Thanks be to God.
He's so no-bullshit, which is what I need right now.
Best picture?
Excuse me? Jack almost had a heart attack, as did everyone else in the theatre.
Crash.
Well, hell.
Hell.
I'm going to reiterate, then, what I said before with the disclaimer that I'm uninitiated: must a Best Picture nominee have shock value now? Are we all supposed to be reacting against complacency? Are we all supposed to be shaken out of our worldviews?
It's no surprise that people don't usually go to the movies for that purpose. So will the Oscars continue to lose relevancy with the moviegoing public?
That's all I heard this week: is Hollywood losing middle America? No. But those aren't the movies you've seen honored tonight.
Pink Panther? Cheaper by the Dozen 2? Have at it, Kansas. The rest of us thinkers are going to the art house.
The dichotomy that separates voters into wide, generalized swaths is the same that Hollywood panders to. In the end, the Oscars are Red State v. Blue State. And the Oscars are blue through and through.
The Hollywood Dream Factory is fracturing. Different dreams for different dreamers. And with the continuing rise of cable and TiVo, it's harder than ever to capture the dreamers' attentions. The successful indie film may be nearly dead. Not because it's hard to make them – quite the contrary. With the advent of the digital camera and easy editing programs, making a movie has rarely been simpler. But to get that movie out to a wide audience, to get any sort of notice, you need part of the Factory behind you. So the indie goes to the festivals, hoping to get picked up by part of the Dream Factory. And at that point, the indie vision gets picked apart.
The true independent filmmakers may now be the ones who can do whatever they wish: Spielberg, Coppola, Lucas, Scorsese. And God help us all, Woody Allen.
I'm stating the obvious. Of course. Then again, I have been drinking vodka since I sat down this evening.
So I'll end the rambling here. Good night, everyone. And good luck.
3.05.2006
Tom Hanks looks like a serial killer
But I'll still watch him present.
Director. Let's take a deep breath.
Ang Lee. Hm. Now we all know how the rest will go.
His speech is – wow. All about "de gay mens and womens whose luff is denied by society." Oh, but he rallied. He made it for his recently deceased father. I can imagine that love, any love, would touch him.
Forget I said the word touch.
Director. Let's take a deep breath.
Ang Lee. Hm. Now we all know how the rest will go.
His speech is – wow. All about "de gay mens and womens whose luff is denied by society." Oh, but he rallied. He made it for his recently deceased father. I can imagine that love, any love, would touch him.
Forget I said the word touch.
Into the nitty-gritty
Adapted screenplay.
The Oscar goes to Larry McMurtry and Diana Ossana for the script from Annie Proulx's short story. I'm not at all surprised. And THANK YOU Larry McMurtry for talking up books. It's getting easier for people to get their "reading material" audibly. Or in the form of a movie. I agree, Larry – let's read!
Original screenplay goes to Crash. Haven't seen it, but want to. I've heard, though, that it takes every race-centered sensibility we have and lays it bare. And yet, people act as if this is the first movie that's done this. And we all know it's not. Please, everyone . . . take a movie on its damned merits – acting, cinematography, storytelling arc – and then judge. I'm tired of the "groundbreaking" flick being a darling because it's so very shocking to our fragile little systems.
And Woody Allen was nominated for Match Point? AAAAAAAAAAAAAA! Everyone knows how I feel about that one. If you don't go to last month's archive, 'cause I can't link on the fly. Suffice to say that it blew large, dull, dreary, stilted chunks.
The Oscar goes to Larry McMurtry and Diana Ossana for the script from Annie Proulx's short story. I'm not at all surprised. And THANK YOU Larry McMurtry for talking up books. It's getting easier for people to get their "reading material" audibly. Or in the form of a movie. I agree, Larry – let's read!
Original screenplay goes to Crash. Haven't seen it, but want to. I've heard, though, that it takes every race-centered sensibility we have and lays it bare. And yet, people act as if this is the first movie that's done this. And we all know it's not. Please, everyone . . . take a movie on its damned merits – acting, cinematography, storytelling arc – and then judge. I'm tired of the "groundbreaking" flick being a darling because it's so very shocking to our fragile little systems.
And Woody Allen was nominated for Match Point? AAAAAAAAAAAAAA! Everyone knows how I feel about that one. If you don't go to last month's archive, 'cause I can't link on the fly. Suffice to say that it blew large, dull, dreary, stilted chunks.
A horrible moment just occurred
You know how those commercial breaks will have a couple of spots locally-produced?
I just saw one of mine.
I DON'T WANT TO THINK ABOUT WORK RIGHT NOW!
Gawd! I'm going to give a ration of shit to our media buyer tomorrow.
I just saw one of mine.
I DON'T WANT TO THINK ABOUT WORK RIGHT NOW!
Gawd! I'm going to give a ration of shit to our media buyer tomorrow.
Another cigarette
And another Miles post.
In the meantime, Best Actress was awarded.
What should have happened, happened.
Beautiful, adorable Reese Witherspoon. Now her stock has risen exponentially. It will be incredibly interesting to see what she does next.
In the meantime, Best Actress was awarded.
What should have happened, happened.
Beautiful, adorable Reese Witherspoon. Now her stock has risen exponentially. It will be incredibly interesting to see what she does next.
And now for best performance by a gay man
...impersonating a straight man: John Travolta, for the last 20 years.
All of these gay guys playing straight guys playing gay guys. Does anyone, really, believe Phillip Seymore Hoffman, Jake Gyllenhall or any of these drama club Drama Mamas are really straight? Not,of course, that there's anything wrong with that. What's really wrong, I guess, is that they're still compelled to lie, just to keep working. That's the prevailing wisdom in Hollywood, but since when have they ever been right? People get it now more than ever. The real crime, it seems to me, is the condescending lie. The way politicians, actors and those in positions of authority feel they can't let us in on the truth.
All of these gay guys playing straight guys playing gay guys. Does anyone, really, believe Phillip Seymore Hoffman, Jake Gyllenhall or any of these drama club Drama Mamas are really straight? Not,of course, that there's anything wrong with that. What's really wrong, I guess, is that they're still compelled to lie, just to keep working. That's the prevailing wisdom in Hollywood, but since when have they ever been right? People get it now more than ever. The real crime, it seems to me, is the condescending lie. The way politicians, actors and those in positions of authority feel they can't let us in on the truth.
Best Actor
I never saw – who did presenter Hillary Swank come with?
Phillip Seymour Hoffman for Capote. Eerie.
Terrance Howard for Hustle and Flow. Wow.
Heath Ledger . . . oh, stop!
Joaquin Phoenix for Walk The Line. Another frickin' wow.
David Strathairn for Good Night and Good Luck. I can't help rooting for how very solid he was. I love Murrow.
And . . .
Hoffman. Am I a bit disappointed? Of course. Am I surprised? No – because he got the IFC Best Actor award. And right now, I don't know why I'm disappointed other than because it's just so expected. The only thing that would have been more expected was Heath Ledger.
God love him, though, he's actually surprised. He really didn't expect this. You can tell that he hoped, but didn't dare dream. And his speech is so sweet, and so complimentary to his mom. You just can't find a single thing wrong with that.
Still, I wish Strathairn had gotten it.
Phillip Seymour Hoffman for Capote. Eerie.
Terrance Howard for Hustle and Flow. Wow.
Heath Ledger . . . oh, stop!
Joaquin Phoenix for Walk The Line. Another frickin' wow.
David Strathairn for Good Night and Good Luck. I can't help rooting for how very solid he was. I love Murrow.
And . . .
Hoffman. Am I a bit disappointed? Of course. Am I surprised? No – because he got the IFC Best Actor award. And right now, I don't know why I'm disappointed other than because it's just so expected. The only thing that would have been more expected was Heath Ledger.
God love him, though, he's actually surprised. He really didn't expect this. You can tell that he hoped, but didn't dare dream. And his speech is so sweet, and so complimentary to his mom. You just can't find a single thing wrong with that.
Still, I wish Strathairn had gotten it.
Best Foreign Language Film
Too bad nobody normally gives a shit.
I, after watching the man who accepted the Oscar, want to see the movie.
Speaking of foreign language . . .
Ziyi Zhang is absolutely breathtaking. It's horrible to make her speak English, but cute in a way.
And isn't it so very funny that a Chinese girl played a geisha? I remember her saying somewhere that she didn't want to always be the prostitute character. Then she plays an "entertainer" in House of the Flying Daggers (which is still stunning) and a geisha.
It seems to me that those, unfortunately, are the only places for women in Asian theatre.
I, after watching the man who accepted the Oscar, want to see the movie.
Speaking of foreign language . . .
Ziyi Zhang is absolutely breathtaking. It's horrible to make her speak English, but cute in a way.
And isn't it so very funny that a Chinese girl played a geisha? I remember her saying somewhere that she didn't want to always be the prostitute character. Then she plays an "entertainer" in House of the Flying Daggers (which is still stunning) and a geisha.
It seems to me that those, unfortunately, are the only places for women in Asian theatre.
Best Original Song
I hate this category. None of them are usually worth a damn. And my retinas are STILL singed from Dolly Parton's performance.
OMFG! The PIMP SONG!
When on EARTH did this turn into the American Music Awards? This is absolutely gorgeous! There wasn't a single tux in that acceptance party.
And Jon Stewart is cracking up. Me too. And he's not shying away! Jon Stewart is the best thing to happen to this show in years.
OMFG! The PIMP SONG!
When on EARTH did this turn into the American Music Awards? This is absolutely gorgeous! There wasn't a single tux in that acceptance party.
And Jon Stewart is cracking up. Me too. And he's not shying away! Jon Stewart is the best thing to happen to this show in years.
You know it's 2006
when an Oscar-nominated song is called "It's Hard Out Here For a Pimp."
The censor-guy in the booth is having a biatch of a time with this one. He missed the first bitch-bleep.
I'm watching the dance routine and I have to wonder: when did HBO's 'hos from The Point get here?
The censor-guy in the booth is having a biatch of a time with this one. He missed the first bitch-bleep.
I'm watching the dance routine and I have to wonder: when did HBO's 'hos from The Point get here?
The Spots
Must I mention that Oscar spots are nearly as much as an event as those for the Super Bowl?
Here's how we know this: M. Night Shama-lama-ding-dong got an imcomprehensible but well-done :60 for American Express.
And then Kodak (who's always got something because they're big into film stock) has something that just tries to pull at the heartstrings and ends up pulling my finger.
But they spent a lot of money on it, so let's give it a disproportionate amount of attention rather than recognizing it as the total schlock it is.
See? Just like the Super Bowl commercials.
Here's how we know this: M. Night Shama-lama-ding-dong got an imcomprehensible but well-done :60 for American Express.
And then Kodak (who's always got something because they're big into film stock) has something that just tries to pull at the heartstrings and ends up pulling my finger.
But they spent a lot of money on it, so let's give it a disproportionate amount of attention rather than recognizing it as the total schlock it is.
See? Just like the Super Bowl commercials.
So I went outside for a quick lung dart . . .
. . . and Miles guest-blogged.
