Beware of Flying Monkeys

Say 'thank-ya, Cheeses"

2009-12-11T09:30:00.000-08:00

I grilled a cheese sandwich last night and when I flipped it over there, toasted into the bread was a perfect image of Jesus! (Tall, lanky Jewish guy, y’know?

Needless to say this was a profound spiritual experience for me. I was mesmerized as the other half of my Swiss and Cheddar on Rye sizzled quietly in the skillet and pondered all sorts of spiritual and theological questions.

It dawned on me I could get Fox News out here to see my cheeses Jesus.

Then I had second thoughts. With that kind of publicity I’d probably be overrun by priests and pilgrims and cripples and could end up with a front yard littered with discarded crutches and wheelchairs. And who wants to go through that clean-up nightmare in this kind of weather.

And I was hungry.

So I ate it.

My question: Does this count as communion?

1968 was a Motherfuck of a Year

2009-11-17T12:50:00.000-08:00

I got into a cyber-discussion with a Vietnam era vet who claimed she'd been spat upon and called a "baby-killer" by protesters.

I doubt if there's enough spittle in the world for all of 'em to have received that treatment. But it's become a standard phrase I've heard. So I'm resigned to accept their accounts at face value,

My experience with vets returning from "The 'Nam" was entirely different. They had the best weed, after all, and the one guy who did two years in the pen for resisting the draft could roll a perfect doobie one-handed. A thing of beauty to behold.

Henry Waggoner was a Sargent in the Marine Corps. He advised me how to get out of the draft. I was 18 and just out of high school debate and we got to talking about the war.

Henry leaned forward and said, "The only-est thing you need to know about The 'Nam is you don't wanna go."

Veterans' Day

2009-11-10T23:14:00.000-08:00

The Parable of the Old Man and the Young by Wilfred Owen

So Abram rose, and clave the wood, and went,
And took the fire with him, and a knife.
And as they sojourned both of them together,
Isaac the first-born spake and said, My Father,
Behold the preparations, fire and iron,
But where the lamb for this burnt-offering?
Then Abram bound the youth with belts and strops,
And builded parapets and trenches there,
And stretched forth the knife to slay his son.
When lo! an angel called him out of heaven,
Saying, Lay not thy hand upon the lad,
Neither do anything to him. Behold,
A ram, caught in a thicket by its horns;
Offer the Ram of Pride instead of him.

But the old man would not so, but slew his son,
And half the seed of Europe, one by one.

==

The poet, Wilfred Owen, wrote this in a trench.

He was killed in action on November 4, 1918.

According to legend, the telegram announcing his death was delivered to his parent the exact moment -- the 11th minute of the 11th day of the 11th month -- just as church bells started peeling to mark the first Armistice day.

The specifics of the story are probably too good to be true.

But Wilfred Owen's poetry is real and good and timeless.

Too good to forget

2009-11-09T17:35:00.001-08:00

http://www.thedailyshow.com/watch/thu-november-5-2009/the-11-3-project

Lost Opportunites

2009-11-02T09:27:00.000-08:00

"I wish I'd shared an apartment with Ludwig von Beethoven just so I could turn to my girlfriend and say, 'My ex-roommate wrote that.'"

After the KU-Oklahoma Gamet

2009-10-24T23:16:00.000-07:00

(I'm not yet into this blogging thing. It's been a while since I've posted anything so why would anyone bother to read it? I write every day, usually on a political blog I follow and read. I should copy them here but the topics and comments seem to require more set-up and context and... well, I'm lazy these days.

This is a response to a column by Jason Whitlock in the 10-25-09 Kansas City Star.

It needs a set-up and there's more I want to write about it... just not now.

This blog has nothing to do about anything specific yet. There's just a lot of stuff that gets me to thinking about stuff and I have no other way to preserve those thoughts than write about it. I suspect there are nuggets I wish I could retrieve from old floppies, random web sites, ill-labeled files somewhere in a generic sector of my computers... reaching back to who-knows-where?

So I've decided to try to contribute to this blog a verbal snapshot of the day. I figure it won't always be relevant to anything preceding or following the stuff. It's gonna have a lot of first drafts. But then, no one reads this blog yet anyway so this is likely to become an archive of skeletons in the attic which will come up once this silly little project becomes (or doesn't) followed by anyone.)

Reesing must be in love. Or going to class too much. Or got to believing the Heisman hype. I've heard nothing bout how Todd is such a noble person.

The thing I've loved about the Mangino era has been how he takes second-tier recruits and brings out or more of their potential. The Heisman promotion seemed so out-of-sync with the way the program has grown. KU won the Orange Bowl with a team of kids who were playing together and so became greater than the sum of the parts.

I think I like collegiate sports better than the pros because so much is riding on the skills and egos of 18-22-year-old kids. Collegiate sports is the military by other means.

I Am Your Voice, America!

2009-10-15T19:44:00.000-07:00

Hey, gang!

This is sure to put the fear of God in the hearts of CONs!

I just got polled!

(In a nice way, I mean.)

It was mostly about health insurance reform, largely slanted to Repubic Party talking points.

There was a section when the guy said he was going to cite arguments "...both for and against reform..." then reeled off a dozen "arguments" that began, "Critics say Obama..." is gonna kill your mama, replace pharmaceutical research with toad nipples and bats' wings, voodoo, and charge you personally a trillion dollars and put you in prison if you don't like it...."

