so much so that I recall exactly where I was when it happened ... well, it just didn't happen. She is like totally wrong, my friends. Elvis is alive. I've run into two people on my dog walks who say they have seen him. And about the gravesite ...

Time For Impeachment

There is a law George W. Bush desperately desires to change. He has sent a proposed amendment to the law to Congress. As it is, he has violated the law; however, nobody has called him on the carpet in the manner of President Clinton after getting a blowjob in the Oval Office and lying about it and in the manner President Nixon was called upon after concealing the Watergate break-in, which, when you think about it, were pretty minor affairs compared to what is going on now. Of course, Bush claims that everything is in the interest of national security; and if in the interest of national security, it's secret. Stuff that wasn't secret before is secret now. And it's not necessarily important stuff that is re-classified, probably at great taxpayer expense; but what's a few dollars when it comes to national security. Or a few hundred billion dollars?

The law was enacted by our representatives in Congress and signed by the President. The reader need not even be a Philadelphia lawyer to understand it. It's very easy to look up the Geneva Conventions, paying particular attention to Article III, and the Hague Convention IV. In addition, the fundamental guarantees outlined by Protocol 1 of the Geneva Convention are pretty clear; and it is likely that our President and a number of high ranking officials have violated the law.

Here's the law passed by the People, which the President seeks to amend and has ignored for the past three or four years:

18 United States Code Section 2441. War Crimes.

(a) Offense.— Whoever, whether inside or outside the United States, commits a war crime, in any of the circumstances described in subsection (b), shall be fined under this title or imprisoned for life or any term of years, or both, and if death results to the victim, shall also be subject to the penalty of death.
(b) Circumstances.— The circumstances referred to in subsection (a) are that the person committing such war crime or the victim of such war crime is a member of the Armed Forces of the United States or a national of the United States (as defined in section 101 of the Immigration and Nationality Act).
(c) Definition.— As used in this section the term “war crime” means any conduct—
(1) defined as a grave breach in any of the international conventions signed at Geneva 12 August 1949, or any protocol to such convention to which the United States is a party;
(2) prohibited by Article 23, 25, 27, or 28 of the Annex to the Hague Convention IV, Respecting the Laws and Customs of War on Land, signed 18 October 1907;
(3) which constitutes a violation of common Article 3 of the international conventions signed at Geneva, 12 August 1949, or any protocol to such convention to which the United States is a party and which deals with non-international armed conflict; or
(4) of a person who, in relation to an armed conflict and contrary to the provisions of the Protocol on Prohibitions or Restrictions on the Use of Mines, Booby-Traps and Other Devices as amended at Geneva on 3 May 1996 (Protocol II as amended on 3 May 1996), when the United States is a party to such Protocol, willfully kills or causes serious injury to civilians.

Isn't it time to call Bush the Lesser upon the Congressional carpet, or is impeachment too drastic a measure for trampling on other countries, the rights of U.S. citizens, and the U.S. Constitution?

Bus Fare

I ran into James yesterday evening.

James (waving from across the intersection): Hey, hey, I gotta talk to you!
Me (under my breath): Fuck, shit, goddammit ...
James: (crossing the street): Hey, hey, tell them puppies not to bite me! I gotta talk to you!
Me: Hey, James. Dude, how's it goin'?
James: I got me a place ... up on 185th.
Me: Wow!! Cool! Congratulations.
James: So, I need some furniture. All I got is a reclining chair.
Me: I can't help you, but if I hear of anything, I'll let you know.
James: Well, can you help me out a little?
Me: What? You just got a place, man.
James: I need to get back there ... c'mon ... three dollars for the bus.
Me: Can't help you, man.
James: I know you gave me that twenny the other day ... just two dollars and I won't bother you no more.
Me (thinking): 20? I never gave him a 20.
Me (to James): James, when I gave you the 20, you said you'd make it last and that you wouldn't be asking me no more ...
James: Yeah, I know; but that was before I got my place, man. You know how gettin' a place costs money. Just bus fare ... bus fare.
Me: I can't help you today. I got my own place ... you know how it is with money when you get your own place.
James: Bus fare, maybe a dollar.
Me: James, see those people there comin' out of that place. They're from outtatown ... go ask them. They oughta be able to come up with three dollars between 'em all.
James: Yeah, good idea ... We still friends, right?
Me: Yeah. Good luck with your place, man. I'll check around for the furniture.
James: Thanks. (Turning to the small cadre of people waiting for the valet to bring their car) Excuse me, folks ... where you'll hail from?