And I can't top what he just wrote. Damn him.
Robert Altman getting an honorary Oscar is so right. And just like his movie making, his speech is extemporaneous, beautiful, and so full of the joy he feels at just being there.
He has his whole family in a box off to the side, and what a motley gorgeous crew they are. And they're all swelling with pride for him.
He's just mentioned his heart transplant: that he's got about forty years left on it.
We can hope.
And I can't top what he just wrote. Damn him.
Robert Altman getting an honorary Oscar is so right. And just like his movie making, his speech is extemporaneous, beautiful, and so full of the joy he feels at just being there.
He has his whole family in a box off to the side, and what a motley gorgeous crew they are. And they're all swelling with pride for him.
He's just mentioned his heart transplant: that he's got about forty years left on it.
We can hope.
Please come to the theater, or we'll all die.
Notice all the whining about watching movies on DVD? Apparently that's the theme of the evening, and apparently everyone's been briefed. Please come to the movies at the theaters, please. We promise from now on that viewing epics like Deuce Bigalo: European Gigolo will no longer be interrupted by self-important fuckwads on their cell phones, nitwits talking to the screen and expecting a reply, or endomorphic cretins loudly unwrapping more goodies than Donald Trump's attention-starved kid on Christmas morning. Sure, we'll come to the theater...if I can bring a stun gun. And then there's this: If all these millionaires are pleading with me to do anything, it must be wrong.
Beauty
I could listen to Ithzak Perlman play "Yankee Doodle Dandy."
When he plays the sections of all the other nominated composers' music, I imagine they think, "God. I did a good job."
My heart beats a little quicker when I hear him play. And I remember his work on the score for Schindler's List and my heart breaks all over again.
So who will win Original Score? Based on Perlman, it should be Munich by John Williams. But . . .
. . . Gustavo Santo-whatever for Brokeback Mountain.
Mostly because of the love song, "Hide The Chimichanga."
When he plays the sections of all the other nominated composers' music, I imagine they think, "God. I did a good job."
My heart beats a little quicker when I hear him play. And I remember his work on the score for Schindler's List and my heart breaks all over again.
So who will win Original Score? Based on Perlman, it should be Munich by John Williams. But . . .
. . . Gustavo Santo-whatever for Brokeback Mountain.
Mostly because of the love song, "Hide The Chimichanga."
Kill her.
Salma Hayek is too gorgeous to live.
Now excuse me while I go clean up the drool over on Miles' side of the couch.
Now excuse me while I go clean up the drool over on Miles' side of the couch.
Okay . . .
. . . so I wanted to know what Samuel L. Jackson was nominated for.
Or, rather, what the FUCK is Samuel L. Jackson fuckin' NOM.IN.A.TED. for?
Until I figured out it was his nomination for Pulp Fiction.
Or, rather, what the FUCK is Samuel L. Jackson fuckin' NOM.IN.A.TED. for?
Until I figured out it was his nomination for Pulp Fiction.
Full-Length Documentary
What a tough category. Murderball, too.
March of the Penguins. Okay. That's no real surprise. But why are these guys carrying stuffed penguins? Oh. There's a treaty involved.
And now to quote Miles: "I vill now go fuck ze penguin plushie, because eet make my deeck feel hard."
Such is the level of discourse in my home.
March of the Penguins. Okay. That's no real surprise. But why are these guys carrying stuffed penguins? Oh. There's a treaty involved.
And now to quote Miles: "I vill now go fuck ze penguin plushie, because eet make my deeck feel hard."
Such is the level of discourse in my home.
Lauren Bacall
Such incredible class. Her voice is still strong, but she's a little shaky. Does she has Parkinson's? It seems as if, poor thing, she falling apart as she does her "film noir" spiel.
This is the first time I've ever seen her falter so . . . as if age has finally caught up with her.
The Gods and Goddessess of Noir: Bogart and Bacall, Mitchum, Stanwyck, Robinson, Widmark, Hayworth, Turner . . . and – my GOD – Fred MacMurray. Those were the first actors and actresses to OOZE sex intelligently. In those monochromatic tones you'd find such heat. And that heat was worth killing for. Every crime was a crime of passion. And there were no real heroes. You felt dirty when you rooted for anyone. And when justice fell, surprisingly you didn't feel any better.
Those movies capture the gray areas of the real world more aptly than the anthems of the generation before.
This is the first time I've ever seen her falter so . . . as if age has finally caught up with her.
The Gods and Goddessess of Noir: Bogart and Bacall, Mitchum, Stanwyck, Robinson, Widmark, Hayworth, Turner . . . and – my GOD – Fred MacMurray. Those were the first actors and actresses to OOZE sex intelligently. In those monochromatic tones you'd find such heat. And that heat was worth killing for. Every crime was a crime of passion. And there were no real heroes. You felt dirty when you rooted for anyone. And when justice fell, surprisingly you didn't feel any better.
Those movies capture the gray areas of the real world more aptly than the anthems of the generation before.
Supporting Actress
And Morgan Freeman flubbed. With humor. God, I LOVE his voice.
Rachel Weisz!
"Known for her roles in The Mummy and The Mummy Returns."
What a graceful, beautiful girl. And what a graceful speech.
They just showed Jack Nicholson. You know he's thinking, "I'd do her."
Rachel Weisz!
"Known for her roles in The Mummy and The Mummy Returns."
What a graceful, beautiful girl. And what a graceful speech.
They just showed Jack Nicholson. You know he's thinking, "I'd do her."
Jon Stewart
"If we pull down this statue behind me [of Oscar], will democracy flourish in Hollywood?"
HA!
HA!
Steve Carrell and Will Ferrell
Are so damned funny. I love the fearlessness of these guys.
And am I totally sick to think that Steve Carrell looks totally hot with false eyelashes?
Makeup goes to Narnia. Thankfully it didn't go to Revenge of the Sith. Because makeup just can't cover bad acting.
And can someone get that guy to SHUT UP? His partner didn't get to talk at all!
And am I totally sick to think that Steve Carrell looks totally hot with false eyelashes?
Makeup goes to Narnia. Thankfully it didn't go to Revenge of the Sith. Because makeup just can't cover bad acting.
And can someone get that guy to SHUT UP? His partner didn't get to talk at all!
Duck!
It's Russell Crowe!
Miles wanted to know how many man-hours went into the curl perfectly placed in the center of his forehead.
Miles wanted to know how many man-hours went into the curl perfectly placed in the center of his forehead.
Just to let you know . . .
. . . my first vodka tonic has just been set at my side.
Writing, which was already suffering, shall get much worse.
Writing, which was already suffering, shall get much worse.
Cartoon characters on the show
Always on the dumb side. But the effects are getting better.
And the "ducks never get pants" thing was funny.
And the "ducks never get pants" thing was funny.
The Wilsons
Luke or Owen?
For me, despite the crazy chin, it's Luke. What always puts him over the top is the episode of The X Files he did where he was the Texas sheriff vampire.
For me, despite the crazy chin, it's Luke. What always puts him over the top is the episode of The X Files he did where he was the Texas sheriff vampire.
A half-hour late
I finally settled down in front of the Oscars.
It wasn't planned, believe me. I missed Jon Stewart's monologue. Damn. I also missed George Clooney's win.
What I didn't miss was Naomi Watts and Dolly Parton, who was singing her nominated song from "Transamerica." And couldn't believe what a festival of bad plastic surgery she is. OUCH! My retinas!
Oh, good. Jon Stewart made a Scientology dig. GO!
It wasn't planned, believe me. I missed Jon Stewart's monologue. Damn. I also missed George Clooney's win.
What I didn't miss was Naomi Watts and Dolly Parton, who was singing her nominated song from "Transamerica." And couldn't believe what a festival of bad plastic surgery she is. OUCH! My retinas!
Oh, good. Jon Stewart made a Scientology dig. GO!
2.27.2006
A cause worth biting for
I really can't resist the pun sometimes.
Now that you've forgiven that lapse in judgement, I was surprised to see that International Eat An Animal For PETA Day is coming up soon – on March 15th, and there's an open call to join the planet in chowing down on cow. Or pig. Or chicken. Basically, if it has a face and you can hunt it down, pull it out of a body of water or buy it in shrink-wrapped foam trays at the grocery store, have at it.
So I'm scanning my memory for the best place to have a Vegas event. Barbecue restaurants are expected, but so very appropriate. Luckily, there's a new one close to my office called T.C.'s Rib Crib. They just opened a couple of weeks ago, run by a whole family from Louisiana. On my next trip, I'll have to confirm whether or not they moved because of Katrina.
In the meantime, there is meat to be consumed. With loads of sauce. And sweet potato fries on the side. Hot links, pulled pork, tri tip, slabs and slabs of ribs . . . and Snicker pie for dessert. Snicker ever-lovin' pie.
Oh, and the best part about T.C.'s? The receipt. Under your total is printed stellar words of wisdom: "T.C. says, the way to a man's heart is through his ribs."
Yes. T.C.'s is the front runner. Definitely.
Now that you've forgiven that lapse in judgement, I was surprised to see that International Eat An Animal For PETA Day is coming up soon – on March 15th, and there's an open call to join the planet in chowing down on cow. Or pig. Or chicken. Basically, if it has a face and you can hunt it down, pull it out of a body of water or buy it in shrink-wrapped foam trays at the grocery store, have at it.
So I'm scanning my memory for the best place to have a Vegas event. Barbecue restaurants are expected, but so very appropriate. Luckily, there's a new one close to my office called T.C.'s Rib Crib. They just opened a couple of weeks ago, run by a whole family from Louisiana. On my next trip, I'll have to confirm whether or not they moved because of Katrina.
In the meantime, there is meat to be consumed. With loads of sauce. And sweet potato fries on the side. Hot links, pulled pork, tri tip, slabs and slabs of ribs . . . and Snicker pie for dessert. Snicker ever-lovin' pie.
Oh, and the best part about T.C.'s? The receipt. Under your total is printed stellar words of wisdom: "T.C. says, the way to a man's heart is through his ribs."
Yes. T.C.'s is the front runner. Definitely.
2.26.2006
The Old Man
Darren McGavin has died.
A Christmas Story is one of my favorite movies, and Darren McGavin is the main reason.
"In the heat of battle my father wove a tapestry of obscenities that as far as we know is still hanging in space over Lake Michigan."
I will truly miss him.
A Christmas Story is one of my favorite movies, and Darren McGavin is the main reason.
"In the heat of battle my father wove a tapestry of obscenities that as far as we know is still hanging in space over Lake Michigan."
I will truly miss him.
2.22.2006
More booze!
Las Vegas is going to be a test market for a Thai beer called Singha Light. The other Singha products look mighty tasty.
Of course, I haven't really met too many beers I didn't like.
But as long as I'm on the subject, I have a few favorites.
