Last night, Mark (age 3) lumbered out of his bedroom into ours.
"What's wrong, buddy?" my wife asked.
"I'm scared," he mumbled.
"Scared of what?" I added.
"I'm scared of my room," he said.
This confused me a bit because the kid isn't scared of anything.
"Why's your room scary?" I inquired.
"My room talks to me," he replied.
At this point, I started to chuckle a bit, but I must admit to being a bit uneasy. All I could think of was that kid in The Shining. For a moment, I wondered if Mark had written "Redrum" on the wall.
"Your room talks to you?" my wife asked.
"Yes. It says bad things."
At this point, I'm figuring that he'd either come up with a great excuse to climb into bed with us, or he'd heard some voice saying, "Kill them all!" Perhaps it was both.
"What does your room say?" I questioned, wondering if they made straight jackets in his size.
"It says a the S-word."
"The S-word?"
"Yes."
"Shoot?"
"No, shit."
I couldn't help it. I started laughing. I don't let my kids swear, but he wasn't cursing. He was just repeating (sort of, I mean, I don't think that his room actually said the S-word).
"Your room says shit?"
"Yes. I'm scared of my room, and I want to sleep with you guys."
I looked at my wife and mouthed "What?" She shook her head in uncertainty.
That's when it dawned on me. I have my Xbox 360 hooked up in my basement, and the TV is right below his bedroom. Whenever I play, it's clearly audible through the vent in his floor. He must have either heard dialogue from Gears of War, or perhaps he heard an inadvertent exclamation from me during one of the harder levels. At any rate, I no longer worried that the kid was schizophrenic. In fact, I was greatful that the only word "his room said" was the S-word.
"Mark?" I said.
"What?"
"How about if I take you to your room and tell your room to be quiet?"
"No, I'm scared!"
"It's OK," I assured, "I'll come with you."
So I took his hand, and we entered his room.
"OK, room, you need to stop talking!" I ordered. "If you say the S-word, then I'm going to spank you on the wall."
That seemed to work. I helped Mark into bed and covered him.
"Will you sleep with me?" he asked.
"No, buddy. I'm going to my room. But I'll leave your door open, and you come tell me if your room keeps talking, OK?"
He didn't even answer. He rolled over onto his stomach and was asleep before I left the room.
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Oh Boy!
It's a boy! He won't be poking his head out until June, but we've confirmed that he has all of his appendages, including the masculine one.
Monday, January 29, 2007
Tom Waits
In 1978, singer-songwriter Tom Waits wrote and recorded "Blue Valentine," a brilliant album with more insight into the culture of lowlife urbanity. His cover of West Side Story's "Somewhere" is as poignant as it is different, but his original work of poetry set to music, "Christmas Card From a Hooker in Minneapolis," takes the cake.
It's a sad tune, with a light jazz-piano feel. It gets to the core of a typical "lost soul." While I think that such a person must sleep in the bed that he or she has made, I cannot help but feel the sad desperation of the narrator. Kudos to Waits for creating such a pathetic, sympathetic character.
Charlie, I'm pregnant,
Living on 9th Street,
Above a dirty book store
Off Euclid Avenue.
I stopped taking dope.
I quit drinking whiskey.
My old man plays a trombone
And works out at the track.
He says that he loves me,
Even though it's not his baby;
Says that he'll raise him up
Like he would his own son.
He gave me a ring
That was worn by his mother,
And he takes me out dancing
Every Saturday night.
Charlie, I think about you
Everytime I pass the fillin' station,
On account of the grease
You used to wear in your hair.
I still have that record,
Little Anthony and the Imperials.
But someone stole my record player,
Now how do you like that?
Charlie, I almost went crazy
After Mario got busted.
I went back to Omaha
To live with my folks.
Everyone I used to know
Is either dead or in prison,
So I same back to Minneapolis
And this time I think I'm gonna stay.
Charlie, I think I'm happy
For the first time since my accident.
I wish that I had all the money
I used to spend on dope.
I'd buy me a used car lot,
And I wouldn't sell any of 'em.
I'd just drive a different car everyday,
Depending how I feel
Charlie, for Christ's sake,
If you wanna know the truth of it.
I don't have a husband;
He don't play the trombone.
I need to borrow money
To pay this lawyer, Charlie, hey
I'll be eligable for parol
Come Valentine's Day.
It's a sad tune, with a light jazz-piano feel. It gets to the core of a typical "lost soul." While I think that such a person must sleep in the bed that he or she has made, I cannot help but feel the sad desperation of the narrator. Kudos to Waits for creating such a pathetic, sympathetic character.
Charlie, I'm pregnant,
Living on 9th Street,
Above a dirty book store
Off Euclid Avenue.
I stopped taking dope.
I quit drinking whiskey.
My old man plays a trombone
And works out at the track.
He says that he loves me,
Even though it's not his baby;
Says that he'll raise him up
Like he would his own son.
He gave me a ring
That was worn by his mother,
And he takes me out dancing
Every Saturday night.
Charlie, I think about you
Everytime I pass the fillin' station,
On account of the grease
You used to wear in your hair.
I still have that record,
Little Anthony and the Imperials.
But someone stole my record player,
Now how do you like that?
Charlie, I almost went crazy
After Mario got busted.
I went back to Omaha
To live with my folks.
Everyone I used to know
Is either dead or in prison,
So I same back to Minneapolis
And this time I think I'm gonna stay.
Charlie, I think I'm happy
For the first time since my accident.
I wish that I had all the money
I used to spend on dope.
I'd buy me a used car lot,
And I wouldn't sell any of 'em.
