Bye bye Blogger, hello Hosting Matters.
trunkfullojunk is running.
12.06.2004
12.01.2004
Ick
You know what's worse than having a stomach bug?
Having one at the same time your six-year-old son does.
It was a puky night here at the Sarver home. This morning I have sheets in the washer (ick), towels ready for the next load (ick), and a large stainless steel bowl that served as Conor's portable vomitorium to wash (infinite ick).
Even the dog won't come near us.
Ick.
Having one at the same time your six-year-old son does.
It was a puky night here at the Sarver home. This morning I have sheets in the washer (ick), towels ready for the next load (ick), and a large stainless steel bowl that served as Conor's portable vomitorium to wash (infinite ick).
Even the dog won't come near us.
Ick.
11.22.2004
Kill the lawyers
Starting with this one.
This morning, as I was getting ready for work, I heard a story on NPR that I couldn't quite believe. After a little research, I couldn't help but be angry. Submitted for your approval, activist lawyer Lynne Stewart.
From her own website:
Radical human rights attorney Lynne Stewart has been falsely accused of helping terrorists. On Tuesday, April 9, 2002, she was arrested and agents searched her Manhattan office for documents. She was arraigned before Manhattan federal Judge John Koetl. This is an obvious attempt by the U.S. government to silence dissent and install fear in those who would fight against the U.S. government's racism, seek to help Arabs and Muslims being prosecuted for free speech and defend the rights of all oppressed people.
You know who she's in trouble over - the poor Arab/Muslim who's been denied his rights? Sheik Omar Abdel Rahman, the man convicted of planning to bomb multiple New York landmarks.
As for the "falsely accused" bullshit:
In May of 2000, Lynne Stewart signed an affirmation in which she agreed to adhere to SAMs [Special Administrative Measures]. These SAMs allowed her to be accompanied by translators when speaking to Abdel Rahman, but only to communicate with her client about legal matters. The SAMs also prohibited the dissemination of Rahman's communications to third parties.
A few days after agreeing to these conditions, Stewart allegedly visited with her client and pretended to consult with him on legal matters. In actuality, however, the government claims that she was permitting Abdel Rahman to discuss with his interpreter whether "the Islamic Group" should continue its ceasefire with Egypt.
The Islamic Group is an entity that has been officially designated by the Secretary of State as a foreign terrorist organization, and Rahman is allegedly the organization's spiritual leader. According to the government, after the meeting at which the prohibited conversation took place, Stewart announced to the media that her client had withdrawn his support for the then-existing ceasefire between the Islamic Group and Egypt.
Stewart is accused as well of having played a role in facilitating (by pretending to be consulting with her client) the release of other instructions given by Rahman. Among them was the issuance of a fatwah under Rahman's name, calling on "brother scholars everywhere in the Muslim world to do their part and issue a unanimous fatwah that urges the Muslim nation to fight the Jews and to kill them wherever they are."
* from Sherry Colb at FindLaw's Writ
Stewart doesn't deny she violated the court order she had signed. She challenges her indictment based on the idea that Rahman's right to free speech has been taken from him, and that her conversations with Rahman are covered under attorney-client privilege.
Again: bullshit.
She didn't support Rahman's right to dispute his guilt or to say he believed in fairies. Rather, she gave his followers the go-ahead to kill people. That's what happens when a ceasefire is declared void: the shooting can start again. On top of that, she let him declare a fatwah against the Jews with very explicit instructions.
Last I checked, incitement to violence was not free speech. Hate speech isn't free speech. And she can hug the Constitution to her sagging chest all she wants - it can't protect her from the fact that she is the embodiment of the reason our rights may be in danger: that lawyers like her have waved the Bill of Rights like a banner to protect the people that need protection the least.
These lawyers found the loopholes and stretched them to the point where all manner of scumbags have walked through, free, and back into a society that shouldn't have to deal with them. Is it any wonder, then, that something like the Patriot Act was conceived?
I'm reasonably sure the Founding Fathers didn't want their document, their beautifully-wrought Constitution, used like this. To them, every person had a chance, under due process of law, to prove his innocence. But that was all that was promised. They had a basic belief that the innocent would be free and the guilty would be punished.
I do so hope that's the case this time.
By the way: is my headline unprotected speech? If so, I know a good lawyer.
This morning, as I was getting ready for work, I heard a story on NPR that I couldn't quite believe. After a little research, I couldn't help but be angry. Submitted for your approval, activist lawyer Lynne Stewart.
From her own website:
Radical human rights attorney Lynne Stewart has been falsely accused of helping terrorists. On Tuesday, April 9, 2002, she was arrested and agents searched her Manhattan office for documents. She was arraigned before Manhattan federal Judge John Koetl. This is an obvious attempt by the U.S. government to silence dissent and install fear in those who would fight against the U.S. government's racism, seek to help Arabs and Muslims being prosecuted for free speech and defend the rights of all oppressed people.
You know who she's in trouble over - the poor Arab/Muslim who's been denied his rights? Sheik Omar Abdel Rahman, the man convicted of planning to bomb multiple New York landmarks.
As for the "falsely accused" bullshit:
In May of 2000, Lynne Stewart signed an affirmation in which she agreed to adhere to SAMs [Special Administrative Measures]. These SAMs allowed her to be accompanied by translators when speaking to Abdel Rahman, but only to communicate with her client about legal matters. The SAMs also prohibited the dissemination of Rahman's communications to third parties.
A few days after agreeing to these conditions, Stewart allegedly visited with her client and pretended to consult with him on legal matters. In actuality, however, the government claims that she was permitting Abdel Rahman to discuss with his interpreter whether "the Islamic Group" should continue its ceasefire with Egypt.
The Islamic Group is an entity that has been officially designated by the Secretary of State as a foreign terrorist organization, and Rahman is allegedly the organization's spiritual leader. According to the government, after the meeting at which the prohibited conversation took place, Stewart announced to the media that her client had withdrawn his support for the then-existing ceasefire between the Islamic Group and Egypt.
Stewart is accused as well of having played a role in facilitating (by pretending to be consulting with her client) the release of other instructions given by Rahman. Among them was the issuance of a fatwah under Rahman's name, calling on "brother scholars everywhere in the Muslim world to do their part and issue a unanimous fatwah that urges the Muslim nation to fight the Jews and to kill them wherever they are."
* from Sherry Colb at FindLaw's Writ
Stewart doesn't deny she violated the court order she had signed. She challenges her indictment based on the idea that Rahman's right to free speech has been taken from him, and that her conversations with Rahman are covered under attorney-client privilege.
Again: bullshit.
She didn't support Rahman's right to dispute his guilt or to say he believed in fairies. Rather, she gave his followers the go-ahead to kill people. That's what happens when a ceasefire is declared void: the shooting can start again. On top of that, she let him declare a fatwah against the Jews with very explicit instructions.
Last I checked, incitement to violence was not free speech. Hate speech isn't free speech. And she can hug the Constitution to her sagging chest all she wants - it can't protect her from the fact that she is the embodiment of the reason our rights may be in danger: that lawyers like her have waved the Bill of Rights like a banner to protect the people that need protection the least.
These lawyers found the loopholes and stretched them to the point where all manner of scumbags have walked through, free, and back into a society that shouldn't have to deal with them. Is it any wonder, then, that something like the Patriot Act was conceived?
I'm reasonably sure the Founding Fathers didn't want their document, their beautifully-wrought Constitution, used like this. To them, every person had a chance, under due process of law, to prove his innocence. But that was all that was promised. They had a basic belief that the innocent would be free and the guilty would be punished.
I do so hope that's the case this time.
By the way: is my headline unprotected speech? If so, I know a good lawyer.
The sky fell.
All the way down to 4,000 feet.
That's how it feels around here after the first official winter storm. Low gray clouds, and bright white snow plastering the mountains almost down to the edge of the valley floor. It's absolutely beautiful.
Yesterday was cold and rainy. I cooked ham and bean soup and made pumpkin chocolate chip cookies. My son and I played video games and didn't feel guilty. I had the fireplace going. The dog got the hambone once it cooled and took it out into the backyard. Half an hour later, she came back inside soaking wet and hopped up onto her corner of the couch, but I didn't get mad. And I only had one near-death experience.
Last night, I was on my way to a fundraising thing for Conor's school at the mall. Mom was in the car with me. The roads were - surprise - wet. Just before my freeway exit, I saw a huge swath of standing water and took my foot off the gas. The Subaru hit the puddle, threatened to slide, and satisfyingly gripped the road. I accelerated, and looked into my rear view mirror just in time to see something unexpected: tail lights then headlights then tail lights. Near as I could tell, a Four Runner in the fast lane hit the same water going much quicker than I did. He spun out, all the way across four lanes of traffic, coming within three feet of literally wiping my ass off the road.
Then I did what I usually do in near-miss situations where I've emerged alive: I started laughing.
This is why my mother thinks I'm nuts.
Anyway, my mom and I are alive, and the sky is lower than normal, and much more lovely. Happy Monday.
That's how it feels around here after the first official winter storm. Low gray clouds, and bright white snow plastering the mountains almost down to the edge of the valley floor. It's absolutely beautiful.
Yesterday was cold and rainy. I cooked ham and bean soup and made pumpkin chocolate chip cookies. My son and I played video games and didn't feel guilty. I had the fireplace going. The dog got the hambone once it cooled and took it out into the backyard. Half an hour later, she came back inside soaking wet and hopped up onto her corner of the couch, but I didn't get mad. And I only had one near-death experience.
Last night, I was on my way to a fundraising thing for Conor's school at the mall. Mom was in the car with me. The roads were - surprise - wet. Just before my freeway exit, I saw a huge swath of standing water and took my foot off the gas. The Subaru hit the puddle, threatened to slide, and satisfyingly gripped the road. I accelerated, and looked into my rear view mirror just in time to see something unexpected: tail lights then headlights then tail lights. Near as I could tell, a Four Runner in the fast lane hit the same water going much quicker than I did. He spun out, all the way across four lanes of traffic, coming within three feet of literally wiping my ass off the road.
Then I did what I usually do in near-miss situations where I've emerged alive: I started laughing.
This is why my mother thinks I'm nuts.
Anyway, my mom and I are alive, and the sky is lower than normal, and much more lovely. Happy Monday.
Monday . . .
. . . is the day of slow starts.
. . . is the day you spend most of Sunday preparing for.
. . . is the day you drink more coffee than usual.
. . . is the day you clear the weekend's drunk dials off your voicemail.
. . . is the first day of the rest of your week.
. . . is the only day shit like this makes any sense at all.
. . . is the day you spend most of Sunday preparing for.
. . . is the day you drink more coffee than usual.
. . . is the day you clear the weekend's drunk dials off your voicemail.
. . . is the first day of the rest of your week.
. . . is the only day shit like this makes any sense at all.
11.18.2004
It could be one of three things
My head is killing me, and my choices for culprit are the following:
1) Allergies
2) Caffeine withdrawal
3) You know that movie "Scanners?"
1) Allergies
2) Caffeine withdrawal
3) You know that movie "Scanners?"
Shut the Canuck up
This bitch is really starting to bother me.
And she also wears combat boots.
UPDATE: She got the boot.
Ha!
And she also wears combat boots.
UPDATE: She got the boot.
Ha!
11.16.2004
Things I still have left over from Halloween:
Four Kit-Kats
Three Almond Joys
Seven Hershey bars
Two Reese's Peanut Butter Cups
Five lurid orange popcorn balls in green plastic baggies
Three Almond Joys
Seven Hershey bars
Two Reese's Peanut Butter Cups
Five lurid orange popcorn balls in green plastic baggies
Our Lady of the Victuals
Some people see signs of divine providence in the clouds, or hear the voice of God in a dream. This nutball had divine intervention strike at lunch.
Really. She saw the face of the Virgin Mary 10 years ago on the toast of her grilled cheese sandwich. So what did she do?
She put the sandwich in a clear plastic box with cotton balls and kept it on her night stand.
Which is the modern version of what they did with relics in Medieval times. Back then, they would take an oaken box and line it with the fluff gathered from a monk's navel.
At first, she was scared by the image, "but now that I realize how unique it is, I wanted to share it with the world," Duyser said.
So she tried to sell it on eBay. She almost got to share it with someone for the low low price of $22,000, until eBay pulled her ad. Amazingly enough, they seemed to think it was a joke.
The sandwich, she added, has never sprouted a spore of mold.
And we dare doubt its divinity? After all, the Virgin was well known for her tidy house. She is the Lady of the Duster, as well as the Immaculate Mother of Clean Baseboards. I keep a baking soda Virgin statue in my fridge and I've never had so much as a wilted lettuce leaf, nor has my milk absorbed the odor of red onion.
(and now I'll stop, because I think it's impossible for me to lapse any further as a Catholic)
UPDATE: The auction has been reopened.
Really. She saw the face of the Virgin Mary 10 years ago on the toast of her grilled cheese sandwich. So what did she do?
She put the sandwich in a clear plastic box with cotton balls and kept it on her night stand.
Which is the modern version of what they did with relics in Medieval times. Back then, they would take an oaken box and line it with the fluff gathered from a monk's navel.
At first, she was scared by the image, "but now that I realize how unique it is, I wanted to share it with the world," Duyser said.
So she tried to sell it on eBay. She almost got to share it with someone for the low low price of $22,000, until eBay pulled her ad. Amazingly enough, they seemed to think it was a joke.
The sandwich, she added, has never sprouted a spore of mold.
And we dare doubt its divinity? After all, the Virgin was well known for her tidy house. She is the Lady of the Duster, as well as the Immaculate Mother of Clean Baseboards. I keep a baking soda Virgin statue in my fridge and I've never had so much as a wilted lettuce leaf, nor has my milk absorbed the odor of red onion.
(and now I'll stop, because I think it's impossible for me to lapse any further as a Catholic)
UPDATE: The auction has been reopened.
Hope Dies
Family believes Hassan murdered
Forgotten by the MSM in favor of our own soldiers' transgressions, Margaret Hassan finally makes the news again only after a video surfaces that may show her murder.
My prayers go to her family.
And, as always, I send sincere hopes that each of these fuckholes take a bacon-wrapped cruise missile up the ass.
Forgotten by the MSM in favor of our own soldiers' transgressions, Margaret Hassan finally makes the news again only after a video surfaces that may show her murder.
My prayers go to her family.
And, as always, I send sincere hopes that each of these fuckholes take a bacon-wrapped cruise missile up the ass.
11.15.2004
Bombers and Fighters and Tears, Oh My!
(WARNING: It's a long one, but necessarily so. Once I started, I couldn't leave much out.)
Sunday, we went to Aviation Nation, the big air show at Nellis AFB.
It was a beautiful day for air superiority. The sky was clear and blue. There was a bit of wind, but nothing unmanageable. And, oh! the planes.
When we arrived, the shuttle let us off and we walked the Air Force Red Carpet, right through the belly of a C-5 to be welcomed by the screaming jets of an F/A-18 Hornet.
We happily walked the flightline, eyeing the pins and patches and souvenirs. I let my jaw drop to the ridiculously clean tarmac when the F-117 Knighthawk flew overhead, eerily silent and slick. One of my favorite patches is one I collected from last year's show: "Stealth. When it absolutely, positively has to be taken out overnight."
We were in one the hangars, checking out the NASA display (I was trying to shove my hand into the glove of a flight suit) when an ear-splitting afterburner hit us. We hurried out to watch an F-14 Tomcat being gleefully put through its paces.
The F-35 was there, in all its prototypical glory. The Joint Strike Fighter is a smashing piece of engineering. In fact, the guys from the Skunk Works, rather than the test pilots, were there to talk to the interested masses about it. I hung around and got a great poster and a cool photo op.
Until this point, we were experiencing the standard shock and awe over all the great stuff. Then we crawled through a restored B-17. This is the same type plane as the "Memphis Belle." Tight doesn't begin to describe it. Neither does motherfucking flying deathtrap. A ladder brought us up to a low overhang. To the left at eye level, the nose gun was shoved right up against the front glass. Closer and above was the cockpit.