For playing pool at the corner strip mall bar: bottled Bud Light
For cool winter evenings at J.C. Woolighan's: Harp
For that first Friday "left work a bit early" beer: Newcastle
For shotgunning: Coors Light 16-oz. Silver Bullets
For $20 burgers at Mandalay Bay: Samuel Smith's Organic Ale
For Las Vegas 51s games: $1 Miller Lite in a plastic cup
For local flavor: Monte Carlo Brew Pub's High Roller Red
For hanging out poolside: Rolling Rock
Mm. I'm getting thirsty. I wonder what would be best for "I should have been in bed a half hour ago?"
Of course, I haven't really met too many beers I didn't like.
But as long as I'm on the subject, I have a few favorites.
For playing pool at the corner strip mall bar: bottled Bud Light
For cool winter evenings at J.C. Woolighan's: Harp
For that first Friday "left work a bit early" beer: Newcastle
For shotgunning: Coors Light 16-oz. Silver Bullets
For $20 burgers at Mandalay Bay: Samuel Smith's Organic Ale
For Las Vegas 51s games: $1 Miller Lite in a plastic cup
For local flavor: Monte Carlo Brew Pub's High Roller Red
For hanging out poolside: Rolling Rock
Mm. I'm getting thirsty. I wonder what would be best for "I should have been in bed a half hour ago?"
2.21.2006
Blood on the Highway II
In the carnival of bad driving that marks any 3-day holiday weekend around here, even the State Troopers got into the act:
INTERSTATE 15 COLLISION: Police say little on accident
Basic information unavailable on crash involving trooper that left four dead
What a frickin' mess.
INTERSTATE 15 COLLISION: Police say little on accident
Basic information unavailable on crash involving trooper that left four dead
What a frickin' mess.
2.16.2006
Blood on the highway
I will begin by making a not-so-bold statement: Las Vegas drivers are among the worst in the world. Bar none. The support is this:
1) I have an interesting little feature through Mac called Dashboard. I have one little doohickey (that Apple named a Widget) called Yahoo! Traffic. I can input a zip code and I will get construction notices and traffic accidents listed on a city map. Every day Las Vegas is littered with accidents. So I performed an experiment. One day during rush hours across the country I typed in different zips . . . and got almost zip. L.A.? Nada. Boston? Nothing. Chicago? 2. New York frickin' City? Eh. Las Vegas? 8.
2) I've seen (or been involved in) a near-accident every single day. Almost.
3) I spoke with a friend visiting from Bangkok. The driving there is legendarily crazy. And yet Dan said he couldn't believe how many accidents he saw here. More than Bangkok, Thailand.
So imagine my amusement when I saw this:
An analyst told Clark County's emergency planners Wednesday that theoretically it would be possible to evacuate the entire Las Vegas Valley within 28 hours in the event of a natural or man-made catastrophe.
Oh, nuh-uh.
Sharon Rice, a Clark County Geographic Information Systems analyst, presented the findings Wednesday to the Clark County Local Emergency Planning Committee. Based on statistics such as gas consumption and number of people and cars per lane of travel, Rice found that county officials could evacuate everyone from the valley in a little more than one full day.
Idiot.
Lest we think that everyone in town is this dumb, the article did present a dissenting view.
"To get everybody out in 28 hours, that means everybody is gassed up and ready to go, and they're all behaving politely and there are no (vehicle) breakdowns and no obstacles, and there is total compliance," said O'Brien, who like other county leaders supports smaller, more localized evacuations. "We saw during the MGM fire (in 1980) ... there was a fire burning around everyone and there were still people playing slot machines."
Exactly. I can just see the orderly procession now. Everyone in the city, knowing radiation or deadly disease is hovering in the air, will drive the speed limit. They'll let people merge at on-ramps. They won't weave in and out of lanes, attempting to get ahead of everyone else. They'll stay off the shoulders, and said disaster won't happen in the middle of July when every other car overheats.
I'll take my chances with duct tape and plastic wrap.
1) I have an interesting little feature through Mac called Dashboard. I have one little doohickey (that Apple named a Widget) called Yahoo! Traffic. I can input a zip code and I will get construction notices and traffic accidents listed on a city map. Every day Las Vegas is littered with accidents. So I performed an experiment. One day during rush hours across the country I typed in different zips . . . and got almost zip. L.A.? Nada. Boston? Nothing. Chicago? 2. New York frickin' City? Eh. Las Vegas? 8.
2) I've seen (or been involved in) a near-accident every single day. Almost.
3) I spoke with a friend visiting from Bangkok. The driving there is legendarily crazy. And yet Dan said he couldn't believe how many accidents he saw here. More than Bangkok, Thailand.
So imagine my amusement when I saw this:
An analyst told Clark County's emergency planners Wednesday that theoretically it would be possible to evacuate the entire Las Vegas Valley within 28 hours in the event of a natural or man-made catastrophe.
Oh, nuh-uh.
Sharon Rice, a Clark County Geographic Information Systems analyst, presented the findings Wednesday to the Clark County Local Emergency Planning Committee. Based on statistics such as gas consumption and number of people and cars per lane of travel, Rice found that county officials could evacuate everyone from the valley in a little more than one full day.
Idiot.
Lest we think that everyone in town is this dumb, the article did present a dissenting view.
"To get everybody out in 28 hours, that means everybody is gassed up and ready to go, and they're all behaving politely and there are no (vehicle) breakdowns and no obstacles, and there is total compliance," said O'Brien, who like other county leaders supports smaller, more localized evacuations. "We saw during the MGM fire (in 1980) ... there was a fire burning around everyone and there were still people playing slot machines."
Exactly. I can just see the orderly procession now. Everyone in the city, knowing radiation or deadly disease is hovering in the air, will drive the speed limit. They'll let people merge at on-ramps. They won't weave in and out of lanes, attempting to get ahead of everyone else. They'll stay off the shoulders, and said disaster won't happen in the middle of July when every other car overheats.
I'll take my chances with duct tape and plastic wrap.
2.12.2006
I made the paper!
Not for a promotion, mind you. Nor was I in the society pages. I didn't do anything noteworthy at all. In fact, my mention is for something too entirely predictable: I happened to be sloshed in a bar on a Friday night.
MIXING IT UP: Lowering the bar
Reporter's spirits are down at Hogs & Heifers
So this little reporter guy spends an evening as the only male bartender at our local Hogs and Heifers, which is like Coyote Ugly. Which means men get yelled at a lot and women end up dancing on the bar.
Yes, I have danced on the bar. One of my bras is there, too, but they're never getting another. Bras are expensive.
The night in question, little reporter dude was comic relief. I bought him a shot out of pity. Miles was just drunk enough to mistake him for a New York Times reporter that had won a Pulitzer for the same schtick (reporter doing odd job).
Obviously, not the same guy. Even though it took some blurry next-day online research to confirm the fact.
Imagine my surprise when he interviewed me as his shift was over. I gave all the stats then gave him my quote. And he used it:
"You have no flair," says Las Vegas native Shannon Sarver, 36, my something and 7 customer. And she's not finished.
"As a bartender or a dancer," she adds.
So I slammed him.
But he got me back. He published my age.
Little bastard.
MIXING IT UP: Lowering the bar
Reporter's spirits are down at Hogs & Heifers
So this little reporter guy spends an evening as the only male bartender at our local Hogs and Heifers, which is like Coyote Ugly. Which means men get yelled at a lot and women end up dancing on the bar.
Yes, I have danced on the bar. One of my bras is there, too, but they're never getting another. Bras are expensive.
The night in question, little reporter dude was comic relief. I bought him a shot out of pity. Miles was just drunk enough to mistake him for a New York Times reporter that had won a Pulitzer for the same schtick (reporter doing odd job).
Obviously, not the same guy. Even though it took some blurry next-day online research to confirm the fact.
Imagine my surprise when he interviewed me as his shift was over. I gave all the stats then gave him my quote. And he used it:
"You have no flair," says Las Vegas native Shannon Sarver, 36, my something and 7 customer. And she's not finished.
"As a bartender or a dancer," she adds.
So I slammed him.
But he got me back. He published my age.
Little bastard.
Because he's all about the guitar . . .
Cullen is a true music god. His guitar posts are beautifully done, and informative as all hell. Now, I see something else: His knowledge of rock songs is damned encyclopedic. For example, his Top 10 Instrumentals contest has a list of choices that's blowing me away.
If you end up here, go there. You won't believe your eyes.
If you end up here, go there. You won't believe your eyes.
2.10.2006
A step in the right direction
Finally. A project in Nevada that almost makes sense. As reported by In Business Las Vegas:
Massive solar photovoltaic project to be built in Nevada
We have an insane amount of sunny days per year – the most in the nation – so let's use it, for heaven's sake.
Powered by Renewables of Nevada and SunEdison of Maryland announced this week that they will partner to build the world's largest solar photovoltaic project in Nevada.
The 18-megawatt project power plant would nearly double the size of the 10-megawatt plant in Germany currently ranking as the world's largest.
The plant will be on a military installation in Clark County which Tim Carlson, president of PBR declined to identify while contracts are being finalized. Construction is expected to begin in July.
Under the current plans, the military would by [sic] the power generated by plant, which would be owned by PBR and SunEdison. Nevada Power Co. would buy renewable energy credits from the military in exchange for offsetting the need for fossil-fuel generated power.
So, okay. Solar power: good. Lots of it: good. Extra military funding: sure, I'm there.
Wait for it: I predict Nevada Power hikes our rates AGAIN to help them pay for the renewable energy credits. Which, in the end, means the consumer is funding the military twice. Once through federal taxes, and again through mandatory payment to our monopoly power provider.
Massive solar photovoltaic project to be built in Nevada
We have an insane amount of sunny days per year – the most in the nation – so let's use it, for heaven's sake.
Powered by Renewables of Nevada and SunEdison of Maryland announced this week that they will partner to build the world's largest solar photovoltaic project in Nevada.
The 18-megawatt project power plant would nearly double the size of the 10-megawatt plant in Germany currently ranking as the world's largest.
The plant will be on a military installation in Clark County which Tim Carlson, president of PBR declined to identify while contracts are being finalized. Construction is expected to begin in July.
Under the current plans, the military would by [sic] the power generated by plant, which would be owned by PBR and SunEdison. Nevada Power Co. would buy renewable energy credits from the military in exchange for offsetting the need for fossil-fuel generated power.
So, okay. Solar power: good. Lots of it: good. Extra military funding: sure, I'm there.
Wait for it: I predict Nevada Power hikes our rates AGAIN to help them pay for the renewable energy credits. Which, in the end, means the consumer is funding the military twice. Once through federal taxes, and again through mandatory payment to our monopoly power provider.
2.09.2006
Grammur
While I scream loudly about the many transgressions committed against the English language, he writes.
And it's bloody brilliant.
Oh, and while you're there, check out the Lynndie Gallery. Because if you're here reading this, you agree that nothing – NOTHING – is sacred.
And it's bloody brilliant.
Oh, and while you're there, check out the Lynndie Gallery. Because if you're here reading this, you agree that nothing – NOTHING – is sacred.
2.03.2006
Get this.
Emily over at Pints starts a great conversation about movie snob-osity, brought on by my review of Match Point.
Join the fun.
Join the fun.