I'd just drive a different car everyday,
Depending how I feel
Charlie, for Christ's sake,
If you wanna know the truth of it.
I don't have a husband;
He don't play the trombone.
I need to borrow money
To pay this lawyer, Charlie, hey
I'll be eligable for parol
Come Valentine's Day.
Graham Bauer Is a Dead Man
Listen. In a few weeks, when Jack Bauer kills his brother, Graham, you will here me writhe--no, quiver--in joy. Given my current state of obesity, it should register at about a 4.0 on the Richter scale.
All of you old fogies who wanted someone to shoot JR, only to wonder, "Who shot JR?" here's a show that's really worth watching, and a character worth shooting (after he's been beaten, choked, disemboweled, castrated, forced to watch all seasons of Mr. Belvedere, and stabbed just beneath the patella in an upward stroke).
The writers. actors, and director of 24 have made me actually want to see another human being suffer unbearable pain. This has not happened since... never mind, it happened yesterday.
What can I say? I'm high strung.
Still, anyone who watches 24 but says that Battlestar Galactica is a better show is--how do I put this nicely?--retarded, crazy, or just flat out "happy" (search classical synonyms for the best word to put in those quotes).
Aristos, out!
All of you old fogies who wanted someone to shoot JR, only to wonder, "Who shot JR?" here's a show that's really worth watching, and a character worth shooting (after he's been beaten, choked, disemboweled, castrated, forced to watch all seasons of Mr. Belvedere, and stabbed just beneath the patella in an upward stroke).
The writers. actors, and director of 24 have made me actually want to see another human being suffer unbearable pain. This has not happened since... never mind, it happened yesterday.
What can I say? I'm high strung.
Still, anyone who watches 24 but says that Battlestar Galactica is a better show is--how do I put this nicely?--retarded, crazy, or just flat out "happy" (search classical synonyms for the best word to put in those quotes).
Aristos, out!
Saturday, January 27, 2007
Stardust
Eighty Years ago, Hoagy Charmicheal abandoned his career as a lawyer. He was at an important crossroad in life, and he decided to go far a walk in the solitude of darkness. Instead, he found himself strolling beneath a blanket of stars, and soon he was remembering long, lost loves. Soon after, he wrote a wordless but reflective jazz tune.
Two years later, Michael Parrish developed lyrics, and Charmichael revised the tune, opting for a more melancholy, drawn-out feel instead of the syncopated jazz. Together, the two men composed one of the most hauntingly beautiful songs in all of history.
It's been recoreded by many, including some of the most legendary singers of all time: Frank Sinatra, Bing Crosby, Nat King Cole, etc. For my money, Cole's is the best, followed closely by Willie Nelson's. I'm not joking. Nelson sings almost perfectly in his special way. I would say perfectly, were it not for Cole's flawless earthiness.
Sadly, I cannot include the music, just the lyrics. However, if there's an ounce of a poet within you, you'll take one look at these lyrics and get ahold of a recording (I recommend Cole and Nelson).
"Stardust" By Hoagy Charmichael and Michael Parrish
And now the purple dust of twilight time
Steals across the meadows of my heart.
Now the little stars, the little stars pine,
Always reminding me that we're apart.
You wander down the lane and far away,
Leaving me a love that cannot die.
Love is now the stardust of yesterday.
The music of the years gone by.
Sometimes I wonder why I spend
The lonely nights
Dreaming of a song.
That melody haunts my reverie
And I am once again with you.
When our love was new
And each kiss an inspiration,
Ah, but that was long ago.
Now my consolation
Is in the stardust of a song.
Beside a garden wall,
Where stars are bright,
You are in my arms.
That nightingale tells its fairy tale
of paradise where roses grew.
Though I dream in vain,
In my heart it will remain
my stardust melody,
The memory of love's refrain.
Ah, but that was long ago
Now my consolation
Is in the stardust of a song
Where stars are bright
You are in my arms
That nightingale tells its fairy tale
of paradise where roses grew
Though I dream in vain
In my heart it will remain
my stardust melody
The memory of love's refrain.
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
United 93
My wife and I just finished watching United 93. I stand by my post from long ago, that it is not too soon (as the patheticos would have us believe) for filmmakers to portray the events of September 11, 2001 (as history, mythology, or both--as it appears).
It was a pretty good movie, except for the part where they left out what really happened at the end--when an Air Force jet shot the plane down over rural Pennsylvania.
The ending presented was great mythology, just the kind of stuff to keep us feeling good about ourselves, hating the terrorists, and being proud to be American.
The U.S. Government does not want us to realize two things: First, that all those tax dollars that they've taken over the years "to provide for the common defense" have been a poor investment. The feds themselves have made the troubles that now harass us.
Second, that after three successful attacks, the feds finally got their act together but had to shoot down United 93 (killing innocent civilians) to save the Capitol. Don't get me wrong: they had to do it. It was the right thing to do, no matter how tragic of a decision it was. However, they'll never admit it, just as they'll never admit to the ineptitude (and arrogance) that allowed the passengers of all four planes and the people at the WTC and Pentagon to die.
It's not Bush. It's the federal government in general. All governments are inefficient. All governments are tyrannical. All governments are inept. The bigger the government, the bigger the inefficiency, the tyranny, and the ineptitude. And the society that clings to a government as its guardian angel is autophagic. Get a damn clue, people.
It was a pretty good movie, except for the part where they left out what really happened at the end--when an Air Force jet shot the plane down over rural Pennsylvania.
The ending presented was great mythology, just the kind of stuff to keep us feeling good about ourselves, hating the terrorists, and being proud to be American.
