"The national government will maintain and defend the foundations on which the power of the nation rests. It will offer protection to Christianity as the very basis of our collective morality. Today Christians stand at the head of our country. We want to fill our culture again with the Christian spirit. We want to burn out all the recent immoral developments in literature, in the theatre, and in the press . . . in short, we want to burn out the poison of immorality which has entered into our whole life and culture as a result of liberal excess during the past few years."
Friday, December 31, 2004
Thursday, December 30, 2004
Egg Blog...
Just in the nick of time (pun intended), Vicky went out and bought me some Egg Nog! It's been a nog-less season this year but my baby made sure I got my heart-attack-inducing, cholestoral-raising treat!
Thanks, Vic!
And, now - on to the nog! (gulp!)
Thanks, Vic!
And, now - on to the nog! (gulp!)
The year ends early this year…
Every year, I tend to do some kind of end of year wrap-up, be it on My Side (or my other side) or the Ken-mails (for those who remember that far back). This year, I don't even need to think to sum up the whole year…
… so let's get off topic for a minute!
There's a lot of sick people at work… and there are a lot of people down with colds, too. (insert rim-shot here) Vicky and I were given a case of tangerines while we were up in Lancaster. (Her folks are like that. "Want some tangerines?" They give us a case. "Wanna beer?" They give us a case. "Wanna small island." These people really worry me.) So, I got this idea in my head to bring some tangerines to the sick people over here - as well as those with colds - I'll be here 'til Thursday! Try the veal!
So, I opened the case this morning and found… thousands of tangerines, each the size of an aggie. (That's a marble. Keep up.) You know, the size that tangerines are supposed to be. But I was thinking they were bigger - everything's bigger these days. Oranges are bigger. Small sodas are bigger. And let's not get started on cars. So, of course, I thought these tangerines would be the size of the head of a small child….
No. And I thought, "I can't bring these to work." Instead of it sending the message to get well soon, it would say, "I hope you feel a little better… very little." "Your health means this much to me." "You're pathetic. Why don't you just die already." And that just wouldn't be popular.
So, I'm going to suggest Vicky and I make a shitload of Chinese chicken salad…
Now, on a more serious note, I'd like to mention the disastrous tsunami in the Indian Ocean. I noticed this morning that the death toll was up to 114,000. Folks, that's the size of a good-sized city. It's the size of the City of Orange when I moved in there back in 1995. I mention this because I figure there's no better time to pause and realize just how lucky we are than at the year's end. And you need no better reminder.
Sure, things went from bad to worse this year - and they're going to get much worse before they get better. They just have to. Nobody's going to make any real changes in the US until more people are effected - and I mean hit hard. That's why (burning) Bush's cronies have been working so hard to avoid a draft. (And if you don't know about the underhanded techniques they've been using, you'd best read up.)
As for me personally, I guess the year couldn't have gone much better. I was in a very popular show. I wrote a little. And on a summer's afternoon, I met Vicky. Since then, things have been pretty weird. We've moved and moved again. We've fought a time or two… thousand. But, all in all, I'm just about the luckiest guy in the world. And I have her to thank for it, and Tim, and Tim, and Sean, and all of my friends who have been just about the best people in the world to me, and my readers (though they can leave more comments - GAH!).
I have tomorrow off of work and Vicky and I are heading to Vegas for a night of sin - and maybe she'll let me smoke - to ring in the New Year. So you won't hear from me until 2005. May your New Year's Eve be festive and filled with love (a little sex couldn't hurt, either) and may 2005 bring you peace and joy and a great deal of pain to any fundamentalist Repugnicans out there. (Just wanted to remind you it was me.)
… so let's get off topic for a minute!
There's a lot of sick people at work… and there are a lot of people down with colds, too. (insert rim-shot here) Vicky and I were given a case of tangerines while we were up in Lancaster. (Her folks are like that. "Want some tangerines?" They give us a case. "Wanna beer?" They give us a case. "Wanna small island." These people really worry me.) So, I got this idea in my head to bring some tangerines to the sick people over here - as well as those with colds - I'll be here 'til Thursday! Try the veal!
So, I opened the case this morning and found… thousands of tangerines, each the size of an aggie. (That's a marble. Keep up.) You know, the size that tangerines are supposed to be. But I was thinking they were bigger - everything's bigger these days. Oranges are bigger. Small sodas are bigger. And let's not get started on cars. So, of course, I thought these tangerines would be the size of the head of a small child….