The pollster was calling from Atlanta which makes me suspect the survey might have been commissioned by CNN. But who knows?

So I now represent 34,984 families across America in upcoming poll results!

Michael Moore -- The American Cassandra

2009-10-09T22:37:00.000-07:00

What really drives CONs crazy (crazier) is how Michael Moore is always right.

"Roger and Me" told us about the clusterfux who were ruining General Motors.

He took the profits from that documentary ("profits" is a word never before used in describing the documentary-making process) to finance his next film.

To make his message fair-and-balanced, Moore gave the president of the NRA an opportunity to respond in "Bowling for Columbine." That, according to the NRA, was "unfair."

Move on to "Fahrenheit 911," which pointed out how Shrub/Cheney leveraged a tragedy into an unprovoked, personal vendetta against a nation that had nothing to do with 9/11.

"Sicko" kick-started health coverage reform in the United States. Only 64% of Americans now advocate reforming national health coverage procedures in America.

And here's what's happened along the way:

"Roger and Me" was made on a shoestring, with maxed-out credit cards and Moore making sandwiches for the crew. Making a film is expensive and he put his money where his mouth (and those of the crew) is.

And by eking out a profit with "Roger and Me," Moore made the next film. Then took those profits and made the next, and the next, and the next.

Sean Hannity, on the other hand, sucks Rupert Murdoch's dick and spits out GOP talking points.

Someone with better Google Image skills than mine should be able to find links so we can compare Moore's house and car with Hannity's. Anyone up for the challenge?

Hannity gets about a Hundred Million a year, hires brigades of accountants to take every imaginable deduction (especially for his church donations), and still whines he has to muddle through life with only $48 Million dollars left for walking-around money.

Moore makes far less, even from his most successful films, and takes that money to make another documentary about how illogical America operates.

And the truth -- about GM, about guns and violence, about Iraq, about health care, about Wall Street -- drives CONs nuts.

So their arguments soon turn into, "Michael Moore is fat!" (I'm not sure, but I think that's a Rush Limbaugh quote.)

Anyway.

According to Greek Mythology, Apollo gave Cassandra the gift of prophecy. But when she did not return his love, he placed a curse on her so that no one would believe her predictions.

Moore has become America's Cassandra.

CONs hate that.

In Service to...

2009-10-08T22:03:00.000-07:00

My roommate is the Kitty-est Kitty in the Whole Wide World. So I'm spoiled.

He seems to be all about preserving his dignity. I plied him with catnip once and immediately set out to find "people-nip." If only I could feel that good.

A few days later I offered him another catnip toy and he wouldn't have anything to do with it. He seemed to know it would make him silly and wanted no part of it anymore.

He's also impervious to cat toys. He sees one and sighs and looks up at me with that "I see the stick, I see the string, and the feathers attached to it don't interest me" look.

He's all about the dignity of kitty-dom.

Heavy weighs the crown of the Kitty-est Kitty in the Whole Wide World.

This doesn't mean he's not affectionate. He frequently pounces on my lap to get simultaneously scratched at the base of his tail and his tummy. He tries to hide his excitement -- like how David Vitter really tried to mask his affection for his dominatrix hooker who spanked him when he was wearing a diaper -- but I know he really likes me for my personality.

The Kitty-est Kitty in the Whole Wide World sometimes joins me in bed and curls up next to me. He's been a mostly indoor kitty except for when I lived in the Hollywood Hills and he'd go outside in the garden, jump the neighbor's fence, and get in touch with his inner Pillow Panther and capture lizards. When I moved out I discovered far more dessicated lizard carcasses under the furniture than any human should see in a lifetime. The guy was the lizard Himmler, now that I think about it.

He brought home a fledgling sparrow one day and chased it all over the house before deciding it wasn't worth the bother, curled up on the couch and licked his feet, and watched as I shooed the bird out the patio door. Again, the unspoken message from him was clear: "You have the opposable thumbs, and the broom. Deal with it."

One morning I woke up to find him toying with a mouse. I had to leave for an early meeting and decided to pick up the mouse and toss him in the empty bathtub and close the door after my roommate as he followed it in to continue this session of "enhanced interrogation techniques." When I got back a few hours later I opened the bathroom door and he trotted out without comment. (He usually comments.) In the bathtub was a mouse...nose. No other mouse parts; just the nose. I'm assuming it got too crunchy there at the end for him. Or got thirsty. (Did I tell you he prefers ice cubes in his water dish?)

Once I had to leave town for more than a week. I arranged for a kitty-sitter to stop by, clean the sandbox & stuff. She had a family emergency that drew her out of town but before she left she filled the dry-food dispenser and put out a bunch of water and extra sandboxes and he batched it for most of the time. When I returned I was properly chastised but he also seemed glad to see me.

Two days later I decided to fry an egg and turned on the stove. Turns out he'd pissed in all the burner pan on the stove. As soon as you turned on the heat, the entire place reeked of burning cat urine. As I was in the midst of the initial WTF? moment I looked over at the sofa where my roommate was calmly licking his feet.

I believe in the legitimacy of the aristocracy because I'm on staff of one who earns his living by being fuzzy. Sorta like Prince Charles.

Thanks for taking my call, Russ.