2.01.2006
Match Point
OMG! Allen is a genius! Oh, I love London, and isn't the view of the Thames TO DIE FOR, and isn't Johnathan Rhys Myers so tortured and so heroic in a Dostoyevsky anti-heroic kind of way, and besides, he's so nice to look at. And wasn't Scarlett Johansson so totally passionate and sexy and smoldering and didn't you love her crass vulnerability, and wow! Woody left New York and totally took on class and infidelity and fate and luck and aspirations in a way that hasn't been covered in all of his other films because it happened in, well, LONDON. With Opera. And nihilism. I LOVE nihilism, especially when Woody does it.
– Peter Travers, Rolling Stone
I pitched a tent.
– Roger Ebert, Chicago Sun Times
I didn't simply dislike this movie, I disLURVED it. I disLUFFED it. All you Woody Allen whores who are so grateful to have a near-coherent effort in the last 10+ years, no matter how predictable and plodding and painful it was, need to be whipped. It was a steaming coil of celluloid. Admit it. Admit it and move on. And before you say I don't "GET" Woody Allen, I'll say this: I get good movies. He's made good movies. This is not one of them. This sucked cranky old hackneyed man ass.
– Shannon Sarver, I Want Those Two Hours Back At The End Of My Life
– Peter Travers, Rolling Stone
I pitched a tent.
– Roger Ebert, Chicago Sun Times
I didn't simply dislike this movie, I disLURVED it. I disLUFFED it. All you Woody Allen whores who are so grateful to have a near-coherent effort in the last 10+ years, no matter how predictable and plodding and painful it was, need to be whipped. It was a steaming coil of celluloid. Admit it. Admit it and move on. And before you say I don't "GET" Woody Allen, I'll say this: I get good movies. He's made good movies. This is not one of them. This sucked cranky old hackneyed man ass.
– Shannon Sarver, I Want Those Two Hours Back At The End Of My Life
1.31.2006
1.24.2006
1.23.2006
From an unlikely place
I usually go to Cruel Site of the Day to get a nice little laugh at someone else's expense.
Occasionally, though, the cruelty is quite serious and quite overwhelming. Take this submission from Friday, January 20th, for example.
It is called Omid, a Memorial in Defense of Human Rights, and it puts names and faces to almost 10,000 human rights violations in Iran – all occurring since the 1979 revolution.
While we commemorate the 25th anniversary of the end of our Iranian Hostage Crisis, it's important to note that for the citizens of Iran, the crisis never ended.
Go to Omid, take a little tour, and hope that someday the list of names will end.
Occasionally, though, the cruelty is quite serious and quite overwhelming. Take this submission from Friday, January 20th, for example.
It is called Omid, a Memorial in Defense of Human Rights, and it puts names and faces to almost 10,000 human rights violations in Iran – all occurring since the 1979 revolution.
While we commemorate the 25th anniversary of the end of our Iranian Hostage Crisis, it's important to note that for the citizens of Iran, the crisis never ended.
Go to Omid, take a little tour, and hope that someday the list of names will end.
1.20.2006
Dear Tom,
It has come to my attention, thanks to Emily, that you've actually tried to censor an episode of South Park – in the U.K.
Just because it portrays you as a humorless closeted celebrity member of a money-grubbing sham of a "religion" that's based on little more than one of its founder's awful science fiction novels with a little extra prejudice and misogyny tossed in?
It's not libel if it's the truth.
And if it's parody, you don't have a leg to stand on.
So if U.K. South Park fans are going to miss what I consider one of the more brilliant episodes, I'll happily link to the show, too.
And Tom, kindly STFU.
Glibly yours,
Shannon
Just because it portrays you as a humorless closeted celebrity member of a money-grubbing sham of a "religion" that's based on little more than one of its founder's awful science fiction novels with a little extra prejudice and misogyny tossed in?
It's not libel if it's the truth.
And if it's parody, you don't have a leg to stand on.
So if U.K. South Park fans are going to miss what I consider one of the more brilliant episodes, I'll happily link to the show, too.
And Tom, kindly STFU.
Glibly yours,
Shannon
1.18.2006
Me and my iPod
My Christmas gift was the new 30GB iPod with video.
It rocks in ways I cannot describe. Here are my favorite things to do with my iPod:
1) Listen to the Ricky Gervais podcast
2) Watch Happy Tree Friends cartoons
3) Keep my address book in it
4) Keep my calendar in there, too
5) Make specific playlists, depending on my mood
And there are things I can and will do with it:
1) Keep .pdfs of my portfolio
2) Keep my TV and radio reels
3) Get a setup so I can play it in the car
The only thing I don't like is that the earbuds hurt. I often use my regular headphones, because they're nice and puffy on my ears.
I also don't dance wildly with those white cords dangling, even though the commercials make that look awfully cool.
It rocks in ways I cannot describe. Here are my favorite things to do with my iPod:
1) Listen to the Ricky Gervais podcast
2) Watch Happy Tree Friends cartoons
3) Keep my address book in it
4) Keep my calendar in there, too
5) Make specific playlists, depending on my mood
And there are things I can and will do with it:
1) Keep .pdfs of my portfolio
2) Keep my TV and radio reels
3) Get a setup so I can play it in the car
The only thing I don't like is that the earbuds hurt. I often use my regular headphones, because they're nice and puffy on my ears.
I also don't dance wildly with those white cords dangling, even though the commercials make that look awfully cool.
1.17.2006
Worship the spot
ad-awards.com posts the best of international TV advertising.
Including this gem for Gap.
Have fun, all.
Including this gem for Gap.
Have fun, all.
1.16.2006
Something Viral
1.12.2006
Las Vegas is in the top five!
In being mean to the homeless.
You first. After all, you want to BE one of those Washington morons.
Here's the whole list, straight from the source:
1. Sarasota, FL
2. Lawrence, KS
3. Little Rock, AR
4. Atlanta, GA
5. Las Vegas, NV
6. Dallas, TX
7. Houston, TX
8. San Juan, PR
9. Santa Monica, CA
10. Flagstaff, AZ
11. San Francisco, CA
12. Chicago, IL
13. San Antonio, TX
14. New York City, NY
15. Austin, TX
16. Anchorage, AK
17. Phoenix, AZ
18. Los Angeles, CA
19. St. Louis, MO
20. Pittsburgh, PA
Wait . . . Santa Monica?!? Those homeless guys have it made! Good weather, beach views, lots of benches. I never expected THEM to make the list.
Anyway, I thought the whole report was interesting in light of Hizzoner's State of the City speech, which was nothing but moonlight and roses.
From yesterday's R-J:
STATE OF THE CITY ADDRESS: Goodman banishes cynicism in speech
It would also appear he's banished reality.
Funny, isn't it, that this hit the Las Vegas Sun this morning:
Homeless program missing mark
Plan fails to place even one mentally ill person in housing
Because those crazies are hard to wrangle. They miss appointments. They lose their vouchers. They run when you call them.
So what's the point of all this?
That here, as always, there's a complete disconnect between intent and implementation. We have resources, but they get mismanaged. Because nobody is paying attention. The mayor can't (or, more to the point, won't) look beneath his own ponderous nose because he doesn't want to acknowledge the unpleasant. He wants the city to be all sparkly neon and happy visitors.
He doesn't want to do the hardest work of all – considered and competent address of real city issues. Plopping more pretty buildings and a professional sports team into the center of town won't make the problems go away. It will only exacerbate them.
But then I remember: it's not really Oscar Goodman's fault. After all, he's not really in charge of Las Vegas.
The casino industry and real estate developers are.
National advocacy groups for the homeless have once again named the city to their list of "meanest" cities in America. This year, Las Vegas ranks fifth, after Sarasota, Fla.; Lawrence, Kan.; Little Rock, Ark.; and Atlanta.
"You guys are always a mean city," said Michael Stoops, acting executive director of the Washington, D.C.,-based National Coalition for the Homeless. "Las Vegas continues to harass and criminalize homelessness."
The coalition joined the National Law Center on Homelessness & Poverty in compiling the list and its accompanying report, entitled "A Dream Denied: The Criminalization of Homelessness in U.S. Cities."
Las Vegas has fallen in the rankings since it was named the No. 1 "meanest" city in the nation in 2003, the year after Mayor Oscar Goodman made derogatory remarks about the homeless in his State of the City address and was criticized for Las Vegas' downtown homeless "sweeps."
In 2004, the city fell to fourth place. The coalition didn't release a list in 2005.
Stoops said the fall in rank has more to do with other cities becoming harsher toward the homeless than with Las Vegas treating homeless people better. "It just means other cities are now being meaner than Las Vegas," he said.
Mayor Goodman called the ranking "nuts."
"Those people out of Washington are morons," he said. "They should jump in the lake."
You first. After all, you want to BE one of those Washington morons.
Goodman cited the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development's decision to give Las Vegas $5.4 million in 2005 federal homeless assistance program funds for homeless services as one indication the city isn't so mean.
"We are spending it to create 18 new units of permanent housing for the chronically homeless and mentally ill, 75 new units for homeless veterans and 28 new units of transitional housing for homeless youth and young adults," the mayor said.
Linda Lera-Randle El, an advocate for the homeless who runs the Straight from the Streets outreach program in Las Vegas, said the city has improved slightly, but still has a long way to go.
"When you are giving out trespassing and jaywalking tickets to homeless people, it's just harassment," she said. "If you or I got stuck in the crosswalk, we wouldn't have to go to the Regional Justice Center to explain why."
The national advocacy groups looked at 224 U.S. cities and ranked their top 20 based on the number of anti-homeless laws -- such as those making it illegal to sleep, eat or sit in public spaces -- in the city, the enforcement of those laws and the general political climate toward homeless people.
"Las Vegas has always gotten an F (in those areas)," Stoops said. "Someday I hope the city will quit criminalizing homelessness and they'll get off the list."
Here's the whole list, straight from the source:
1. Sarasota, FL
2. Lawrence, KS
3. Little Rock, AR
4. Atlanta, GA
5. Las Vegas, NV
6. Dallas, TX
7. Houston, TX
8. San Juan, PR
9. Santa Monica, CA
10. Flagstaff, AZ
11. San Francisco, CA
12. Chicago, IL
13. San Antonio, TX
14. New York City, NY
15. Austin, TX
16. Anchorage, AK
17. Phoenix, AZ
18. Los Angeles, CA
19. St. Louis, MO
20. Pittsburgh, PA
Wait . . . Santa Monica?!? Those homeless guys have it made! Good weather, beach views, lots of benches. I never expected THEM to make the list.
Anyway, I thought the whole report was interesting in light of Hizzoner's State of the City speech, which was nothing but moonlight and roses.
From yesterday's R-J:
STATE OF THE CITY ADDRESS: Goodman banishes cynicism in speech
It would also appear he's banished reality.
Funny, isn't it, that this hit the Las Vegas Sun this morning:
Homeless program missing mark
Plan fails to place even one mentally ill person in housing
Nearly 18 months after its launch, a $1.5-million program to help the Las Vegas Valley's mentally ill homeless people get off the street has not housed a single person.
Because those crazies are hard to wrangle. They miss appointments. They lose their vouchers. They run when you call them.
