Sunday, July 27, 2003


So I had to bail out of the blogathon. Kudos to everyone who survived. Sometimes health takes you out of things you'd like to be doing. Alas, I am not the man I was ten years ago. But I'm going to work out, get into shape and maybe next year I'll be ready to go the full twenty-four hours. (I'm actually surprised I made it for eleven...)


Saturday, July 26, 2003

One last post

Now I am really done (unless my wife continues to dilly dally)...the cat has left the cow and I am showered and somewhat clean. Bye for now...


Alright folks. I've about had it for today. Once upon a time I could go on for hours on end, but unlike my cat who is still sleeping with cow, I can no longer write without some amount of pain and I do need my hands over the next week enough not to dull the pain now to make some extra money for my charity. I'm still supporting Webpixie for BookAid and I hope, even you random readers, will give this worthwhile charity a few bucks. If I had more than the one sponsor, I might have considered eating the pain. But I really can't justify it anymore. It's been fun, though. But I need to seek a cold shower right now.

Adios y Buena Suerta, mis amigos


10 %

There's a 10 % chance that I'll survive the 'thon.
Will you survive the Blogathon?


Bush is still president. Half of the people like him. The other half doesn't.
Half of the people care about politics. The other half doesn't.
Half of the people know that there is such a thing as a newspaper, the other half has heard of the concept, but is not convinced of the veracity of the claims (1% of those know what "veracity" means...the remainder simply replied "Go, USA").
Of the half that knows about newspapers, half of them have actually read them. The other half uses them for puppy training and wrapping glassware when they move.
Half of the people know what the internet is. The other half likes chicken nuggets more than chicken tenders.
Half of the people who know what the internet is use it for information. The other half use it to answer polls about chicken nuggets versus chicken tenders.
Half of the people who use the internet for information do so to better their understanding of the world around them. The other half are looking for information on whether or not Britney Spears prefers chicken nuggets or chicken tenders.
Half of the people trying to understand the world around them give up after discovering most of the information online concerns Ms. Spears' preferences for chicken pieces. The other half know how to use a search engine to ignore all chicken related sites.
Of the half that ignores the chicken, half of them get frustrated that people who can see the truth choose to patently ignore it in favor of catchy slogans and the superiority that comes when you are on the side of the right, which they percieve to be the Right since it is called the Right it must be right. The other half do not visit Free Republic.
Of the half that does not visit Free Republic, half have thought about blogging and the other half have thought about reading blogs, but then reconsidered the whole question of chicken and Britney Spears and, eventually, chose the chicken.
Of the half that thought about blogging, half of them blogged for a few days, realized that no one was listening and then simply fell into the relative silence of the commentary crowd on a site like Daily Kos or Eschaton. The other half didn;t care that they were shouting into the vast oblivios of cyb erspace because they knew if they kept at it, they may eventually get to the relative status of at least Pandagon.
Of the half that kept at it, half of them are still somewhat sane.
The other half are in the blogathon...


Okay, the cat is still sleeping with the cow, but she has flipped over so now the cow's head is facing in a different direction from her head. It's like she's looking one way and the cow is looking the other and there's some guy in the middle saying "What are you looking at?" Okay, there's no guy there in the middle. Just the cow and the cat. Still. They may last the entire blogathon. More than I can say about myself...


Have you ever watched a cat dream? There's a weird twitchy thing tha happens like they are chasing game in their minds and their bodies are slightly reacting to the dream. Sometimes when Lasky dreams (like right now with the cow) I can't help but to stop and watch and think about those people who believe that animals aren't conscious of their own identities. I think about how really out of touch with animals those people are. Maybe it makes it easy for them to be cruel in experiments or whatnot. Who's to say? But I believe there's more going on with the furry ones then we can ever really know without new science fiction type devices.

Yet another tale

The dais was overflowing with flowers. Roses, petunias, birds-of-paradise and lilacs intermingled with daisies and carnations in such an amazing array that the speaker could not escape the overwhelming sense that people were watching the flowers that day and not him. He was Paul Inglestad and he was the CEO of Gorplantia, a company devoted to being a company. The company's motto was "We are a company among companies." Just a terrible motto, thought Inglestad every day as he passed it on his way to his fiftieth story office. His office was the entire fiftieth floor. A small staircase entered into the vast room where Inglestad kept his desk and three chairs. One chair for himself and two for a possibility of two visitors. Inglestad did not care to be in the company of people or small spaces and he tried to limit the first while keeping the second mostly unlimited. Through no small feat of engineering, his entire office floor was devoid of walls or supporting columns. Instead, the roof was supported by a two foot thick glass window which was crystal clear to the outside. The roof, itself, was also made of glass with a clear mechanism that kept it, and the surrounding window clean of dirt or any obscuring stain. Birds were discouraged from flying near to it with some kind of costly device that Inglestad had commissioned when he was having his office constructed. It was apparently a very expensive room, but nothing was too much for the CEO of a great company like Gorplantia.