No. And I thought, "I can't bring these to work." Instead of it sending the message to get well soon, it would say, "I hope you feel a little better… very little." "Your health means this much to me." "You're pathetic. Why don't you just die already." And that just wouldn't be popular.
So, I'm going to suggest Vicky and I make a shitload of Chinese chicken salad…
Now, on a more serious note, I'd like to mention the disastrous tsunami in the Indian Ocean. I noticed this morning that the death toll was up to 114,000. Folks, that's the size of a good-sized city. It's the size of the City of Orange when I moved in there back in 1995. I mention this because I figure there's no better time to pause and realize just how lucky we are than at the year's end. And you need no better reminder.
Sure, things went from bad to worse this year - and they're going to get much worse before they get better. They just have to. Nobody's going to make any real changes in the US until more people are effected - and I mean hit hard. That's why (burning) Bush's cronies have been working so hard to avoid a draft. (And if you don't know about the underhanded techniques they've been using, you'd best read up.)
As for me personally, I guess the year couldn't have gone much better. I was in a very popular show. I wrote a little. And on a summer's afternoon, I met Vicky. Since then, things have been pretty weird. We've moved and moved again. We've fought a time or two… thousand. But, all in all, I'm just about the luckiest guy in the world. And I have her to thank for it, and Tim, and Tim, and Sean, and all of my friends who have been just about the best people in the world to me, and my readers (though they can leave more comments - GAH!).
I have tomorrow off of work and Vicky and I are heading to Vegas for a night of sin - and maybe she'll let me smoke - to ring in the New Year. So you won't hear from me until 2005. May your New Year's Eve be festive and filled with love (a little sex couldn't hurt, either) and may 2005 bring you peace and joy and a great deal of pain to any fundamentalist Repugnicans out there. (Just wanted to remind you it was me.)
The year ends early this year…
Every year, I tend to do some kind of end of year wrap-up, be it on My Side (or my other side) or the Ken-mails (for those who remember that far back). This year, I don't even need to think to sum up the whole year…
… so let's get off topic for a minute!
There's a lot of sick people at work… and there are a lot of people down with colds, too. (insert rim-shot here) Vicky and I were given a case of tangerines while we were up in Lancaster. (Her folks are like that. "Want some tangerines?" They give us a case. "Wanna beer?" They give us a case. "Wanna small island." These people really worry me.) So, I got this idea in my head to bring some tangerines to the sick people over here - as well as those with colds - I'll be here 'til Thursday! Try the veal!
So, I opened the case this morning and found… thousands of tangerines, each the size of an aggie. (That's a marble. Keep up.) You know, the size that tangerines are supposed to be. But I was thinking they were bigger - everything's bigger these days. Oranges are bigger. Small sodas are bigger. And let's not get started on cars. So, of course, I thought these tangerines would be the size of the head of a small child….
No. And I thought, "I can't bring these to work." Instead of it sending the message to get well soon, it would say, "I hope you feel a little better… very little." "Your health means this much to me." "You're pathetic. Why don't you just die already." And that just wouldn't be popular.
So, I'm going to suggest Vicky and I make a shitload of Chinese chicken salad…
Now, on a more serious note, I'd like to mention the disastrous tsunami in the Indian Ocean. I noticed this morning that the death toll was up to 114,000. Folks, that's the size of a good-sized city. It's the size of the City of Orange when I moved in there back in 1995. I mention this because I figure there's no better time to pause and realize just how lucky we are than at the year's end. And you need no better reminder.
Sure, things went from bad to worse this year - and they're going to get much worse before they get better. They just have to. Nobody's going to make any real changes in the US until more people are effected - and I mean hit hard. That's why (burning) Bush's cronies have been working so hard to avoid a draft. (And if you don't know about the underhanded techniques they've been using, you'd best read up.)
As for me personally, I guess the year couldn't have gone much better. I was in a very popular show. I wrote a little. And on a summer's afternoon, I met Vicky. Since then, things have been pretty weird. We've moved and moved again. We've fought a time or two… thousand. But, all in all, I'm just about the luckiest guy in the world. And I have her to thank for it, and Tim, and Tim, and Sean, and all of my friends who have been just about the best people in the world to me, and my readers (though they can leave more comments - GAH!).