The U.S. Government does not want us to realize two things: First, that all those tax dollars that they've taken over the years "to provide for the common defense" have been a poor investment. The feds themselves have made the troubles that now harass us.
Second, that after three successful attacks, the feds finally got their act together but had to shoot down United 93 (killing innocent civilians) to save the Capitol. Don't get me wrong: they had to do it. It was the right thing to do, no matter how tragic of a decision it was. However, they'll never admit it, just as they'll never admit to the ineptitude (and arrogance) that allowed the passengers of all four planes and the people at the WTC and Pentagon to die.
It's not Bush. It's the federal government in general. All governments are inefficient. All governments are tyrannical. All governments are inept. The bigger the government, the bigger the inefficiency, the tyranny, and the ineptitude. And the society that clings to a government as its guardian angel is autophagic. Get a damn clue, people.
Monday, January 22, 2007
Bad Men
Hugo Chavez and Mahmoud Ahmadinejad are the most dangerous people on the planet. Evo Morales, like Tattaglia, is a pimp.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
The Sky Is Falling?
To the junk scientists who feed off of fear, particularly those "Doomsday Clock" guys: You're so phony that the more level-headed thinkers have been on to you for ages.
The Romans said, Astra non mentiuntur, sed astrologi bene mentiuntur de astris ("The stars never lie, but astrologers lie about the stars").
And that's all that you guys are, astrologers. You look at real things (e.g. stars, weather patterns, etc.), and pretend to foresee portents of doom. It makes you feel wise and important when so many duck and cover at your beck and call.
But you're not important. Your ability to frighten the masses makes you powerful (especially in places of universal suffrage), but for all of your power you are shallow, pathetic beings.
There were once many (and still are a few) people who knew that science is rooted in the Latin word for knowledge: the kind of knowledge based upon observable facts and without traces of bias or speculation.
I am not afraid. In my best Englishman mocking a Frenchman accent, "I fart in your general direction!"
The Romans said, Astra non mentiuntur, sed astrologi bene mentiuntur de astris ("The stars never lie, but astrologers lie about the stars").
And that's all that you guys are, astrologers. You look at real things (e.g. stars, weather patterns, etc.), and pretend to foresee portents of doom. It makes you feel wise and important when so many duck and cover at your beck and call.
But you're not important. Your ability to frighten the masses makes you powerful (especially in places of universal suffrage), but for all of your power you are shallow, pathetic beings.
There were once many (and still are a few) people who knew that science is rooted in the Latin word for knowledge: the kind of knowledge based upon observable facts and without traces of bias or speculation.
I am not afraid. In my best Englishman mocking a Frenchman accent, "I fart in your general direction!"
Monday, January 15, 2007
Jack is Back!
24 returns with a furious four hour, two day debut. I cannot yet say if it is better than ever, but I stand in awe at the best show on television.
The only problem thus far is a philosophical one. By having the intel about the other weapons come from some of the prisoners in that illegal detention facility, it serves to justify fascism in defense of liberty.
Watch for a rising star. I don't see how Jack will be able to return for another season. He might make it physically, but the mental toll that he's taken over the seasons should be enough to reduce even a man of his magnitude.
The only problem thus far is a philosophical one. By having the intel about the other weapons come from some of the prisoners in that illegal detention facility, it serves to justify fascism in defense of liberty.
Watch for a rising star. I don't see how Jack will be able to return for another season. He might make it physically, but the mental toll that he's taken over the seasons should be enough to reduce even a man of his magnitude.
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
The problem is not that the United States government launched an invasion of Iraq with insufficient troop strength. The problem is that the United States government launched an invasion of Iraq with illegitimate rationale.
Increasing troop strength will not erase this primal and gravest error. Seriously, we keep giving the feds more power, even though they're the ones who fudged things up in the first place. Any company would have fired the hell out of such employees or gone out of business for such practices. Instead, we make them stronger then ever.
For all of you who voted either Democrat or Republican, you're part of the problem, if not the actual core of the problem.
Hell yes, that's an accusation.
Increasing troop strength will not erase this primal and gravest error. Seriously, we keep giving the feds more power, even though they're the ones who fudged things up in the first place. Any company would have fired the hell out of such employees or gone out of business for such practices. Instead, we make them stronger then ever.
For all of you who voted either Democrat or Republican, you're part of the problem, if not the actual core of the problem.
Hell yes, that's an accusation.
Monday, January 08, 2007
Wascally Wabbits and More
About a month ago, "PA" (akin to the A-Team's "BA") and I went rabbit hunting at my wife's uncle's farm in Emmit Township. I was carrying my new gun, a two barrel over-under that I had received for my 3oth (gasp!) birthday. I brought my beagle, and PA brought his two beagles.
I had never before fired the gun, so it happened that as I kicked a very nice sized rabbit out of some brush, I pulled the trigger and nothing happened. I still had the safety engaged. However, I vowed, such an episode would never recur.
Fast forward to yesterday, January 7, 2007. PA and I (aka "Hannibal"--the guy with the plan and the stogie) arrived at that same farm for an afternoon hunt. I had forgotten to call my wife's uncle with sufficient advance notice, so he was unable to attend (and for that I deeply apologize--even moreso if he reads this).
The two track between the road and the field was wet and muddy. So much so that I had a hard time getting traction. Thank God for four-wheel drive (I thought).
Once out of the car and into the field, it was a quick trip across to the half wooded and half wild grassy area. It was in this grassy area that I had tried to shoot that rabbit a month earlier. However, as I kicked the same pile of brush, no rabbit emerged, so we moved on to a piney area to the east and beyond some trees.