2009-10-08T11:23:00.000-07:00

I’m disappointed to learn the telephone in Mary Baker Eddy’s grave is, alas, another urban legend.

The phone business has changed in so many ways since Eddy died (?).

I wonder if she was satisfied with her long-distance carrier back in the 90s. Who’s in her calling circle these days? Does she get roll-over minutes?

(Adds a different dimension to that old “rolling over in her grave” cliche), huh?

I learned last night that a friend — not close, but one of the good ones — may have committed suicide this week. (Carbon monoxide in the garage; could have been an accident.)

I met Russ Johnson when I was dabbling in talk radio and he was a remarkable talent. He was perhaps the prototype of the difference between real conservatives and the CONs I write about. Russ had a Socratic method of generating phone calls and stirring up the pot on issues of the day.

Wing-nuts got him fired in Kansas City, Denver, Kansas City again, and Colorado Springs. He’d developed Multiple Sclerosis and was depressed by that.

I wish I had a phone to his grave. But it might be difficult to get past the call-screener.

Russ loved talk radio because Russ loved people. He loved talking with us, needling us, asking tough but funny questions, playing with us. He was always confident but never smug.

For a while Russ and I shared the same crazy ex-girlfriend.

There's probably no closer bond two heterosexual men can have than evenings over wine, weed, and swapping crazy ex-girlfriend stories.

Who Said Who and What?

2009-10-07T05:05:00.000-07:00

Glenn Greenwald dissects a Washington Post article by Anne Kornblut and lists the sources for the article -- every one of them -- in the order she cites them:

"Obama aides pointed... administration officials said... a senior administration official said... officials said... a senior administration official said... senior Obama officials stressed... a senior administration official said... aides said... officials said... one senior administration official said... one senior official said... The official said... a senior administration official said... a senior administration official said... administration officials said... a senior official said."

Okay, let’s assume for a moment the editors at WaPo are like Jason Robards in “All the President’s Men” and know just who is an “administration official” and who is a “senior administration official” and who is a mere “aide.”

I wonder if insiders – the ones who know the code – can read about all these anonymous source titles and smugly sip their cappuccino and know, “That’s Ed Finster, that one’s Zelda Smerch, that’s the White House butler…or Malia.”

Or Bo. “A source close to the President.”

A few years ago the New Yorker ran a piece that explained “Diplomacy Speak.”

Apparently, anytime there’s a high-level diplomatic meeting, the words that come out in the post-session tells you far more than the euphemisms sound to the untrained ear.

”Talks were frank but cordial” means “They shouted at the top of their lungs but the Iraqi ambassador neglected to mention the British ambassador’s crooked teeth.”

“Contentious discussions did not keep both sides from agreeing to another meeting” means the Chinese negotiator ended the meeting saying, “I’ll see you in Hell, round-eye!”

When they report, “The Senator called the session ‘Warm with excellent potential’” it means they served drinks and the Senator got the phone number of the cute little administrative aide tending to the Bulgarian Secretary of Agriculture.

Bolero

2009-10-04T06:50:00.000-07:00

When I was in high school I attended KU's music camp and Harry John Brown conducted an orchestra of really talented kids. I was a percussionist -- tympani, mostly -- but had to play snare drum for Bolero.

dat-daddle-a-dut-daddle-a-diddle-a-diddle-a-dut-diddle-a-diddle-a-diddle-a-diddle-a-dit.... for fifteen solid minutes!

You shouldn't subject teenagers to Bolero. Our loins were already aching and I had a thing going with the oboe player.

Leonard Bernsstein's "Young Peoples' Concerts" from the 50s and 60s showed up on my Netflix queue recently and one of the early shows featured Ravel's Bolero.

The NY Philharmonic Orchestra had 106 musicians back then and the absolutely kicked ass under Lenny's direction. Even the relatively poor audio quality of those 1950s broadcasts can't interfere with the brilliance of the music and the performances.

Bolero IS sex!

I always wondered how many people didn't get the joke in the movie "10" when Bo Derek kept getting out of bed to restart Bolero after Dudley Moore botched making love with her.

Sex, drugs, and rock & roll has a special place in my heart. But there's nothing sexier than classical music, drugs optional.

Roman Polanski

2009-10-01T08:23:00.000-07:00

I don't have enough interest in this to go back to the original case, but here's what I remember from 30 years ago.

The original slap-on-the-wrist punishment per the plea bargain seems to indicate prosecutors didn't think they had that strong of a case against Polanski.

There could have been any number of contributing reasons. Perhaps the victim was deemed to be an unreliable witness. Perhaps the cops botched the investigation somehow. Perhaps it had something to do Polanski's celebrity. I dunno.

But I do know the LADA preferred the plea bargain over their chances to get a jury to convict.

That 60-days of community service deal was in exchange for Polankski's confession. Without the DA honoring that agreement, the "confession" is meaningless; forced under duress.

So returning him to trial means 32-year-old evidence, a 45-year-old teenager, a worthless "confession," and tainted jury pool.

The only justice to be meted out in this case was poetic. Effectively he was deported for being a skuzzball. Perhaps we should deport all pedophiles.

Vin Scully

2009-09-30T05:57:00.000-07:00

So I was channel-surfing at 3 AM and came across Game 7 of the 1965 World Series on the MLB Network. Sandy Koufax pitching a shut-out on two days' rest.