So what's the point of all this?
That here, as always, there's a complete disconnect between intent and implementation. We have resources, but they get mismanaged. Because nobody is paying attention. The mayor can't (or, more to the point, won't) look beneath his own ponderous nose because he doesn't want to acknowledge the unpleasant. He wants the city to be all sparkly neon and happy visitors.
He doesn't want to do the hardest work of all – considered and competent address of real city issues. Plopping more pretty buildings and a professional sports team into the center of town won't make the problems go away. It will only exacerbate them.
But then I remember: it's not really Oscar Goodman's fault. After all, he's not really in charge of Las Vegas.
The casino industry and real estate developers are.
1.11.2006
Today's implosion brought to you by . . .
Station Casinos.
The ex-Showboat, ex-Castaways went the way of the Sands, Hacienda, Dunes and El Rancho around dawn this morning.
Get the video here.
I'm not too misty about this one. It was an eyesore, and a real piece of crud property that had a piece of crud bowling alley where I was courted as a younger woman by my eventual ex-husband.
So it had that going for it.
The only downside to this whole thing is who bought it. Station Casinos.
They introduced a phrase to Las Vegas that never should have been invented: neighborhood casino.
"You're only minutes away from a Station," they crow, and it's true. I, in a master-planned community, am minutes away. My mother is, too. And so are all my friends, no matter where in the Valley we live.
I hate that.
And yet, they keep building more, because they can. They're making obscene amounts of money off the neighborhoods they're in. They have movie theaters, bowling alleys, and all kinds of restaurants, bars and lounges. And they have big babysitting joints in every one, so the kids have somewhere to play while mom and dad spend their college funds.
Gross.
It makes me wonder – when the rubble of the Showboat/Castaways is cleared and the next Stations offering opens it doors, will it really be that much of an improvement?
I doubt it.
The ex-Showboat, ex-Castaways went the way of the Sands, Hacienda, Dunes and El Rancho around dawn this morning.
Get the video here.
I'm not too misty about this one. It was an eyesore, and a real piece of crud property that had a piece of crud bowling alley where I was courted as a younger woman by my eventual ex-husband.
So it had that going for it.
The only downside to this whole thing is who bought it. Station Casinos.
They introduced a phrase to Las Vegas that never should have been invented: neighborhood casino.
"You're only minutes away from a Station," they crow, and it's true. I, in a master-planned community, am minutes away. My mother is, too. And so are all my friends, no matter where in the Valley we live.
I hate that.
And yet, they keep building more, because they can. They're making obscene amounts of money off the neighborhoods they're in. They have movie theaters, bowling alleys, and all kinds of restaurants, bars and lounges. And they have big babysitting joints in every one, so the kids have somewhere to play while mom and dad spend their college funds.
Gross.
It makes me wonder – when the rubble of the Showboat/Castaways is cleared and the next Stations offering opens it doors, will it really be that much of an improvement?
I doubt it.
1.10.2006
The spot that should have run, but didn't have to.
One of my favorite TV commercials ever produced was, typically, a viral ad.
It featured a suicide bomber failing in his mission to blow up two shadowy characters in a crowded sidewalk cafe because he made the mistake of punching the detonator inside his VW Polo.
So I'm not the most sensitive person in the world. I laughed until I nearly wet myself.
A year later, after loads of people weighed in on one side or the other (One side: "that's disgusting!" The other: "lighten up."), and after the makers issued a formal apology for making the spot, VW has a fluffy guardian-angel campaign to make us forget all that nastiness.
Though they'd never admit to doing such a thing, I'd be willing to bet VW did some research on how the Polo sold after the viral spot made its rounds and caused its controversy. I'd also be willing to bet there were a lot of interested potential buyers.
I'd imagine, though, interest dropped in the 18 – 30 Middle Eastern male demographic.
It featured a suicide bomber failing in his mission to blow up two shadowy characters in a crowded sidewalk cafe because he made the mistake of punching the detonator inside his VW Polo.
So I'm not the most sensitive person in the world. I laughed until I nearly wet myself.
A year later, after loads of people weighed in on one side or the other (One side: "that's disgusting!" The other: "lighten up."), and after the makers issued a formal apology for making the spot, VW has a fluffy guardian-angel campaign to make us forget all that nastiness.
Though they'd never admit to doing such a thing, I'd be willing to bet VW did some research on how the Polo sold after the viral spot made its rounds and caused its controversy. I'd also be willing to bet there were a lot of interested potential buyers.
I'd imagine, though, interest dropped in the 18 – 30 Middle Eastern male demographic.
1.07.2006
RIP, Ramona Bell
Art Bell's wife, Ramona, died of an asthma attack while on vacation in Laughlin.
If you're not familiar with Art, then you've missed the rare pleasure of static-y late night AM radio broadcasts covering subjects like alien abduction, Area 51, experimental aircraft, haunted houses, wormholes, demonic possessions and backyard Bermuda Triangles.
One of my favorite shows featured a caller that claimed you could defend yourself against the Rapture by covering your windows and doors with Saran Wrap and duct tape.
Duct tape. Good for biological attacks and other forms of Armageddon.
Every single time some weird streak was seen in the sky (which happens a lot around here), Art's lines would light up with the faithful and their theories.
I haven't listened much since Art semi-retired, and I find myself missing the madness. So I'm quite sorry for his loss, and my prayers go out to Art and his family.
If you're not familiar with Art, then you've missed the rare pleasure of static-y late night AM radio broadcasts covering subjects like alien abduction, Area 51, experimental aircraft, haunted houses, wormholes, demonic possessions and backyard Bermuda Triangles.
One of my favorite shows featured a caller that claimed you could defend yourself against the Rapture by covering your windows and doors with Saran Wrap and duct tape.
Duct tape. Good for biological attacks and other forms of Armageddon.
Every single time some weird streak was seen in the sky (which happens a lot around here), Art's lines would light up with the faithful and their theories.
I haven't listened much since Art semi-retired, and I find myself missing the madness. So I'm quite sorry for his loss, and my prayers go out to Art and his family.
1.06.2006
Ten Questions (and a bonus)
Ken stole it from WunderKraut, and I've taken it from Ken.
Where Were You, What Were You Doing And How Did You Feel When…:
1. You found out about 9/11
My life was already changing drastically: it was the day before I was moving out of the house, separating from my husband for good. Boxes of my things were all over, ready for when I could get the truck. 7:30 that morning (West Coast time), I got Conor up for toons and breakfast so I could get ready for work. He was just barely three and holding my hand when I turned the TV on. It was on ABC, and I couldn't process what I was seeing. Smoke was billowing out of what I recognized as one of the WTC towers. Then I remember saying, "where the fuck is the other one?" Thankfully, the boy didn't even know anything was wrong. I listened to the news coming from my clock radio the next night as I lay on an air mattress on the floor of my new bedroom. I'd never felt so alone or frightened in my life. And I haven't felt that way since.
2. The start of the FIRST Gulf War - When we began combat operations.
I was a receptionist/intern at a small civil engineering firm. I had the radio on, and they broke into programming with the sounds of bombs. I went into the main office and told everyone, "it just started. We're bombing Iraq." Being in an Air Force town made it all so strange. The base went into high security mode. Yellow ribbons were everywhere. I watched the war on CNN, just like everyone else, riveted by the tracers flying over Baghdad.
3. The Space Shuttle Challenger exploded
It was Junior year of high school, and I was in chemistry class. Mr. Leigh, my biology teacher from the past year, poked his head into the room and said, "the Space Shuttle just blew up." The horrible part was, we didn't believe him because he was a joker. He'd put wind-up toys on the overhead projector while we were taking notes. We spent the week before Christmas break watching "Monty Python and the Holy Grail." This was a sick (but wonderful) man. Then the principal came on the P.A. system and confirmed it. We spent the next five minutes led in prayer (Catholic school), and TVs were set up around the school so we could follow the coverage.
4. The Space Shuttle Columbia broke up during re-entry
On that Saturday morning, Miles and I went for a walk without seeing the news first. One of the neighborhood homes had a full-height flagpole and his flag was half-mast. We knew then that something was wrong. We went home and turned on the TV. I saw that William McCool was the pilot and I felt sick – I had been friends with Willie's younger brother, Shawn, and had met his parents, Barry and Audrey. Shawn had always spoken with such awe about his brother, and after hearing about his career, I understood why. Barry was a former Naval pilot and a wonderful, charming man who flirted with all of the girls, and Audrey was loving and brilliant. When I heard that Barry was going to Houston to join the investigation, my heart broke for all of them.
5. Reagan was shot
I was in middle school, and Sister Barbara, our principal (yes, another Catholic school), came over the P.A., told us and led us in prayer.
6. John Lennon was shot
My mom and I were sitting on the couch in the living room, watching "Little House on the Prairie" when it happened. NBC broke away from the show with a special report. My mother cried horribly. She had come of age during the Beatles' heyday and John was her absolute favorite. I worried about her for days because she was so sad. I think that, perhaps, the last of her hopeful adolescence died when he did.
7. The Pope was shot
I was in grade school, and Sister Barbara, our principal (you know the drill by now), told us over the P.A. We were taken into the church where we were led in prayer.
8. Berlin Wall came down
This is the point at which I was busily misspending my youth, so I was probably too drunk or self-centered to realize what was going on.
9. President Clinton was acquitted of impeachment
I was so disgusted by the whole thing that I didn't pay attention.
10. Election night 2000
That was like watching Forrest Gump play ping pong. You couldn't keep up. I do remember Tim Russert trying to calculate all the different "what if?" scenarios, obviously tired and flabbergasted, and I thought it was one of the strangest things I'd ever witnessed. Unfortunately, what happened in the following weeks was much, MUCH worse.
11. When Kennedy was shot (for my more mature readers)
I wasn't a twinkle. I was barely an egg. My mom was only 15, for heaven's sake.
Where Were You, What Were You Doing And How Did You Feel When…:
1. You found out about 9/11
My life was already changing drastically: it was the day before I was moving out of the house, separating from my husband for good. Boxes of my things were all over, ready for when I could get the truck. 7:30 that morning (West Coast time), I got Conor up for toons and breakfast so I could get ready for work. He was just barely three and holding my hand when I turned the TV on. It was on ABC, and I couldn't process what I was seeing. Smoke was billowing out of what I recognized as one of the WTC towers. Then I remember saying, "where the fuck is the other one?" Thankfully, the boy didn't even know anything was wrong. I listened to the news coming from my clock radio the next night as I lay on an air mattress on the floor of my new bedroom. I'd never felt so alone or frightened in my life. And I haven't felt that way since.
2. The start of the FIRST Gulf War - When we began combat operations.
I was a receptionist/intern at a small civil engineering firm. I had the radio on, and they broke into programming with the sounds of bombs. I went into the main office and told everyone, "it just started. We're bombing Iraq." Being in an Air Force town made it all so strange. The base went into high security mode. Yellow ribbons were everywhere. I watched the war on CNN, just like everyone else, riveted by the tracers flying over Baghdad.