Inglestad was to give a speech from among the flowers to a group of wealthy housewives who had formed a company in the hopes that a bigger company like Gorplantia would take them over and incoporate them into the family of companies that Gorplantia pretended it allowed to exist as a separate entity. Their company was called Ji and they were devoted to the fundamental philosophy that a lot of money could be made by being taken over by another company. They were fairly sure they had found their target conglomerate in Gorplantia. There was one catch, however. The stockholders of Gorplantia were unhappy with their current CEO. He did not seem to have any real passion for being the head of a company among companies. They felt that he was merely drawing salary and going to his large glass office everyday to avoid people. They were right, of course. The women of Ji knew their only hope for success was to destroy Paul Inglestad.

Inglestad was set to talk about the values of being a company owned by a company among companies when Sheila Fisk, a housewife from Encino, California who was happily married to a stock car driver and had two boys, Tom and Fritzie, a family name, and a dog named Frodo (because she loved those hobbits in the movie with the ring) walked onto the dais with the flowers. She had brewed a tea from herbs that she had grown in her backyard in a small circle as she had seen on one of her favorite cable shows. She had read that Paul Inglestad loved tea but was deathly allergic to honey. She had no intention of despoiling his tea with honeyh. Instead she had added the leaves of a sugar plant for taste which, in fact, tasted great. Even Fritzie liked it and he rarely liked anything his mom did as, according to his dad, she was a nutbag. But, with Fritzie's approval, she brought in her tea and brought it to Paul Inglestad who gladly took it. Happies when she walked away, he paused in his speech about the benefits of letting other people think for you to take a sip before promptly dropping dead at the podium. Sheila did not notice when Van Kileford, the next in line for the CEO position of Gorplantia, spiked the tea with cyanide. LAter, as Sheila was being sentenced for the murder of Inglestad, she wondered aloud why they didn't just put honey in the tea.


To keep you posted, my cat is still sleeping with the cow. She's moved her paws slightly. The cow is safe.


Okay, I know I've been a little shy on content for a couple of hours. I could just throw out some haiku or write a paragraph or two about traffic in Los Angeles, but then I'm either falling into Mishima territory or Andy Rooney and, for now, I think you, my loyal webring surfers who drop in and out to see what's along the way and then skidaddle, I reccomend cool and informative sites like this one that might just teach a little something that you didn't know about the stupid people who are trying to control you. Some of them are very stupid, I'll have you know.

1/3 of the way

Just for the record (and because the last post escaped a bit early), we are a third of the way through our busy day. Seriously. That is eight hours as of now! Like running 8 and something miles of a marathon...only without the cramps and the wasting away of the body and the heat and the pain and the disgusting mess of litter that runners leave...seriously, marathons are terrible for botht the runners and the environment. They should be stopped.


Like you all need me to tell you about HomestarRunner. If you haven't seeen Strong Bad read his emails, you are missing some of the funniest animation on the web. And the weirdest. Seriously. These guys have some many jokes within jokes and little links, you can spend a very long time watching these little films. Go now!


Five to be exact. All different. All bizzaro. The two that came with me are Shramsberg, a 16 year old Persian fellow who now sports a year round "lion cut" due to his lapsed ability to groom himself properly. He is deaf, but lovable and a total mooch who gets his own food every morning and knows it and complains about it even when he's eating it. He's kind of the "Grandpa Simpson" of cats. The other that came from my side is Lasky, a 7 year old big fat Siamese/Tabby mix who talks silently, squeaks regulaly and feels it's her job to keep occasional lapses of gravity at bay by lying on top of me, my wife or any piece of furniture for long periods of time. My wife brought Marvin, a 4 year old Maine Coon mix who is the cat embodiment of the cowardly lion. At once, he's tough but a scaredy cat. He's big, but not brave. But he's got a big roar and is very demanding. Her other cat is Georgia, a 3 year old orange cat who is sweet, but is the cat who gets attacked. She is always en garde and only really is comfortable with my wife or Marvin, although he sometimes attacks her as well. Our joint cat is Magnus, a 1 1/2 year old terror. He is sweet and playful and dominant. His nickname is Gozer. But he is getting huge and doesn't know it.

Those are the cats. We also have two beta fish, Lancelot Crockett and Galahad Tubbs.


My wife and I went to the Orange County Fair yesterday and I won a bunch of stuffed things for her including a stuffed cow. We put the cow on a chair in our living room that our big fat cat, Lasky, likes to sit on and she has taken a like to the cow. Right now she is cuddled up with the cow on the chair which is almost as cute as before when she was sleeping on top of the cow which was half under her body. It looked like it desperately wanted to escape her. Now it looks like it's happy being cuddled with. My wife got a digital picture but I am just too brain dead at the moment to go through the process of posting it here (it requires uploading to my other site and then linking here and, well, first it requires putting it on the laptop and the interface is upstairs in the office...too much effort at the moment)


I was trying to read this review of Christian video games to my wife, but she couldn't understand my through my tears of laughter. Maybe I'm just loopy from the blogathon, or maybe this is some damned funny writing.