It was the same game but a way different medium. Black & white. No instant replays. No radar guns. But there was Vin Scully.

If you don't love baseball it's probably because you've never heard Vin Scully on the radio broadcasting a Dodgers game.

Listen to this, from the radio in 1965:

http://www.archive.org/details/VinScullyCallsThe9thInningOfSandyKoufaxsPerfectGame

If you don't feel like you're there, well... you'll never get there.

The "Fireside Book of Baseball" has a transcript of Scully calling the first Koufax perfect game. 1962 or so. I mean, this was before Sandy Koufax became SANDY KOUFAX!!! I'll have to look it up but Scully did the last inning as if he were a Homeric poet; lines like "Here he stands on the precipice of immortality."

Every game with Scully on the radio was like going anywhere with the smartest, wisest person you've ever known. I loved games when the Dodgers were getting blown out. Scully just made you appreciate the the game. How everything can go right for one team and everything can go wrong for the other team and they'll come out the next day and maybe turn it around.

This is beginning to sound like an obit. It's just my realization Vin has declared he's gonna retire after the 2010 season... after only 60 years as a Dodgers broadcaster (the slacker).

Kansas Tourism. And other oxymorons.

2009-09-29T00:17:00.000-07:00

First thing we have to realize is Kansas isn’t “the mountains” or “the seashore” or “Mt. Rushmore” or the Gateway Arch or Grand Canyon.

Nobody goes to Kansas on purpose.

We’re not just a fly-over state, we’re a drive-through state.

We have a lot of interesting places to visit but no one is gonna pack up the kids and hightail it to Kansas for a vacation. Kansas isn’t Disney World.

We need to deal with it.

Our opportunity for boosting tourism in Kansas needs to be based not on destinations, but on side-trips.

Every hour we can encourage visitors to spend an extra hour or two not going through Kansas will be an opportunity to have more tourism.

If we can lure people into side trips off I-70 and I-35, for just an hour or two, we can increase tourism dollars. As the old marketing saying goes, “There’s rarely a way to increase sales 100%, but there’s a hundred ways to increase it 1%.

So here’s what I’d do:

Take advantage of stuff most people think they know or never knew about Kansas and lure them off the Interstates for a day trip into the soul that is Kansas.

Here’s an idea:

Kirstie Alley’s Favorite Leg!

Ghost-written if necessary, but basically it’s a summary of fried chicken places. Chicken Annie’s in Pittsburg, the Brookville Hotel, the Chicken Shack in Bronson…. There are plenty of places. Every moment an out-of stater spends off the drive-through lanes is a contribution to the Kansas Economy.

And another:

Colin Powell on Kansas and the Military.

It’s a bit of a stretch; Powell’s Kansas connection to Kansas is pretty much limited to his days in school at Fort Leavenworth. But an essay (maybe ghost-written under his name) about Kansas’ place in military history is likely to entice buffs to visit Fort Scott, Fort Larned, the Eisenhower Library and Museum, and the place Custer was headquartered before he went to Little Big Horn.

Here’s another:

Kwirky Kansans, by Dennis Hopper.

The Dodge City native writes (or someone ghost-writes) about The Garden of Eden, the Davis Memorial in Hiawatha, Dr. Brinkley, the goat-gland doctor. Buckminster Fuller and the Dymaxion house… even the absurd idea that a couple of college kids’ pizza “hut” could become an international force.

Slam Dunk! By Lynette Woodard.

This is one of those “hundred ways to increase tourism 1%” items. But Kansas has a thing about basketball. From the Jayhawk conference producing major college stars after their JuCo experience to KU’s impressive Allen Field House (I mean, if you were in North Carolina and had a chance to see Cameron Indoor Arena, wouldn’t you be tempted to turn off?)

John Riggins on 8-Man Football

Again, probably ghost-written, but a quirky aspect of life in Kansas. It’s the same game, but not quite. And it’s something to watch even once. It’s a 1% detour off the Interstate which can turn into a couple of meals or a motel stay.

The Sky is Higher Here, by Amelia Earhart

Okay. Obviously ghost-written. But there are a few people who’ll turn off the Interstate to see the gathering of Powered Parachute Pilots in Iola every year. There are people who’d tour the Learjet factory or Boeing… if there were a tour.

And here’s the way to promote stuff:

At the rest stops on the turnpike and truck stops on I-70 and the :”Welcome to Kansas” places near the borders, establish video kiosks that reveal to people the Kansans they know but didn’t know were Kansans.

If you’re driving through Kansas en route to California you might not stop. But on your way back home you might consider stopping by Guy & May’s Tavern in Williamsburg for ribs after you’ve read (or seen on the kiosk) about

Don Johnson’s Favorite Rib.

Reviews of Rosedale Barbecue in KCK, Guy & May’s, the Mom & Pop places scattered around the state that turn meat into magic.

Okay, and I know it’s crass and politically (and in every other way) incorrect, but what if we wrote a piece in a magazine or produced a video for a kiosk that talked about the challenge of dealing with the worst criminals in Kansas. The Dalton Museum in Coffeyville; Quantell’s Raiders, “In Cold Blood,” even BTK.

Here’s the point:

The goal is to make Kansas interesting to non-Kansans.