I have tomorrow off of work and Vicky and I are heading to Vegas for a night of sin - and maybe she'll let me smoke - to ring in the New Year. So you won't hear from me until 2005. May your New Year's Eve be festive and filled with love (a little sex couldn't hurt, either) and may 2005 bring you peace and joy and a great deal of pain to any fundamentalist Repugnicans out there. (Just wanted to remind you it was me.)
… so let's get off topic for a minute!
There's a lot of sick people at work… and there are a lot of people down with colds, too. (insert rim-shot here) Vicky and I were given a case of tangerines while we were up in Lancaster. (Her folks are like that. "Want some tangerines?" They give us a case. "Wanna beer?" They give us a case. "Wanna small island." These people really worry me.) So, I got this idea in my head to bring some tangerines to the sick people over here - as well as those with colds - I'll be here 'til Thursday! Try the veal!
So, I opened the case this morning and found… thousands of tangerines, each the size of an aggie. (That's a marble. Keep up.) You know, the size that tangerines are supposed to be. But I was thinking they were bigger - everything's bigger these days. Oranges are bigger. Small sodas are bigger. And let's not get started on cars. So, of course, I thought these tangerines would be the size of the head of a small child….
No. And I thought, "I can't bring these to work." Instead of it sending the message to get well soon, it would say, "I hope you feel a little better… very little." "Your health means this much to me." "You're pathetic. Why don't you just die already." And that just wouldn't be popular.
So, I'm going to suggest Vicky and I make a shitload of Chinese chicken salad…
Now, on a more serious note, I'd like to mention the disastrous tsunami in the Indian Ocean. I noticed this morning that the death toll was up to 114,000. Folks, that's the size of a good-sized city. It's the size of the City of Orange when I moved in there back in 1995. I mention this because I figure there's no better time to pause and realize just how lucky we are than at the year's end. And you need no better reminder.
Sure, things went from bad to worse this year - and they're going to get much worse before they get better. They just have to. Nobody's going to make any real changes in the US until more people are effected - and I mean hit hard. That's why (burning) Bush's cronies have been working so hard to avoid a draft. (And if you don't know about the underhanded techniques they've been using, you'd best read up.)
As for me personally, I guess the year couldn't have gone much better. I was in a very popular show. I wrote a little. And on a summer's afternoon, I met Vicky. Since then, things have been pretty weird. We've moved and moved again. We've fought a time or two… thousand. But, all in all, I'm just about the luckiest guy in the world. And I have her to thank for it, and Tim, and Tim, and Sean, and all of my friends who have been just about the best people in the world to me, and my readers (though they can leave more comments - GAH!).
I have tomorrow off of work and Vicky and I are heading to Vegas for a night of sin - and maybe she'll let me smoke - to ring in the New Year. So you won't hear from me until 2005. May your New Year's Eve be festive and filled with love (a little sex couldn't hurt, either) and may 2005 bring you peace and joy and a great deal of pain to any fundamentalist Repugnicans out there. (Just wanted to remind you it was me.)
Tuesday, December 28, 2004
It's not too late for the rest of us...
So Christmas is over. The gifts are unwrapped. You're stuffed and bloated and feeling rather ill.
In short, you're an American.
But it's not too late to celebrate a little more - if you've still got a little more in you. It's not too late to celebrate Festivus!
Sure, it's that dopey Seinfeld holiday BUT I LIKE IT!
You can even send e-cards! Yes, Festivus e-cards!
Consider it my Festivus gift to you - it's a Festivus miracle!
In short, you're an American.
But it's not too late to celebrate a little more - if you've still got a little more in you. It's not too late to celebrate Festivus!
Sure, it's that dopey Seinfeld holiday BUT I LIKE IT!
You can even send e-cards! Yes, Festivus e-cards!
Consider it my Festivus gift to you - it's a Festivus miracle!
Things to do when the Senate reconvenes...
How about challenging the debacle we called the Presidential election?
The Congress reconvenes on January 6th and 14 members of the House are planning to contest the outcome. The only thing needed is a Senator...
A Senator... hmmm... didn't a Senator run in that election?... Oh, sure, the likelihood of Kerry coming up and demanding a recount are about as high as me hanging a yellow ribbon but there are still 49 other Senators we could needle.
Here. This is a start. Sign this. You could also try emailing (or actually writing, you can still do that) your Senator(s) (heck, as many as you like!).
I'm not saying it's got a shot in hell but there's too much evidence of tampering and chicanery for the results not to be contested.
The Congress reconvenes on January 6th and 14 members of the House are planning to contest the outcome. The only thing needed is a Senator...