On hands and knees, we scraped to the right until we could stand. My head just barely edged into the top turret gun position. We crossed a narrow narrow catwalk above the bomb bay. The doors were open to the ground below, and I imagined being thousands of feet up. "Hello, Berlin," I whispered. More gun positions lined the sides of the cabin (13 total on the plane), and I tripped over the ball turret gun. It was tiny, and suddenly unimaginable that a person had been stuffed into this spot to hang and shoot the whole terrifying way to Germany and back.
We never did spot exactly how they got a man into the tail gun. I figured they slid the seat out like a drawer, jammed him in and slammed it shut. We stumbled out the rear, and back to the front. There, surrounded by a small crowd, was a grandad in full uniform. He was sharp and decorated to the hilt. This man had been a ball turret gunner in WWII. I didn't know whether to salute him, hug him, or shake his hand. I couldn't really get close enough to do any of that. Just the same, I said out loud, "thank you."
After that, I felt a little sad but I was soon very cheery again, thanks to the acrobatics of the F-15 Strike Eagle, my all-time favorite fighter. The A-10 Thunderbolt, a scrappy tank with wings, dropped bombs and made satisfying kabooms.
And then, another unexpected treat: the flight of the F/A-22 Raptor. I'd never seen it in the air before, and it was a thing of beauty: quiet, sleek and graceful.
We wandered some more, drank a beer (or three), had bratwurst cooked on the world's largest grill, and sat to wait for the Thunderbirds' finale.
But first, there was the 60th Anniversary of D-Day Aerial Reenactment. I can't begin to describe how it felt to sit there and watch B-25s fly overhead, pursued by a BF-109 with a swastika painted on its tail. Speeches from Roosevelt, Churchill and Eisenhower played over the loudspeakers, along with archival news reports on the invasion. P-51 Mustangs buzzed low and a circling C-47 dropped paratroopers (the Army's Golden Knights). When it was over, we stood as two bugles played "Taps." I began to cry, and cried right through as the speakers choked out "I'll Be Seeing You."
I cry a lot, I admit it. I'm a rank sentamentalist. In this case, though, I cried for a reason: all those boys and the people that loved them. My grandpa and grandma were in this group. My grandpa was a bugler at the Presidio in San Francisco who blew "Taps" over many graves. Twelve years ago, "Taps" was played as we buried him. And in January, I compiled a music CD to be played during my grandma's viewing. The same version of "I'll Be Seeing You" was on it.
Miles kept his arm around me until I stopped. I made sure I hadn't cried rivers down my face, and then it was time for the Thunderbirds.
Their precision was astounding. Their music was stirring. They were the perfect capper to a day of wonderful things. And I really had to hand it to them on this most important point: not once during the entire performance did they play that flaccid bit of cheese, Lee Greenwood's "Proud To Be An American."
In all, it was a fabulous day and the best Air Show I've ever been to.
Sunday, we went to Aviation Nation, the big air show at Nellis AFB.
It was a beautiful day for air superiority. The sky was clear and blue. There was a bit of wind, but nothing unmanageable. And, oh! the planes.
When we arrived, the shuttle let us off and we walked the Air Force Red Carpet, right through the belly of a C-5 to be welcomed by the screaming jets of an F/A-18 Hornet.
We happily walked the flightline, eyeing the pins and patches and souvenirs. I let my jaw drop to the ridiculously clean tarmac when the F-117 Knighthawk flew overhead, eerily silent and slick. One of my favorite patches is one I collected from last year's show: "Stealth. When it absolutely, positively has to be taken out overnight."
We were in one the hangars, checking out the NASA display (I was trying to shove my hand into the glove of a flight suit) when an ear-splitting afterburner hit us. We hurried out to watch an F-14 Tomcat being gleefully put through its paces.
The F-35 was there, in all its prototypical glory. The Joint Strike Fighter is a smashing piece of engineering. In fact, the guys from the Skunk Works, rather than the test pilots, were there to talk to the interested masses about it. I hung around and got a great poster and a cool photo op.
Until this point, we were experiencing the standard shock and awe over all the great stuff. Then we crawled through a restored B-17. This is the same type plane as the "Memphis Belle." Tight doesn't begin to describe it. Neither does motherfucking flying deathtrap. A ladder brought us up to a low overhang. To the left at eye level, the nose gun was shoved right up against the front glass. Closer and above was the cockpit.
On hands and knees, we scraped to the right until we could stand. My head just barely edged into the top turret gun position. We crossed a narrow narrow catwalk above the bomb bay. The doors were open to the ground below, and I imagined being thousands of feet up. "Hello, Berlin," I whispered. More gun positions lined the sides of the cabin (13 total on the plane), and I tripped over the ball turret gun. It was tiny, and suddenly unimaginable that a person had been stuffed into this spot to hang and shoot the whole terrifying way to Germany and back.
We never did spot exactly how they got a man into the tail gun. I figured they slid the seat out like a drawer, jammed him in and slammed it shut. We stumbled out the rear, and back to the front. There, surrounded by a small crowd, was a grandad in full uniform. He was sharp and decorated to the hilt. This man had been a ball turret gunner in WWII. I didn't know whether to salute him, hug him, or shake his hand. I couldn't really get close enough to do any of that. Just the same, I said out loud, "thank you."
After that, I felt a little sad but I was soon very cheery again, thanks to the acrobatics of the F-15 Strike Eagle, my all-time favorite fighter. The A-10 Thunderbolt, a scrappy tank with wings, dropped bombs and made satisfying kabooms.
And then, another unexpected treat: the flight of the F/A-22 Raptor. I'd never seen it in the air before, and it was a thing of beauty: quiet, sleek and graceful.
We wandered some more, drank a beer (or three), had bratwurst cooked on the world's largest grill, and sat to wait for the Thunderbirds' finale.
But first, there was the 60th Anniversary of D-Day Aerial Reenactment. I can't begin to describe how it felt to sit there and watch B-25s fly overhead, pursued by a BF-109 with a swastika painted on its tail. Speeches from Roosevelt, Churchill and Eisenhower played over the loudspeakers, along with archival news reports on the invasion. P-51 Mustangs buzzed low and a circling C-47 dropped paratroopers (the Army's Golden Knights). When it was over, we stood as two bugles played "Taps." I began to cry, and cried right through as the speakers choked out "I'll Be Seeing You."
I cry a lot, I admit it. I'm a rank sentamentalist. In this case, though, I cried for a reason: all those boys and the people that loved them. My grandpa and grandma were in this group. My grandpa was a bugler at the Presidio in San Francisco who blew "Taps" over many graves. Twelve years ago, "Taps" was played as we buried him. And in January, I compiled a music CD to be played during my grandma's viewing. The same version of "I'll Be Seeing You" was on it.
Miles kept his arm around me until I stopped. I made sure I hadn't cried rivers down my face, and then it was time for the Thunderbirds.
Their precision was astounding. Their music was stirring. They were the perfect capper to a day of wonderful things. And I really had to hand it to them on this most important point: not once during the entire performance did they play that flaccid bit of cheese, Lee Greenwood's "Proud To Be An American."
In all, it was a fabulous day and the best Air Show I've ever been to.
11.11.2004
On Veterans Day
Special thanks to Louie Howell, Donald Johnson, Dorothy Johnson (1918 - 1997), Arthur Mittry (1918 - 1992), Clarence James Sarver (1917 - 1992), and my stepdad, Gerard Graupman.
And thank you to all the rest.
And thank you to all the rest.
11.10.2004
Party hats, everyone!
Palestinian Leader Arafat Dies at 75
P.S. - What the fuck is with that nice, respectful graphic on CNN.com?
THE MORNING AFTER UPDATE: CNN pulled it. But boy, it used to be a fluffy piece of crap.
P.S. - What the fuck is with that nice, respectful graphic on CNN.com?
THE MORNING AFTER UPDATE: CNN pulled it. But boy, it used to be a fluffy piece of crap.
I've been had!
It's the (blessedly) first time this has happened to me: the call from the school nurse. When I answered my cell phone she said, "This is Nancy, from the Health Center at school. Is Shannon there?" This was delivered in a bland, "he's hurt, but don't panic" voice. Of course, I panicked.
All sorts of horrible things flew through my head: broken bones, head injuries, ebola. Even as my mind churned, I just as calmly said, "This is Conor's mom. What's going on?"
"He has a tummy ache."
Relief. That's it? He gets those all the time, usually followed by a ridiculously long and smelly trip to the bathroom at the end of which he asks me to check his butt. Oh, the joy of it!
So I asked her if he'd been to the bathroom.
"No, but there's a bug going around and he looks really pale. If he has it, it'll be over in 24 to 48 hours."
Immediately, I felt that sweeping, mom-pity for my poor little guy. I sprang into action, informing bosses, promising work from home, wondering if he'd throw up in the car, and I sped to his school.
When I retrieved him, he looked wan and sad. And yes, paler than usual. I promised chicken broth, potato chips, pillows and cartoons - all the things that made me feel a bit better when I was ill. When we got home, he took off his shoes and lay down on the couch as I went into the kitchen to make his lunch.
When I peeked out at him, he was JUMPING ON THE FURNITURE.
"WHAT do you think you're doing?"
He looked around at me. Smooth as silk, he replied, "Sometimes this makes me feel better."
I sat next to him on the couch, pulled him onto my lap and asked him, "What happened at school today?"
Five minutes later, I had the story: there was a substitute teacher, and he did have a stomachache. He asked to go to the nurse, but she wouldn't let him, suggesting that he was hungry instead. Not being understood made him physically feel even worse. Finally, after he'd worried himself sick, she let him go.
As soon as I came running to his aid, he felt fine.
I explained - gently - that he needs to learn how to deal with trouble a little better, and that I'd help him any way I could.
It's only first grade. I know, later, he'll play sick when there's a test or a report due that he hasn't finished. Then, I'll send him to school to face the consequences. Today, he's a little boy still learning how to deal with adversity. I can't rescue him every time, but today, I feel that I've done the right thing.
Even if he did trick me into it.
All sorts of horrible things flew through my head: broken bones, head injuries, ebola. Even as my mind churned, I just as calmly said, "This is Conor's mom. What's going on?"
"He has a tummy ache."
Relief. That's it? He gets those all the time, usually followed by a ridiculously long and smelly trip to the bathroom at the end of which he asks me to check his butt. Oh, the joy of it!
So I asked her if he'd been to the bathroom.
"No, but there's a bug going around and he looks really pale. If he has it, it'll be over in 24 to 48 hours."
Immediately, I felt that sweeping, mom-pity for my poor little guy. I sprang into action, informing bosses, promising work from home, wondering if he'd throw up in the car, and I sped to his school.
When I retrieved him, he looked wan and sad. And yes, paler than usual. I promised chicken broth, potato chips, pillows and cartoons - all the things that made me feel a bit better when I was ill. When we got home, he took off his shoes and lay down on the couch as I went into the kitchen to make his lunch.
When I peeked out at him, he was JUMPING ON THE FURNITURE.
"WHAT do you think you're doing?"
He looked around at me. Smooth as silk, he replied, "Sometimes this makes me feel better."
I sat next to him on the couch, pulled him onto my lap and asked him, "What happened at school today?"
Five minutes later, I had the story: there was a substitute teacher, and he did have a stomachache. He asked to go to the nurse, but she wouldn't let him, suggesting that he was hungry instead. Not being understood made him physically feel even worse. Finally, after he'd worried himself sick, she let him go.
As soon as I came running to his aid, he felt fine.
I explained - gently - that he needs to learn how to deal with trouble a little better, and that I'd help him any way I could.
It's only first grade. I know, later, he'll play sick when there's a test or a report due that he hasn't finished. Then, I'll send him to school to face the consequences. Today, he's a little boy still learning how to deal with adversity. I can't rescue him every time, but today, I feel that I've done the right thing.
Even if he did trick me into it.
11.09.2004
Like we didn't see this coming
Over at Debka:
Palestinian FM Nabil Shaath told world media in Paris that poisoning and cancer had been ruled out as causes of Yasser Arafat’s illness. He attributed bad health to long incarceration at his Ramallah HQ under Israeli siege. He also announced presidential elections in 60 days with Legislature Speaker Fathi Rouh acting president.
Joint Hamas-Al Aqsa Brigades-Jihad Islami statement in Gaza echoes Shaat accusation, holds Israeli responsible for Arafat’s death and vows revenge.
(If you visit Debka, be sure to read the article about "Suha's Payoff." It's only fitting that this ghoul should end his life surrounded by vultures.)
Palestinian FM Nabil Shaath told world media in Paris that poisoning and cancer had been ruled out as causes of Yasser Arafat’s illness. He attributed bad health to long incarceration at his Ramallah HQ under Israeli siege. He also announced presidential elections in 60 days with Legislature Speaker Fathi Rouh acting president.
Joint Hamas-Al Aqsa Brigades-Jihad Islami statement in Gaza echoes Shaat accusation, holds Israeli responsible for Arafat’s death and vows revenge.
(If you visit Debka, be sure to read the article about "Suha's Payoff." It's only fitting that this ghoul should end his life surrounded by vultures.)
Make shitty music, not war.
Thru Drudge:
Madonna calls for US troops to leave Iraq
"There's global terror everywhere and it's absurd to think you can get it by going to one country and dropping tons of bombs on innocent people."
Everyone's entitled to her own opinion. I'm entitled to call her a simplistic twat.
Though I myself don't completely agree with this choice of targets in the WOT, I still refuse to believe that our sole plan for winning that war is to - how did she put it? - drop "tons of bombs on innocent people." THAT'S absurd.
We have a situation there that can't be solved by just getting out, no matter how much Madame, in her fairytale London studio land, wishes it were so. It is regrettable that there will be civilian casualties, as was pointed out this morning. I hate knowing that children will suffer. That's human, and right.
But the people we fight don't even make that distinction. They kill the children of their enemies. They hide among their own children, drawing our fire. To them, there are no innocents - every person is subservient to their twisted cause.
Our place in this conflict is hard enough. I wish, sincerely wish, that the people who get the interviews and the headlines would consider their positions a little more carefully. I wish they'd use their influence, deserved or not, to educate rather than pontificate.
Ha. Who's living in a dreamland now?
Madonna calls for US troops to leave Iraq
"There's global terror everywhere and it's absurd to think you can get it by going to one country and dropping tons of bombs on innocent people."
Everyone's entitled to her own opinion. I'm entitled to call her a simplistic twat.
Though I myself don't completely agree with this choice of targets in the WOT, I still refuse to believe that our sole plan for winning that war is to - how did she put it? - drop "tons of bombs on innocent people." THAT'S absurd.
We have a situation there that can't be solved by just getting out, no matter how much Madame, in her fairytale London studio land, wishes it were so. It is regrettable that there will be civilian casualties, as was pointed out this morning. I hate knowing that children will suffer. That's human, and right.
But the people we fight don't even make that distinction. They kill the children of their enemies. They hide among their own children, drawing our fire. To them, there are no innocents - every person is subservient to their twisted cause.
Our place in this conflict is hard enough. I wish, sincerely wish, that the people who get the interviews and the headlines would consider their positions a little more carefully. I wish they'd use their influence, deserved or not, to educate rather than pontificate.
Ha. Who's living in a dreamland now?
11.04.2004
Until 1974, this kind of thing was handled with six-shooters.
Card Draw Settles Nev. Commission Election
Nevada law provides for drawing lots to break a tie, giving the candidates the option of tossing a coin, drawing straws or picking a card.
Neat-o.
Nevada law provides for drawing lots to break a tie, giving the candidates the option of tossing a coin, drawing straws or picking a card.
Neat-o.
Mother Cluckers
The Humane Society used to be a decent organization. But they may as well merge with PETA after this one:
The HSUS says that a new Burger King promotion, pitting two people dressed as chickens against each other in a fighting ring, is a loser. The organization, representing over eight million members and constituents – one out of every 40 Americans – is calling on the company to pull its “chicken fight” advertisement because it makes light of the barbaric and widespread practice of cockfighting.
This is what the fuss is about.
Hey, HSUS: in case you haven't noticed, IT'S A FUCKING JOKE!
And it's a fucking funny one.
The HSUS says that a new Burger King promotion, pitting two people dressed as chickens against each other in a fighting ring, is a loser. The organization, representing over eight million members and constituents – one out of every 40 Americans – is calling on the company to pull its “chicken fight” advertisement because it makes light of the barbaric and widespread practice of cockfighting.
This is what the fuss is about.