Hermann loves Pauline

Hermann Loves Pauline and Pauline Loves Hermann
They made love and gave birth, to a little German
They call him MC² because he raps like no other
An asthma sufferer like Ernesto Guevara
Too much Monte Cristo no. 4
Pass the Ventolin, I need some more
We have ways of making you think
We have ways of making you think
We have ways of making you think
We have ways of making you think
We have ways of making you think
They told me over a drink

They never noticed him at school
They tell me, he kept himself to himself
He used to sit and stare up at the ceiling
Hermann Loves Pauline
They never noticed him at school
They tell me, he suffered poor health
He used to vacantly stare out the window feeling under
Why do you do, what they tell you?

Marie Curie was Polish born, but French bred. Ha! French bread!
Of course she ended up dead from radiation
Slow invisible suffocation
Down the 24 hour garage or any service station
I lead my life in the quest for information
Sensurrounded by pies and books
Middle aged drivers and deranged cooks

They never noticed her at school
They tell me, she kept herself to herself
She used to sit and stare up at the ceiling
Hermann loves Pauline
They never noticed her at school
They tell me, she suffered poor health
She used to vacantly stare out the window feeling under
Why do you do, what they tell you?

They never noticed her at school
They tell me, she kept herself to herself
She used to sit and stare up at the ceiling
Hermann loves Pauline
They never noticed him at school
They tell me, he suffered poor health
He used to vacantly stare out the window feeling under

- Lyrics by The Super Furry Animals

If you haven't heard of SFA, then you must be an American. Seriously, these guys are one of the most popular bands that America does not know about. If you are one of the uninitiated, CHECK THEM OUT!

Another story

I was listening to a Pink Floyd album...Dark Side if you must know. You know the part of the song where David Gilmour sings about "the moments that break up the dull day" or something like that? You know what I'm talking about. You've heard the album. Everyone's heard the album and that's what's so cool about it. Even if you don't know you've heard it, you've heard it. It's a universal thing.

So I was listening to this song and thinking I should be doing something becausde all I was doing was sitting and listening and trying not to think. I was trying but not succeeding because I kept thinking about how I should be out back taking care of the grass for my mother.

She had asked me to mow the lawn many times this year but I had kept putting it off because, well, I hate mowing the lawn. You do, too. I know it. No one likes doing this except for the guys with the riding mowers who love to mow but they aren't really mowing. They're driving. I wouldn't mind taking acare of the lawn if we had a driving mower. That would be cool. But we don't. We have one of those old push type things without a moter even. I have to sharpen the blades with this whetstone before I cut the grass and then I have to push the damned thing around and then rake up all the grass and bag it. I jujst don't like doing this very much.

So I was listening to the song and thinking about the grass when the telephone rang. It rang right about the time in the song when the cash drawers are opening and closing so it kind of went along with the music so I hesitated in answering it. But it could have been my friend Bill, who had a cool idea about going out with a gun and maybe robbing a store. I thought it was cool, anyway. It would be cool because we could rob a liquor store or something and get some beer along with the money and maybe some cigarettes and then we could hang out up by Marty's house which was cool because he had a barbeque and a lot of meat. The only other way I could get money for beer and smokes would be to cut the grass for mom and I really didn't want to do that so Bill's plan seemed cool. Even if we went to jail it would be cool because I wouldn't have to mow the lawn.

So the phone was ringing and I figured I should answer it. I turned down the music because I had it ujp way loud and it would be kind of hard to hear the person on the phone with the music and Mom's voice in my head shouting about the lawn. I picked up the phone and it was Bill alright. But Bill had already tried to rob the liquor store with Marty and without me. I thought it was our plan, but it was Bill's plan and he was just telling me about it so I would know he was thinking about it or something. I don't know, but I thought I was going to be a part of the plan and I wasn't. It was Bill and Marty's plan. Only it wasn't a very good plan because Bill told me Marty was dead and Bill was in jail.

I was on the phone with Bill thinking that I should really mow the lawn and not think about holding up liquor stores. Marty had been shot because the liquor store guy had a big gun and wasn't afraid to use it and Bill only had a little fake gun that he couldn't use and all he wanted was some money and beer and a pack of Camels. When Bill pulled out his little gun, the liquor store guy pulled out a bigger one and just shot Marty in the head. Bill said there wasn't a head anymore. That Marty's head had just exploded like the watermelon we had blown up with M-80's when we were kids. Bill started freaking out and crying I guess because the next thing he knew he was in jail and he was asking if I could scrape together a few thousand dollars to bail him out.

I told him Mom only paid me like ten dollars to mow the lawn and I hadn't even done that in awhile. He was still crying I think when he hung up. I felt bad for him and all, but he shouldn't have left me out of the plan because I probably could have helped make it better or something. Too bad for Bill and Marty I guess. Anyhow, I turned the music back up and it was that part of the album about the lunatic on the grass and that was too much so I went and mowed the lawn.