BORING SHIT FROM THE NBL

Drunken Kids

A study, the results of which were published in the medical journal, Pediatrics, reports that about 12 1/2% of adults in the U.S. have met the criteria, as set forth in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-IV), published by the American Psychiatric Association, for alcohol dependence at some point in their lives.

The gist of the report, however, is that the younger a person is alcohol dependent, the less chance there is that he or she will pursue a course of treatment. In addition, if the alcoholic chooses to be treated, then those who were alcohol dependent before age 18 were three times more likely to wait ten years or more to seek treatment than those with an onset of dependence after age 30.

Also noted was that 58% of those who met the criteria for alcohol dependence prior to age 18 were drunk at least once a week as opposed to 19% of those who were first dependent at age 30 or more.

The researchers concluded that "because episodes of heavy drinking are more common among youth in general, those with early dependence onset and their family and friends may be less likely to recognize their dependence."

So, maybe we should be thinking that "normal" experimentation by our teenagers may not be "normal."

PEACE

we had the BEST weekend. started with the jackal home for friday evening. it was a gift that bill and i really needed. he was the old jackson. sigh. off to the airport by 5 a.m. saturday morning. by about 2 p.m., bill and i were totally beat. he took the dogs out (NO WEEPING!), and then we crashed. woke up to the dogs barking. our neighbor, paulius, was at the door, WITH A CHOCOLATE CAKE! yummmmm. chocolate cake with cayenne pepper with a cream-cheese frosting!

we each had a giant piece of cake -- that woke us up! spent the evening cleaning and relaxing. watched a couple movies.

sunday we had friends over. bill took them up on the roof deck (i don't do roofs) to catch the blue angels show -- the cleveland national air show is always labor day weekend. it was so cool all week long -- they practiced every day at about the same time. several times, we had to tell phone callers what was going on in our "back yard."

yesterday, we slept in and spent another lazy day watching golf, tennis, and movies. we walked up to starbucks while the blue angels flew over our heads and in between some of the taller downtown buildings.

ahhhhhh. just what the doctor ordered.

Major League Baseball?

Someone ordered home delivery of the local daily newspaper, and it wasn't me. The paper was delivered this morning, and I was compelled by forces unknown to pick it up.

I turned to the sports section because that is what I do, an old habit from back in the day, y'know, when I was 12 years old; and I started reading the article about the Cleveland Indians' baseball game against the Toronto Blue Jays at a place called Rogers Centre, which, I assume is the domed stadium, Exhibition Stadium, that the J-dogg and I visited a few years back, staying in a hotel room inside the stadium overlooking the field. On that trip, I got lost in Canada ... yeah, I know Canada is fucking huge ... when I say I got lost in Canada, I don't mean I got lost in Toronto or between Toronto and Niagara Falls, I mean I got lost in fucking Canada, driving around in the fucking wilderness, trying to find some civilized area, some small town, some person laying on the berm ... I drove around Canada for hours and hours ... and hours.

I look at that horrible Canadian experience as one of the reasons that the J-dogg has sunken into world of substance abuse ... the pain and loneliness induced by the desolate wilderness and the isolation and the hours spent alone with me in the car, wandering, ever wandering in the fucking tundra known as Canada.

But I digress from my outline ... I was told that I should have an outline to write my blog entries ... and that wasn't just a conversation on IM or e-mail ... that was a face-to-face meeting with the organizer extraordinaire of the fucking Midwest.

Anyway, in baseball, for those unfamiliar with the National Pastime, like all you communists, terrorists, and soccer sissies out there, there are occasions when a runner is between bases (and I am not going to explain the rudimentary things like "What is a runner?" or "What is a base?" or "What is the definition of 'between'?") and the defensive players, the fielders, try to tag the runner out. This is called a "rundown," and the fielders toss the ball back and forth and the runner runs back and forth until he reaches a base, which is a safe haven (unless the base is occupied by one of his teammates) or is tagged out. Now, believe it or not, a rundown is an elementary and not unusual situation (and at times, something a runner does intentionally to try to gain time to allow other runners on other bases to advance to the next base) in baseball, something that is practiced in amateur baseball at every level.