It was there tha
t I flushed out the first one. "Rabbit!" I yelled as I let loose a quick shot.
"Did you get him?" PA shouted from the other side of the grove.
"I don't think so," I answered, but that was when I saw a twitch on the ground about five yards from where I'd pointed and fired.
"Hell yes I did!" I shouted back. And so it was that I took my first rabbit.
The feeling was exhilerating. I'd been hunting rabbits several times and missed once and had to hold my fire three times out of fear that I'd kill a dog instead of a rabbit. Other times, it was PA who was faster on the draw. This time, however, I was the champion.
I posed for the picture (above) and PA and I agreed that there was still at least two hours of solid daylight for hunting.
We criss-crossed through the woods for about an hour. It was during this time that I located several good signs of deer. I made a mental note for next October's bow season.
Soon, Roofus (PA's large beagle) began barking. The sound was unmistakable: he was onto a rabbit scent.
I moved toward him a bit, and a few minutes later caught a flash of movement out of the corner of my right eye. I turned and saw a rabbit shooting across. It was moving so fast that I could not even shout "Rabbit!" I just pointed and fired.
The rabbit flipped over and flopped about--I had only wounded it with a shot to its rear leg.
Roofus was on it within a few seconds, and that's when I noticed the screaming.
Apparently, rabbits scream. It sounds a lot like the combination of a pissed off cat and an upset baby. I ran to it and pulled the dog off of it. The rabbit was wounded but nowhere near dead, and it kept screaming and flopping.
"It's leg is busted. Should I put it out?" I yelled to PA. I was admittedly disturbed by the rabbit's screaming, for I did not know that they did such a thing.
"Yeah," he replied, "but do it without shooting," he answered, so I took aim and kicked the rabbit in the back of the head. It flew about three yards, but kept screaming, so I kicked it again.
As it turned out, all I was doing was kicking the crap out of it.
"Stomp it with your heal," PA said, closer now by about twenty yards, so that's what I did.
It took two stomps, but the rabbit stopped screaming and laid still.
In this picture, you can see PA's smaller beagle, Chloe, still trying to get a piece of the rabbit. My dog, apparently, is third man on the totem pole and only watches from afar as "PA's" bullies go far what was rightfully mine.
Soon after, we decided to hunt our way back to the car. We arrived at the car about thirty minutes later, only to find that my four-wheel drive as not working. We were stuck in the mud. I tried to get out, but we were stuck. PA--a good 100 pounds lighter than myself moved into the driver's seat, and I got out to push. I pushed us out of the first hole, but we only moved for about fifteen yards before getting stuck again, with ninety yards left to go. We tried every method available to get us out (e.g. filling in the rut with dry grass and wooden planks), but nothing worked. In short, we were screwed.
We walked a short ways up a dirt road to a friendly farm house: The Woodlands, owned by Mr. and Mrs. Wood--very good people about whom nothing but praise can be said. It was, however, their sons who five or so years ago took a ten point buck that I had been tracking, but that was their good fortune and my bad luck.
We knocked on the door and were directed to the back. Mr. Wood answered, and we told him our story. We asked if he had a tractor to pull us out, but he did not have one. He scratched his head and gave us a few telephone numbers, none of which were answered.
Nonetheless, the guy drove us in his Trailblazer (his four wheel-drive was working) to my Trailblazer and tried with a tow-rope to pull us out. It did not work. While he left to find a local farmer to help, I called AAA.
About twenty minutes later, whilst I was giving AAA the coordinates to our location, Mr. Wood pulled up with the news that none of the nearby farmers were home. He invited us to his house if we got too cold waiting for the inevitable tow truck. We declined for the moment but told him that we might take him up on his offer if we needed to do so.
The truck arrived about forty minutes later. Now it was dark. We were wet and cold. I pointed from the side of the dirt road to my car, about ninety yards down the muddy two track, and he followed me to it. I explained that my four wheel-drive had stopped working, and he knew it was true when he saw that I was stuck in mud that I should otherwise have been able to escape.
After hitching me up, he pulled me out bit by bit. Finally, after about forty minutes, we were out and clear. So ended a good day gone bad.
I had never before fired the gun, so it happened that as I kicked a very nice sized rabbit out of some brush, I pulled the trigger and nothing happened. I still had the safety engaged. However, I vowed, such an episode would never recur.
Fast forward to yesterday, January 7, 2007. PA and I (aka "Hannibal"--the guy with the plan and the stogie) arrived at that same farm for an afternoon hunt. I had forgotten to call my wife's uncle with sufficient advance notice, so he was unable to attend (and for that I deeply apologize--even moreso if he reads this).
The two track between the road and the field was wet and muddy. So much so that I had a hard time getting traction. Thank God for four-wheel drive (I thought).
Once out of the car and into the field, it was a quick trip across to the half wooded and half wild grassy area. It was in this grassy area that I had tried to shoot that rabbit a month earlier. However, as I kicked the same pile of brush, no rabbit emerged, so we moved on to a piney area to the east and beyond some trees.
It was there tha
t I flushed out the first one. "Rabbit!" I yelled as I let loose a quick shot."Did you get him?" PA shouted from the other side of the grove.
"I don't think so," I answered, but that was when I saw a twitch on the ground about five yards from where I'd pointed and fired.
"Hell yes I did!" I shouted back. And so it was that I took my first rabbit.
The feeling was exhilerating. I'd been hunting rabbits several times and missed once and had to hold my fire three times out of fear that I'd kill a dog instead of a rabbit. Other times, it was PA who was faster on the draw. This time, however, I was the champion.
I posed for the picture (above) and PA and I agreed that there was still at least two hours of solid daylight for hunting.