IRQ Sucked Me In

Been in the blogothon chat room and have little time to throw something to you. But I will say that in light of all that has gone on today, I am very surprised that my hands aren't dead by now. The bad part is that I have to write an 8-10 page comparative lit paper by tuesday, haven't started and it will certainly cramp up my hands. By next week, I will be fairly dead and ready to start a new summer session the following Monday. I love school, though. Much better than selling theatre lights to schools and churches. I just have to remember to not always wait until the last minute to write papers I don't want to write. Especially when I get to the graduate portion of my schooling...

Damned quizzes

So this is pessimistic, no?

30 %

There's a 30 % chance that I'll survive the 'thon.
Will you survive the Blogathon?


So you know, the landlords have finally agreed to send an exterminator (not Tom Delay) to kill the ants. It's very nice of them to do so being that if they didn't, I was going to and take it out of the rent...

The world sometimes gets me down. But then I remember that I'm married (happily), at 33, I'm a full time student and will most likely remain so for the next six or seven years in pursuit of a Ph.D. that two years ago I'd never even considered (Comparative Literature). I'm learning one language to fluency (Espanol) right now and will be learning another (Italian) starting next summer. I'm fixing my credit, looking to buy a house and may even have a child in the next year or so. These are the positives and they are very positive. All of my bitching about Buscho and ants and California politics means relatively nothing to my overall happiness. I have an inner peace I've never really had before and I give all the credit for that to my wife who will probably not even read this because she prefers to talk to me to find out what I'm thinking rather than simply read it on my blog. My blog is for all of you who do not have the benefit of sleeping with me (not really a benefit, I snore...but we bought these little plastic doohickies that fit around the septum and seem to prevent heavy snoring...a pretty good 18 dollar investment, really).

Am I happy about the world in general? No. The world in general is frustrating because most people don't care about what is going on around them. Most people being the 50-58% who keep giving Buscho a good approval rating. Am I not seeing what they see or are they just too jaded or bored or stupid to care enough to look closely at the monkey-in-chief? I'm beginning to think political thought is, like good real estate, based on location. If you live in certain areas, you eventually begin to see things differently. But this theory really doesn't work because even in California we still have right wing idiocy that allows for recall elections. So I'm not really happy about the world in general.

I want it to change. A lot. For the better (as I see it). IK ant Hollywood to stop making bad movies with a roman numeral after the title. I want reality shows to stop getting beyond ridiculous. I want a Judge Judy channel on cable. I want my wife to get the job she wants for the pay we want so that she will be happy at work and we can get a house that she loves. I like where we live (ants aside) but I know she doesn't, so I will do whatever I can to help us get to a place she loves. My happiness is contigent upon hers and I know she is happy with many things in our lives, so I am as well. That's all that really matters anyhow.


We had an ant incursion at breakfast. We have two a day. They're breaking down the cracks in the walls and coming in through our electrical receptacles. Unlike Bush, I don't say "Bring em on" but if I could nuke the lot of them, I would...or at least napalm them.


She's understands this blogathon thing, but she doesn't appreciate it. She finally got up and, after reading the short story I posted earlier, said it was cool and then asked me to help make the bed. Now she has to grade papers and wants me to come downstairs and blog from the laptop while she works. I suppose I will. It's a little cooler downthere and I don't have an open catbox five feet from me in the living room (I'm in the office right now and we're experimenting with multiple catboxes - we have multiple cats). So, for awhile, I'll be blogging from the couch. (It won't improve the quality of the blogs much...lo siento)


So I take a few too many deductions and now I'm paying for it ($50 a month for a year or two). What about these guys?

Something tells me the IRS doesn't think they are as important as I am...


Check out this anonymous TNR Blog which lays out why mnay of the people who think Dean is unelectable could be, perhaps, wrong. Wrong as Bush on Jeopardy("I'll take Impeachment for $1000, Alex.").

Are You A Hypnotist??

I had forgiven you for tricking me again
But I have been tricked again -
Into forgiving you -
What is this?? Are you some kind of hypnotist??
Waving your powers around - the sun eclipse behind the cloud...

I thought I recognized your face
Amongst all of those strangers -
But I am the stranger now
Amongst all of the recognized
What is this?? Are you some kind of hypnotist??
Waving your powers around - the sun eclipse behind the cloud

- Lyrics by The Flaming Lips Wayne Coyne)

If you haven't heard the Lips, you should go over to their site which has an interactive jukebox. Go. Listen. Smile.

A Short Story...