Kitty Wars

2009-09-26T01:45:00.000-07:00

So the Boss and I have been getting along okay for an extended while.

Then this morning, as I was half awake and half asleep this little Pillow Panther broke out of his hunter’s trot and bit me on the face!

I picked him up, taking advantage of the only edge I have over him (i.e., opposable thumbs) and held him upside down, all four paws facing skyward as I shouted at him: “This is what happens when you meet a stranger in the Alps, Larry!”

He looked at me, upside down as he was, as if I might be crazy. (Or maybe he was wondering who “Larry” is.)

I lowered him slowly on the bed and he ran out of the room.

I think I may have averted the first wave of the inevitable kitty revolution we all know is coming some day.

Ha-HAH!

Go lick your feet, invader and usurper!

Your superior intellect has no chance of overpowering my feeble weapons!

God is a Prop

2009-09-24T11:45:00.000-07:00

Although I do not participate with any religious congregation, I kinda understand the appeal and potential benefits of such institutions.

I was raised in the Presbyterian Church (God's Frozen People) and in a fair-to-middlin' progressive congregation. There were a few fanatics but mostly, when Presbyterians are faced with a controversy the form a committee. That's pretty benign in the grand scheme of things.

I recognize the value of "fellowship," and think that's a generally good thing. In small towns there is some logic that fellowship centers around a church.

Personally, I find Jesus to be a pretty wise observer of life and human nature and how we mere humans should approach life. Too bad most "Christians" don't think like that.

If there were a Church of the Jeffersonian Jesus, I might join. At least I'd appreciate the fellowship with fellow congregants.

I don't need the mythological parlor tricks -- water-to-wine, Lazarus, making the crippled see again and the blind to walk!

I mean, I kinda buy into to peace-makers getting blessed. And I'm not the one to cast the first stone at anybody, thanks to Jesus' advice. And a lot of that other stuff.

But as soon as the twice-born step up and claim they speak for God because they donate 10% of their (net, not gross) income to The First Church of the Gooey Death and Discount House of Worship, I feel good that the writers of the Constitution of the United States of America got pretty specific about separating church and state.

I think in small towns church membership is more of a social commitment than spiritual. You want to see your banker or your best customer or a lawyer in a non-professional context, just in case. And what better venue than a covered-dish dinner in the church basement?

There was a piece on NPR about "The First Church of Beethoven." It's in a former gas station somewhere; the former garage has been converted into an auditorium for the local community theatre. People go there on Sunday mornings and sometimes poets read their stuff, sometimes they discuss books or ideas, and often musicians simply perform... frequently Beethoven or Bach... and the whole point is sharing a spiritual experience and having coffee and donut holes together afterward.

I think that's what "church" is for people in small towns.

CONservatism is weighted toward those twice-born who think they've got one foot in heaven and the other on a banana peel. And they rejoice at the prospect!
They're pretty extreme in their expectations and conviction they're among God's "select."

I suspect most of them got where they are simply for the free coffee and donut holes and the "fellowship." And they pick up the patter.

They don't know what they believe. Their friends cite a couple of Bible verses and to belong to the crowd they parrot snips of Leviticus just to fit in with the free-coffee-and-donut-holes crowd.

It's about being human.

That is what religion does and is for.

God is simply a prop.

This looks like a job for...

2009-09-22T05:37:00.000-07:00

CAPTAIN EQUINOX! The deadliest foe of those who would test our Island Democracy. By day, Adolph Tree – a mild-mannered college professor. By night, Kiki - a mini-skirted habitué of Hollywood’s star-struck Sunset Strip. But twice a year he’s . . .CAPTAIN EQUINOX!

There's no Mercy in Football, is there?

2009-09-21T04:14:00.000-07:00

So I was looking to see how area high school football teams did Friday night. I a saw how a small town that plays 8-Man football won their game three minutes into the third quarter when the game was called due to the "Mercy Rule."

Apparently (at least in 8-Man ball) as soon as a team goes up by 50 points or so, they call the game!

It really doesn't sound like traditional conservative small-town Kansas values to me.

I thought football was supposed to build character, teamwork, giving it your best for something bigger than yourself.

A "Mercy" rule?!

Sounds pretty socialist to me.

Party Like it's 5769!

2009-09-19T08:06:00.000-07:00

Shofar, shogood.

I am not a candidate for Governor of Kansas.

2009-09-18T19:20:00.000-07:00

If nominated, I will not run.

If elected, I will not serve.

If served... heck, I'll have a nibble or two.

I'm generally okay with the Metric System

2009-09-17T14:42:00.000-07:00

Most of my favorite beverages come in 750 milliliter bottles.

I'm not all that great with math, but I'm pretty sure you can drive 60% faster using kilometers- instead of miles-per-hour. (Why aren't clocks metric?)

And if anyone wants to, ahem, tutor me on the concept of grams and kilograms... let's talk.

But what the hell is a hectare?

Low-Level Conspiracies

2009-09-17T06:23:00.000-07:00

On this day in 1947 Oscar G. Mayer, Jr. (of wiener fame) and Otto Frederick Rohwedder (inventor of the bread-slicing machine that made Wonder bread possible) made a historic pact. Mayer was busy shifting his business from the war years supplying sausage to the military to a commercial baby-boom economy. Wonder was getting back in the sliced bread business (which had been curtailed by steel rationing which made replacement blades impossible to get.)