Hey, HSUS: in case you haven't noticed, IT'S A FUCKING JOKE!
And it's a fucking funny one.
11.03.2004
Why didn't I know about this before?
Pick a politician, any politician, and find out where he/she stands on the issues.
Very VERY useful. Or just plain fun if you're into this sort of thing.
ontheissues.org
Very VERY useful. Or just plain fun if you're into this sort of thing.
ontheissues.org
Now for the real issues
Bleah. I've whined enough. Let's all move on, folks.
By the way, I checked the moveon.org site and it's strangely silent. So's Michael Moore. Gee. I hope he's not stuffing himself with a ham and heading to Mount Rushmore.
But if you right-wingers want to know the kind of hell you've consigned us to, then look! LOOK, damn your eyes, and expect more horrors:
Conn. Principal Bans Cupcakes From School
MILFORD, Conn. - Cupcakes became contraband at Meadowside elementary school, after Principal Robert Davis banned all celebratory sweets — a move that has made some parents sour.
Health officials said Davis adopted a new policy of using games and crafts instead of baked goods to fete birthdays, holidays and special occasions, and praised it as a way to combat childhood obesity.
No evolution? No sex ed? And now no cupcakes?
Parent Jack Fowler said no one should dictate what students can bring to school for special events. He said health and school officials have turned into the "fat police," in an attempt to rid schools of foods children enjoy. "For instance," he mouthed around a large bite of Moon Pie,"if I want to send a twelve-pack of raspberry Zingers and a Mountain Dew to school with my kid, that's my right as a dad."*
Mayor James L. Richetelli Jr. said as a parent he can understand health and school officials' concern regarding food allergies and childhood obesity, but cupcakes should remain.
So this is what the Patriot Act has spawned: fat police!
Well nobody's gonna police my fat. I've watched it and nurtured it for years, especially the pocket that I term "baby weight" even though my son is 6, and no righty nutjob is gonna take it away.
I'm watching you, President Bush! I won't let you get away with this anti-cupcake indoctrination. No fucking way. I'm drawing the line right here.
And for those of you who say that extremes on behalf of The Children are typically left-wing doctrines, I have only one reply: fuck you, logic means nothing to me.
*Okay. So I added the Moon Pie-Zinger thing. Mmmmmm. Zingers.
By the way, I checked the moveon.org site and it's strangely silent. So's Michael Moore. Gee. I hope he's not stuffing himself with a ham and heading to Mount Rushmore.
But if you right-wingers want to know the kind of hell you've consigned us to, then look! LOOK, damn your eyes, and expect more horrors:
Conn. Principal Bans Cupcakes From School
MILFORD, Conn. - Cupcakes became contraband at Meadowside elementary school, after Principal Robert Davis banned all celebratory sweets — a move that has made some parents sour.
Health officials said Davis adopted a new policy of using games and crafts instead of baked goods to fete birthdays, holidays and special occasions, and praised it as a way to combat childhood obesity.
No evolution? No sex ed? And now no cupcakes?
Parent Jack Fowler said no one should dictate what students can bring to school for special events. He said health and school officials have turned into the "fat police," in an attempt to rid schools of foods children enjoy. "For instance," he mouthed around a large bite of Moon Pie,"if I want to send a twelve-pack of raspberry Zingers and a Mountain Dew to school with my kid, that's my right as a dad."*
Mayor James L. Richetelli Jr. said as a parent he can understand health and school officials' concern regarding food allergies and childhood obesity, but cupcakes should remain.
So this is what the Patriot Act has spawned: fat police!
Well nobody's gonna police my fat. I've watched it and nurtured it for years, especially the pocket that I term "baby weight" even though my son is 6, and no righty nutjob is gonna take it away.
I'm watching you, President Bush! I won't let you get away with this anti-cupcake indoctrination. No fucking way. I'm drawing the line right here.
And for those of you who say that extremes on behalf of The Children are typically left-wing doctrines, I have only one reply: fuck you, logic means nothing to me.
*Okay. So I added the Moon Pie-Zinger thing. Mmmmmm. Zingers.
And now it's time to reach out to the other side
I'm not talking about the rift between Republican and Democrat. I'm talking about the polarization of my own family.
My mother is a staunch Republican who votes the Party Line, no matter what. While her classmates were in Vietnam or protesting it, she was a Youth for Goldwater. My first memory is of accompanying her to the Republican Party Headquarters here in Las Vegas and standing with her, hand-in-hand beneath the stern picture of Richard Nixon, surrounded by red white and blue bunting. She defends Nixon's actions to this day. She spewed bile at the TV when Carter won. She was a Reagan woman through and through. She hated Clinton with a rare passion. She loves Dubya with that same passion. She approaches local elections the same way, always voting Republican.
The first times I voted, I followed her. Then, somewhere along the line, I got my own mind and my own opinions. I came to believe in using my vote for the candidate, not the 'R' or 'D.' So I've voted for Republicans, Democrats and Independents. I've even voted 'None of the Above' in a presidential election (1996), because I didn't have faith in either Clinton or Dole.
There are people I respect that will be upset by this, and perhaps look at it as a mental failing, but I voted for Kerry. It was a hard decision for me to make, but in the end, it was a decision made by looking at things besides security and Iraq. I fear for the environment, and the kind of planet my son will inherit. I worry about the schools, and the social institutions. I hate the way my religion has been politicized. I can't stand the way the Patriot Act has been misused - in my city, the FBI used the now-legal wiretaps to get evidence of bribery against strip club owners and County Commissioners. And it's hard-wired in my nature to worry about those who have even less than me - and I'm a single mother without additional support.
I don't think Kerry could have solved all the problems - maybe he couldn't have solved any. But to me, a vote for Bush was a vote for no change at all, and no new points of view.
Last night, across the dinner table, I told my mother I voted for Kerry and the look she gave me was bordering on disgust. I could tell that if Kerry won (which I was, by the way, sure he wouldn't) she would hold me personally responsible. We barely spoke the rest of the night and I could feel her disappointment as surely as if I were back in high school and I'd done badly on a test.
So now, it's time to put away the partisan politics and reach across the aisle with, for me, guarded hope and heartfelt conciliation.
Yep. I'll have to call my mom.
My mother is a staunch Republican who votes the Party Line, no matter what. While her classmates were in Vietnam or protesting it, she was a Youth for Goldwater. My first memory is of accompanying her to the Republican Party Headquarters here in Las Vegas and standing with her, hand-in-hand beneath the stern picture of Richard Nixon, surrounded by red white and blue bunting. She defends Nixon's actions to this day. She spewed bile at the TV when Carter won. She was a Reagan woman through and through. She hated Clinton with a rare passion. She loves Dubya with that same passion. She approaches local elections the same way, always voting Republican.
The first times I voted, I followed her. Then, somewhere along the line, I got my own mind and my own opinions. I came to believe in using my vote for the candidate, not the 'R' or 'D.' So I've voted for Republicans, Democrats and Independents. I've even voted 'None of the Above' in a presidential election (1996), because I didn't have faith in either Clinton or Dole.
There are people I respect that will be upset by this, and perhaps look at it as a mental failing, but I voted for Kerry. It was a hard decision for me to make, but in the end, it was a decision made by looking at things besides security and Iraq. I fear for the environment, and the kind of planet my son will inherit. I worry about the schools, and the social institutions. I hate the way my religion has been politicized. I can't stand the way the Patriot Act has been misused - in my city, the FBI used the now-legal wiretaps to get evidence of bribery against strip club owners and County Commissioners. And it's hard-wired in my nature to worry about those who have even less than me - and I'm a single mother without additional support.
I don't think Kerry could have solved all the problems - maybe he couldn't have solved any. But to me, a vote for Bush was a vote for no change at all, and no new points of view.
Last night, across the dinner table, I told my mother I voted for Kerry and the look she gave me was bordering on disgust. I could tell that if Kerry won (which I was, by the way, sure he wouldn't) she would hold me personally responsible. We barely spoke the rest of the night and I could feel her disappointment as surely as if I were back in high school and I'd done badly on a test.
So now, it's time to put away the partisan politics and reach across the aisle with, for me, guarded hope and heartfelt conciliation.
Yep. I'll have to call my mom.
11.01.2004
A note to tomorrow's candidates
I don't care whether you win or lose:
Come Wednesday, you'd better get your people out there and TAKE DOWN YOUR SIGNS.
I'm tired of your faces, the faces of your kids, your slick taglines, your overzealous use of red, white and blue, and your cheesy graphics - whether they be Xs or checkmarks or that Ghostbusters circle with the line through it.
And if you won, get some new signs for next time instead of pasting "Re-elect" next to your name.
I'm not kidding.
Any signs up past November 15th will be subject to some sort of humiliating revision.
Come Wednesday, you'd better get your people out there and TAKE DOWN YOUR SIGNS.
I'm tired of your faces, the faces of your kids, your slick taglines, your overzealous use of red, white and blue, and your cheesy graphics - whether they be Xs or checkmarks or that Ghostbusters circle with the line through it.
And if you won, get some new signs for next time instead of pasting "Re-elect" next to your name.
I'm not kidding.
Any signs up past November 15th will be subject to some sort of humiliating revision.
The "Battle Born" state as Battleground
As of today, Bush leads Nevada by 5 or 6 points, depending on the poll you're reading. The statistical correction is +/- 4 points, so it looks like Bush will carry Nevada and its 5 electoral votes.
Still, I'm not going to rule out any large surprises, considering how hard the Kerry campaign is working Las Vegas and Clark County as a whole. The southern tip of the state has the highest concentration of people, the highest number of minorities, and the highest number of urban dwellers - if Dems get some more turnout, they could tip the state to their side, offsetting the ranchers and typically straight-laced Northerners.
Tomorrow should be fun.
Still, I'm not going to rule out any large surprises, considering how hard the Kerry campaign is working Las Vegas and Clark County as a whole. The southern tip of the state has the highest concentration of people, the highest number of minorities, and the highest number of urban dwellers - if Dems get some more turnout, they could tip the state to their side, offsetting the ranchers and typically straight-laced Northerners.
Tomorrow should be fun.
Nevada Day
This was a 3-day weekend here in Nevada - Admissions Day is a state holiday commemorating the day Nevada entered into the Union. I don't know if other states do this. Is there a Michigan Day or a Wyoming Day? Growing up, all I knew was I got Halloween off while my cousins in California had to go to school.
Admissions Day is Nevada's way of being glad they're included. A "you really like us" sort of thing. Actually, back in 1864, statehood was our reward for coming down on the side of the free states in the Civil War. To separate us (and our huge production of silver) from those polygamist Mormon heathens in Utah territory, we were created.
Since then, we've enjoyed a nice give-and-take with the Federal Government.
Them: We'll give you Hoover Dam and Lake Mead PLUS 2% of the electricity. How does that sound?
Us: Hm. All these construction workers need something to do. How about legalizing gambling? And let's draw some residents with quickie divorces.
Them: Since we own 90% of your land, AND you've been naughty, we're sending the Nevada Test Site. AND Area 51, AND every strange and potentially life-threatening project we can think of.
Us: How about giving us something useful - like a supercollider/superconductor? Or some of that NASA business? Or research money for alternative energy sources?
Them: Fuck you. Here's Yucca Mountain instead. You're our petrie dish, and don't you forget it.
Us: No. Fuck YOU. We don't produce it, so we don't want to store it. See you in court.
I'm proud to live in such an odd, contrary place. When I was a kid, all I saw was brown ugly mountains. All I wanted was to live in a 'normal' state, where I wouldn't be asked stupid questions, like "do you go to school?" and "do you live in a hotel?" Now, looking back, I love our history. I've trekked to Rachel (gateway to Area 51), taken the government tour of the Nevada Test Site, walked through shells of old mining boomtowns, visited saloons in Virginia City and Genoa, taken the hard hat tour of Hoover Dam, and hiked rough canyons marked with petroglyphs from Anasazi Indians. I've wandered the Strip like a tourist and avoided it like the plague. I enjoy remembering Las Vegas when it was small and 'mobbed up.' Looking around, I see the odd schizophrenic beauty and behavior of this place. And I don't ever wish for 'normal.'
Happy 140th birthday, Nevada.
Admissions Day is Nevada's way of being glad they're included. A "you really like us" sort of thing. Actually, back in 1864, statehood was our reward for coming down on the side of the free states in the Civil War. To separate us (and our huge production of silver) from those polygamist Mormon heathens in Utah territory, we were created.
Since then, we've enjoyed a nice give-and-take with the Federal Government.
Them: We'll give you Hoover Dam and Lake Mead PLUS 2% of the electricity. How does that sound?
Us: Hm. All these construction workers need something to do. How about legalizing gambling? And let's draw some residents with quickie divorces.
Them: Since we own 90% of your land, AND you've been naughty, we're sending the Nevada Test Site. AND Area 51, AND every strange and potentially life-threatening project we can think of.
Us: How about giving us something useful - like a supercollider/superconductor? Or some of that NASA business? Or research money for alternative energy sources?
Them: Fuck you. Here's Yucca Mountain instead. You're our petrie dish, and don't you forget it.
Us: No. Fuck YOU. We don't produce it, so we don't want to store it. See you in court.
I'm proud to live in such an odd, contrary place. When I was a kid, all I saw was brown ugly mountains. All I wanted was to live in a 'normal' state, where I wouldn't be asked stupid questions, like "do you go to school?" and "do you live in a hotel?" Now, looking back, I love our history. I've trekked to Rachel (gateway to Area 51), taken the government tour of the Nevada Test Site, walked through shells of old mining boomtowns, visited saloons in Virginia City and Genoa, taken the hard hat tour of Hoover Dam, and hiked rough canyons marked with petroglyphs from Anasazi Indians. I've wandered the Strip like a tourist and avoided it like the plague. I enjoy remembering Las Vegas when it was small and 'mobbed up.' Looking around, I see the odd schizophrenic beauty and behavior of this place. And I don't ever wish for 'normal.'
Happy 140th birthday, Nevada.
10.27.2004
10.26.2004
I guess they were missing before they were missing.
About the 350 (or 380, or whatever) tons of explosives . . .
Apparently, they've been missing since April 10, 2003. That, for those of us keeping score, was ONE DAY after we rode into the center of Baghdad and the jubilant people took down the Big Bad Dictator statue.
On Monday night, NBC reported that its embedded crew said U.S. troops did discover significant stockpiles of bombs, but no sign of the missing HMX and RDX explosives.
To me, this changes things. If looters (read: terrorists) went in over the course of a couple of days before we could get our troops into Al-Qaqaa, at the very start of the invasion, that's a lot different than leaving the whole thing unguarded for the 18 months between then and now.
The sin of omission is not so glaring.
It also says to me that the insurgents (again, read: terrorists) were planning to go after the good stuff all along - and had a small window of opportunity to do it. If you were to rob a jewelry store, and you knew the cops were coming, you'd pass up the gold charms and go straight for the diamonds, wouldn't you?
We've made a lot of mistakes over there, and completely underestimated the evil of the people we're fighting against. But in this case, I'm willing to cut our guys a little slack.
Apparently, they've been missing since April 10, 2003. That, for those of us keeping score, was ONE DAY after we rode into the center of Baghdad and the jubilant people took down the Big Bad Dictator statue.
On Monday night, NBC reported that its embedded crew said U.S. troops did discover significant stockpiles of bombs, but no sign of the missing HMX and RDX explosives.
To me, this changes things. If looters (read: terrorists) went in over the course of a couple of days before we could get our troops into Al-Qaqaa, at the very start of the invasion, that's a lot different than leaving the whole thing unguarded for the 18 months between then and now.
The sin of omission is not so glaring.
It also says to me that the insurgents (again, read: terrorists) were planning to go after the good stuff all along - and had a small window of opportunity to do it. If you were to rob a jewelry store, and you knew the cops were coming, you'd pass up the gold charms and go straight for the diamonds, wouldn't you?
We've made a lot of mistakes over there, and completely underestimated the evil of the people we're fighting against. But in this case, I'm willing to cut our guys a little slack.
10.25.2004
Really, how much damage can 350 tons of explosives do?
Yahoo! News - Tons of Explosives Missing in Iraq
Several hundred tons of conventional explosives are missing from a former Iraqi military facility that once played a key role in Saddam Hussein's efforts to build a nuclear bomb, the U.N. nuclear agency confirmed Monday.