A man gets onto a bus in the middle of a city in the middle of a day. He sits in the red seat next to the orange seat because he thinks that the orange seat may have something on it. It does. It has the scrawing of a young boy from Nicaragua. The scrawling is mistaken by the man to be some kind of gang insignia but it actually reads: "I'm alive and free. Thank you, God." But the man never has time to read the graffitti. He only has time to judge it.
The man rides on the bus as many people get on and off. He secretly hopes that no one will sit in the orange seat. He has a prblem with people on busses. "They smell," he thinks. "They're foreign," he thinks. "They're scum," he thinks. But there he is on the bus not thinking if other people thinks he is a smelly foreign scumbag. As people sit in every seat but the orange seat, he does not wonder whether he is being judged. He only sits in judgment while thanking his fifteen deities that he is not standing.
The man has fifteen seperate gods. Each god corresponds to a different aspect of his life. He prays to the god of crispy cornflakes. This is not untrue. He pours the cereal and his hopes for a good breakfast. As he only eats cereal, he has created a god to care for this activity. He sees nothing wrong with this. He only has fifteen gods because he has only discovered fifteen things in his life that are worth repeating and that are worthy of praying for. He considers a sixteenth: the god of the empty orange chair. But this god is aborted before it can be drawn from the ether of the god world as a large African American woman plants herself firmly and with purpose in the orange seat.
The man tries hard not to look at the woman next to him. He is slightly afraid of black people. He thinks it comes from the media. He has never had a black person do anything bad to him or anyone he knows, but he is afraid that he might end up like some guy in a movie who is having a bad day and a black person is involved somehow. So he sits in his red chair and smushes himself against the wall of the bus and tries to watch the scenery and not contemplate his fear. He contemplates creating a god to protect him from the woman in the orange seat. He wonders if the god ether would still respond to him if he did. There is nobility in crisp breakfast and starch-free shirts. There is none in prejudice. He, again, cancels his request to the god world just as the large ugliness he had asked for was beginning to rise from beneath the surface of a particularly hellish spot.
The man's stop is the next stop. On the bus there is a cord to be pulled to signal the driver to stop. The man pulls the cord and prays to the god of travel to ring the bell and light the "Stop Requested" light. The god answers his request and the bell rings and the light lights. He begins to rise but the woman in the orange seat does not seem to notice he is trying to leave. She does not create the adequite space for him to exit. His stop is coming and she will not move. He has to get off and she will not give way. He tries a polite smile, a nod of comraderie that will catch her attention so she will give way. She does not react. She does not see him.
He tries clearing his throat. Nothing from the orange seat.
His mouth, dry from fear, forms words. "Excuse me," croaks out like a man dying of thirst. The woman looks up at him. She smiles politely and moves her legs so that he may depart. He takes his opportunity and passes by her, quickly moving toward the front so that he may depart.
From behind him, the words "God Bless You" strike him. He turns to see the African American woman wave and smile.
As the man exits the bus, another dark spot in the god ether sinks back to its hole.


So Darryl Issa is trying to steal the governor's office like he would a Honda Civic hatchback. It isn't going to work, Darryl. You don't get the prize you've paid 1.5 million for. Not you. Californians can be stupid, but not that stupid. One thing Californians can be better than anyone else is Liberal (with a capital L). Even though we hate Gray Davis, we still got enough people out to beat Bill Simon, who was just about as worthless a candidate as you can give a voter. So you Republicans are understandable bitchy that you didn't have a good choice. But that's your problem. Gray won. He did nothing to deserve a recall. He may not be a great fellow or a great governor, but he also did nothing illegal or immoral. This is a stupid precedent. Some people poo-poo the idea that if the Republicans win this recall, the Democrats will recall the new Rep Gov out of spite. They will. Politicians have nothing better to do than be spiteful and Gray Davis will have full election coffers and no political future to be spiteful with. He'll get the signatures if he has to stand in front of WalMart himself.

But back to why Issa ainta gonna wina. Because given the choice between a rich guy who stole cars and now sells car alarms, a rich guy who was a popular mayor of a major city, a rich guy who lost the last election because he was a terrible candidate and a rich guy who has made lots of popular movies with funny catchphrases, people are most likely going to choose the actor or the mayor (name recognition) and not the bitter guy who spent more money than most people have to make the state spend more money than it can afford to have this stupid vote of confidence in the first place. If Davis isn't recalled, which is most likely going to be the result, then Issa should be forced to pay for this exercise in sour grapes. People in California need their government to be working right now. People like Issa don't care about the average person who needs the state he pays taxes to do use those dollars for something useful. People like Issa don't need the state to do anything for them. This is why people like Issa need to stay out of our business.

So hold your nose and vote for Gray again.


So my wife, our friends, friends of our friends, myself and a very large Irishman go to see this movie last night. What can I say, something about Antonio Banderas, Sylverster Stallone, Ricardo Moltalban and 3D just kind of made it a must see. First off. Not enougn Antonio. The best scene in the film is with Antonio, by himself. The second best scene is with Alan Cummings...by himself. The third best scene is with Stallone...by himself (acting against three of himself...you have to see the gag...funny stuff from Sly). You see a trend here? Once the kids are added in, or left alone with one another, you are simply watching a videogame in weird 3D. I never quite felt comfortable with the effect. Sometimes it was very had to watch the film and I wished it wasn't in 3D. The colors were very off and nothing quite worked right for me. I was always relieved to take the glasses off. Always. The lead kid, Juni, is just a horrible actor. He was understandably horrible in the first film. He got worse in the second and, as this is perhaps the last film in the franchise, we will ever have to see him again outside of Robert Rodriguez (who does EVERYTHING in this film except star in it) being the "people who work wth me work with me" kind of director and might give the kid a bit role somewhere. Otherwise, he should be done with his time now. We need not see him AGAIN.