Mayer and Rohwedder met in the lobby of Wilmington, Delaware’s Hotel du Pont. Only by chance did both magnates happen to be in town that day, negotiating contracts with the DuPont company for packaging their respective products. Over brandies and cigars the Rohwedder hit upon the idea of selling hot dogs in packages of 10 and buns in packages of 8. The mismatch would assure every housewife would be faced with more dogs than buns or more buns than dogs and would have to re-order one or the other every week or so at the supermarket.

And that’s the way Oscar Mayer Wieners and Wonder Hot Dog Buns were marketed well into the 60s when somebody at Armour got the idea of selling “jumbo” hot dogs – 8 two-ounce dogs per pound instead of 10 1.6 dogs per pound.

Why do you hate "The Sound of Music?"

2009-09-17T06:10:00.000-07:00

So I was writing a fluffy little domestic comedy scene involved with a husband who's become hooked on the History Channel and his frustrated partner who hopes to rekindle a common bond. She suggests they snuggle in front of the fire and watch "The Sound of Music" together.

"They're both about World War II!" is one of her arguments.

"It's demeaning to the war! It turns Nazis into a chorus line! 'Schnitzel with kittens and boxes with mittens!' It's like a bus-and-truck production of 'Hair' starring the Manson Family! It doesn't need an intermission, it needs a break for insulin!"

Oh, well, it seemed funny at the time.

Do you hate "The Sound of Music," too?

Don't Pay the Ransom!

2009-09-17T04:45:00.000-07:00

I'd forgotten I'd started this blog.

But there are so many of 'em these days, and somehow some way some bloggers cash in big time. So what the hell.

These post aren't likely to be read by anyone ever. At least for a while. But I'm gonna try to post every day for a while. Just out of self discipline.

We'll see how that works out.

Already I think I have forgotten my password.

Random Thoughts

2008-08-04T01:35:00.000-07:00

Pound for pound, the amoeba is the most ferocious animal on earth.
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Elizabeth Taylor-Hilton-Wilding-Todd-Fischer-Burton-Burton-Warner-Fortensky
(for those of you at home keeping score)
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San Francisco issues a ban on aerosols!
(Riot squads given roll-on tear gas.)
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I have a friend who says he's gonna quit his job to serve the Lord.
(but only in an advisory capacity)
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He told his dog to heel and pup stopped limping.
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The best Christmas gift I ever got was a Deluxe Ant Farm With Ant Tractor, Ant Cows, Ant Chickens. A dragon fly as a crop duster
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Little Known Fact: Alligators wont eat you if you're carrying a flashlight. It all depends how fast you carry it.
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I used to work at a Japanese Fast Food place where you took off only one shoe.
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Getting old isn't so bad. But when your memory goes, forget it.

McCain for Vice-President!

2008-08-02T10:08:00.000-07:00

What happens if the convention nominates a Vice-Presidential candidate and s/he says no? Can you say no? I mean, if the Democrats were to select you as Obama's running mate, what could ya do? "If nominated, I will not run. If elected I will not serve"?

Sez who?

So -- and here's the mindfuck -- the Democrats nominate John McCain as Obama's running mate!

All of a sudden, the issue gets turned on its ear!

"McCain is obviously the second-best candidate for President this year. And that's how the Founding Fathers wanted it, even though the actual process got complicated and led to the 12th Amendment."

If McCain went all Sherman at the prospect, he'd look like a power-grabber who wants it all nor nothing. Since McCain has flip-flopped on all sorts of issues, the Democrats could emphasize his flips (and/or flops) and say, "Yeah. That's why he's the second-best candidate for President."

And after McCain is sworn in as Vice-President they hand him a boot full of warm piss.

If he stayed in office (and scheduled motorcades in Dallas for his boss) he'd have a chance at the Oval Office. If he resigned or refused to be inaugurated as Veep, the Senate would approve a replacement.

More Random Thoughts

2008-07-30T09:48:00.000-07:00

Rod McKuen: The most understood poet in America.
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Then she told me, "The sexual revolution has come and you're no Castro."
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PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE
If you were one of the 7 Dwarfs, which would you be?
Sneezy, Sleepy, Doc, Bashful, Happy, Grumpy, Dopey
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Snow White is all about drugs.
Snow White? Coker.
Dopey? Obvious.
Happy? X.
Bashful. Paranoid.
Doc. The connection.
Sleepy. Downers.
Grumpy? Jonesin'.
Sneezy, Remember that scene in Annie Hall?
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And then I told her, "This isnt puppy love, this is dog love."
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Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happy hour.
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She said: "My body is God's temple and my soul is the caretaker. Like a custodian of a church, ya know? And you don't let just anybody come up and stick his dick inside a church."
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My football career ended early, right after a tackling dummy stopped me three yards behind the line of scrimmage.
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I didn't make it as a terrorist. They sent me to blow up a car but I burned my lips on the tailpipe.
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She's raising money to build a drive-up window at the Eye Bank.

The "Surge" is working. And other fantasies...

2008-07-30T09:33:00.000-07:00

"Victory in Iraq" has become Neo-CON pornography.

They can't define it, but claim they'll recognize it when they see it.