We criss-crossed through the woods for about an hour. It was during this time that I located several good signs of deer. I made a mental note for next October's bow season.
Soon, Roofus (PA's large beagle) began barking. The sound was unmistakable: he was onto a rabbit scent.
I moved toward him a bit, and a few minutes later caught a flash of movement out of the corner of my right eye. I turned and saw a rabbit shooting across. It was moving so fast that I could not even shout "Rabbit!" I just pointed and fired.
The rabbit flipped over and flopped about--I had only wounded it with a shot to its rear leg.
Roofus was on it within a few seconds, and that's when I noticed the screaming.
Apparently, rabbits scream. It sounds a lot like the combination of a pissed off cat and an upset baby. I ran to it and pulled the dog off of it. The rabbit was wounded but nowhere near dead, and it kept screaming and flopping.
"It's leg is busted. Should I put it out?" I yelled to PA. I was admittedly disturbed by the rabbit's screaming, for I did not know that they did such a thing.
"Yeah," he replied, "but do it without shooting," he answered, so I took aim and kicked the rabbit in the back of the head. It flew about three yards, but kept screaming, so I kicked it again.
As it turned out, all I was doing was kicking the crap out of it.
"Stomp it with your heal," PA said, closer now by about twenty yards, so that's what I did.
It took two stomps, but the rabbit stopped screaming and laid still.
In this picture, you can see PA's smaller beagle, Chloe, still trying to get a piece of the rabbit. My dog, apparently, is third man on the totem pole and only watches from afar as "PA's" bullies go far what was rightfully mine.Soon after, we decided to hunt our way back to the car. We arrived at the car about thirty minutes later, only to find that my four-wheel drive as not working. We were stuck in the mud. I tried to get out, but we were stuck. PA--a good 100 pounds lighter than myself moved into the driver's seat, and I got out to push. I pushed us out of the first hole, but we only moved for about fifteen yards before getting stuck again, with ninety yards left to go. We tried every method available to get us out (e.g. filling in the rut with dry grass and wooden planks), but nothing worked. In short, we were screwed.
We walked a short ways up a dirt road to a friendly farm house: The Woodlands, owned by Mr. and Mrs. Wood--very good people about whom nothing but praise can be said. It was, however, their sons who five or so years ago took a ten point buck that I had been tracking, but that was their good fortune and my bad luck.
We knocked on the door and were directed to the back. Mr. Wood answered, and we told him our story. We asked if he had a tractor to pull us out, but he did not have one. He scratched his head and gave us a few telephone numbers, none of which were answered.
Nonetheless, the guy drove us in his Trailblazer (his four wheel-drive was working) to my Trailblazer and tried with a tow-rope to pull us out. It did not work. While he left to find a local farmer to help, I called AAA.
About twenty minutes later, whilst I was giving AAA the coordinates to our location, Mr. Wood pulled up with the news that none of the nearby farmers were home. He invited us to his house if we got too cold waiting for the inevitable tow truck. We declined for the moment but told him that we might take him up on his offer if we needed to do so.
The truck arrived about forty minutes later. Now it was dark. We were wet and cold. I pointed from the side of the dirt road to my car, about ninety yards down the muddy two track, and he followed me to it. I explained that my four wheel-drive had stopped working, and he knew it was true when he saw that I was stuck in mud that I should otherwise have been able to escape.
After hitching me up, he pulled me out bit by bit. Finally, after about forty minutes, we were out and clear. So ended a good day gone bad.
Thursday, January 04, 2007
People Are Stupid (what's new?)
I just finished reading a rather dry article (so dry that I decline to take the paltry few efforts involved in posting it) that lamented how difficult it is to sue health gyms because you have signed waivers absolving them of everything from malfunctioning machines to theft of goods.
I hate it when people sign waivers and then bitch because something went wrong. What in the heck were you thinking when you signed the waivers? Companies have you sign waivers because there is a chance that something might go wrong, and they don't want to be sued.
If you cannot agree that you will not sue, then don't sign the stinking waiver. It was right there in black ink against a white background, something akin to "Company X is not liable in the case of any malfunctions or accidents involving proprietary equipment." If you sign such a waiver, then you can't sue. That's it. If you don't like it, then don't sign it. Look elsewhere. If you can't find such a place, then buy a home gym like the bowflex.
Do your research first. If an organization has a legacy of negligence or "accidents," then be wary. Sign waivers if it's worth the risk (worth it to you, that is), or look elsewhere. Once you've signed a waiver, you have no right to sue. In fact, I think that anyone who sues despite a signed waiver should be charged with breach of contract.
I hate it when people sign waivers and then bitch because something went wrong. What in the heck were you thinking when you signed the waivers? Companies have you sign waivers because there is a chance that something might go wrong, and they don't want to be sued.
If you cannot agree that you will not sue, then don't sign the stinking waiver. It was right there in black ink against a white background, something akin to "Company X is not liable in the case of any malfunctions or accidents involving proprietary equipment." If you sign such a waiver, then you can't sue. That's it. If you don't like it, then don't sign it. Look elsewhere. If you can't find such a place, then buy a home gym like the bowflex.
Do your research first. If an organization has a legacy of negligence or "accidents," then be wary. Sign waivers if it's worth the risk (worth it to you, that is), or look elsewhere. Once you've signed a waiver, you have no right to sue. In fact, I think that anyone who sues despite a signed waiver should be charged with breach of contract.
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
Fire Millen
Matt Millen won't quite because doing so will be an admission that he is a loser. While he is a loser, he's also an SOB unwilling to accept the truth.