The U.N. knew Saddam had this crap lying around and still didn't consider the guy to be any meaningful threat?
"The most immediate concern here is that these explosives could have fallen into the wrong hands."
No shit. I can't imagine it being stolen by the RIGHT hands. Still, how much damage can conventional explosives do?
The explosives included HMX and RDX, which can be used to demolish buildings, down jetliners, produce warheads for missiles and detonate nuclear weapons. HMX and RDX are key ingredients in plastic explosives such as C-4 and Semtex — substances so powerful that Libyan terrorists needed just 1 pound to blow up Pan Am Flight 103 over Lockerbie, Scotland, in 1988, killing 170 people.
And this isn't considered a Weapon of Mass Destruction?
So wait. There was no reason to invade, but they had all this bomb-making and -detonating material, and the U.N. knew that, but inspections were working, and we were looking everywhere for them even though we didn't secure the plant like we should have right from the beginning and we're just now figuring out that the shit was stolen, and . . . and . . .
The number of fuckups is impossible to tally.
350 tons. That's a whole lot of car bombs.
10.24.2004
Sacrifice in the service of his country
Navy approves first ever Satanist
The British Navy, that is.
Naval technician Chris Cranmer, 24, has been allowed to register by the captain of HMS Cumberland. The move will mean that he will now be allowed to perform Satanic rituals on board the vessel.
What about his bunkmate? You know that poor bastard's going to wake up one night and see this guy standing over him with a knife and a goat head.
I didn't really know what Satanism was about until I read this article, though, and my eyes were certainly opened:
Followers live by the Nine Satanic Statements, which include "Satan represents indulgence instead of abstinence", "Satan represents vengeance instead of turning the other cheek" and "Satan represents all of the so-called sins, as they all lead to physical, mental, or emotional gratification".
If you screw up as a Satanist, is Heaven your eternal punishment?
"THE WINGS! GET THEM OFF! AAAAAAAAAA!"
Just wondering.
The British Navy, that is.
Naval technician Chris Cranmer, 24, has been allowed to register by the captain of HMS Cumberland. The move will mean that he will now be allowed to perform Satanic rituals on board the vessel.
What about his bunkmate? You know that poor bastard's going to wake up one night and see this guy standing over him with a knife and a goat head.
I didn't really know what Satanism was about until I read this article, though, and my eyes were certainly opened:
Followers live by the Nine Satanic Statements, which include "Satan represents indulgence instead of abstinence", "Satan represents vengeance instead of turning the other cheek" and "Satan represents all of the so-called sins, as they all lead to physical, mental, or emotional gratification".
If you screw up as a Satanist, is Heaven your eternal punishment?
"THE WINGS! GET THEM OFF! AAAAAAAAAA!"
Just wondering.
10.23.2004
I've done my duty as an American
Today, I voted. I love early voting in Nevada. We have spiffy new electronic voting machines that are even spiffier than our old electronic voting machines. And we get swag. Both Boy and I got "I Voted" stickers, and he got an "I Voted" pencil which he wants to use at school. The love affair with the sticker has already ended, though. I found it plastered to the top of my alarm clock.
Best of all, I don't have to listen to those hideous ads anymore. I don't have to pay attention to the increasingly shrill attacks and counterattacks. I'm done. Nothing can change my mind.
Best of all, I don't have to listen to those hideous ads anymore. I don't have to pay attention to the increasingly shrill attacks and counterattacks. I'm done. Nothing can change my mind.
10.22.2004
There he sat, all brokenhearted . . .
. . . nothing shat, but a religion started.
Archaeologists in Germany say they may have found a lavatory where Martin Luther launched the Reformation of the Christian church in the 16th Century.
Who says God doesn't have a sense of humor?
Archaeologists in Germany say they may have found a lavatory where Martin Luther launched the Reformation of the Christian church in the 16th Century.
Who says God doesn't have a sense of humor?
10.20.2004
The other Clark County battle
When you get ruled against in a court of law, there's always the court of public opinion:
Adair ruled Friday that she would not reopen voter registration to accommodate Democrats whose forms might have been tossed by Voter's Outreach of America, a voter registration organization working for the Republican Party.
Eric Russell, a former member of Voter's Outreach, told KLAS-TV, Channel 8 last week that he witnessed supervisors tearing up Democratic registration forms.
Adair said under Nevada law those who believe they've been wrongfully denied the right to vote can file individual lawsuits against the Clark County registrar asking to be included on the voter rolls.
Democrats angered by her decision questioned the process and Adair's connections to the Republican Party.
Adair's live-in boyfriend, Thomas Lozzi, is a former executive board member for the Clark County Republican Central Committee. Lozzi said his last stint on the committee's 40-member executive board was in 2002.
Channel 8 aired the couple's home address on Monday evening's newscast. Tuesday morning, liberal radio host Al Franken spoke about Adair's decision and publicized her county office phone number.
Channel 8, by the way, is our local CBS affiliate.
Adair ''was getting phone calls from people who heard his show, calling and telling her she needed to resign," said [District Court spokesman] Sommermeyer, who did not hear Franken's show. "The allegations are that they gave out her office number and had given out her home address."
Republican Party officials held a news conference Tuesday denouncing Channel 8's decision to air Adair's home address. Bob Stoldal, vice president of news operations at Channel 8, did not return a phone message left Tuesday.
"Judge Adair is doing an honorable job," said Brian Scroggins, chairman of the Clark County Republican Party. "Her decision was based on the facts."
And the fact is, even if there were shenanigans, opening voter registration would extend the expired deadline. In these last two weeks, with new ads and polls almost hourly, even those who weren't affected by Voter Outreach's action could register, which is unfair to many more people than those who think their forms were shredded. Asking those people to file individual lawsuits is the only way to have any oversight in the process.
Aside from all that, Channel 8 is populated by assclowns. If Franken wants to air the story and give Valerie Adair's office number to his (admittedly few) listeners, fine. But for a 'news organization' to report the home address of a District Judge is not only stupid, it's possibly dangerous. Ms. Adair could be overseeing criminal trials, or civil trials where defendants would be very interested in where she lived.
Maybe Her Honor should sue them.
Adair ruled Friday that she would not reopen voter registration to accommodate Democrats whose forms might have been tossed by Voter's Outreach of America, a voter registration organization working for the Republican Party.
Eric Russell, a former member of Voter's Outreach, told KLAS-TV, Channel 8 last week that he witnessed supervisors tearing up Democratic registration forms.
Adair said under Nevada law those who believe they've been wrongfully denied the right to vote can file individual lawsuits against the Clark County registrar asking to be included on the voter rolls.
Democrats angered by her decision questioned the process and Adair's connections to the Republican Party.
Adair's live-in boyfriend, Thomas Lozzi, is a former executive board member for the Clark County Republican Central Committee. Lozzi said his last stint on the committee's 40-member executive board was in 2002.
Channel 8 aired the couple's home address on Monday evening's newscast. Tuesday morning, liberal radio host Al Franken spoke about Adair's decision and publicized her county office phone number.
Channel 8, by the way, is our local CBS affiliate.
Adair ''was getting phone calls from people who heard his show, calling and telling her she needed to resign," said [District Court spokesman] Sommermeyer, who did not hear Franken's show. "The allegations are that they gave out her office number and had given out her home address."
Republican Party officials held a news conference Tuesday denouncing Channel 8's decision to air Adair's home address. Bob Stoldal, vice president of news operations at Channel 8, did not return a phone message left Tuesday.
"Judge Adair is doing an honorable job," said Brian Scroggins, chairman of the Clark County Republican Party. "Her decision was based on the facts."
And the fact is, even if there were shenanigans, opening voter registration would extend the expired deadline. In these last two weeks, with new ads and polls almost hourly, even those who weren't affected by Voter Outreach's action could register, which is unfair to many more people than those who think their forms were shredded. Asking those people to file individual lawsuits is the only way to have any oversight in the process.
Aside from all that, Channel 8 is populated by assclowns. If Franken wants to air the story and give Valerie Adair's office number to his (admittedly few) listeners, fine. But for a 'news organization' to report the home address of a District Judge is not only stupid, it's possibly dangerous. Ms. Adair could be overseeing criminal trials, or civil trials where defendants would be very interested in where she lived.
Maybe Her Honor should sue them.
Parent-Child Conversations
Fifteen minutes ago:
"Mom, I'm done with dinner. Can I have dessert?"
"Sure, what do you want?"
"Potato chips."
"Potato chips aren't dessert."
"So?"
"Don't you want a yogurt?"
"No."
"How about a fruit cup?"
"What kind?"
"Uh, the one with lots of cherries."
"No."
"Chocolate pudding?"
"No."
"What about those cocoa cookies with the funny icing faces on them?"
"I want potato chips."
"How about that donut?"
"I don't like donuts."
. . .
"You're not my child."
"What?"
"Never mind."
Potato chips for dessert, plastic swords in the middle of the living room floor, and "The Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy" on the TV.
Another normal night at home.
"Mom, I'm done with dinner. Can I have dessert?"
"Sure, what do you want?"
"Potato chips."
"Potato chips aren't dessert."
"So?"
"Don't you want a yogurt?"
"No."
"How about a fruit cup?"
"What kind?"
"Uh, the one with lots of cherries."
"No."
"Chocolate pudding?"
"No."
"What about those cocoa cookies with the funny icing faces on them?"
"I want potato chips."
"How about that donut?"
"I don't like donuts."
. . .
"You're not my child."
"What?"
"Never mind."
Potato chips for dessert, plastic swords in the middle of the living room floor, and "The Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy" on the TV.
Another normal night at home.
Things You Don't Say In Public
"Well, there was no sex for 14 days."
Never mind that he's the governor of California. If any husband says that for a laugh, then his dry spell should be extended.
Never mind that he's the governor of California. If any husband says that for a laugh, then his dry spell should be extended.
Thoughts on returning from the break room
If you get yourself coffee, don't leave three millimeters in the bottom of the pot for the next person. If someone is going for coffee in our break room, it's because that person NEEDS it, not because she WANTS it. After all, who would want something that tastes like burnt gauze bandages steeped in twig and bark water?
If you take flavored creamer out of the refrigerator and you didn't buy it, then maybe you should just put it back. Unless, of course, you plan on buying some to share. Which you never do.
If you spill water on the floor, then maybe you should clean it up. Because some people in the office are wearing shoes that don't grip wet floors. Some people are wearing mules with three inch heels and aren't mentally prepared to hydroplane into the Coke machine.
That is all.
If you take flavored creamer out of the refrigerator and you didn't buy it, then maybe you should just put it back. Unless, of course, you plan on buying some to share. Which you never do.
If you spill water on the floor, then maybe you should clean it up. Because some people in the office are wearing shoes that don't grip wet floors. Some people are wearing mules with three inch heels and aren't mentally prepared to hydroplane into the Coke machine.
That is all.
10.19.2004
Where HAS the time gone?
Where it all goes. What a question.
This isn't a return. Rather, it's a guilt post. I'm fighting my "start something and move the hell on" personality trait by doing this.
Last Thursday was my last time here, so here's a quick recap of the days between then and now:
Friday - Boy Day. My poor little guy was fighting a cold, so the evening was spent cuddling and coddling.
Saturday - More cuddling and coddling.
Sunday - Boy went to his dad for a couple of days. I spent Sunday on the couch, watching sports and knitting. Yes, knitting. Sunday night, Miles came over and we made heroic ribeyes and spinach salad. Everything after 8:00 pm was lost to vodka.
Monday - Too much work. I hate Too Much Work. That means I have to actually do personal business on personal time. Last night was baseball, which takes priority over everything else, including laundry and blogs.
Today - Too much work. Also, too much dizziness. The temperature here dropped, the wind picked up, and my autumn allergy season has slapped me upside the head. Therefore, I'm waiting for the Claritin Speedball to kick in. The Claritin Speedball is one 24-hour Claritin, two Extra-Strength Excedrin, and two drops of Vasocon in each eye. As soon as I can move my head without waiting for my eyesight to catch up, I'll go back to work.
On second thought, I'd better go back to work now. Time's slipping away again.
This isn't a return. Rather, it's a guilt post. I'm fighting my "start something and move the hell on" personality trait by doing this.
Last Thursday was my last time here, so here's a quick recap of the days between then and now:
Friday - Boy Day. My poor little guy was fighting a cold, so the evening was spent cuddling and coddling.
Saturday - More cuddling and coddling.
Sunday - Boy went to his dad for a couple of days. I spent Sunday on the couch, watching sports and knitting. Yes, knitting. Sunday night, Miles came over and we made heroic ribeyes and spinach salad. Everything after 8:00 pm was lost to vodka.
Monday - Too much work. I hate Too Much Work. That means I have to actually do personal business on personal time. Last night was baseball, which takes priority over everything else, including laundry and blogs.
Today - Too much work. Also, too much dizziness. The temperature here dropped, the wind picked up, and my autumn allergy season has slapped me upside the head. Therefore, I'm waiting for the Claritin Speedball to kick in. The Claritin Speedball is one 24-hour Claritin, two Extra-Strength Excedrin, and two drops of Vasocon in each eye. As soon as I can move my head without waiting for my eyesight to catch up, I'll go back to work.
On second thought, I'd better go back to work now. Time's slipping away again.
10.14.2004
Animal Abuse
Over at Emily and Ken's joint, we were talking about animal rights. And then I received this.
Horrifying. Disturbing. How could they do this to poor, defenseless animals? The expressions in their deep, brown eyes tell of unspeakable suffering.
Either that, or they need to piddle.
Chicago of the West
It's things like this that make me wish I didn't live in a battleground state:
Voter fraud alleged
Group accused of trashing Democrats' registration forms
Federal and state authorities are looking into Democratic Party allegations that a voter registration group hired by the Republican Party tossed out registration forms signed by Democrats.
The FBI and state officials are reviewing comments by Eric Russell, a former employee of Voter Outreach of America, who claims to have witnessed supervisors throwing away Democrats' voter registration forms.
Destruction of the forms is a federal crime, according to Clark County attorneys.
This news came out yesterday. One day after the county's voter registration deadline.
Is it just me, or is this an incredibly dirty campaign season? We have disgusting Democratic campaign posters (and as always, beautifully articulated outrage by Michele), British moonbats trying to influence voters in Ohio, partisan playbooks that encourage spin over substance, and Michael Moore.
The list is much bigger than this, and the black marks are tallying up on both sides. In these last three weeks, expect the worst. Of everyone.
Already, both parties are adopting the "Chicken Little" platform: IF YOU DON'T VOTE FOR ME, YOU WILL DIE!
Well, your rhetoric doesn't scare me. What scares me is the depths you will plumb for a win. Whether the race is for my district's County Commission seat or the Presidency, no candidate nor his supporters are beyond reproach.
I'm tired and disgusted by all of them. But I'll get my ballot, carefully weigh my options, and vote. Because I also believe that's the only way I get to complain.
Which is what we all do best, in the end.
Voter fraud alleged
Group accused of trashing Democrats' registration forms
Federal and state authorities are looking into Democratic Party allegations that a voter registration group hired by the Republican Party tossed out registration forms signed by Democrats.
The FBI and state officials are reviewing comments by Eric Russell, a former employee of Voter Outreach of America, who claims to have witnessed supervisors throwing away Democrats' voter registration forms.
Destruction of the forms is a federal crime, according to Clark County attorneys.
This news came out yesterday. One day after the county's voter registration deadline.
Is it just me, or is this an incredibly dirty campaign season? We have disgusting Democratic campaign posters (and as always, beautifully articulated outrage by Michele), British moonbats trying to influence voters in Ohio, partisan playbooks that encourage spin over substance, and Michael Moore.
The list is much bigger than this, and the black marks are tallying up on both sides. In these last three weeks, expect the worst. Of everyone.
Already, both parties are adopting the "Chicken Little" platform: IF YOU DON'T VOTE FOR ME, YOU WILL DIE!
Well, your rhetoric doesn't scare me. What scares me is the depths you will plumb for a win. Whether the race is for my district's County Commission seat or the Presidency, no candidate nor his supporters are beyond reproach.
I'm tired and disgusted by all of them. But I'll get my ballot, carefully weigh my options, and vote. Because I also believe that's the only way I get to complain.
Which is what we all do best, in the end.