3. The Space Shuttle Challenger exploded
It was Junior year of high school, and I was in chemistry class. Mr. Leigh, my biology teacher from the past year, poked his head into the room and said, "the Space Shuttle just blew up." The horrible part was, we didn't believe him because he was a joker. He'd put wind-up toys on the overhead projector while we were taking notes. We spent the week before Christmas break watching "Monty Python and the Holy Grail." This was a sick (but wonderful) man. Then the principal came on the P.A. system and confirmed it. We spent the next five minutes led in prayer (Catholic school), and TVs were set up around the school so we could follow the coverage.
4. The Space Shuttle Columbia broke up during re-entry
On that Saturday morning, Miles and I went for a walk without seeing the news first. One of the neighborhood homes had a full-height flagpole and his flag was half-mast. We knew then that something was wrong. We went home and turned on the TV. I saw that William McCool was the pilot and I felt sick – I had been friends with Willie's younger brother, Shawn, and had met his parents, Barry and Audrey. Shawn had always spoken with such awe about his brother, and after hearing about his career, I understood why. Barry was a former Naval pilot and a wonderful, charming man who flirted with all of the girls, and Audrey was loving and brilliant. When I heard that Barry was going to Houston to join the investigation, my heart broke for all of them.
5. Reagan was shot
I was in middle school, and Sister Barbara, our principal (yes, another Catholic school), came over the P.A., told us and led us in prayer.
6. John Lennon was shot
My mom and I were sitting on the couch in the living room, watching "Little House on the Prairie" when it happened. NBC broke away from the show with a special report. My mother cried horribly. She had come of age during the Beatles' heyday and John was her absolute favorite. I worried about her for days because she was so sad. I think that, perhaps, the last of her hopeful adolescence died when he did.
7. The Pope was shot
I was in grade school, and Sister Barbara, our principal (you know the drill by now), told us over the P.A. We were taken into the church where we were led in prayer.
8. Berlin Wall came down
This is the point at which I was busily misspending my youth, so I was probably too drunk or self-centered to realize what was going on.
9. President Clinton was acquitted of impeachment
I was so disgusted by the whole thing that I didn't pay attention.
10. Election night 2000
That was like watching Forrest Gump play ping pong. You couldn't keep up. I do remember Tim Russert trying to calculate all the different "what if?" scenarios, obviously tired and flabbergasted, and I thought it was one of the strangest things I'd ever witnessed. Unfortunately, what happened in the following weeks was much, MUCH worse.
11. When Kennedy was shot (for my more mature readers)
I wasn't a twinkle. I was barely an egg. My mom was only 15, for heaven's sake.
NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!
Now that New Orleans has been flattened, Las Vegas is trying to take over as the most politically-backward city in the nation.
Oh, my God.
Um. Because we're 86-percent STUPID.
So these are the Dem choices for Ensign's seat: a carpetbagger and a bloviator.
Harry Reid, for the position he's attained, shows some alarming choices in his "anointed" congressional candidates.
Dario Herrera, for example, just started his defense in his corruption trial.
And now, Hizzoner. The last time we heard from him, he was advocating removing the thumbs from taggers who defaced a $35,000 desert tortoise statue (the cleanup tab was $50,000). Every other time his quotes make the news, they're soaked in gin. He's constantly defending himself against local ethics charges.
When he's faced with real societal issues, he falters. His solution to our homeless situation is to bulldoze their shantytowns, content to believe that NONE of them want help. That there aren't a few wandering our streets that aren't mentally ill, willing to work or just plain in need of a leg up. And those that hand out blankets and sandwiches are enablers.
He's made a career of sweeping unpleasant things under the rug, first as a mob lawyer, and now as The Happiest Mayor In The Universe. His weekly press conferences are full of tap dancing, a lot of "look! Don't look at that dirty spot over there! Look here! I have Playmates! Aren't I a fun guy?"
His hijinks make him Las Vegas' number one partyboy – and admittedly, his image is perfect for Sin City.
With that admission, though, you must admit he has NO BUSINESS representing Nevada in the Senate. We only get two damn seats and Reid thinks it's a good idea to put his political capital behind Otter from Animal House?
The games pols play never fail to amaze me. This one has me stymied. It goes beyond tipping the balance in the Senate. Nobody, not even Reid, can imagine he'd control our favorite attention whore once he got on a truly national stage. And once he's out there, how many of his outrageous comments will seem quaint? And for how long?
Which makes me wonder: what on earth did Jack Carter do to piss Reid off?
Reid Pushes Las Vegas Mayor to Run For Senate Seat
Oh, my God.
Oscar Goodman and Nevada Senator Harry Reid have discussed the possibility of the Las Vegas mayor challenging republican John Ensign for his U.S. Senate seat. Ensign is up for re-election this year.
The democratic mayor has broad appeal, especially here in Southern Nevada where he got 86-percent of the vote in his last race.
Um. Because we're 86-percent STUPID.
If he does decide to run, he could face an interesting Democratic primary battle. Jack Carter, the son of former President Jimmy Carter, has started a website and is gauging support for a possible Senate run.
So these are the Dem choices for Ensign's seat: a carpetbagger and a bloviator.
Harry Reid, for the position he's attained, shows some alarming choices in his "anointed" congressional candidates.
Dario Herrera, for example, just started his defense in his corruption trial.
And now, Hizzoner. The last time we heard from him, he was advocating removing the thumbs from taggers who defaced a $35,000 desert tortoise statue (the cleanup tab was $50,000). Every other time his quotes make the news, they're soaked in gin. He's constantly defending himself against local ethics charges.
When he's faced with real societal issues, he falters. His solution to our homeless situation is to bulldoze their shantytowns, content to believe that NONE of them want help. That there aren't a few wandering our streets that aren't mentally ill, willing to work or just plain in need of a leg up. And those that hand out blankets and sandwiches are enablers.
He's made a career of sweeping unpleasant things under the rug, first as a mob lawyer, and now as The Happiest Mayor In The Universe. His weekly press conferences are full of tap dancing, a lot of "look! Don't look at that dirty spot over there! Look here! I have Playmates! Aren't I a fun guy?"
His hijinks make him Las Vegas' number one partyboy – and admittedly, his image is perfect for Sin City.
With that admission, though, you must admit he has NO BUSINESS representing Nevada in the Senate. We only get two damn seats and Reid thinks it's a good idea to put his political capital behind Otter from Animal House?
The games pols play never fail to amaze me. This one has me stymied. It goes beyond tipping the balance in the Senate. Nobody, not even Reid, can imagine he'd control our favorite attention whore once he got on a truly national stage. And once he's out there, how many of his outrageous comments will seem quaint? And for how long?
Which makes me wonder: what on earth did Jack Carter do to piss Reid off?
1.05.2006
Ouch
Fucking Trojans.
Still, what a game. Exciting to the very bitter end.
I'd like to give "props" to Vince Young. He surprised me, even if he didn't surprise anyone else. He deserves to go #1 in the NFL draft, and he definitely should leave school now, riding the equity he built from last night.
And as for Matt Leinart: did he always resemble a water buffalo? I swear, I thought he was quicker than that.
Oh, and Reggie: no more stupid-ass laterals for you, young man. I hope your eventual NFL coach fines you at least $50,000 every time you do something that infuriatingly dumb. Because I'm sure that'll be chump change to you, you inflated fuckstick.
That is all.
Still, what a game. Exciting to the very bitter end.
I'd like to give "props" to Vince Young. He surprised me, even if he didn't surprise anyone else. He deserves to go #1 in the NFL draft, and he definitely should leave school now, riding the equity he built from last night.
And as for Matt Leinart: did he always resemble a water buffalo? I swear, I thought he was quicker than that.
Oh, and Reggie: no more stupid-ass laterals for you, young man. I hope your eventual NFL coach fines you at least $50,000 every time you do something that infuriatingly dumb. Because I'm sure that'll be chump change to you, you inflated fuckstick.
That is all.
12.15.2005
What to do?
I got tired of this old world for a while. I disengaged, and decided my energy was much better spent huddling in my new home and taking care of my child.
Surprisingly, the world spun by quite nicely without me. I watched events like Katrina and Rita without comment. Rather, I donated where I thought it would do the most good and tried to find my old faith in God.
People became more polarized over Iraq, if that was possible. Between the calls to 'stay the course' and 'cut and run,' I wondered (without any real passion) where the real solutions lay.
Local politics even failed to interest me. Hizzoner could call for Saudi-style punishments for taggers. I just shrugged, because I no longer have any reason to expect the mayor to seriously address the problems of my city.
Plamegate? Meh.
Murtha? Meh.
Lebanon, even? Oh, well.
Apathy is strange to me, and I'm finally beginning to shake it off.
I've joined an e-mail political roundtable. I'm reading news again. I'm listening to radio.
Sometimes engagement is painful, but here's what's made it necessary: my son has started asking questions. He's paying attention, which means I have to.
So, despite my loss of faith, I'll say one more prayer – help me guide him to his own opinions. Help me help him know right from wrong without being too didactic. Help me teach him that hard right is just as wrong as hard left. And most of all, help me encourage him to think for himself.
I will try to be a good example.
Surprisingly, the world spun by quite nicely without me. I watched events like Katrina and Rita without comment. Rather, I donated where I thought it would do the most good and tried to find my old faith in God.
People became more polarized over Iraq, if that was possible. Between the calls to 'stay the course' and 'cut and run,' I wondered (without any real passion) where the real solutions lay.
Local politics even failed to interest me. Hizzoner could call for Saudi-style punishments for taggers. I just shrugged, because I no longer have any reason to expect the mayor to seriously address the problems of my city.
Plamegate? Meh.
Murtha? Meh.
Lebanon, even? Oh, well.
Apathy is strange to me, and I'm finally beginning to shake it off.
I've joined an e-mail political roundtable. I'm reading news again. I'm listening to radio.
Sometimes engagement is painful, but here's what's made it necessary: my son has started asking questions. He's paying attention, which means I have to.
So, despite my loss of faith, I'll say one more prayer – help me guide him to his own opinions. Help me help him know right from wrong without being too didactic. Help me teach him that hard right is just as wrong as hard left. And most of all, help me encourage him to think for himself.
I will try to be a good example.
9.22.2005
"Listen, Honey. I promise I'm not cheating. And I'll prove it if you buy me a hooker and a motel room so I can NOT have sex with her."
North Korea wants the United States to provide light-water nuclear reactors "as soon as possible" to demonstrate Pyongyang's right to peaceful nuclear acitivities, North Korea's deputy foreign minister said Thursday.
They have balls, I'll give them that.
9.11.2005
Four years
Never forget, they say. As if we could.
September 11.
You don't even need to add the year, because your mind will automatically fill in that space. Today, I will pray for those still attempting to fill their own empty spaces -- the families and friends of those who died.
There will be the inevitable news stories and, I see, one docu-drama about Flight 93 on Discovery Channel tonight. Though I won't intentionally watch any of it, I know I'll turn the channel and find the WTC collapsing. I used to think that we needed to see that footage once a month or so, just to remind us of who we're dealing with. But they have reminded us since then.