Negatives being said, the film had an experimental quality I kind of enjoyed, it was fun at times and it was really a film for kids and geeks, but mostly geeky kids (of which I was one). There was a time I would have enjoyed this a lot more. But I guess the older you get, the more 3D effects start to give you a headache. The plot was servicible and the film did not drag (which is more than I can say for films like League of Extrordinary Gentlemen...a tortuous fifteen days in a theatre chair...or was it a month...it took so long, I forget sometimes). Would I recommend it? If you liked the first two films, you don't mind a little headache and you have to choose between this, LXG and T3, choose this. If you haven't seen Pirates of the Carribean yet, see that first.


Mornign Everyone! It's 6AM and I'm up and ready to Blog! Must post this one NOW!


Wednesday, July 23, 2003

This is Mrs. Mercury X23 here. I just wanted to blog a little about something that really bugs the crap out of me. Is it Mr. Mercury's inability to not steal the covers at night? No. Is it his reluctance to decide between sushi or pizza for dinner? No that, either. I kinda like having an excuse to kick him at night and to pretend that I wear the pants sometimes. My gripe has to do with driving. You see, I was born with a visual handicap. I can drive, though. I've never passed the vision tests at the DMV because my particular problem prevents me from doing so. Instead, my opthalmologists have had to fill out thses forms that certify that it's okay for me to operate a vehicle. I'm a damn good driver. I haven't caused an accident since 1998, when I misjudged the enormity of a giant SUV parked in a compact spot at the bank and scraped a three inch line of paint from above the rear tire. Big deal. So, what's my problem? Well, last week I had to go to the emergency room because something got into my eye and cut my cornea, so being in immense pain, my opthalmologist's office told me to go there for an antibiotic prescription instead of having to wait three days to see my doctor. The nurse who checked me in asked me to read the eye chart. I couldn't do it, of course. The nurse said, "I sure hope you're not driving." I wasn't about to launch into a lecture about my ability to drive with her. She wouldn't have gotten it anyway.

The fact is that, in Los Angeles at least, drivers spend 80% of their time dealing with other cars than trying to read a street or freeway sign. The fact is, most people are going somewhere they've been to many times before and no longer bother to read the signs. The fact is, an object in motion is still identified as an object in motion, regardless of whether or not the image of the object is perfectly sharp or slightly soft. I don't drink and drive. I use an ear piece with my cell phone. I put the CD in before driving the car. I don't speed. I have faster reflexes than most people I know. Yet because I can't read a bunch of smallish black letters on a white background with one eye closed standing twenty feet away under floursecent lights, I shouldn't be driving. Every time I've moved to another state and had to apply for a new license I've had to go through ridiculous hoops. Yet each time, when ultimately they made me take the actual driving test, the folks in the car never have problems with me.

I don't intend to leave California in the near future, but let's just say that somebody crashes into me and a court case ensues. The prosecuter can state that it must have been my fault because I can't read the stupid chart. My lawyer would then have to prove that the chart has nothing to do with one's ability to drive.

I'm just bitching here. I welcome comments, as does Mr. M. I have to say that I'm going to write an article about this. I think it's time to change the perameters which determine one's abiltiy to drive... and to KEEP driving. Trust me, I have issues with 85 year-olds who crash into crowded Farmer's Markets in the middle of the afternoon, too.

By the way, my husband is crazy, but he's an awesome blogger! Go Woobie!


Happy Wednesday, everybody!


Okay, I was going to do something stupid and cute with the lyrics to "Dead Puppies," but it just wasn't working and the new craptastic logo was a real timesink...

With the caveat of not a terrible thing Hussein's boys dead, bad dudes who did bad things...wouldn't it have been nice for the Iraqis to have given them some old time Babylonian justice rather than have our many large guns just kill them. We have the technology NOT to kill people if we don't want to do so. If we had wanted to knock out the residents of the house, we could have done so without death. Did we learn our tactics from Dirty Harry? (well...yes, actually)

Did they know things we didn't want them to tell? Were we more afraid of live Husseins in jail inspiring hijackings and kidnappings? Can infidels become martyrs? (remember that Osama thought them infidels...if they are suddenly poster boys for bomb an American day, I'll be confused by the whole infidel thing and what is a fatwa anyhow?)

Oh, and has Bushco told the truth yet about the whole 16 words thing? No? How about why we had to go kill them Hussein boys anyhow? No? No truth yet, huh? Well, at least we killed a couple of bad guys over there.

Of course, we lost two more soldiers and eight more were injured...