The "Surge" wasn't implemented "to subdue violence." Although, if you ignore the hundred thousand or so Iraqi civilians who've died since the "Surge," the "Surge" has been "successful" on that front. The "Surge" was supposed to provide an environment for democracy to take its course.

And even, in that respect, the "Surge" has worked. The nascent post-Saddam Iraqi government has chosen to make diplomatic overtures toward Iran (aka "the Iraq-Pakistan border," by John Sidney McCain the Third - for Shrub's 3rd term) and specifically endorsed a 16-month timetable for removal of American occupation troops from their borders.

If the "Surge" has worked, to what end?

What exactly are American taxpayers getting for their Ten-Billion-Dollars-a-Month investment in Iraq?

In pure capitalist terms, what has George WMD Bush won with his commitment of a half-trillion dollars and 4500 American lives? Where's the pay-off?

You've had more than five years of Shrub's little Iraqi Adventure. What's it won? How is your life better? How will you know we can achieve John Sidney McCain the Third's (for Shrub's 3rd term) dream of leaving Iraq in "victory?"

George WMD Bush's Iraq War ("Mission Accomplished!") and the five-year occupation is the biggest foreign policy fiasco in American history.

"The 'Surge' is working!" is the most pathetic attempt at political rationalization since "Mussolini made the trains run on time."

So somebody asked if Barack Obama is a narcissist...

2008-07-23T14:39:00.000-07:00

I have a healthy self-image.

YOU are an egotist.

THEY are narcissists.

This must be the ~~lamest~~ latest trial balloon talking point from the McLame campaign.

If we're going to do some armchair psychoanalysis let's discuss the narcissistic character traits John Sidney McCain the Third (for Shrub's 3rd term) demonstrated when he abandoned his first wife and three kids because she was no longer a swimsuit model due to a crippling accident in favor of the sweet young Beer Queen of Arizona's quarter-of-a-billion dollar dowry.

Or let's get into a discussion of the leadership qualities one might expect from a lifelong "maverick." A maverick isn't a leader; it's an out-of-control renegade. People don't follow a maverick.

Leadership is an enigmatic concept for a lot of people. (Why did the Supremes flop without Diana Ross and Van Halen didn't miss a beat between David Lee Roth and Sammy Hagar?) Abraham Lincoln had about as much experience (also in the Illinois legislature and the United States Congress) and became the most impressive president in history. All he had was "pretty speeches" and a vision.

For forty years (since they killed Bobby Kennedy) Americans have been craving someone who is thoughtful and wise beyond his years and sincerely in love with the promise of what our Founding Fathers hoped to craft with the Constitution. Americans are craving a leader.

Is Obama a politician? Well, duh.

Guess what? My dentist is a dentist! My mechanic is a mechanic! My barber is a ~~babe~~ barber! Perhaps when we consider hiring someone to be the most important politician in the world, perhaps we should consider a ... oh, I dunno... a politician?

Lincoln was a politician. FDR was a politician. Reagan was a politician.

And all of 'em were narcissistic as hell.

On Oil, Diamonds, and Birthday Cards

2008-07-23T10:33:00.000-07:00

Those who worship at the altar of laizzes faire capitalism don’t understand that the law of Supply and Demand no longer applies to the Oil Bidness.

It’s like what DeBeers did with diamonds. Diamonds aren’t particularly rare. They’re carbon; highly-evolved coal. But, like good 19th Century monopolists, the DeBeers pretty much cornered the market on these rocks and started marketing them as de rigeur for young kids wanting to get married. It’s like how Hallmark marketed a “need” to get someone a birthday or Christmas card; how they made Mother’s Day and Valentine’s Day somehow dependent on cards.

There is no shortage of oil. There are no 70s-style gas lines and rationing; no "Out of Gas" signs. If you have the four-bucks-a-gallon (or five, or six, whatever) you can get all the gasoline you want. Just like you can get all the big-ass diamonds you want, if you pay the price.

DeBeers has tons of diamonds in its vaults in London. They just sell them a few at a time, at premium prices, thanks to trumped-up “rarity” of the product.

Big Oil has millions of American acres under lease for drilling. If those leases aren’t productive, why would Big Oil keep ‘em? If those leases are potentially productive, why wouldn’t Big Oil develop them? Because all those leases are like DeBeers’ diamonds in that vault. The only way to keep profitable is to create a false “rarity” and jack up the prices.

Random Thoughts

2008-07-18T22:08:00.000-07:00

Square Dance: The other rap music.
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I wasn't a good student. Bad test scores. Didn't get into Hamburger University. Had to go to Hamburger Junior College for two years. Got my Associates Degree in Pickle Placement.
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I am a humanist, just as my cat is a catist. Only natural to back the home team.
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Ideals (revised) -- The truth. The whole truth. And nothing but the truth. Pick any two.
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Yogism: When you think about it, everything you could think of is there without thinking about it.
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Why? Why? Why is the moth attracted to the flame? What sends the lemming to the sea? What is the capital of North Dakota? Some questions are unanswerable.
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It takes 3,000 cows a year to make one season's worth of NFL game balls. Makes me wonder who trained 'em to run those sewing machines.
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Forgotten Historical Figures -- Michelangelo's brother, Tony, who painted the Sistine porch.
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Nearly half of all marriages end in death. No wonder divorce seems like the better option.
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Why dont they just train regular cranes to whoop?