A Senator... hmmm... didn't a Senator run in that election?... Oh, sure, the likelihood of Kerry coming up and demanding a recount are about as high as me hanging a yellow ribbon but there are still 49 other Senators we could needle.
Here. This is a start. Sign this. You could also try emailing (or actually writing, you can still do that) your Senator(s) (heck, as many as you like!).
I'm not saying it's got a shot in hell but there's too much evidence of tampering and chicanery for the results not to be contested.
Monday, December 27, 2004
Post-Christmas blues - and all the other news…
So, here am I… back at work. And if that's not reason enough to have the blues let me add this interesting factoid: I have nothing to write about. Nothing at all. No crisis. No impingency. You kind of get used to living with craziness, with all your balls up in the air (so to speak), but when normality (even, dare I say, happiness) strikes… it can be devastating.
Vicky's probably the strangest woman I've ever known. (He said, changing the subject with whiplash-inducing rapidity.) Or, perhaps I should say, she's so different from any other woman I've been with that it's just strange. For instance, last night we cuddled for the first time in months. I kid you not. I'm not saying she's not affectionate but she rarely discards huge amounts of time just for cuddling. Normally, she's just too busy. Busy with the house. Busy with work. Busy times three. And she's so great at busy because, well, I'm not. I spend a lot of time thinking and processing, so I can seem a bit ponderous. Meanwhile, Vicky's getting shit done! And I can't help but think that other women I've known have been so quick to cuddle and so slow to get things done! So, what does this mean? Does it mean I'm not happy with Vicky? Oh, hell NO! I think she's great. I just look forward to a time when she's less busy. I'm trying to keep in mind that we've only known each other half a year. Yep, only half a year.
And it was our first Christmas. How weird it was.
First of all, Vicky is decidedly anti-"opening presents on Christmas Eve". She said, "When we have kids, we won't be able to." She's all business, that Vicky. Okay. Fine. But I really wanted to give her the gifts I bought.
The next morning, she woke me with her normal, "Ken, wake up!" She's like a drill-sergeant, as unromantic in the morning as John Phillip Sousa! Now, if she's said, "Honey, let's go open our presents," I would have been there in a heartbeat. As it was, I thought it was a work day… and I was in the army. I really didn't want to wake up. I hadn't slept well the night before. Insomnia kept me up until about 3:30 and then, at around 5am, I had a nightmare. (The house had burned down and we were being put up in a hotel and the pets had run away…. I woke up, and woke her up, asking her to help me find the pets.) So, I didn't sleep great.
But we went down and she opened her gifts, the highlight being an ear-ring/necklace combo that I was afraid she'd hate but she loved it. (Whew!) And Vicky surprised the hell out of me with a very romantic card and gift. I asked, "Why can't you be like this in real life?" I think she wants to keep me off balance.
We headed out shortly after that, making our way up to her parent's home. Now, again, this is weird. I'm really not used to this. They like me. See, when I was married to Rosa, her whole family hated my guts. I was the stuck-up gringo. It took them 12-13 years to accept me. But Vicky's family already welcomes me with opened arms… so, obviously, there must be something very wrong with them. And I hope it remains that way, cause I love it! It's amazing. And I know some of you must think I'm nuts to even mention it but this is entirely new to me. The night before, we'd visited my mom and Joe, who are both very welcoming of Vicky. That morning, I'd spoken with my dad and Blanche, who can't wait to meet her. And now, I walk into Steve and Noriko's home and even her brother comes over with a gift for me. How cool is that?
Now, this is a holiday set-up I'm not used to. A huge meal was made (and can I just mention how cool it is that my future Mom-In-Law is a chef?), we serve it up, and then everybody gathers around the TV to watched the Raiders play Kansas City. In my family, this would have been grounds for an argument - "We're going to sit around a table like a family! No television!" - but here it was a tradition. Oh, I can't wait for everyone to meet!
Then, we opened gifts. Again, very different. Every member of Vicky's family sets out to give the other a hard time. I mean, they tease the hell out of each other. In my family, teasing was grounds for therapy. It just wasn't allowed because, inevitably, somebody would start crying. (My family's not known for its thick skin.) So, when I first saw how difficult all of Vicky's family is with each other, I figured her family to be as dysfunctional as mine! But then, her brother gave her gift after gift and her dad gave her mom a gag gift with the real one hidden inside and I realized that they just have a sense of humor different from my own. To them, the teasing's all just a joke; it has no teeth. And out in the high desert, it was very warm that night.