Tuesday, July 22, 2003


Someone was actually kind enough to sponsor me for this weekend's event. Now, it would seem, I have to discover some kind of content for the day. In between getting to the end of my first summer session at school, I may find some choice material about the California Democrats who are just too stupid for words. As much as I despise California Republicans, the Democrats need to be slapped plenty hard for their recent stupidity. And this weekend, I'll be a-slappin'!

So thanks to my new friend at Webpixie who was kind enough to enlist me for our shared charity, BookAid. If you're going to sponsor someone and you don't like me enough to pay me the kindness, check her site out. She's working for the same folks and seems to write well.


Sunday, July 20, 2003


Something just occured to me. All of this Bushco talk of "historical revisionism"...Why did they start using this terminology? It does not apply. Nobody making accusations against Bushco was revising anything. They were and are trying to get to the truth about why we went to war. What was being revised, I wondered? I started thinking, perhaps, that Bushco has been actively revising history everytime questions come up about illegal things they have done. Lies they have told. Those lies become unlies when Bushco changes the reason for telling them. Thereby, of course, revising history. But we cannot accuse them of that now. "Why?" you ask.

Because they called us revisionists first.

If we call them on what they've been doing, and use the proper terminology which they have co-opted, then they can take that weird high ground like Jack Nicholson in that scene in Batman where the Joker tells Batman that Batman made him and Batman replies that the Joker made him first. The Joker tries to say that Batman is only saying that because the Joker said it. What you end up with, of course, is the American public, predisposed to think of the Democrats as liars, thinking that Bush is somehow telling the truth because they are programmed to think Bush tells the truth. Bush is just like the Joker, tossing money from his float, shouting "Who do you trust?" and laughing while he prepares to kill us all.

All we can do is wish that someone would answer his question, "And where is the Batman?"

We've got no Batman (or Batmen)...All we've got is the Joker.

Maybe he's got the Weapons of Mass Destruction


Thursday, July 17, 2003


Pat Robertson is curently having some kind of prayer vigil to encourage God to get involved in the political process by killing, er...encouraging to retire... three left leaning Supreme Court justices. Well, I've been thinking about this and if Pat can ask God to kill people for him through vigilant prayer, there's no reason that we all can't start praying that God will encourage Pat to give up the ship and head along to heaven (or, for Pat, hell. Pat's going to hell. No doubt about it. He's been taking the lord's name in vain for so many years now and stealing and lying and being an all around ass of jack that he is certainly hellbound if there is such a place to be heading for). But we need to pray for this now. We need to beg of God to release Pat from this mortal coil and send him along to his just desserts (where he will enjoy the freedom to be sodomized all the time). So join with me and, for as long as you go about your daily prayers, throw one out for ol Pat to get a taste of his own medicine from God. He deserves nothing less than our best efforts. While we're at it, let's pray for Falwell, Rush, Fat Tony and any other pious jackass who thinks he or she might know what God's wishes might be to get a bit of freedom as well. Freedom for everyone who wants to be sure we have no freedom!

Oh, and pray that anyone who Pat is praying against lives long and prospers. And pray for Mojo, that poor little monkey.


Wednesday, July 16, 2003

Blogathon 2003

Since I've nothing better to do except make my wife happy(which this positively does not...but she understands), I will be participating in this year's blogathon for my chosen charity, Book Aid International. Please sign up to sponsor me and help some people to read and, well, help make the blogsphere a better place for me and you (all the better for you if you stop by my site and hang out for awhile, post a thought, have a cup of coffee, link to me...better for me because I like the company...better for the children because they'll have books). See you Saturday!


Lamar Alexander ([R]Senator from Tennessee...loser of many primaries) says that the increasing criticism of Buschco over the Africa Lie ("Iraqnukegate" "Nigergate" "Uraniumgate" "SOTUgate"...you pick it) is "overblown" and we should really look somewhere else for now, like the hole in the sand the press has had its collective head in for the past three years. A little lie about the cause for going to war is no reason to get into a tizzy. I mean, it's not like he lied about having sex or something. We need to stop holding our presidents up to such a high standard of honesty. After all, the republicans told us for years that any lie by a president is unacceptable because it taints the very office of the Presidency. So why or why does Bushco get a free pass on lying? All they seem to do these days is lie, but the repubs tell us to look back in the hole and pretend it is the truth. The repubs keep telling us to look at gay marriage and not at the war or the economy or anything that really matters. Guess what, folks. While gay marriage should be allowed, it should not be a major issue in this country. What is a major issue is that our states are bankrupt, our government is hugely in debt, our schools cannot afford to keep teachers and professors employed, and men and women in Iraq are being shot in the street daily, both American and Iraqi, and Bushco's friends are profitting from it.

Of course, I'm probably just overblowing the problems a bit...


Wednesday, July 09, 2003


Just when you thought you couldn't be more flabbergasted by White House logic, Ari Fleisher gives us this fine tidbit:

Mr. Fleischer said. "I think the burden is on those people who think he didn't have weapons of mass destruction to tell the world where they are."