In Bali. In Madrid. In Beslan. In London. And always in Iraq and Afghanistan.
These are people that are directly opposed to us in every belief:
To us, every life is sacred. To them, every life is expendable.
To us, liberty is a right. To them, it's a sin.
To us, the law is a voice of reason. To them, it's the voice of Allah.
We cherish our children. They use them as weapons.
We hate brutality. They embrace it.
We operate out of hope. They are motivated by hate.
Our opposites. We'll never understand them. We'll never make them understand us. What we know or believe to be human nature doesn't exist in their case. It's almost like sharing the planet with another humanoid species -- it's hard to believe that we all come from earth. Yet we do, we have to share this place. Unfortunately, it would seem that co-existence is not an option.
I hate them for that lesson. I hate them for the world I must raise my son in. I hate that someday my son may have to deal, face to face, with his opposite -- a boy that was taught to hate liberty and life. A man that will carry no hope in his heart, other than the hope to kill and be a martyr.
Could we ever forget what this date taught us?
Not, I fear, as long as they exist to remind us.
September 11.
You don't even need to add the year, because your mind will automatically fill in that space. Today, I will pray for those still attempting to fill their own empty spaces -- the families and friends of those who died.
There will be the inevitable news stories and, I see, one docu-drama about Flight 93 on Discovery Channel tonight. Though I won't intentionally watch any of it, I know I'll turn the channel and find the WTC collapsing. I used to think that we needed to see that footage once a month or so, just to remind us of who we're dealing with. But they have reminded us since then.
In Bali. In Madrid. In Beslan. In London. And always in Iraq and Afghanistan.
These are people that are directly opposed to us in every belief:
To us, every life is sacred. To them, every life is expendable.
To us, liberty is a right. To them, it's a sin.
To us, the law is a voice of reason. To them, it's the voice of Allah.
We cherish our children. They use them as weapons.
We hate brutality. They embrace it.
We operate out of hope. They are motivated by hate.
Our opposites. We'll never understand them. We'll never make them understand us. What we know or believe to be human nature doesn't exist in their case. It's almost like sharing the planet with another humanoid species -- it's hard to believe that we all come from earth. Yet we do, we have to share this place. Unfortunately, it would seem that co-existence is not an option.
I hate them for that lesson. I hate them for the world I must raise my son in. I hate that someday my son may have to deal, face to face, with his opposite -- a boy that was taught to hate liberty and life. A man that will carry no hope in his heart, other than the hope to kill and be a martyr.
Could we ever forget what this date taught us?
Not, I fear, as long as they exist to remind us.
8.28.2005
My prayers are going South
As I write this, Katrina hasn't made landfall. By the time I get up tomorrow, she will have done most of her damage to NOLA and the shores of Mississippi and Alabama.
This doesn't feel like it's going to turn out well. Especially since I've never EVER read a government weather report where the writer has so thoroughly lost his nut. They pulled it off the NOAA website, but Drudge still had the text:
Oh, my God.
This doesn't feel like it's going to turn out well. Especially since I've never EVER read a government weather report where the writer has so thoroughly lost his nut. They pulled it off the NOAA website, but Drudge still had the text:
Urgent Weather Message from NWS New Orleans
DEVASTATING DAMAGE EXPECTED
HURRICANE KATRINA MOST POWERFUL HURRICANE WITH UNPRECEDENTED STRENGTH...RIVALING THE INTENSITY OF HURRICANE CAMILLE OF 1969. MOST OF THE AREA WILL BE UNINHABITABLE FOR WEEKS...PERHAPS LONGER. AT LEAST ONE HALF OF WELL CONSTRUCTED HOMES WILL HAVE ROOF AND WALL FAILURE. ALL GABLED ROOFS WILL FAIL...LEAVING THOSE HOMES SEVERELY DAMAGED OR DESTROYED.THE MAJORITY OF INDUSTRIAL BUILDINGS WILL BECOME NON FUNCTIONAL. PARTIAL TO COMPLETE WALL AND ROOF FAILURE IS EXPECTED. ALL WOOD FRAMED LOW RISING APARTMENT BUILDINGS WILL BE DESTROYED.
CONCRETE BLOCK LOW RISE APARTMENTS WILL SUSTAIN MAJOR DAMAGE...INCLUDING SOME WALL AND ROOF FAILURE. HIGH RISE OFFICE AND APARTMENT BUILDINGS WILL SWAY DANGEROUSLY...A FEW TO THE POINT OF TOTAL COLLAPSE. ALL WINDOWS WILL BLOW OUT. AIRBORNE DEBRIS WILL BE WIDESPREAD...AND MAY INCLUDE HEAVY ITEMS SUCH AS HOUSEHOLD APPLIANCES AND EVEN LIGHT VEHICLES. SPORT UTILITY VEHICLES AND LIGHT TRUCKS WILL BE MOVED. THE BLOWN DEBRIS WILL CREATE ADDITIONAL DESTRUCTION.
PERSONS...PETS...AND LIVESTOCK EXPOSED TO THE WINDS WILL FACE CERTAIN DEATH IF STRUCK. POWER OUTAGES WILL LAST FOR WEEKS...AS MOST POWER POLES WILL BE DOWN AND TRANSFORMERS DESTROYED. WATER SHORTAGES WILL MAKE HUMAN SUFFERING INCREDIBLE BY MODERN STANDARDS.
THE VAST MAJORITY OF NATIVE TREES WILL BE SNAPPED OR UPROOTED. ONLY THE HEARTIEST WILL REMAIN STANDING...BUT BE TOTALLY DEFOLIATED. FEW CROPS WILL REMAIN. LIVESTOCK LEFT EXPOSED TO THE WINDS WILL BE KILLED.
AN INLAND HURRICANE WIND WARNING IS ISSUED WHEN SUSTAINED WINDS NEAR HURRICANE FORCE...OR FREQUENT GUSTS AT OR ABOVE HURRICANE FORCE...ARE CERTAIN WITHIN THE NEXT 12 TO 24 HOURS. ONCE TROPICAL STORM AND HURRICANE FORCE WINDS ONSET...DO NOT VENTURE OUTSIDE!
Oh, my God.
Back for a little fun
Okay, so I'm a little spotty here. There's been a lot going on, my stomach problems notwithstanding. I've been busier than hell at work, my dog needed surgery (but she's okay now, thank God), and I'm moving. That, plus the fact that my boy turned 7 this month and he has his first day of 2nd grade tomorrow has had me just a little frazzled.
Just a bit.
But over at Sheila's, there was something I couldn't ignore. You go to musicoutfitters.com, you enter the year you graduated high school in the search field, and then grab the top 100 songs from that year. Then you go through the list, bolding the ones you liked, striking out the ones you hated, and leaving the rest alone.
So here it is, in all its tawdry mid-80s glory. I give you 1987:
(And before we further, let me just say this was NOT a banner year for music. Eeesh.)
1. Walk Like An Egyptian, Bangles
2. Alone, Heart
3. Shake You Down, Gregory Abbott
4. I Wanna Dance With Somebody (Who Loves Me), Whitney Houston
5. Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now, Starship -- if I could double-strike this piece of crap, I would
6. C'est La Vie, Robbie Nevil
7. Here I Go Again, Whitesnake -- I'll strike it just because of the video.
8. The Way It Is, Bruce Hornsby and the Range
9. Shakedown, Bob Seger
10. Livin' On A Prayer, Bon Jovi -- HATE it. Hated it from the moment I heard it.
11. La Bamba, Los Lobos
12. Everybody Have Fun Tonight, Wang Chung
13. Don't Dream It's Over, Crowded House -- I'm in love with Neil Finn. Forever and always.
14. Always, Atlantic Starr
15. With Or Without You, U2
16. Looking For A New Love, Jody Watley
17. Head To Toe, Lisa Lisa and Cult Jam
18. I Think We're Alone Now, Tiffany
19. Mony Mony, Billy Idol
20. At This Moment, Billy Vera and The Beaters
21. Lady In Red, Chris De Burgh -- I know. Shame on me.
22. Didn't We Almost Have It All, Whitney Houston
23. I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For, U2
24. I Want Your Sex, George Michael
25. Notorious, Duran Duran
26. Only In My Dreams, Debbie Gibson
27. (I've Had) The Time Of My Life, Bill Medley and Jennifer Warnes -- come on. Nobody puts Baby in a corner.
28. The Next Time I Fall, Peter Cetera and Amy Grant
29. Lean On Me, Club Nouveau
30. Open Your Heart, Madonna
31. Lost In Emotion, Lisa Lisa and Cult Jam
32. (I Just) Died In Your Arms, Cutting Crew
33. Heart And Soul, T'pau
34. You Keep Me Hangin' On, Kim Wilde
35. Keep Your Hands To Yourself, Georgia Satellites
36. I Knew You Were Waiting (For Me), Aretha Franklin and George Michael
37. Control, Janet Jackson
38. Somewhere Out There, Linda Ronstadt and James Ingram
39. U Got The Look, Prince
40. Land Of Confusion, Genesis
41. Jacob's Ladder, Huey Lewis and The News
42. Who's That Girl, Madonna -- what was with the Spanish, anyway?
43. You Got It All, Jets -- my song for a certain soccer player. Damn him.
44. Touch Me (I Want Your Body), Samantha Fox
45. I Just Can't Stop Loving You, Michael Jackson and Siedah Garrett
46. Causing A Commotion, Madonna
47. In Too Deep, Genesis
48. Let's Wait Awhile, Janet Jackson
49. Hip To Be Square, Huey Lewis and the News
50. Will You Still Love Me?, Chicago
51. Little Lies, Fleetwood Mac
52. Luka, Suzanne Vega
53. I Heard A Rumour, Bananarama
54. Don't Mean Nothing, Richard Marx
55. Songbird, Kenny G
56. Carrie, Europe
57. Don't Disturb This Groove, System
58. La Isla Bonita, Madonna
59. Bad, Michael Jackson -- oh, pul-leeeze.
60. Sign 'O' The Times, Prince
61. Change Of Heart, Cyndi Lauper
62. Come Go With Me, Expose
63. Can't We Try, Dan Hill
64. To Be A Lover, Billy Idol
65. Mandolin Rain, Bruce Hornsby and the Range
66. Breakout, Swing Out Sister
67. Stand By Me, Ben E. King
68. Tonight, Tonight, Tonight, Genesis
69. Someday, Glass Tiger
70. When Smokey Sings, ABC
71. Casanova, Levert
72. Rhythm Is Gonna Get You, Gloria Estefan and the Miami Sound Machine
73. Rock Steady, Whispers
74. Wanted Dead Or Alive, Bon Jovi
75. Big Time, Peter Gabriel -- just for the line "and a snow-white pillow for my big, fat head."
76. The Finer Things, Steve Winwood
77. Let Me Be The One, Expose
78. Is This Love, Survivor
79. Diamonds, Herb Alpert
80. Point Of No Return, Expose
81. Big Love, Fleetwood Mac
82. Midnight Blue, Lou Gramm
83. Something So Strong, Crowded House
84. Heat Of The Night, Bryan Adams
85. Nothing's Gonna Change My Love For You, Glenn Medeiros
86. Brilliant Disguise, Bruce Springsteen
87. Just To See Her, Smokey Robinson
88. Who Will You Run To, Heart
89. Respect Yourself, Bruce Willis -- he was so CUTE back then
90. Cross My Broken Heart, Jets -- damn DAMN soccer player
91. Victory, Kool and The Gang
92. Don't Get Me Wrong, Pretenders
93. Doing It All For My Baby, Huey Lewis and The News
94. Right On Track, Breakfast Club
95. Ballerina Girl, Lionel Richie
96. Meet Me Half Way, Kenny Loggins
97. I've Been In Love Before, Cutting Crew
98. (You Gotta) Fight For Your Right To Party, Beastie Boys
99. Funkytown, Pseudo Echo
100. Love You Down, Ready For The World
My three favorites of that year were U2, Crowded House, and the Beasties. They're all still my favorites. U2 is, well, the phenomenon that is U2. Crowded House is no more but Neil is out there, making his beautiful pop songs. And the Beasties are 40+ and better than ever.