10.13.2004
The Post-Debate Opinion
It would be forthcoming - unfortunately, Miles and I consumed a couple of vodka tonics apiece and I have this feeling that nobody's mind is going to be changed either way. Mine isn't.
The media is, near as I can tell, calling it a draw which is, in effect, a win for W. The media loves a good, even horse race and we're not even to the homestretch yet. I suspect it'll be "too close to call" until 9:00 PST on November 2.
Neither talked environment or energy policy - I call "bullshit" on Sheiffer for not getting to that. Overall, though, I thought he asked good questions - made Charlie Gibson look like Junior Varsity.
In other news, the Red Sox are fucking losing. 3 - 0. God-fucking-dammit.
I need more vodka. By the way, there's this awesomely cheap brand at Trader Joe's that's made in Russia (from potatoes, no less), distilled in Ohio (where voter fraud just doesn't fuckin' fly) and cheerfully swilled at my home in Las Vegas (hic).
Cheers, all.
The media is, near as I can tell, calling it a draw which is, in effect, a win for W. The media loves a good, even horse race and we're not even to the homestretch yet. I suspect it'll be "too close to call" until 9:00 PST on November 2.
Neither talked environment or energy policy - I call "bullshit" on Sheiffer for not getting to that. Overall, though, I thought he asked good questions - made Charlie Gibson look like Junior Varsity.
In other news, the Red Sox are fucking losing. 3 - 0. God-fucking-dammit.
I need more vodka. By the way, there's this awesomely cheap brand at Trader Joe's that's made in Russia (from potatoes, no less), distilled in Ohio (where voter fraud just doesn't fuckin' fly) and cheerfully swilled at my home in Las Vegas (hic).
Cheers, all.
10.12.2004
Tomorrow night
I'll be watching the debate, along with the rest of the country. And I'll be waiting for energy policy to come up. That may be the only opportunity I have to see what each candidate has to say - really say - about Yucca Mountain.
I'm not about to go into all the wrangling that's been going on for the last 20 years over this project. Let's just say that Nevadans (or at least the Nevadans in Las Vegas and Reno) aren't happy about the entire country's high-level nuclear waste being shipped to a location less than 100 miles from the outskirts of Las Vegas.
In 2000, Bush said he'd base the decision to finalize Yucca on "sound science." In 2002, the DOE gave Bush some studies, he said "sounds good to me," and signed the go-ahead for Yucca to get it's license, finish construction and start accepting shipments by 2010.
A couple of months ago, Kerry, eyeing our 5 electoral votes, told us that there was "NO WAY" nuclear waste would come here.
How nice of him. Thing is, I don't think that's his decision to make. I wish it were.
First of all, Bush, as the president, signed the recommendation from the DOE. It's now held up in the courts. If the courts decide against Nevada, Yucca would happen no matter who the president is.
Kerry's a lawyer - you'd think he knows that.
Second, there's been billions of dollars spent on this facility already, plus years of research, years of digging and years of preparation. If it's stopped (which is improbable) could anyone imagine the fight to research more locations and prepare another site? Would it take another 25 years? More? Nobody in Congress could condone that waste of time and money.
Then there's the question of energy independence. If we raise our production of nuclear energy and build more plants, like Kerry has proposed, where will the waste go if Yucca's been stopped? It's already piling up all over the country, and that can't be sustained, either.
Here's the fun one: we already take waste shipments right through the center of town. They're stored 60 miles away at the Nevada Test Site. Remember the NTS? When I was a kid, the underground nuclear tests used to shake the table while I was eating my breakfast. The ground still has hotspots. But once we signed that moratorium on nuclear testing, the land had to be used for something else. Area 5 is where the big holes and containers are. The stuff is classified as low-level waste, but that doesn't mean it isn't nasty. This is waste from nuclear weapons, nuclear medicine, and some biohazards.
The truth is, Yucca's coming. I'm not happy about it. But there's a way to live with it. Instead of wasting money on the fight, put that money into safer alternate transportation routes away from cities. And then, for being the country's wasteland, Nevada should get some nice little perks. Learn something from Alaska and their Permanent Fund. Get something extra for healthcare. Get our hospitals more money for cancer research. Get more for our parks and roads.
I'm tired of the empty promises from everyone - not only Bush and Kerry, but from our own Senators, Congressmen, and our Mayor. It's time to make a decision, make the outcome as fair as possible, and stick with it.
I'm not about to go into all the wrangling that's been going on for the last 20 years over this project. Let's just say that Nevadans (or at least the Nevadans in Las Vegas and Reno) aren't happy about the entire country's high-level nuclear waste being shipped to a location less than 100 miles from the outskirts of Las Vegas.
In 2000, Bush said he'd base the decision to finalize Yucca on "sound science." In 2002, the DOE gave Bush some studies, he said "sounds good to me," and signed the go-ahead for Yucca to get it's license, finish construction and start accepting shipments by 2010.
A couple of months ago, Kerry, eyeing our 5 electoral votes, told us that there was "NO WAY" nuclear waste would come here.
How nice of him. Thing is, I don't think that's his decision to make. I wish it were.
First of all, Bush, as the president, signed the recommendation from the DOE. It's now held up in the courts. If the courts decide against Nevada, Yucca would happen no matter who the president is.
Kerry's a lawyer - you'd think he knows that.
Second, there's been billions of dollars spent on this facility already, plus years of research, years of digging and years of preparation. If it's stopped (which is improbable) could anyone imagine the fight to research more locations and prepare another site? Would it take another 25 years? More? Nobody in Congress could condone that waste of time and money.
Then there's the question of energy independence. If we raise our production of nuclear energy and build more plants, like Kerry has proposed, where will the waste go if Yucca's been stopped? It's already piling up all over the country, and that can't be sustained, either.
Here's the fun one: we already take waste shipments right through the center of town. They're stored 60 miles away at the Nevada Test Site. Remember the NTS? When I was a kid, the underground nuclear tests used to shake the table while I was eating my breakfast. The ground still has hotspots. But once we signed that moratorium on nuclear testing, the land had to be used for something else. Area 5 is where the big holes and containers are. The stuff is classified as low-level waste, but that doesn't mean it isn't nasty. This is waste from nuclear weapons, nuclear medicine, and some biohazards.
The truth is, Yucca's coming. I'm not happy about it. But there's a way to live with it. Instead of wasting money on the fight, put that money into safer alternate transportation routes away from cities. And then, for being the country's wasteland, Nevada should get some nice little perks. Learn something from Alaska and their Permanent Fund. Get something extra for healthcare. Get our hospitals more money for cancer research. Get more for our parks and roads.
I'm tired of the empty promises from everyone - not only Bush and Kerry, but from our own Senators, Congressmen, and our Mayor. It's time to make a decision, make the outcome as fair as possible, and stick with it.
It's funny what you learn . . .
. . . when you're researching Irish slang.
According to this site, "Circling over Shannon" is slang for being drunk. Apparently, Boris Yeltsin was arriving for a state visit to Ireland and his plane had to circle Shannon Airport six times while he sobered up.
Heh.
According to this site, "Circling over Shannon" is slang for being drunk. Apparently, Boris Yeltsin was arriving for a state visit to Ireland and his plane had to circle Shannon Airport six times while he sobered up.
Heh.
10.11.2004
Blink, blink
Whoa. It's almost 5 already.
I've had a numbing sort of day. I wish I had something intelligent to say about the world, but I don't.
So there.
I've had a numbing sort of day. I wish I had something intelligent to say about the world, but I don't.
So there.
10.10.2004
10.08.2004
Another short work observation
Friday is the wrong day to write neurosciences advertising.
I'm too punchy. All my headlines are tumbling into the world of Wrong.
"Don't have a conniption."
"Are you sick in the head?"
"Traffic may not be causing that headache."
"Confused? See a mind reader."
"Headaches? Oh, shit."
There's a meeting to present our work on Monday morning. Must. Be. Serious.
Oh, shit.
I'm too punchy. All my headlines are tumbling into the world of Wrong.
"Don't have a conniption."
"Are you sick in the head?"
"Traffic may not be causing that headache."
"Confused? See a mind reader."
"Headaches? Oh, shit."
There's a meeting to present our work on Monday morning. Must. Be. Serious.
Oh, shit.
The Religion of Peace
How many beheadings do we need to see (or hear about) before we start calling these murdering fucks "terrorists" instead of "insurgents?"
My thoughts and prayers are with the Bigley family. And my sincere hopes for Tiwad and Jihad is that every one of them takes a bacon-wrapped cruise missle up the ass.
My thoughts and prayers are with the Bigley family. And my sincere hopes for Tiwad and Jihad is that every one of them takes a bacon-wrapped cruise missle up the ass.
10.07.2004
That giddy feeling's fading away.
I knew the Dodgers wouldn't go too much further.
Like I said when they won the division - no matter what they did in the playoffs, we had that one glorious half-inning.
That, to me, was the heart of baseball beating stronger than it ever had. For a moment there were no egos, no salaries, no unions and no owners. There was only the pure joy of a team winning for its adoring fans.
I'm still glad I was there to see it.
Like I said when they won the division - no matter what they did in the playoffs, we had that one glorious half-inning.
That, to me, was the heart of baseball beating stronger than it ever had. For a moment there were no egos, no salaries, no unions and no owners. There was only the pure joy of a team winning for its adoring fans.
I'm still glad I was there to see it.
Fall Fashion in Baghdad
It seems that women are donning the veil in the new Free Iraq.
Why?
One reason for this is increased reports of women being kidnapped and raped. Khitam Hekmet, 20, works in a fashion store in Al-Mansur and wears western clothes, but her family have urged her to dress in an Islamic fashion to not draw attention to herself.
So women who wear Western clothes are "asking for it?"
The rise in religious feeling has also added to the pressure women feel to cover up. In June, the BBC reported radical clerics had demanded women wear the veil, and that one Iraqi UN staff member had received a letter at home saying she would be killed unless she started covering her hair. There have been no recent reports of this, but many religious leaders have recently become leaders of political parties and believe the veil is integral to a woman’s morality.
Guess so.
“The veil is an Islamic law, Mohammad makes this clear to all women and girls,” said Said Al-Hawadi, leader of the Supreme Council for the Liberation of Iraq.
Al-Hawadi said he does not believe in enforcing the veil but warns of dire consequences for any Muslim woman foolhardy enough to shake it off.
“It is her problem if she refuses to wear it - in Islam the woman who doesn’t cover up is going to hell,” he said.
How about this: how about if YOU go to hell. No wonder your culture missed the Renaissance and the Enlightenment. You were all too busy putting your heads up your asses.
The veil has also become an important political statement for Al-Hawadi since the fall of the ex-regime.
“The abiya is a resistance against the occupation, it is your personal jihad,” he said.
No it's not. It's a way to control society under your own strangling rules. Don't pretend that nobility or 'struggle' has anything to do with it.
If a woman in Iraq wants to wear the abaya (full black robes) or hajib (head scarf), let her. But a country can't pretend at freedom if one-half of its citizens feel compelled, or are forced by law, to wear a certain type of clothing. The veil is a symbol of female inferiority and its opposite, male superiority; which means that Iraq is riding the rails to an Islamist state - like Iran or Taliban-ruled Afghanistan.
I wonder, then, if the Muslim culture is capable of a Renaissance or Enlightenment? Since their religion is also civic law, that means their laws haven't changed since the Quran was written - in about the year 630.
Dark Ages, indeed. And no light in sight.
Why?
So women who wear Western clothes are "asking for it?"
Guess so.
Al-Hawadi said he does not believe in enforcing the veil but warns of dire consequences for any Muslim woman foolhardy enough to shake it off.
“It is her problem if she refuses to wear it - in Islam the woman who doesn’t cover up is going to hell,” he said.
How about this: how about if YOU go to hell. No wonder your culture missed the Renaissance and the Enlightenment. You were all too busy putting your heads up your asses.
“The abiya is a resistance against the occupation, it is your personal jihad,” he said.
No it's not. It's a way to control society under your own strangling rules. Don't pretend that nobility or 'struggle' has anything to do with it.
If a woman in Iraq wants to wear the abaya (full black robes) or hajib (head scarf), let her. But a country can't pretend at freedom if one-half of its citizens feel compelled, or are forced by law, to wear a certain type of clothing. The veil is a symbol of female inferiority and its opposite, male superiority; which means that Iraq is riding the rails to an Islamist state - like Iran or Taliban-ruled Afghanistan.
I wonder, then, if the Muslim culture is capable of a Renaissance or Enlightenment? Since their religion is also civic law, that means their laws haven't changed since the Quran was written - in about the year 630.
Dark Ages, indeed. And no light in sight.
Light up, baby.
via planetdan:
My baby likes menthols.
Mine liked Citron & 7 with lime, but I didn't advertise that fact.
My baby likes menthols.
Mine liked Citron & 7 with lime, but I didn't advertise that fact.
A short work observation
It's very difficult to write smart, hard-hitting advertising for a neurosciences institute while you're listening to Oingo Boingo.
Just sayin'.
Just sayin'.
10.06.2004
Creative financing . . .
. . . has gone down the toilet.
Modernization to Speed Check Clearing
Because [checks] can be transferred electronically, they'll clear so fast that consumers will have to learn to live without "float." Float is the delay in check processing that has allowed consumers to write a check at the grocery store on Wednesday in hopes that it won't clear their account until their paycheck is deposited on Friday.
Damn - my whole financial well-being depended on "float." Because of that, coupled with direct deposit and overdraft protection, I've been living beyond my means for two years.
Leave it to the Man to force me to be financially responsible.
Farkin' Man.
Modernization to Speed Check Clearing
Because [checks] can be transferred electronically, they'll clear so fast that consumers will have to learn to live without "float." Float is the delay in check processing that has allowed consumers to write a check at the grocery store on Wednesday in hopes that it won't clear their account until their paycheck is deposited on Friday.
Damn - my whole financial well-being depended on "float." Because of that, coupled with direct deposit and overdraft protection, I've been living beyond my means for two years.
Leave it to the Man to force me to be financially responsible.
Farkin' Man.
And now, the burning questions.
Sex in a Bar Bathroom -- Is It Legal?
Woo. I hope so.
And if not, I hope the Statute of Limitations doesn't last more than a week.
And can you be extradited if you're an offender?
Woo. I hope so.
And if not, I hope the Statute of Limitations doesn't last more than a week.
And can you be extradited if you're an offender?
Muammar's gone round the bend.
Either that, or the Good Twin has taken over for a while.
Gaddafi asks for Bigley's release
"I launch an appeal to the hostage's kidnappers, because his family has turned to us. We ask them to free this poor Briton," Colonel Gaddafi said.
Of course, he's also asking us to release Iraqi prisoners - one must be fair, after all.
Wait a second - how, again, did he get involved?
On Tuesday, Colonel Gaddafi's son said he had been contacted by the Bigley family and asked for help.
Oh. Right. Well, sure. Libya would be the first country I'd call to help negotiate with terrorists.
I know Gaddafi has worked since the '90s to rebuild his relationships with Europe and the U.S. I realize he has resolved Lockerbie, and disclosed his nuclear program with an unprecedented offer to disarm. Still, you must forgive me if I don't trust so easily.
After all, some people have said that they've changed; some enough to receive a Nobel Peace Prize. And then they've gone back to their terrorist ways.
For Mr. Bigley's sake, I hope this works. I also hope we keep a close eye on the Colonel, no matter which twin is in charge.
Gaddafi asks for Bigley's release
"I launch an appeal to the hostage's kidnappers, because his family has turned to us. We ask them to free this poor Briton," Colonel Gaddafi said.
Of course, he's also asking us to release Iraqi prisoners - one must be fair, after all.
Wait a second - how, again, did he get involved?
On Tuesday, Colonel Gaddafi's son said he had been contacted by the Bigley family and asked for help.
Oh. Right. Well, sure. Libya would be the first country I'd call to help negotiate with terrorists.
I know Gaddafi has worked since the '90s to rebuild his relationships with Europe and the U.S. I realize he has resolved Lockerbie, and disclosed his nuclear program with an unprecedented offer to disarm. Still, you must forgive me if I don't trust so easily.
After all, some people have said that they've changed; some enough to receive a Nobel Peace Prize. And then they've gone back to their terrorist ways.