There is even a game called "pickle in the middle" that is played by kids, young and young-at-heart, in which there are two bases separated by some distance, 40, 50, 60 feet, whatever (it's a kids' game; there are no real rules about that sort of thing; and the bases can be anything, a chalk square on the sidewalk, a t-shirt or piece of cardboard on the grass, a crack in the driveway ... like I say, it's a kids' game; and when adults get involved, professional adult baseball managers, for instance, they fuck things up, just like everything else in the whole damn world is fucked up by adults who are "professionals"), and there is a runner, sometimes two, and two fielders who try to tag the runner out. The fielders throw the ball back and forth; and when the runner feels he or she (the girl who lived across the street was really good) can make it to the other base and score a run (or a point, but "run" is the preferred nomenclature), the runner dashes off the base. If the fielder has the ball at the other base, the runner puts on the brakes and is then the "pickle" in the middle of the bases, and the fielders try to tag the runner out before the runner can return to the original base (no run scored) or get to the other base (one run scored). Ideally, the fielder with the ball runs at the runner and forces the runner to commit to running away, whereupon the fielder fires the ball to his or her compadre, who catches the ball and tags the runner out. The runner may, however, stop abruptly, anticipating that throw, in which case the compadre fielder now with the ball runs down the runner, trying to tag the runner out or tossing the ball to the original fielder, who tries to make the tag.

It's quite simple, really, and should take only a maximum of one throw to get the runner out ... the fielder with the ball runs down, that is, runs toward the runner, making the runner commit to fleeing so as to avoid being tagged out. The compadre fielder starts running towards the runner and the original fielder, who has the ball, and yells, "NOW," when he or she is in a position to catch the ball and tag the runner out, whether the runner keeps running toward the compadre fielder or stops and tries to go the other way in an effort to elude being tagged out. At the signal, "NOW," the fielder with the ball throws it to his compadre, who catches the ball, and tags the runner out.

I learned how to play "pickle in the middle" when I was six or seven ... it was practice for throwing, catching, and running bases. And if one was the runner, it was always a good thing if the fielder on the downhill side missed the ball, then the runner could score a lot of runs while the ball bounced downhill, fielder running in pursuit of the ball ... the fielder many times ending the game by throwing down the baseball mitt and sitting down on the curb or grass as the ball rolled into the sewer, to be retrieved with a garden rake taken from any open garage, and then being allowed to dry in the midday sun. Although, I learned it at six or seven, I played it with Matt and the J-dogg out in the yard when I was older, teaching them the game.

If you have missed the point, and if you are a "professional," I can guarantee that you have, indeed, missed the point, a rundown is not something new to a Major League player. So, in the Indians-Blue Jays game yesterday, a Blue Jays runner was caught in a rundown between first base and second base. As the runner was returning to first base, the Indians' first baseman was thrown the
ball. The runner skidded to a stop and started to run to second base. The first baseman ran toward the runner going to second base and threw the ball, hoping to get it to the shortstop, who was covering second base, and hit the runner in the back with the ball. The runner scampered into second base, and the first baseman looked like an idiot. That happens sometimes. Nobody's perfect.

The brilliant and insightful (sarcasm dripping from the italicized words) professional manager of the Cleveland Indians, Eric Wedge, said, after the game, "So many things happen to young players at this level. You have to learn from it and don't make the same mistake twice because the situation will come up again."

What? What the fuck did he say? Was that the first time the first baseman ever participated in a rundown, either as a fielder or as a runner? Was it? What the fuck? What kind of a comment was that ... "things happen to young players at this level."

Ohhhhhh .... Aaaaahhhh, I get it ... the Indians brought up a 7-year-old first baseman to give him some experience. He must have been a contest winner ... he got to play one game in the majors ... that had to be it. His first time ... what a marketing tool. I mean, if that's not the case, the first baseman on the world champion Little League team from Columbus, Georgia, surely is available and understands how to do a rundown play. He practiced it a that level.

Fire the fucking manager, already. He's a stiff.

HOME, HOME ON THE RANGE

maybe montana isn't the range (is it?), but j's there. he arrived yesterday afternoon, exhausted (slept about 2 hours the night before, combined with weary travel itinerary) and no bag. delta had misplaced his bag. i called today to see if he heard anything about his bag, and "bob" said delta found it and delivered it last night (phew) and volunteered that jax was "doing real well and was a real pleasure to have around."

thank you, bob.

Sauce for the Goose

"I need a U.S. Senator who understands that we need people on the bench who will strictly interpret the Constitution and not use the bench to legislate," Bush pointed out at a fundraising dinner for the Republican candidate for a U.S. Senate seat in Tennessee, speaking of his philosophy concerning appointment of federal judges.