I do not support violence, but consider this. In a city where innocent bystanders are killed by gunfire, and neighborhood thugs are whacked for a dime bag, Matt Millen walks safely.
I do not support violence, but consider this. In a city where innocent bystanders are killed by gunfire, and neighborhood thugs are whacked for a dime bag, Matt Millen walks safely.
Friday, December 22, 2006
Merry Christmas!
Well, I'm off to Seattle in just a couple of hours. I'll be away until the new year, so postings between then and now are unlikely.
During the interim, let's get some feedback on books in general. What are your favorite novels and why?
For me, any such list would include
Atlas Shrugged, by Ayn Rand
The Fountainhead, by Ayn Rand
1984, by George Orwell
Animal Farm, by George Orwell
Brave New World, by Alduous Huxley
Huckleberry Finn, by Mark Twain
The Great Gatsby, by F. Scott Fitzgerald
These books demonstrate the greatness and the depravity of humankind. They offer us hope while reminding us all of the most basic human frailties that so often prevent us from achieving our ideals. After reading each one, I felt enlightened. Atlas Shrugged, in particular, changed the way that I looked at the world.
So I bid you adieu. Have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.
During the interim, let's get some feedback on books in general. What are your favorite novels and why?
For me, any such list would include
Atlas Shrugged, by Ayn Rand
The Fountainhead, by Ayn Rand
1984, by George Orwell
Animal Farm, by George Orwell
Brave New World, by Alduous Huxley
Huckleberry Finn, by Mark Twain
The Great Gatsby, by F. Scott Fitzgerald
These books demonstrate the greatness and the depravity of humankind. They offer us hope while reminding us all of the most basic human frailties that so often prevent us from achieving our ideals. After reading each one, I felt enlightened. Atlas Shrugged, in particular, changed the way that I looked at the world.
So I bid you adieu. Have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
My Kingdom for an Ounce of Talent
I've finally mastered picking arpeggios in various forms on my guitar. My current choice songs to practice include Johnny Cash's version of Bruce Springsteen's "Highway Patrolman," and a version of Bob Dylan's "He Was a Friend of Mine" combined with Willie Nelson's cover from the film Brokeback Mountain. Say what you want about the film (it was well written, well acted, and well made--to the point that only a low-class bigot can object), but none can deny the perfectly melancholy sorrow of Nelson's vocals:
He was a friend of mine.
He was a friend of mine.
Everytime I think of him,
I just can't keep from cryin'.
'Cause he was a friend of mine.
He died on the road.
He died on the road.
A thousand miles from home,
He never reaped what he could sow,
And he was a friend of mine.
(Dylan's version differs in this verse. In lieu of the third and fourth lines, he says, "He never had too much money / To pay his room and board")
I stole away and cried.
I stole away and cried.
'Cause I never had too much money,
And I never was quite satisified,
But he was a friend of mine.
He never done no wrong.
He never done no wrong.
A thousand miles from home,
And he never done no harm.
And he was a friend of mine.
He was a friend of mine.
He was a friend of mine.
Whenever I hear his name, Lord,
I just can't keep from cryin
Were it not for my only mediocre talent at the guitar, my slightly bad--but not stlyistic Bob Dylan bad--vocals, and my lack of stage presence, I probably could have pursued a career in music.
He was a friend of mine.
He was a friend of mine.
Everytime I think of him,
I just can't keep from cryin'.
'Cause he was a friend of mine.
He died on the road.
He died on the road.
A thousand miles from home,
He never reaped what he could sow,
And he was a friend of mine.
(Dylan's version differs in this verse. In lieu of the third and fourth lines, he says, "He never had too much money / To pay his room and board")
I stole away and cried.
I stole away and cried.
'Cause I never had too much money,
And I never was quite satisified,
But he was a friend of mine.
He never done no wrong.
He never done no wrong.
A thousand miles from home,
And he never done no harm.
And he was a friend of mine.
He was a friend of mine.
He was a friend of mine.
Whenever I hear his name, Lord,
I just can't keep from cryin
Were it not for my only mediocre talent at the guitar, my slightly bad--but not stlyistic Bob Dylan bad--vocals, and my lack of stage presence, I probably could have pursued a career in music.
Friday, December 08, 2006
"Zoinks, like Scoob!"
I have been discussing scary books and movies with some people. I mentioned the novel The Shining as a very creepy novel (though I noted that 1984, with its realistic relevance is perhaps even scarier), and I talked about several creepy movies. Over the past few days we have examined the art of creating suspense and fear in literature and film.
For a coveted spot in the What I Hate (Usually) hall of fame, right above the name Science Guy (winner of the "I used to comment but am now too lazy and/or unable to challenge Aristos" award), post a comment about your scariest read or view. Don't just name it, but tell how it got to you. I'm not concerned if it "grossed you out," but if it really disturbed you on a higher level (e.g. the orginal version of "The Omen.").
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Yadda, Yadda, Yadda
A recent article pointed to the fact that this is the time of year in which the smuggling of children across the U.S.-Mexican Border reaches its apex. Much was mentioned about children who suffered at the hands of their smugglers.
Is the fact that desperate parents wish to see their beloveds the real problem, or is the tyrannical immigration policy that makes "illegal immigration" a necessity the culprit? Think about it. Immigration policy essentially requires children to be chaperoned by less than respectable citizens.
Indeed, it's not the smugglers or the parents who are to blame. It is the United States Congress. How ironic that a nation dominated by the decendents of immigrants takes such a position against immigration. Or is it just that these immigrants happen to be Mexicans (Dios mio!)?