Dead Ballparks

2008-07-17T00:40:00.000-07:00

Baseball's All Star Game is the best all-star game in sports. But it's still lame. It's not big league, it's litttle league with it's "everybody gets to play" mentality.

Since the game now matters (the league that wins gets home park advantage in the World Series), managers shouldn't be hampered with Special Olympics rules. I love baseball but I hate the All Star Game.

So it was just happenstance that I caught the last five or six innings of Tuesday's marathon. And even though the game by that time got a little interesting (because all the good players had gone home) I still got a lot of schmaltz about Yankee Stadium going away.

First off, "The House that Ruth Built" went away more than 30 years ago. Babe Ruth hit in the real Yankee Stadium; the one with the 295-foot right field porch and Joe DiMaggio lost a lot of dingers to Death Valley in left-center field. Mickey Mantle had to chase fly balls to center while dodging those monuments who were in play 'til they ruined Yankee Stadium with the renovation in the 70s. In 1924, Yankee Stadium was a "doozey!" After the renovation, it became a Ford Torino.

I got to thinking about the old ballparks I've visited and how many of 'em have died. Wrigley Field lives, of course. It's the friendliest park in the land to out-of-towners. Maybe because the locals have been drinking since noon and the games (before they added lights) started around 3 pm, it was a mix of greased slackers and guys in business suits ditching the last couple of hours at the office. In the religion of baseball, a game at Wrigley is like goin' to church.

Fenway Park is like visiting the Vatican. But Fenway lives, too! And it deserves its own post.

No, this is about the dead (or nearly dead) ballparks I've visited.

The Kingdome — It was like watching kids play sockball in the basement. And every game I saw there was on a beautiful sunny Seattle day…outdoors!

Arlington Stadium — to increase capacity to big league numbers, they squeezed in way more seats than “Turnpike Park” was built for. You kept whacking your knees on the seatback in front of you.

County Stadium — Sat through a slush storm on Memorial Day weekend, so I drank more coffee than beer. The concourses reminded me of hallways in old high schools. Municipal architecture at its most dismal.

Municipal Stadium — With George Toma as groundskeeper, the best part of a Kansas City A’s game was watching the grass grow. Beautiful grass.

Comisky Park — The City of Chicago had cracked down on people parking cars on their yards, limiting them to charging $5 or so to park on game day. The kid working the business asked, “Do you want insurance?” My friend, a South Sider, suggested I pay the additional $5 “premium.”

Tiger Stadium — With the covered seats, even a day game had a theatrical feel. The fans were in the shade and the game was lit like a Broadway show. You were so close you could hear the players talking. Only six rows of box seats on field level.

Candlestick Park -- As Mark Twain noted, "The coldest winter I ever experienced was a summer in San Francisco." They say the San Francisco city council took the owner of the New York Giants down to Candlestick Point on the bay one morning in autumn to announce the site for the new ballpark. November is beautiful in the Bay Area; mild temperatures, the rain and fog have moved up the coast. But summer nights... oh my.

Bush Stadium -- All those roundy-roundy multi-purpose stadia (Cincinnati, Philly, Atlanta, Pittsburgh, Shea, Oakland, and St. Louis) were dreadful places to watch either baseball or football. They might have been good venues for tractor-pulls or REO Speedwagon concerts, but I doubt it. Old-time St. Louis fans had previously watched games in Sportsman's Park, a rickety bandbox that had the taint of St. Louis Brown-ness, so the roundy-roundy park seemed like an improvement, I guess. And the park got better once the football team left for Arizona. But the most serious baseball fans in America deserved a better venue for the game. I haven't visited New Bush yet, but it seems like a great improvement. (I wonder, though, if the concession stands will now sell Belgian waffles?)

The ex-Big A — When they built the bleachers for the Rams, Anaheim ruined a great ballpark. Like an over-extended Colorado A-Frame cabin, that scoreboard was so 60s kitsch. When the football seats added, and the perfect weather, you felt like you were sitting in a dome. It’s the first ballpark I heard the fans in the right-field bleachers yell, “Tastes great!” and the left-field bleachers hollered “Less filling.” As I left the game, I saw Gene Autry.

Yankee Stadium — The Bronx looked like Berlin, circa 1945, and the ballpark seemed like Emerald City as we walked from the subway (three graduate credits in Sociology for the price of a token). Really nice fans! Friendly, even though I was a Roylz; fan (but only because Oakland was in town that day). A lot of teams have dressed in pinstripes over the years, but they shouldn’t bother. I always kinda liked those drab 1920sy New York road uniforms. Because when the Yankees take the field, in the only pinstripes that really matter, it’s somethin’ else.

Things I've Learned from my Cat

2008-07-16T07:21:00.000-07:00

Take plenty of naps.

Stretch slowly and thoroughly before you get up from your nap.

Be curious.

Take delight in play.

Look others in the eye.

Know how to be quietly alone.

If you want love, let people know it.

When you get love, let 'em know you appreciate it.

Groom yourself regularly.

Be confident in your ability to climb.

Amaze people with how high you can jump.

If you fall, land on your feet.

When shit happens, be quick to bury it.

It's not that I'm not a dedicated blogger...

2008-07-16T07:16:00.000-07:00

...more like I forget I established this thing.

Or why, frankly.

Bur I'm gonna try to do better and see what happens.