I knew there'd come a day when I'd hear U2 on the classic rock stations. That the 80s would be far enough away for people to be nostalgic for them. That I'd play these songs in the car and my child would roll his eyes. I knew.
I just didn't know it would happen so fast.
Just a bit.
But over at Sheila's, there was something I couldn't ignore. You go to musicoutfitters.com, you enter the year you graduated high school in the search field, and then grab the top 100 songs from that year. Then you go through the list, bolding the ones you liked, striking out the ones you hated, and leaving the rest alone.
So here it is, in all its tawdry mid-80s glory. I give you 1987:
(And before we further, let me just say this was NOT a banner year for music. Eeesh.)
1. Walk Like An Egyptian, Bangles
2. Alone, Heart
6. C'est La Vie, Robbie Nevil
8. The Way It Is, Bruce Hornsby and the Range
9. Shakedown, Bob Seger
11. La Bamba, Los Lobos
12. Everybody Have Fun Tonight, Wang Chung
13. Don't Dream It's Over, Crowded House -- I'm in love with Neil Finn. Forever and always.
14. Always, Atlantic Starr
15. With Or Without You, U2
16. Looking For A New Love, Jody Watley
17. Head To Toe, Lisa Lisa and Cult Jam
19. Mony Mony, Billy Idol
21. Lady In Red, Chris De Burgh -- I know. Shame on me.
22. Didn't We Almost Have It All, Whitney Houston
23. I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For, U2
24. I Want Your Sex, George Michael
25. Notorious, Duran Duran
27. (I've Had) The Time Of My Life, Bill Medley and Jennifer Warnes -- come on. Nobody puts Baby in a corner.
29. Lean On Me, Club Nouveau
30. Open Your Heart, Madonna
31. Lost In Emotion, Lisa Lisa and Cult Jam
32. (I Just) Died In Your Arms, Cutting Crew
33. Heart And Soul, T'pau
34. You Keep Me Hangin' On, Kim Wilde
35. Keep Your Hands To Yourself, Georgia Satellites
37. Control, Janet Jackson
38. Somewhere Out There, Linda Ronstadt and James Ingram
39. U Got The Look, Prince
40. Land Of Confusion, Genesis
42. Who's That Girl, Madonna -- what was with the Spanish, anyway?
43. You Got It All, Jets -- my song for a certain soccer player. Damn him.
44. Touch Me (I Want Your Body), Samantha Fox
46. Causing A Commotion, Madonna
47. In Too Deep, Genesis
48. Let's Wait Awhile, Janet Jackson
51. Little Lies, Fleetwood Mac
52. Luka, Suzanne Vega
53. I Heard A Rumour, Bananarama
55. Songbird, Kenny G
56. Carrie, Europe
57. Don't Disturb This Groove, System
58. La Isla Bonita, Madonna
60. Sign 'O' The Times, Prince
61. Change Of Heart, Cyndi Lauper
62. Come Go With Me, Expose
63. Can't We Try, Dan Hill
64. To Be A Lover, Billy Idol
65. Mandolin Rain, Bruce Hornsby and the Range
66. Breakout, Swing Out Sister
67. Stand By Me, Ben E. King
68. Tonight, Tonight, Tonight, Genesis
69. Someday, Glass Tiger
70. When Smokey Sings, ABC
72. Rhythm Is Gonna Get You, Gloria Estefan and the Miami Sound Machine
73. Rock Steady, Whispers
74. Wanted Dead Or Alive, Bon Jovi
75. Big Time, Peter Gabriel -- just for the line "and a snow-white pillow for my big, fat head."
76. The Finer Things, Steve Winwood
77. Let Me Be The One, Expose
79. Diamonds, Herb Alpert
80. Point Of No Return, Expose
81. Big Love, Fleetwood Mac
82. Midnight Blue, Lou Gramm
83. Something So Strong, Crowded House
84. Heat Of The Night, Bryan Adams
86. Brilliant Disguise, Bruce Springsteen
87. Just To See Her, Smokey Robinson
88. Who Will You Run To, Heart
89. Respect Yourself, Bruce Willis -- he was so CUTE back then
92. Don't Get Me Wrong, Pretenders
94. Right On Track, Breakfast Club
95. Ballerina Girl, Lionel Richie
96. Meet Me Half Way, Kenny Loggins
97. I've Been In Love Before, Cutting Crew
98. (You Gotta) Fight For Your Right To Party, Beastie Boys
99. Funkytown, Pseudo Echo
My three favorites of that year were U2, Crowded House, and the Beasties. They're all still my favorites. U2 is, well, the phenomenon that is U2. Crowded House is no more but Neil is out there, making his beautiful pop songs. And the Beasties are 40+ and better than ever.
I knew there'd come a day when I'd hear U2 on the classic rock stations. That the 80s would be far enough away for people to be nostalgic for them. That I'd play these songs in the car and my child would roll his eyes. I knew.
I just didn't know it would happen so fast.
8.04.2005
Health questions answered
I'm the queen of self-diagnosis, but I never saw this one coming.
My sore throat, hoarse voice and chronic cough aren't coming from upstairs at all, but down. It's GERD. Gastroesophogeal Reflux Disease.
In other words: what goes down must come up.
I went to a specialist, finally. I liked Dr. Shipley at first. He came in with one of those Dr. Kildare reflectors on his head.
Yeah. Like that, only not scary.
So talked to me about my symptoms, and I was thinking asthma, allergies, too much secondhand smoke. Then he put the scope up my nose and fed it down my throat so he could snap pictures of my innards. This is not a pleasant experience. Miles would tell you that I have no discernable gag reflex, which is why he loves me so. Dr. Shipley hit crap with the camera that darn near made me hurl across the room. And, as he moved the frickin' thing up and down my main pipe, he kept asking me to vocalize "heeeeeeeee." It came out more like "aaaaaaaakkkkkkkphbttt." All five times.
I crossed my eyes and watched the camera as it came out of my nose. Damn you for laughing, Doctor Shipley!
The glossy pictures of my glossy, pink epiglottis revealed that I have a node on my vocal chords, causing the hoarseness. And now, I can identify the sore throat for what it really is: bile backwash.
My life has turned into a list of NOs:
No coffee
No soda
No spicy food
No large portions
No eating before bedtime
No sleeping on my stomach
No smoking
No beer
No bad habits
The more I consider the list, the more I realize that I could have been driven to this by much more serious problems. Which makes me feel oddly lucky.
It's just GERD. It's not heart disease or diabetes or (I hate to even think it) cancer. It's just bile backwash.
Hell, who knows? I may get healthier, just because I got sick.
My sore throat, hoarse voice and chronic cough aren't coming from upstairs at all, but down. It's GERD. Gastroesophogeal Reflux Disease.
In other words: what goes down must come up.
I went to a specialist, finally. I liked Dr. Shipley at first. He came in with one of those Dr. Kildare reflectors on his head.
Yeah. Like that, only not scary.
So talked to me about my symptoms, and I was thinking asthma, allergies, too much secondhand smoke. Then he put the scope up my nose and fed it down my throat so he could snap pictures of my innards. This is not a pleasant experience. Miles would tell you that I have no discernable gag reflex, which is why he loves me so. Dr. Shipley hit crap with the camera that darn near made me hurl across the room. And, as he moved the frickin' thing up and down my main pipe, he kept asking me to vocalize "heeeeeeeee." It came out more like "aaaaaaaakkkkkkkphbttt." All five times.
I crossed my eyes and watched the camera as it came out of my nose. Damn you for laughing, Doctor Shipley!
The glossy pictures of my glossy, pink epiglottis revealed that I have a node on my vocal chords, causing the hoarseness. And now, I can identify the sore throat for what it really is: bile backwash.
My life has turned into a list of NOs:
No coffee
No soda
No spicy food
No large portions
No eating before bedtime
No sleeping on my stomach
No smoking
No beer
No bad habits
The more I consider the list, the more I realize that I could have been driven to this by much more serious problems. Which makes me feel oddly lucky.
It's just GERD. It's not heart disease or diabetes or (I hate to even think it) cancer. It's just bile backwash.
Hell, who knows? I may get healthier, just because I got sick.
A favorite thing
Occasionally, you'll read a news story that you MUST clip. And keep. And read when things are going particularly rough.
This is mine, from a few years ago. It was in one of those space-filler sidebars in the yokel paper.
There are many, many fabulous, smart-assed comments you could add on your own. But, you'll find the unblemished article, suffused with the cub reporter's glee, is perfect. Just the way it is.
This is mine, from a few years ago. It was in one of those space-filler sidebars in the yokel paper.
Big-rig crashes, killing 107 pigs
HESPERIA, Calif. -- A big-rig hauling 207 pigs careened off fog-shrouded Interstate 15 at the Cajon Summit, killing about half of the shipment of swine.
Trucker Roger Arduin, 52, wasn't hurt. Arduin lost his way in the fog in the southbound lanes of I-15 near Highway 138 early Wednesday and the big-rig went over the embankment, California Highway Patrol officer Kevin Haney said.
Animal control officers planned to dispose of the 107 dead pigs, either at a landfill or by incineration. The survivors continued their journey to a slaughterhouse.
There are many, many fabulous, smart-assed comments you could add on your own. But, you'll find the unblemished article, suffused with the cub reporter's glee, is perfect. Just the way it is.
8.03.2005
I'm baaaaaaack.
For now, that'll have to do. There's so much going on: I'm on a home search, I've been sick for what seems like two months, my dog had a health scare that flattened me for a few days and my little guy is not only turning seven in two weeks, but he's also starting second grade at the end of the month.
I mean, wow!
Here's what I've learned, though: you never EVER ask "what else?" because you'll always get an answer. And it's usually not the one you wanted.
So in the meantime, I'm just chugging away on the ol' crapvertising career and juggling everything else.
I mean, wow!
Here's what I've learned, though: you never EVER ask "what else?" because you'll always get an answer. And it's usually not the one you wanted.
So in the meantime, I'm just chugging away on the ol' crapvertising career and juggling everything else.
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.
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