For Mr. Bigley's sake, I hope this works. I also hope we keep a close eye on the Colonel, no matter which twin is in charge.
10.05.2004
Another sad goodbye.
His work in "Caddyshack" alone assures him a place in heaven. After all, he's given so many people so much joy. Me included.
RIP, Mr. Dangerfield.
10.04.2004
Being Blue feels good, for once.
My house is the kind of wreck that can only happen when you've gone out of town and just returned. I'm talking about unfolded laundry, weirdness in the fridge, cameras and shopping bags and maps and magazines and makeup cases - all out of place. My dog is still adjusting to being home. Last night, she went out into the backyard, laid down on her grass, and let out a long-suffering Golden Retriever sigh. Today, she follows me as if I'm going to sneak away on her again.
Am I daunted? No. Am I even slightly depressed by the disorder in my home? No.
It was all for a good cause.
No matter what happens in the playoffs, we had that moment. Or rather, we had that impossible half-inning.
Being a Dodger fan, you become predisposed to pessimism. For every homestretch where all the plays went our way, there was its opposite: Reggie Jackson in '78 and '79. Jack Clark in '85. Every single Murdoch year. "Never bet on an L.A. team," was the advice of my Grandma. And she was right. You could never be sure of victory - or defeat. They always kept us guessing in a way that isn't felt by Braves or Yankees fans.
So Saturday afternoon, after eight and a half innings of pain, an entire stadium was looking at a half-empty glass. "Maybe tomorrow," I said to Miles (who, though he's a lifelong Giants fan, refused to openly gloat - God love him). And then, as soon as I was sure we'd lose, Things started happening.
With one out, the bases were loaded. Of course, we were thinking this was the perfect time for a double play. Still, 54,000 people were on their feet, hoping for the miracle.
Hee-Seop Choi came to the plate, and everyone started chanting his name. In unison.
"Hee-Seop Choi! Hee-Seop Choi! Hee-Seop Choi," over and over again, over the course of a painfully long at-bat. He drew a walk.
A walk? (Pardon me while I channel Wallace Shawn) In-con-theee-vable!
3 - 1.
Cesar Izturis was next. "Iz-tur-IS! Iz-tur-IS!" He hit a groaner to the shortstop who booted it. Everyone was safe. 3 - 2.
I thought I'd wet my pants.
Jayson Werth came next. "Jay-son Werth! Jay-son Werth!" Jayson went two strikes in the hole. A man one section over had ripped the bottom from a drink cup and was using it as a megaphone. "Jayson," he cried. "I believe in you!"
Jayson hit a perfect single to right field. All were safe. All was well. 3 - 3.
I assumed the crash position and tried to keep my grilled Dodger dog down.
Meanwhile, here came the veteran, the ever-dangerous Steve Finley.
"Steve Fin-LEY! Steve Fin-LEY!" The crowd was in hysterics; we were screaming ourselves raw, cheering Finley with everything we had.
Just put it in the outfield, just put it in the outfield I thought. A sacrifice fly was good enough to win.
As he swung, as the ball soared in a high arc up, up, up over the right field fence, 54,000 people roared as one wild animal. Miles said later that the sound was so high-pitched, so loud, that it seemed unreal.
Somewhere in all the shouting and jumping up and down, I began to cry.
I'd been watching Dodger games since I was a tiny thing. Grandma was my guide, listening on her transistor when the games weren't televised. Vin Scully's voice is part of my childhood. His voice sounds like summer to me. And Grandma was the most devoted fan, cheering when they won, cussing when they lost. Through all her hard years, through sickness and through sadness, she still rooted for them. She bled blue. And I bled with her.
Back in January, she died of a massive heart attack. On Saturday, with tears in my eyes, I whispered: "oh, Grandma. They did it."
Then I called my mom so she could hear the celebration.
Everything after that is a little blurry. Jose Lima ran a victory lap around the field, pumping up the crowd. Players came out and talked to us, thanked us for our support. Their children ran across the perfect outfield grass, hurling themselves against the wall as if making highlight-reel catches. Outside, thousands of cars conga-lined out of the stadium parking lots, honking. People hung out of the windows, screaming with joy.
Now that I'm home, trying to reorganize my life, I can still feel that glow.
Am I blue?
Hell yeah.
Am I daunted? No. Am I even slightly depressed by the disorder in my home? No.
It was all for a good cause.
No matter what happens in the playoffs, we had that moment. Or rather, we had that impossible half-inning.
Being a Dodger fan, you become predisposed to pessimism. For every homestretch where all the plays went our way, there was its opposite: Reggie Jackson in '78 and '79. Jack Clark in '85. Every single Murdoch year. "Never bet on an L.A. team," was the advice of my Grandma. And she was right. You could never be sure of victory - or defeat. They always kept us guessing in a way that isn't felt by Braves or Yankees fans.
So Saturday afternoon, after eight and a half innings of pain, an entire stadium was looking at a half-empty glass. "Maybe tomorrow," I said to Miles (who, though he's a lifelong Giants fan, refused to openly gloat - God love him). And then, as soon as I was sure we'd lose, Things started happening.
With one out, the bases were loaded. Of course, we were thinking this was the perfect time for a double play. Still, 54,000 people were on their feet, hoping for the miracle.
Hee-Seop Choi came to the plate, and everyone started chanting his name. In unison.
"Hee-Seop Choi! Hee-Seop Choi! Hee-Seop Choi," over and over again, over the course of a painfully long at-bat. He drew a walk.
A walk? (Pardon me while I channel Wallace Shawn) In-con-theee-vable!
3 - 1.
Cesar Izturis was next. "Iz-tur-IS! Iz-tur-IS!" He hit a groaner to the shortstop who booted it. Everyone was safe. 3 - 2.
I thought I'd wet my pants.
Jayson Werth came next. "Jay-son Werth! Jay-son Werth!" Jayson went two strikes in the hole. A man one section over had ripped the bottom from a drink cup and was using it as a megaphone. "Jayson," he cried. "I believe in you!"
Jayson hit a perfect single to right field. All were safe. All was well. 3 - 3.
I assumed the crash position and tried to keep my grilled Dodger dog down.
Meanwhile, here came the veteran, the ever-dangerous Steve Finley.
"Steve Fin-LEY! Steve Fin-LEY!" The crowd was in hysterics; we were screaming ourselves raw, cheering Finley with everything we had.
Just put it in the outfield, just put it in the outfield I thought. A sacrifice fly was good enough to win.
As he swung, as the ball soared in a high arc up, up, up over the right field fence, 54,000 people roared as one wild animal. Miles said later that the sound was so high-pitched, so loud, that it seemed unreal.
Somewhere in all the shouting and jumping up and down, I began to cry.
I'd been watching Dodger games since I was a tiny thing. Grandma was my guide, listening on her transistor when the games weren't televised. Vin Scully's voice is part of my childhood. His voice sounds like summer to me. And Grandma was the most devoted fan, cheering when they won, cussing when they lost. Through all her hard years, through sickness and through sadness, she still rooted for them. She bled blue. And I bled with her.
Back in January, she died of a massive heart attack. On Saturday, with tears in my eyes, I whispered: "oh, Grandma. They did it."
Then I called my mom so she could hear the celebration.
Everything after that is a little blurry. Jose Lima ran a victory lap around the field, pumping up the crowd. Players came out and talked to us, thanked us for our support. Their children ran across the perfect outfield grass, hurling themselves against the wall as if making highlight-reel catches. Outside, thousands of cars conga-lined out of the stadium parking lots, honking. People hung out of the windows, screaming with joy.
Now that I'm home, trying to reorganize my life, I can still feel that glow.
Am I blue?
Hell yeah.
10.03.2004
9.30.2004
Good God, make it stop.
Children massacred in Iraq bombs
Officials said at least 34 children were among 41 or more people killed when bombs were detonated near a water treatment plant as US troops passed by.
At least 130 others were injured, many among crowds gathered for the opening ceremony at the plant who had gone up to collect sweets from the soldiers.
Damn them. Damn them to hell.
I'm a Western woman, with Western views, and so I fail - and will continue to fail - to understand the methods of these so-called "insurgents."
If the murder of children receiving candy from soldiers is acceptable under their rules of war, then I hope never to understand. I'm so tired of the world telling me, since I'm an imperialist American, that I should respect their views, and learn about their culture. That I should try to understand their position, and where their hatred comes from.
Bullshit. I know all I fucking need to know.
There's a phrase from Islamo-fascists that keeps coming back to me, whether spoken by bin Laden or al-Zarqawi or any hooded coward with a knife: "we desire death more than you desire life."
Good. I wouldn't have it any other way.
Officials said at least 34 children were among 41 or more people killed when bombs were detonated near a water treatment plant as US troops passed by.
At least 130 others were injured, many among crowds gathered for the opening ceremony at the plant who had gone up to collect sweets from the soldiers.
Damn them. Damn them to hell.
I'm a Western woman, with Western views, and so I fail - and will continue to fail - to understand the methods of these so-called "insurgents."
If the murder of children receiving candy from soldiers is acceptable under their rules of war, then I hope never to understand. I'm so tired of the world telling me, since I'm an imperialist American, that I should respect their views, and learn about their culture. That I should try to understand their position, and where their hatred comes from.
Bullshit. I know all I fucking need to know.
There's a phrase from Islamo-fascists that keeps coming back to me, whether spoken by bin Laden or al-Zarqawi or any hooded coward with a knife: "we desire death more than you desire life."
Good. I wouldn't have it any other way.
9.29.2004
Everyone has their price . . .
. . . including Italy.
I'm glad those girls are free, and yet something still feels wrong.
A senior Italian politician says he believes a ransom of $1m or more was paid for the release of two female Italian aid workers kidnapped in Iraq.
Italian Foreign Minister Franco Frattini said no money had been paid but MP Gustavo Selva described the denial as purely "official".
Yep. Something here is definitely bothering me.
Allegations of an Italian ransom, first made in a Kuwaiti newspaper, have been widely reported in Italy.
Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi fuelled the rumours by talking of "a difficult choice which had to be made", the BBC's Guto Harri notes from Rome.
Gustavo Selva is head of the Italian parliament's foreign affairs committee and a member of the National Alliance, one of the parties in the governing coalition.
"The young women's life was the most important thing," he told French radio on Wednesday.
"In principle, one should not give in to blackmail, but this time I think we had to give in..."
That's it. That's the problem. That one of our allies, with troops in the line of fire, gave the enemy a million dollars.
These aren't the kind of kidnappers you see on TV - you know, the ones that get the money and spend the rest of their lives on an island somewhere drinking and playing pee-pee touch with the local girls.
Nope. These guys are going to take that money and buy mayhem with it - more guns, more ammo, and more bombs. What's the going rate for suicide bombers these days? Or maybe they can bribe some officials with it. Any way you look at it, that money helped those two women (who were there willingly, knowing the dangers) and their families. And it's increased the danger faced by thousands more.
So what's the lesson for today? Kidnapping works.
Good going.
I'm glad those girls are free, and yet something still feels wrong.
A senior Italian politician says he believes a ransom of $1m or more was paid for the release of two female Italian aid workers kidnapped in Iraq.
Italian Foreign Minister Franco Frattini said no money had been paid but MP Gustavo Selva described the denial as purely "official".
Yep. Something here is definitely bothering me.
Allegations of an Italian ransom, first made in a Kuwaiti newspaper, have been widely reported in Italy.
Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi fuelled the rumours by talking of "a difficult choice which had to be made", the BBC's Guto Harri notes from Rome.
Gustavo Selva is head of the Italian parliament's foreign affairs committee and a member of the National Alliance, one of the parties in the governing coalition.
"The young women's life was the most important thing," he told French radio on Wednesday.
"In principle, one should not give in to blackmail, but this time I think we had to give in..."
That's it. That's the problem. That one of our allies, with troops in the line of fire, gave the enemy a million dollars.
These aren't the kind of kidnappers you see on TV - you know, the ones that get the money and spend the rest of their lives on an island somewhere drinking and playing pee-pee touch with the local girls.
Nope. These guys are going to take that money and buy mayhem with it - more guns, more ammo, and more bombs. What's the going rate for suicide bombers these days? Or maybe they can bribe some officials with it. Any way you look at it, that money helped those two women (who were there willingly, knowing the dangers) and their families. And it's increased the danger faced by thousands more.
So what's the lesson for today? Kidnapping works.
Good going.
9.28.2004
What type of America-hating minority am I?
According to this quiz, I'm a HIPPY.
You know, spaced-out idealist.
Geez. If I'd known that before, I'd have tried better drugs. And shaved less.
9.27.2004
The Beer Bear
He's here, and he drinks Rainer.
He's also the star of Rainer's first TV ad campaign since Smokey was knee high to a sapling.
Kudos to Rainier for smart marketing.
He's also the star of Rainer's first TV ad campaign since Smokey was knee high to a sapling.
Kudos to Rainier for smart marketing.
At the risk of sounding like a complete child . . .
. . . you can dish it out, but you sure can't take it.
Syria warns Israel over attack
Tel-Aviv behind killing of Hamas official in Damascus
"This terrorist act represents a grave development that Israel shoulders responsibility for, as it emphasizes its intention to shake security and stability in the region," the Syrian official news agency SANA quoted an official source as saying.
Shake stability? Cripes. If you were really interested in security and stability, you'd stop harboring Hamas and Islamic Jihad. Or stop the flow of weapons from Iran to the Palestinians. Maybe you'd let Lebanon have the Bekaa Valley back by taking your troops out, and stop meddling in Lebanon's elections.
Ahmed Haj Ali, an adviser to the Syrian information minister, described the assassination as a "terrorist and cowardly action."
I disagree. This would be what's called "fighting fire with fire." "Terrorist and cowardly action" is the constant targeting of civilians - a favorite practice of your friends.
... "This is not the first warning" Israel has tried to convey to Syria, Haj Ali said. "What happened indicates that Israel's aggression has no limits."
Israel had limits. But there's only so many bus bombings a nation can swallow.
Syria is foolish to believe that since they haven't been directly responsible for a terrorist act since 1986, that they're exempt from scrutiny. Even if they didn't plant the bombs, or fire the missles, or send the murderers, giving terrorists safe haven makes them accessories to every Hamas, Hizbollah, and Islamic Jihad crime.
So Israel fired a warning shot across Syria's bow, and focused a lot of attention on their policies.
I suspect Syria will continue with the bluster. I'm sure there will be another bombing by Hamas, and another martyr for the signs in Gaza. But Syria's been put on notice, and nobody put it better than Haj Ali himself:
The Israeli assassination, he said, "was meant to deliver a message to the entire world that says: 'We are capable of striking anywhere in accordance with the Israeli agenda."'
Yes, they are. And now you know they will.
Syria warns Israel over attack
Tel-Aviv behind killing of Hamas official in Damascus
"This terrorist act represents a grave development that Israel shoulders responsibility for, as it emphasizes its intention to shake security and stability in the region," the Syrian official news agency SANA quoted an official source as saying.
Shake stability? Cripes. If you were really interested in security and stability, you'd stop harboring Hamas and Islamic Jihad. Or stop the flow of weapons from Iran to the Palestinians. Maybe you'd let Lebanon have the Bekaa Valley back by taking your troops out, and stop meddling in Lebanon's elections.
Ahmed Haj Ali, an adviser to the Syrian information minister, described the assassination as a "terrorist and cowardly action."
I disagree. This would be what's called "fighting fire with fire." "Terrorist and cowardly action" is the constant targeting of civilians - a favorite practice of your friends.
... "This is not the first warning" Israel has tried to convey to Syria, Haj Ali said. "What happened indicates that Israel's aggression has no limits."
Israel had limits. But there's only so many bus bombings a nation can swallow.
Syria is foolish to believe that since they haven't been directly responsible for a terrorist act since 1986, that they're exempt from scrutiny. Even if they didn't plant the bombs, or fire the missles, or send the murderers, giving terrorists safe haven makes them accessories to every Hamas, Hizbollah, and Islamic Jihad crime.
So Israel fired a warning shot across Syria's bow, and focused a lot of attention on their policies.
I suspect Syria will continue with the bluster. I'm sure there will be another bombing by Hamas, and another martyr for the signs in Gaza. But Syria's been put on notice, and nobody put it better than Haj Ali himself:
The Israeli assassination, he said, "was meant to deliver a message to the entire world that says: 'We are capable of striking anywhere in accordance with the Israeli agenda."'