Although I agree with the idiot that the judiciary should not "legislate," I cannot agree with his disjointed thoughts concerning strict interpretation of the Constitution of the United States of America.

Our President might understand the old adage, “What’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander.” Then again, for the President of the United States of America to mis-quote The Who, which is, in a sense, a Freudian slip relative to the Iraq debacle, when trying to use an old idiom tends to prove that he might be a fool; and I doubt that he has any grasp of idioms and adages.

If the judiciary is not permitted to legislate, then, to be consistent in such philosophy of government under our Constitution, neither should the executive be permitted to legislate.

And Congress must do its job and not delegate it to the executive.

Otherwise, let's be honest ... we'd have a dictator in power; and our representative democracy, a model for the entire uncivilized world, would be no more.

It's time for a change ...

On Polar Bears

While life is running roughshod over everyone and everything, which has been described in general over there on the left side of your screen, we go to great lengths to bring to your attention scientific observations and discoveries that affect your world. The team mascot of the college I attended is the polar bear; so, this article piqued my curiosity.

I leave the rest to your imagination without comment.

**And on Thursday night, to add some detail to the saga described on my right (your left), when we visited J-dogg at the jail, he showed us his jail-issue slippers with smiley faces imprinted thereupon, so that when he looked down the smiley faces were looking up at him.

And I just got an e-mail from my good friend, DT, who hails from a place called Gomer, which is, relatively speaking, close to the larger town of Hicksville. He attached this, which would be some evidence that Ms. Jackson might be ... er, like totally unsophisticated.

YAWNNNNNNN

starbucks isn't even open yet...

what a wonderful day with jax we had.

he's my old jackal. he is. even if it was just for yesterday. and now he's off to montana, where i know he's ready to begin again. he's ready.

he read to us something he wrote. i asked him if i could post it here. he said it was fine. when he was at the treatment center, bill told him he should start writing again. we thought he pooh-poohed the suggestion; but like some things with jax, you just don't know if he really hears you. you think he doesn't, but then it comes back at you later, like you've planted a seed. i suppose it's like this with everybody to a certain extent; but with jax, when he's in his dark place in his head, it's like this with everything. you feel like you're not getting through the wall with one word you say. i'm not exaggerating. not one word. you fight about what you're going to eat, what to wear, where to go.

here's what he wrote the morning after he left the treatment center:

twenty minutes into the whole twisted adventure, i feel the lsd that my dude gave me at the gates of rehab kicking in. as i sit in his filthy apartment, arrangements are made to score some dope.

another night passes to another day.

WHERE WE ARE NOW

back at the apartment. the three of us. jax, bill, and me. jax was released to our custody to get him to the airport for his flight to montana (treatment center). much hurried hilarity (heh) ensued after judge signed the order and j was released (at 2:15). flight was at 4:30. we had to run back downtown to pack up his stuff and be at airport by 3:30. it was crazy. but nice. i'm praying that my feeling that he's -- well -- different is not just rose-colored glasses.

so, we get to airport by 3:30; and things were messed up at the delta counter with j's ticket. i was driving the car around the airport nervously waiting for bill to call me to pick him back up and tell me that jax was safely on his way; but by 4:10, when delta had not straightened things out, they rebooked him on a flight out at 6:15 (IN THE MORNING!).

so that's why we're back here. i've got some chicken parmesan in the oven; bill and jax are out with the dogs. bill's accompanying jax to his home-group meeting tonight as jax is in his custody, legally speaking, and bill takes that pretty seriously. he will NOT be out of our sight until he gets on the plane.

he'll be in montana for 60 days. when his probation officer suggested we call this place in montana, i felt like god was working in our lives again. the first young man i met in the program was a young man named alex who came up to our car as we dropped our then 16-year-old off at starbucks for this very same friday-night meeting. alex saw how bill and i needed some reassurance (he was only 20 at the time) and gave it to us. we loved him immediately. since that time, alex finished college, and GUESS WHERE HE WORKS? righto, the same treatment center where jax is heading tomorrow. once again, i feel so much better knowing that i'm leaving j in alex's hands.

he'll be back in november. at that point, he'll probably go into a "sober house" (a house run by someone in the program who rents out rooms to guys in recovery).

these past couple of weeks sorely tried our patience, strength, and faith. we're on the other side of this latest hump. thanks to all of you who've been there (and here) for us. i really don't think we could have done it without you. i know there are big challenges ahead for jax. next!

love, stace