Ummm...But... COME ON, ARI!!! Are you training to be a stand-up comic? Were we supposed to laugh here? Did the press corps laugh here?

I'm going back to my little literature paper now. Please tell me when I can come back through the looking glass.


Thursday, July 03, 2003

Vietnam Redux

Check out this stark assessment of the Iraqi conflict by Steve Gillard over at Daily Kos. I guess if our mission was to screw ourselves, then by all means, "Mission Accomplished."


The DLC said that Activists are "out of step" with what real democrats want. Well, if not for the grass roots types who have given Dr. Dean a boost in funding and prominence, the Democrats would not have a candidate who inspires the Democrats to think we can get Bushco out in 2004 rather than stand by and watch another Bush appeaser like Kerry or Gephardt bore people and inspire people to stay home on election day. We need a candidate who makes people who don't normally get involved do so. Dean is doing that better than anyone else they've got and all they do is belittle both his efforts and his supporters. They seem to support the Bushco policies without the Bushco. They need to be told that the "rank and file" democrat is unhappy with what they have done to the party and how they have gone about losing control of EVERY BRANCH of the government through their efforts to become the party of Republicans who like to say they're Democrats. These days you must have a message, you must have a crusader to resucue the government and the country from the evil bastards who now control it.

So go now to THIS SITE and tell Al From and Bruce Reed that they do not represent the needs and desires of the "Rank and file" and they do not represent the party that has the moral and ethical duty to do everything and anything to win back the country from the right wing. They have this one last shot. If Bushco wins in 2004, we may not have a choice in 2008.


Okay, so everyone else has got their 2 cents in on this subject, so I have a penny or two to spend as well.

What a fucking moron our idiot in chief is. What does Bushco think it's doing? Do the police drive through South Los Angeles (formerely South Central) telling the gangs to "Bring it on"? What the hell? I heard that this statement was tested in focus groups. Where do they find those people and did they tell them it wasn't a fictional president (don't we wish...), that it wasn't Harrison Ford telling some imaginary enemy to give us ther worst so that fictional soldiers led by President Ford could give it their best gung ho and kick some butt? Did they tell them that our soldiers would be sitting ducks, waiting for Iraqis to take Bushco up on his challenge to kill them? I'm thinking that no one was thinking. I mean, if we were simply in Liberia trying to oust Charles Taylor, maybe we could tell Charles Taylor to bring something on. But don't tell the people in the country we are illegally occupying who don't like us to begin with and have been killing our soldiers to begin with that it is okay to come on and kill some more because we'll just keep killing them as well. Stupid me, I thought Bushco said this war was over and that the "mission" was "accomplished." Wait they did say that, but I wasn't so stupid as to actually believe it...

You know, it's okay to say "Bring it on!" when you're a pretty cheerleader and you're going to the big cheerleading event to compete against other cheerleaders...Wait a second! Bushie WAS a cheerleader (and kind of a pretty boy as far as monkeys go)!! Maybe he was just inviting the Iraqis to the big Cheerleading competition at Walt Disneyworld. Do you think they'll understand that though? They might think he was inviting them to kill our soldiers or, as Bushie likes to think of them, "players." They might not understand he was just challenging them to show their best dance and gymnastics techniques. Silly Iraqis...


Does anyone remember this little nugget of a film? Timothy Hutton plays a disgruntled graffiti artist who, after his fireman brother is given the shaft by the system, starts attacking the mayor for political malfeasance through a series of increasingly daring and creative displays of political graffiti at the mayor's public appearances. The public makes Hutton into a cult hero and, in the process, loses trust in the corrupt mayor.

Why do I bring this up now? Well, you see people with signs at Bushco appearances, but nobody is really sticking it in his face everywhere he goes. If there was a concerted effort, a catchy slogan of some kind, that the public could get behind and chant at ball games that Bushco was attending (imagine a Texas Rangers crowd chanting "Bush Lied! People Died!" or some such thing. How would Bushco take it? Would the entire crowd end up at Guantanimo? Possibly. But if this chant was to follow him at every event, every time he spoke, everytime he showed his screwed up monkey face in public then perhaps someone might even report it. Of course, they would be labled treasonous or communist (because only commie traitors abuse their right to free speech by using their right to free speech) by the mainstream media who depend on the laziness of the American populace not to question them. More people are concerned with Harry Potter and not getting called by telemarketers than making sure their children have a future.

I say you can be concerned with all these things and more. Turn off Judge Judy for a second and read or write someone or write something or go out and spraypaint a slogan where Bushco can't miss it. We need people to start trying to make a difference instead of being indifferent. We need more than a grassroots uprising. We need a group of leaders who have faith in the public that if they come out and tell the truth and work for change, they will be supported. We need media leadership that is willing to take on the right and expose their lies and alliances. We need the wealthy left to buy advertising time to tell people what they need to hear.

We need heroes.


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