Yes, they are. And now you know they will.
All I want for Christmas
Yesssssss, my Precious.
Oh, happiness! Fifty additional minutes! Eowyn and Faramir - explained! Saruman returns! More orcs! More pirates! More special features!
The question is this: do I run out and buy this edition or wait for Peter Jackson to compile the entire trilogy of director's cuts?
Oh, happiness! Fifty additional minutes! Eowyn and Faramir - explained! Saruman returns! More orcs! More pirates! More special features!
The question is this: do I run out and buy this edition or wait for Peter Jackson to compile the entire trilogy of director's cuts?
9.24.2004
The taste of Friday afternoon
I'm a lucky woman. It's Friday afternoon, 4:00. The weather here in Las Vegas is sunny, and gorgeously warm as only late summer here can be. This kind of afternoon is what we dream of all through the insanely hot months of July and August.
So here I am at work, having done my part to turn the wheels of capitalism, and beside me is a cold bottle of beer. Yes, indeedy. Beer at work on a Friday afternoon is a joy that not many are able to experience, so I am extremely thankful.
In less than an hour (because I'll leave at 4:45, I think) I'll be home, where I'll open all the windows, turn on some music, and start cooking dinner for Captain Chicken Wing and myself. There will be more beer, maybe even wine or a cold vodka tonic. And then, we will drive off at sunset (not drunk, of course) in CCW's convertible to our favorite bar to watch the Dodgers/Giants game.
Tomorrow, I will sleep in.
This is a lovely life, especially at 4:00 on Friday, with the weekend's inaugural beer in hand.
So here I am at work, having done my part to turn the wheels of capitalism, and beside me is a cold bottle of beer. Yes, indeedy. Beer at work on a Friday afternoon is a joy that not many are able to experience, so I am extremely thankful.
In less than an hour (because I'll leave at 4:45, I think) I'll be home, where I'll open all the windows, turn on some music, and start cooking dinner for Captain Chicken Wing and myself. There will be more beer, maybe even wine or a cold vodka tonic. And then, we will drive off at sunset (not drunk, of course) in CCW's convertible to our favorite bar to watch the Dodgers/Giants game.
Tomorrow, I will sleep in.
This is a lovely life, especially at 4:00 on Friday, with the weekend's inaugural beer in hand.
9.23.2004
Excuse me . . .
. . . while I have a conniption.
AAAAAAAAAAA!
Damn Dodgers! Damn DODGERS! DAMN DODGERS!
Well. That didn't make me feel better at all.
Screwups.
AAAAAAAAAAA!
Damn Dodgers! Damn DODGERS! DAMN DODGERS!
Well. That didn't make me feel better at all.
Screwups.
Go, Hard Rock, go!
Now this is an appropriate response to criticism.
Experts: New billboard lampoons regulators
Though it stands more than eight miles away, a not-so-tongue-in-cheek billboard towering above the Hard Rock Hotel could cast a heavy shadow on Friday's Nevada Gaming Commission meeting near downtown Las Vegas.
State regulators and Hard Rock representatives are scheduled to discuss at the Sawyer Building recent complaints that the edge-pushing gaming company's risqué advertising efforts reflect poorly on the gaming industry and state.
Stop. For years, I've been looking at a lineup of bare asses for "Crazy Girls" at the Riviera with the cheesy line, "No ifs, ands, or . . ." Nearly every cab in town has some medical miracle on its signs, advertising for strip joints. "Reflect poorly?" Puh-leeeeeeze.
Arguments and accusations covering everything from free speech to the moral and economic well-being of the community will no doubt bombard the commission chambers, but several sources who've followed the issue insist the Hard Rock is already mocking regulators with its latest promotional effort.
Good.
Several weeks ago, Hard Rock erected a billboard that depicts a cartoon cat, two rabbits and a wood-chewing beaver next to its hotel-casino at 4455 Paradise Road.
While the sign touts itself as "Another clean & inoffensive billboard from your friends at the Hard Rock," others claim it's simply a reprise of the suggestive content that led to the company's $300,000 Gaming Control Board settlement that was rejected by the Nevada Gaming Commission and then Friday's commission hearing.
"It's a pussy, a beaver and some bunnies, and we all know what bunnies do," Scott Robertson, creative director for local ad firm the Merica Agency, said Wednesday. "Because it's not so overt, maybe people are OK with that, but given that there's a looming controversy, it shocked me.
I know Scott. The first thing he did was laugh his ass off. The second thing he did was wish he'd thought of it.
"To me, this is blatant thumbing their nose at the gaming commission."
Which is exactly what's so damn great about it.
That opinion was echoed by Patti Gerace, a Walker Furniture marketer who serves as executive board member of the Las Vegas Advertising Federation. She chuckled at the sign's use of animals and objects whose names are common euphemisms for genitalia or depict sexual activity.
"Because I know who they (Hard Rock) are and what they've portrayed in the past, I know what they're trying to say," Gerace said. "I see a beaver and some rabbits doing it. It's not very nice. ... It's clever, it's cute, but I still think people will find it offensive if they look at it in that way."
Yes, there are always people who will look at it 'in that way.' These are the same people that demanded compensation because they were terrorized by Janet Jackson's boobie. Puckered fuckers.
Robertson compared the billboard to the Las Vegas Convention and Visitors Authority's "What happens here, stays here" campaign, which hints at untoward activities but never depicts them.
"It's up to our dirty minds to apply what we know that double meaning is," Robertson said of the Hard Rock billboard. "The fact that it's sort of rebelling by still being sexual, without being overtly sexual, intersects with the core values of the Hard Rock brand, which is sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll."
Frequent Hard Rock critic Michael Wixom contends the company's decision to flaunt a sex-charged message -- albeit it one veiled amid seemingly innocent cartoon characters -- threatens state gaming regulators' ability to govern Nevada's largest industry.
"It's beyond what I think is in good taste or you think is in good taste," said Wixom, a local attorney who founded the Main Street Billboard Committee advocacy group. "The minute you undermine the Gaming Control Board or Gaming Commission to any degree, you undermine what they've done over the last 40 years to create our community. ... It's something we have to be concerned about."
Then you'd better gird your shrunken loins and go after The Palms for their shitty "Skin" billboards, or TI for the Tangerine Ultra Lounge boards that say "Come Shaven." Are you ready to face Mandalay Bay and Bally's as well, you axe-grinding asshole?
Despite the topic's subjectivity, Wixom said the commission is within its powers to regulate the ad content of gaming license holders. The American Civil Liberties Union, Nevada Resort Association and Hard Rock have countered such restrictions violate the First Amendment.
That's enough. I admit I was shocked by the Hard Rock's balls. During NFR (National Finals Rodeo), their billboard depicted a pair of supermodel legs with panties around her ankles. The line: "Get ready to buck all night." Another showed a girl lying naked, stomach-down on a strewn deck of cards: "Sometimes you have to cheat." But the photography has always been gorgeous, the design good, and the lines delivered with a wink. They've hit their target dead on.
And let's not forget this: Las Vegas was, is, and always will be Sin City - no matter what the community leaders say. The main industry is Vice Peddling. Gaming and hotel rooms drive our economy. People come here to drink too much, gamble too much, and have lots and lots of monkey sex.
So I'm glad the Hard Rock isn't afraid to embrace what we really are. And I hope they can continue to stick it to the hypocrites.
Experts: New billboard lampoons regulators
Though it stands more than eight miles away, a not-so-tongue-in-cheek billboard towering above the Hard Rock Hotel could cast a heavy shadow on Friday's Nevada Gaming Commission meeting near downtown Las Vegas.
State regulators and Hard Rock representatives are scheduled to discuss at the Sawyer Building recent complaints that the edge-pushing gaming company's risqué advertising efforts reflect poorly on the gaming industry and state.
Stop. For years, I've been looking at a lineup of bare asses for "Crazy Girls" at the Riviera with the cheesy line, "No ifs, ands, or . . ." Nearly every cab in town has some medical miracle on its signs, advertising for strip joints. "Reflect poorly?" Puh-leeeeeeze.
Arguments and accusations covering everything from free speech to the moral and economic well-being of the community will no doubt bombard the commission chambers, but several sources who've followed the issue insist the Hard Rock is already mocking regulators with its latest promotional effort.
Good.
Several weeks ago, Hard Rock erected a billboard that depicts a cartoon cat, two rabbits and a wood-chewing beaver next to its hotel-casino at 4455 Paradise Road.
While the sign touts itself as "Another clean & inoffensive billboard from your friends at the Hard Rock," others claim it's simply a reprise of the suggestive content that led to the company's $300,000 Gaming Control Board settlement that was rejected by the Nevada Gaming Commission and then Friday's commission hearing.
"It's a pussy, a beaver and some bunnies, and we all know what bunnies do," Scott Robertson, creative director for local ad firm the Merica Agency, said Wednesday. "Because it's not so overt, maybe people are OK with that, but given that there's a looming controversy, it shocked me.
I know Scott. The first thing he did was laugh his ass off. The second thing he did was wish he'd thought of it.
"To me, this is blatant thumbing their nose at the gaming commission."
Which is exactly what's so damn great about it.
That opinion was echoed by Patti Gerace, a Walker Furniture marketer who serves as executive board member of the Las Vegas Advertising Federation. She chuckled at the sign's use of animals and objects whose names are common euphemisms for genitalia or depict sexual activity.
"Because I know who they (Hard Rock) are and what they've portrayed in the past, I know what they're trying to say," Gerace said. "I see a beaver and some rabbits doing it. It's not very nice. ... It's clever, it's cute, but I still think people will find it offensive if they look at it in that way."
Yes, there are always people who will look at it 'in that way.' These are the same people that demanded compensation because they were terrorized by Janet Jackson's boobie. Puckered fuckers.
Robertson compared the billboard to the Las Vegas Convention and Visitors Authority's "What happens here, stays here" campaign, which hints at untoward activities but never depicts them.
"It's up to our dirty minds to apply what we know that double meaning is," Robertson said of the Hard Rock billboard. "The fact that it's sort of rebelling by still being sexual, without being overtly sexual, intersects with the core values of the Hard Rock brand, which is sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll."
Frequent Hard Rock critic Michael Wixom contends the company's decision to flaunt a sex-charged message -- albeit it one veiled amid seemingly innocent cartoon characters -- threatens state gaming regulators' ability to govern Nevada's largest industry.
"It's beyond what I think is in good taste or you think is in good taste," said Wixom, a local attorney who founded the Main Street Billboard Committee advocacy group. "The minute you undermine the Gaming Control Board or Gaming Commission to any degree, you undermine what they've done over the last 40 years to create our community. ... It's something we have to be concerned about."
Then you'd better gird your shrunken loins and go after The Palms for their shitty "Skin" billboards, or TI for the Tangerine Ultra Lounge boards that say "Come Shaven." Are you ready to face Mandalay Bay and Bally's as well, you axe-grinding asshole?
Despite the topic's subjectivity, Wixom said the commission is within its powers to regulate the ad content of gaming license holders. The American Civil Liberties Union, Nevada Resort Association and Hard Rock have countered such restrictions violate the First Amendment.
That's enough. I admit I was shocked by the Hard Rock's balls. During NFR (National Finals Rodeo), their billboard depicted a pair of supermodel legs with panties around her ankles. The line: "Get ready to buck all night." Another showed a girl lying naked, stomach-down on a strewn deck of cards: "Sometimes you have to cheat." But the photography has always been gorgeous, the design good, and the lines delivered with a wink. They've hit their target dead on.
And let's not forget this: Las Vegas was, is, and always will be Sin City - no matter what the community leaders say. The main industry is Vice Peddling. Gaming and hotel rooms drive our economy. People come here to drink too much, gamble too much, and have lots and lots of monkey sex.
So I'm glad the Hard Rock isn't afraid to embrace what we really are. And I hope they can continue to stick it to the hypocrites.
9.17.2004
Is it over yet?
The week, I mean.
Since Friday is almost gone, I thought I'd do something new. I'm going to recap the week by listing the five things I'm officially tired of.
And the countdown begins . . .
5) Swift Boat Vets for Truth. They're back with another ad, and they're still pissed at John Kerry. Thanks to them, and to the oversaturation of their message in the media, I know more about swift boats and burning rice shrapnel wounds to the ass than I ever needed to.
4) Paris Hilton. Today, I saw that she and Lance Bass are going to star in a remake of The Great Gatsby called Jay G., and it wasn't hard to imagine that this was the exact moment that the whole damn world just jumped the shark.
3) North Korea. Was it an explosion or wasn't it? Was it a meteor? Was it just gas? You don't have to be embarassed - just 'fess up before we panic and go nuc-u-lar on you.
2) Every asshat that stands in front of the Santa Barbara County Courthouse screaming "We love you Michael!" He is a pedophile. It is regarded as bad form to cheer pedophiles and other criminals. And don't give me that "innocent until proven guilty" crap, because I firmly believe in "where there's smoke, there's fire." By that criteria, MJ's been having himself a twenty-year-long weenie roast.
1) Dan Rather. He's dug himself a nice hole, and now he insists on pissing in it. Just make it stop so we can go back to the real news. Like the Scott Peterson trial.
Since Friday is almost gone, I thought I'd do something new. I'm going to recap the week by listing the five things I'm officially tired of.
And the countdown begins . . .
5) Swift Boat Vets for Truth. They're back with another ad, and they're still pissed at John Kerry. Thanks to them, and to the oversaturation of their message in the media, I know more about swift boats and burning rice shrapnel wounds to the ass than I ever needed to.
4) Paris Hilton. Today, I saw that she and Lance Bass are going to star in a remake of The Great Gatsby called Jay G., and it wasn't hard to imagine that this was the exact moment that the whole damn world just jumped the shark.
3) North Korea. Was it an explosion or wasn't it? Was it a meteor? Was it just gas? You don't have to be embarassed - just 'fess up before we panic and go nuc-u-lar on you.
2) Every asshat that stands in front of the Santa Barbara County Courthouse screaming "We love you Michael!" He is a pedophile. It is regarded as bad form to cheer pedophiles and other criminals. And don't give me that "innocent until proven guilty" crap, because I firmly believe in "where there's smoke, there's fire." By that criteria, MJ's been having himself a twenty-year-long weenie roast.
1) Dan Rather. He's dug himself a nice hole, and now he insists on pissing in it. Just make it stop so we can go back to the real news. Like the Scott Peterson trial.
9.16.2004
ADD
Attention Deficit Disorder. That's definitely not a condition Nevada's suffering from right now. Bush was here on Tuesday, and Kerry's here today. It's nice to be a battleground state.
The main local paper, the R-J, came out this weekend and endorsed President Bush. I wasn't surprised at all, because the staff is mostly right-leaning, and a couple of their opinion columnists are downright liberitarian. I think they send their pieces in by carrier pigeon from their heavily-fortified bunkers in Pahrump.
When I pulled up the R-J's main page this morning, I wanted to read their take on Kerry's visit; after all, there was tons of hoopla about Bush on Tuesday morning. Nothing was there. Hm. I went to "Nevada News." The two headline stories were 1) "Ka," the new Cirque de Soleil show, is opening at the MGM; and 2) Treasures Gentlemen's Club lost their liquor license. How curious. I scrolled down the page until - Hey! There it was.
Kerry visit might tie up roads
Whew. I thought the R-J would start being really partisan now.
Nope. Nevada's not suffering from ADD. But I suspect John Kerry is.
The main local paper, the R-J, came out this weekend and endorsed President Bush. I wasn't surprised at all, because the staff is mostly right-leaning, and a couple of their opinion columnists are downright liberitarian. I think they send their pieces in by carrier pigeon from their heavily-fortified bunkers in Pahrump.
When I pulled up the R-J's main page this morning, I wanted to read their take on Kerry's visit; after all, there was tons of hoopla about Bush on Tuesday morning. Nothing was there. Hm. I went to "Nevada News." The two headline stories were 1) "Ka," the new Cirque de Soleil show, is opening at the MGM; and 2) Treasures Gentlemen's Club lost their liquor license. How curious. I scrolled down the page until - Hey! There it was.
Kerry visit might tie up roads
Whew. I thought the R-J would start being really partisan now.