Is the fact that desperate parents wish to see their beloveds the real problem, or is the tyrannical immigration policy that makes "illegal immigration" a necessity the culprit? Think about it. Immigration policy essentially requires children to be chaperoned by less than respectable citizens.
Indeed, it's not the smugglers or the parents who are to blame. It is the United States Congress. How ironic that a nation dominated by the decendents of immigrants takes such a position against immigration. Or is it just that these immigrants happen to be Mexicans (Dios mio!)?
Monday, December 04, 2006
Been Busy ("Sorta")
In case you're wondering--and I flatter myself to think that you do--I have not posted much lately because I am a gaming neophyte.
That's right. I have become an XBox convert, having purchased an XBox 360 and Call of Duty 2.
As an XBox man, I am a converted Playstationist: a reprobate to some, I suppose, but perfectly happy as I now am.
Sony's Playstation3 had two things working against it. First, it was cost prohibitive when compared to the Xbox360. Compared to Nintendo's Wii--which I also considered--the PS3 is even worse. Second, it took too long. I waited and waited for the PS3, but there comes a moment when enough is enough, and that moment came on Thanksgiving.
So, the next time I go nearly two weeks without posting, you might wonder which new XBox 360 game I've picked up.
That's right. I have become an XBox convert, having purchased an XBox 360 and Call of Duty 2.
As an XBox man, I am a converted Playstationist: a reprobate to some, I suppose, but perfectly happy as I now am.
Sony's Playstation3 had two things working against it. First, it was cost prohibitive when compared to the Xbox360. Compared to Nintendo's Wii--which I also considered--the PS3 is even worse. Second, it took too long. I waited and waited for the PS3, but there comes a moment when enough is enough, and that moment came on Thanksgiving.
So, the next time I go nearly two weeks without posting, you might wonder which new XBox 360 game I've picked up.
A Christmas Album
I usually dislike when musicians try their hands at original Christmas songs. Even some of my favorite singer/songwriters just seem to get it wrong.
Yes, I love the classics. On iTunes, I have over 50 versions of "The Christmas Song" (Chestnutt's roasting on an open fire..."), 25 versions of "Let it Snow," 80 versions of "Silent Night," 38 versions of "Winter Wonderland," 50 versions of "White Christmas" (nothing like a Christmas song written by a Jew), 20 versions of "What Child is This?" and lots of the other standards ("Jingle Bells," "Silver Bells," "We Wish You a Merry Christmas," etc.
In all, I have over 2,500 Christmas songs, most of which are traditional songs like those above.
And yet, perhaps my favorite Christmas album is The Statler Brothers' Christmas Card. Yes, it has several old-fashioned Christmas songs, but the ones that I enjoy most are their original ones. Consider the lyrics on a few, and then go out and pick up a copy of this remarkable Christmas album.
To the following song there's a sincerity and a longing that is either grateful or melancholy, depending upon your mood.
"I'll Never Spend a Christmas"
The year you were snow queen
At the high school Christmas ball.
The night we got snowed in
And prayed it wouldn't thaw.
The year I bought your bracelet,
And you bought me one too.
I'll never spend a Christmas
That I don't think of you.
The year I helped your daddy trim
The outdoor tree with lights.
You worked part time at Penny's
And I took you home at night.
The year the senior class sold
Christmas trees and mistletoe
And we never thought that someday
This would seem so long ago.
The Christmas Eve you told me
You loved me, and I knew
I'd never spend a Christmas
I wouldn't think of you.
The night we planned the party
To decorate the tree.
It snowed so hard, no one could come.
No one, that is, but me.
The Christmas Eve I told you
I loved you, well I do.
And I'll never spend a Christmas
I won't be loving you.
The following song begins with a drawn out cello and 4/4 beat. It's mood is similar to the one above.
Christmas to Me
Christmas to me
Is wherever she might be.
Singing carols With the choir
Haning stockings by the fire.
Making Christmas bows.
Hanging mistletoe.
'Cause where she is, I want to be
That's what Christmas is to me.
Christmas to me
Is as far as I can see.
Pasture fields covered with snow,
White Christmas on the radio.
Children and sleds
And momma's gingerbread.
At home with just the family,
That's what Christmas is to me.
Christmas to me
Is a tall cedar tree.
Decorated and adorned.
With Christmas balls and strings of popcorn.
Tinsel wrapped with care
With webs of angel hair,
A final star atop the tree
That's what Christmas is to me.
Christmas to me
Is the new born baby.
Lying quietly in the hay
When the angels came to say,
"Peace on Earth to men."
And I pray for peace again.
Scenes of the nativity
That's what Christmas is to me.
Christmas to you,
May it never be blue.
And may all your dreams come true:
Merry Christmas to you.
While the next songs is a bit hokey in some ways, it sounds very good at this time of year.
Something You Can't Buy
The greatest Christmas present
Is something you can't buy.
When World War II was over,
We trimmed the tree alone
But we saved the star for daddy,
'Cause daddy was coming home.
We bought mamma a new dress.
We bought daddy a tie.
But he brought us each something
That money couldn't buy.
The greatest Christmas present
Is something you can't buy.
I talked to pa this evening
For an hour on the phone
He said, "Don't spend your money on presents
We just want you here at home."
But we'll buy momma a new dress
And daddy another tie.
And we'll spend lots of time together
And that's something you can't buy.
The greatest Christmas present
Is something you can't buy.
Someday, and I know it's coming
When all of us won't be together every Christmas,
You know daddy's seventy-three.
And to pay back all he gave me,
I can't, but I will try.
I'll pass along to my kids
That something you can't buy.
Who Do You Think?
There are people who are whispering,
And the rumors are running wild.
There's a woman who's not married,
But she's gonna have a child.
Her name is Mary. She's a virgin
From down in Nazereth, now listen close.
She's gonna marry a man named Joseph,
But the baby's father is the Holy Ghost.
And who do you think could believe such a thing?
Could believe that this story is true?
And who do you think could believe such a thing?
Well, here's hoping to heaven you do.
Now they're saying she had the baby
In a barn in Bethlehem.
And a star moved round the heavens
'Till it stopped right over there.
Then some shepherds said an angel
Came and told them about the birth.
They always knew men went to heaven
But now God had come to Earth.
And who do you think could believe such a thing?
Could believe that this story is true.
Who do you think could believe such a thing,
Well here's hoping to heaven you do.
Yes, I love the classics. On iTunes, I have over 50 versions of "The Christmas Song" (Chestnutt's roasting on an open fire..."), 25 versions of "Let it Snow," 80 versions of "Silent Night," 38 versions of "Winter Wonderland," 50 versions of "White Christmas" (nothing like a Christmas song written by a Jew), 20 versions of "What Child is This?" and lots of the other standards ("Jingle Bells," "Silver Bells," "We Wish You a Merry Christmas," etc.
In all, I have over 2,500 Christmas songs, most of which are traditional songs like those above.
And yet, perhaps my favorite Christmas album is The Statler Brothers' Christmas Card. Yes, it has several old-fashioned Christmas songs, but the ones that I enjoy most are their original ones. Consider the lyrics on a few, and then go out and pick up a copy of this remarkable Christmas album.
To the following song there's a sincerity and a longing that is either grateful or melancholy, depending upon your mood.
"I'll Never Spend a Christmas"
The year you were snow queen
At the high school Christmas ball.
The night we got snowed in
And prayed it wouldn't thaw.
The year I bought your bracelet,
And you bought me one too.
I'll never spend a Christmas
That I don't think of you.
The year I helped your daddy trim
The outdoor tree with lights.
You worked part time at Penny's
And I took you home at night.
The year the senior class sold
Christmas trees and mistletoe
And we never thought that someday
This would seem so long ago.
The Christmas Eve you told me
You loved me, and I knew
I'd never spend a Christmas
I wouldn't think of you.
The night we planned the party
To decorate the tree.
It snowed so hard, no one could come.
No one, that is, but me.
The Christmas Eve I told you
I loved you, well I do.
And I'll never spend a Christmas
I won't be loving you.
The following song begins with a drawn out cello and 4/4 beat. It's mood is similar to the one above.
Christmas to Me
Christmas to me
Is wherever she might be.
Singing carols With the choir
Haning stockings by the fire.
Making Christmas bows.
Hanging mistletoe.
'Cause where she is, I want to be
That's what Christmas is to me.
Christmas to me
Is as far as I can see.
Pasture fields covered with snow,
White Christmas on the radio.
Children and sleds
And momma's gingerbread.
At home with just the family,
That's what Christmas is to me.
Christmas to me
Is a tall cedar tree.
Decorated and adorned.
With Christmas balls and strings of popcorn.
Tinsel wrapped with care
With webs of angel hair,
A final star atop the tree
That's what Christmas is to me.
Christmas to me
Is the new born baby.
Lying quietly in the hay
When the angels came to say,
"Peace on Earth to men."
And I pray for peace again.
Scenes of the nativity
That's what Christmas is to me.
Christmas to you,
May it never be blue.
And may all your dreams come true:
Merry Christmas to you.
While the next songs is a bit hokey in some ways, it sounds very good at this time of year.
Something You Can't Buy
The greatest Christmas present
Is something you can't buy.
When World War II was over,
We trimmed the tree alone
But we saved the star for daddy,
'Cause daddy was coming home.
We bought mamma a new dress.
We bought daddy a tie.
But he brought us each something
That money couldn't buy.
The greatest Christmas present
Is something you can't buy.
I talked to pa this evening
For an hour on the phone
He said, "Don't spend your money on presents
We just want you here at home."
But we'll buy momma a new dress
And daddy another tie.
And we'll spend lots of time together
And that's something you can't buy.
The greatest Christmas present
Is something you can't buy.
Someday, and I know it's coming
When all of us won't be together every Christmas,
You know daddy's seventy-three.
And to pay back all he gave me,
I can't, but I will try.
I'll pass along to my kids
That something you can't buy.
Who Do You Think?
There are people who are whispering,
And the rumors are running wild.
There's a woman who's not married,
But she's gonna have a child.
Her name is Mary. She's a virgin
From down in Nazereth, now listen close.
She's gonna marry a man named Joseph,
But the baby's father is the Holy Ghost.
And who do you think could believe such a thing?
Could believe that this story is true?
And who do you think could believe such a thing?
Well, here's hoping to heaven you do.
Now they're saying she had the baby
In a barn in Bethlehem.
And a star moved round the heavens
'Till it stopped right over there.
Then some shepherds said an angel
Came and told them about the birth.
They always knew men went to heaven
But now God had come to Earth.
And who do you think could believe such a thing?
Could believe that this story is true.
Who do you think could believe such a thing,
Well here's hoping to heaven you do.
To Dear Old Aunt Mardi
I have been called an imbicile because I wrote in my own name on the ballot this past November. Alas, I may be. However, I must submit that I am far less the idiot than those who were listed as official candidates.
Until this greater issue is resolved, I will continue to vote for the man most qualified--even if it is a "wasted," and/or "absurd," and/or "inappropriate" vote.
Until this greater issue is resolved, I will continue to vote for the man most qualified--even if it is a "wasted," and/or "absurd," and/or "inappropriate" vote.
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