Nope. Nevada's not suffering from ADD. But I suspect John Kerry is.
9.15.2004
Nevada Rocks the Vote
So our scary computers got it right, to the point where other states are thinking of adopting our system.
Too bad our younger voters may not be able to read the ballot.
Too bad our younger voters may not be able to read the ballot.
9.11.2004
9.09.2004
Monorail!
The report from Springfield - er, Las Vegas:
Falling debris closes system
A two-pound metal object fell from the Las Vegas Monorail Wednesday, closing the fledgling system for the second time this month.
Really. I'm, well, shocked.
Wednesday's incident was sparked by the failure of a vertical metal pipe called a "flange" that helps support the horizontal drive shaft on the trains.
The flange apparently snapped on Train No. 1, an unthemed southbound train which had just left the Bally's/Paris station. A 6-inch, disc-shaped piece of the flange fell away and struck an electrified rail alongside the monorail track, authorities said.
That 750-volt rail supplies power to the train. A small electrical explosion resulted from the live wire being struck by the piece, which then fell to the sidewalk 20 feet below, authorities said.
Thank goodness nobody was riding it.
Wait. Is that a good thing or not? That nobody was hurt is good. But you have to wonder why this savior of Las Vegas tourist transit was empty at 10am during one of our more lovely months.
Is it too late to implode it and build something else?
Falling debris closes system
A two-pound metal object fell from the Las Vegas Monorail Wednesday, closing the fledgling system for the second time this month.
Really. I'm, well, shocked.
Wednesday's incident was sparked by the failure of a vertical metal pipe called a "flange" that helps support the horizontal drive shaft on the trains.
The flange apparently snapped on Train No. 1, an unthemed southbound train which had just left the Bally's/Paris station. A 6-inch, disc-shaped piece of the flange fell away and struck an electrified rail alongside the monorail track, authorities said.
That 750-volt rail supplies power to the train. A small electrical explosion resulted from the live wire being struck by the piece, which then fell to the sidewalk 20 feet below, authorities said.
Thank goodness nobody was riding it.
Wait. Is that a good thing or not? That nobody was hurt is good. But you have to wonder why this savior of Las Vegas tourist transit was empty at 10am during one of our more lovely months.
Is it too late to implode it and build something else?
An odd way to surface . . .
. . . but here it is.
Pup shoots man, saves litter mates
So this fool in Florida decided that since he couldn't find homes for seven 3-month-old shepherd-mix puppies, he'd shoot them in the head with his pistol and bury them in the backyard.
He'd already killed three when his murderous plot was foiled by the fourth. As he held the little guy, the puppy's paw hit the trigger and shot the asshole in the wrist.
Good doggie. Ribeyes for life.
. . .
Last week was far too horrifying, and any other words I could have mustered would have felt - I don't know - masturbatory to me. I didn't want to plumb any further depths of anger or sadness or hate. So a week later, I'm reacquainting myself with the world again.
No surprise, it's still as shitty as ever.
But I'll stick with it for a while, and maybe (just maybe) one of these days I'll lighten up a little bit.
Pup shoots man, saves litter mates
So this fool in Florida decided that since he couldn't find homes for seven 3-month-old shepherd-mix puppies, he'd shoot them in the head with his pistol and bury them in the backyard.
He'd already killed three when his murderous plot was foiled by the fourth. As he held the little guy, the puppy's paw hit the trigger and shot the asshole in the wrist.
Good doggie. Ribeyes for life.
. . .
Last week was far too horrifying, and any other words I could have mustered would have felt - I don't know - masturbatory to me. I didn't want to plumb any further depths of anger or sadness or hate. So a week later, I'm reacquainting myself with the world again.
No surprise, it's still as shitty as ever.
But I'll stick with it for a while, and maybe (just maybe) one of these days I'll lighten up a little bit.
9.03.2004
Today, I take it all back.
A few days ago, I posted about the Chechen women who blew up those Russian airlines. Back then, I found myself feeling pity for them.
Not today.
They shot fleeing children in the back.
They killed rescue workers.
They rigged the school with explosives, ensuring a high death toll.
They never had any intention of letting those poor people go free.
They are Islamic jihadists, and they all need to be destroyed.
No more pity for these fuckers. Not from me.
Not today.
They shot fleeing children in the back.
They killed rescue workers.
They rigged the school with explosives, ensuring a high death toll.
They never had any intention of letting those poor people go free.
They are Islamic jihadists, and they all need to be destroyed.
No more pity for these fuckers. Not from me.
9.02.2004
Me vs. The Monorail
There was a Simpsons episode, arguably one of the best ever (and that's saying a lot), called Marge vs. the Monorail.
In it, Springfield receives a multi-million dollar settlement from Mr. Burns. In the town meeting, Marge suggests they use the money to fix the crater-sized potholes in Main Street. The town is ready to agree until the slick-singing, straw-hat-wearing, Phil-Hartman-voiced Lyle Lanley busts through the door, ready to bilk Springfield out of their money with the very last thing they need. A monorail.
In a dead-on homage to "The Music Man," the town bursts into song:
- Lyle Lanley -
Well, sir, there's nothing on earth like a genuine,
bonafide, electrified, six-car monorail!
What'd I say?
- Ned Flanders -
Monorail!
- Lyle Lanley -
What's it called?
- Patty and Selma -
Monorail!
- Lyle Lanley -
That's right! Monorail!
(crowd chants "Monorail" softly and rhythmically)
- Miss Hoover -
I hear those things are awfully loud.
- Lyle Lanley -
It glides as softly as a cloud.
- Apu -
Is there a chance the track could bend?
- Lyle Lanley -
Not on your life, my Hindu friend.
- Barney -
What about us brain-dead slobs?
- Lyle Lanley -
You'll all be given cushy jobs.
- Abe -
Were you sent here by the devil?
- Lyle Lanley -
No, good sir, I'm on the level.
- Chief Wiggum -
The ring came off my pudding can.
- Lyle Lanley -
Take my pen knife, my good man.
I swear it's Springfield's only choice.
Throw up your hands and raise your voice!
- All -
(singing)
Monorail!
- Lyle Lanley -
What's it called?
- All -
Monorail!
- Lyle Lanley -
Once again...
- All -
Monorail!
- Marge -
But Main Street's still all cracked and broken...
- Bart -
Sorry, Mom, the mob has spoken!
- All -
(singing)
Monorail! Monorail! Monorail!
(big finish)
Monorail!
- Homer -
(not realizing the song's over)
Mono... D'oh!
Of course, the thing turns out to be a disaster. But in remembering this episode, I've come to believe this closely resembles the process by which we in Las Vegas got our monorail.
The monorail that's supposedly privately funded - but not really.
The monorail that's already losing money.
The monorail that's run by brain-dead slobs.
The monorail that's already falling apart.
The very same monorail that does absolutely nothing to help the commutes of Vegas residents, because its route only services a line of Strip hotels.
In the meantime, our freeways are constantly under construction because they're inadequate from the moment they open a new phase, and our pollution is hideous. But our city fathers thought sinking $750 million into a monorail was money well spent. They may as well have thrown the cash into one of our glowing underground nuclear test tunnels, for all the good it's doing us.
Las Vegas, Nevada. One of the few places on earth where life imitates art.
In it, Springfield receives a multi-million dollar settlement from Mr. Burns. In the town meeting, Marge suggests they use the money to fix the crater-sized potholes in Main Street. The town is ready to agree until the slick-singing, straw-hat-wearing, Phil-Hartman-voiced Lyle Lanley busts through the door, ready to bilk Springfield out of their money with the very last thing they need. A monorail.
In a dead-on homage to "The Music Man," the town bursts into song:
- Lyle Lanley -
Well, sir, there's nothing on earth like a genuine,
bonafide, electrified, six-car monorail!
What'd I say?
- Ned Flanders -
Monorail!
- Lyle Lanley -
What's it called?
- Patty and Selma -
Monorail!
- Lyle Lanley -
That's right! Monorail!
(crowd chants "Monorail" softly and rhythmically)
- Miss Hoover -
I hear those things are awfully loud.
- Lyle Lanley -
It glides as softly as a cloud.
- Apu -
Is there a chance the track could bend?
- Lyle Lanley -
Not on your life, my Hindu friend.
- Barney -
What about us brain-dead slobs?
- Lyle Lanley -
You'll all be given cushy jobs.
- Abe -
Were you sent here by the devil?
- Lyle Lanley -
No, good sir, I'm on the level.
- Chief Wiggum -
The ring came off my pudding can.
- Lyle Lanley -
Take my pen knife, my good man.
I swear it's Springfield's only choice.
Throw up your hands and raise your voice!
- All -
(singing)
Monorail!
- Lyle Lanley -
What's it called?
- All -
Monorail!
- Lyle Lanley -
Once again...
- All -
Monorail!
- Marge -
But Main Street's still all cracked and broken...
- Bart -
Sorry, Mom, the mob has spoken!
- All -
(singing)
Monorail! Monorail! Monorail!
(big finish)
Monorail!
- Homer -
(not realizing the song's over)
Mono... D'oh!
Of course, the thing turns out to be a disaster. But in remembering this episode, I've come to believe this closely resembles the process by which we in Las Vegas got our monorail.
The monorail that's supposedly privately funded - but not really.
The monorail that's already losing money.
The monorail that's run by brain-dead slobs.
The monorail that's already falling apart.
The very same monorail that does absolutely nothing to help the commutes of Vegas residents, because its route only services a line of Strip hotels.
In the meantime, our freeways are constantly under construction because they're inadequate from the moment they open a new phase, and our pollution is hideous. But our city fathers thought sinking $750 million into a monorail was money well spent. They may as well have thrown the cash into one of our glowing underground nuclear test tunnels, for all the good it's doing us.
Las Vegas, Nevada. One of the few places on earth where life imitates art.
9.01.2004
Schadenfreude
That's the jolly feeling you get when someone finally gets what's coming to them.
Erin Kenny, one of our ex-County Commissioners, has been tagged again. This time, for money in an offshore account she received for pushing a friggin' CVS drugstore onto a residential corner.
Seeing her on the front page of the paper, her image tarnished beyond recognition, her name synonymous with words like "corrupt," "bribery," "extortion," "indictment," and "FBI investigation," gives me the warm fuzzies.
Why? Because I watched her skinny carpetbagger ass thrive for years by being a two-faced, lying, immoral, amoral harpy. She damaged the residential property values in her district (that wasn't mine, thank God), got rich, then moved out to a ritzier area. She used her office to seek vengeance on those who dared oppose her. She blatantly gave public contracts to her buddies, regardless of the capability of the other bidders (personal experience, here).
Down you go, Erin. Keep riding that vortex. I find it completely entertaining.
Erin Kenny, one of our ex-County Commissioners, has been tagged again. This time, for money in an offshore account she received for pushing a friggin' CVS drugstore onto a residential corner.
Seeing her on the front page of the paper, her image tarnished beyond recognition, her name synonymous with words like "corrupt," "bribery," "extortion," "indictment," and "FBI investigation," gives me the warm fuzzies.
Why? Because I watched her skinny carpetbagger ass thrive for years by being a two-faced, lying, immoral, amoral harpy. She damaged the residential property values in her district (that wasn't mine, thank God), got rich, then moved out to a ritzier area. She used her office to seek vengeance on those who dared oppose her. She blatantly gave public contracts to her buddies, regardless of the capability of the other bidders (personal experience, here).
Down you go, Erin. Keep riding that vortex. I find it completely entertaining.
A favourite. Spelling intentional.
W.H. Auden sure knew what he was doing:
September 1, 1939
I sit in one of the dives
On Fifty-second Street
Uncertain and afraid
As the clever hopes expire
Of a low dishonest decade:
Waves of anger and fear
Circulate over the bright
And darkened lands of the earth,
Obsessing our private lives;
The unmentionable odour of death
Offends the September night.
Accurate scholarship can
Unearth the whole offence
From Luther until now
That has driven a culture mad,
Find what occurred at Linz,
What huge imago made
A psychopathic god:
I and the public know
What all schoolchildren learn,
Those to whom evil is done
Do evil in return.
Exiled Thucydides knew
All that a speech can say
About Democracy,
And what dictators do,
The elderly rubbish they talk
To an apathetic grave;
Analysed all in his book,
The enlightenment driven away,
The habit-forming pain,
Mismanagement and grief:
We must suffer them all again.
Into this neutral air
Where blind skyscrapers use
Their full height to proclaim
The strength of Collective Man,
Each language pours its vain
Competitive excuse:
But who can live for long
In an euphoric dream;
Out of the mirror they stare,
Imperialism's face
And the international wrong.
Faces along the bar
Cling to their average day:
The lights must never go out,
The music must always play,
All the conventions conspire
To make this fort assume
The furniture of home;
Lest we should see where we are,
Lost in a haunted wood,
Children afraid of the night
Who have never been happy or good.
The windiest militant trash
Important Persons shout
Is not so crude as our wish:
What mad Nijinsky wrote
About Diaghilev
Is true of the normal heart;
For the error bred in the bone
Of each woman and each man
Craves what it cannot have,
Not universal love
But to be loved alone.
From the conservative dark
Into the ethical life
The dense commuters come,
Repeating their morning vow;
'I will be true to the wife,
I'll concentrate more on my work,'
And helpless governors wake
To resume their compulsory game:
Who can release them now,
Who can reach the dead,
Who can speak for the dumb?
All I have is a voice
To undo the folded lie,
The romantic lie in the brain
Of the sensual man-in-the-street
And the lie of Authority
Whose buildings grope the sky:
There is no such thing as the State
And no one exists alone;
Hunger allows no choice
To the citizen or the police;
We must love one another or die.
Defenseless under the night
Our world in stupor lies;
Yet, dotted everywhere,
Ironic points of light
Flash out wherever the Just
Exchange their messages:
May I, composed like them
Of Eros and of dust,
Beleaguered by the same
Negation and despair,
Show an affirming flame.
September 1, 1939
I sit in one of the dives
On Fifty-second Street
Uncertain and afraid
As the clever hopes expire
Of a low dishonest decade:
Waves of anger and fear
Circulate over the bright
And darkened lands of the earth,
Obsessing our private lives;
The unmentionable odour of death
Offends the September night.
Accurate scholarship can
Unearth the whole offence
From Luther until now
That has driven a culture mad,
Find what occurred at Linz,
What huge imago made
A psychopathic god:
I and the public know
What all schoolchildren learn,
Those to whom evil is done
Do evil in return.
Exiled Thucydides knew
All that a speech can say
About Democracy,
And what dictators do,
The elderly rubbish they talk
To an apathetic grave;
Analysed all in his book,
The enlightenment driven away,
The habit-forming pain,
Mismanagement and grief:
We must suffer them all again.
Into this neutral air
Where blind skyscrapers use
Their full height to proclaim
The strength of Collective Man,
Each language pours its vain
Competitive excuse:
But who can live for long
In an euphoric dream;
Out of the mirror they stare,
Imperialism's face
And the international wrong.
Faces along the bar
Cling to their average day:
The lights must never go out,
The music must always play,
All the conventions conspire
To make this fort assume
The furniture of home;
Lest we should see where we are,
Lost in a haunted wood,
Children afraid of the night
Who have never been happy or good.
The windiest militant trash
Important Persons shout
Is not so crude as our wish:
What mad Nijinsky wrote
About Diaghilev
Is true of the normal heart;
For the error bred in the bone
Of each woman and each man
Craves what it cannot have,
Not universal love
But to be loved alone.
From the conservative dark
Into the ethical life
The dense commuters come,
Repeating their morning vow;
'I will be true to the wife,
I'll concentrate more on my work,'
And helpless governors wake
To resume their compulsory game:
Who can release them now,
Who can reach the dead,
Who can speak for the dumb?
All I have is a voice
To undo the folded lie,
The romantic lie in the brain
Of the sensual man-in-the-street
And the lie of Authority
Whose buildings grope the sky:
There is no such thing as the State
And no one exists alone;
Hunger allows no choice
To the citizen or the police;
We must love one another or die.
Defenseless under the night
Our world in stupor lies;
Yet, dotted everywhere,
Ironic points of light
Flash out wherever the Just
Exchange their messages:
May I, composed like them
Of Eros and of dust,
Beleaguered by the same
Negation and despair,
Show an affirming flame.
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