We went home and I had another nightmare. (This time, my wallet was stolen and I bolted out of bed to find it… cause you never know.) Okay, so the home purchase has been on my mind of late…
And speaking of nightmares… I gave Vicky a set of this year's CDs… that's not the nightmare… and they had errors - that's the nightmare! Now, I'm trying to get them out in the mail to everyone but it looks like I have a quality problem (probably with the burner or the disks because my master copies are good) which might take a couple days to iron out. But the "Christmas 2004 collection" will be going out… honest…
Yesterday, Steve (Vicky's Dad) came by to see our place, and I got the feeling that "hunk of junk" might have encapsulated his opinion pretty well. Vicky and he both spent the day fixing the shower, hooking up the water line to the fridge, rehanging shower doors, and talking about all the other projects that are going to cost me more money than I could ever make in a lifetime but will be cheaper because we'll do it ourselves.
Meanwhile, I played Sims2 and tried to remain in a state of ignorance or, at least, denial. Yep, Vicky and I are really different.
Vicky's probably the strangest woman I've ever known. (He said, changing the subject with whiplash-inducing rapidity.) Or, perhaps I should say, she's so different from any other woman I've been with that it's just strange. For instance, last night we cuddled for the first time in months. I kid you not. I'm not saying she's not affectionate but she rarely discards huge amounts of time just for cuddling. Normally, she's just too busy. Busy with the house. Busy with work. Busy times three. And she's so great at busy because, well, I'm not. I spend a lot of time thinking and processing, so I can seem a bit ponderous. Meanwhile, Vicky's getting shit done! And I can't help but think that other women I've known have been so quick to cuddle and so slow to get things done! So, what does this mean? Does it mean I'm not happy with Vicky? Oh, hell NO! I think she's great. I just look forward to a time when she's less busy. I'm trying to keep in mind that we've only known each other half a year. Yep, only half a year.
And it was our first Christmas. How weird it was.
First of all, Vicky is decidedly anti-"opening presents on Christmas Eve". She said, "When we have kids, we won't be able to." She's all business, that Vicky. Okay. Fine. But I really wanted to give her the gifts I bought.
The next morning, she woke me with her normal, "Ken, wake up!" She's like a drill-sergeant, as unromantic in the morning as John Phillip Sousa! Now, if she's said, "Honey, let's go open our presents," I would have been there in a heartbeat. As it was, I thought it was a work day… and I was in the army. I really didn't want to wake up. I hadn't slept well the night before. Insomnia kept me up until about 3:30 and then, at around 5am, I had a nightmare. (The house had burned down and we were being put up in a hotel and the pets had run away…. I woke up, and woke her up, asking her to help me find the pets.) So, I didn't sleep great.
But we went down and she opened her gifts, the highlight being an ear-ring/necklace combo that I was afraid she'd hate but she loved it. (Whew!) And Vicky surprised the hell out of me with a very romantic card and gift. I asked, "Why can't you be like this in real life?" I think she wants to keep me off balance.
We headed out shortly after that, making our way up to her parent's home. Now, again, this is weird. I'm really not used to this. They like me. See, when I was married to Rosa, her whole family hated my guts. I was the stuck-up gringo. It took them 12-13 years to accept me. But Vicky's family already welcomes me with opened arms… so, obviously, there must be something very wrong with them. And I hope it remains that way, cause I love it! It's amazing. And I know some of you must think I'm nuts to even mention it but this is entirely new to me. The night before, we'd visited my mom and Joe, who are both very welcoming of Vicky. That morning, I'd spoken with my dad and Blanche, who can't wait to meet her. And now, I walk into Steve and Noriko's home and even her brother comes over with a gift for me. How cool is that?
Now, this is a holiday set-up I'm not used to. A huge meal was made (and can I just mention how cool it is that my future Mom-In-Law is a chef?), we serve it up, and then everybody gathers around the TV to watched the Raiders play Kansas City. In my family, this would have been grounds for an argument - "We're going to sit around a table like a family! No television!" - but here it was a tradition. Oh, I can't wait for everyone to meet!
Then, we opened gifts. Again, very different. Every member of Vicky's family sets out to give the other a hard time. I mean, they tease the hell out of each other. In my family, teasing was grounds for therapy. It just wasn't allowed because, inevitably, somebody would start crying. (My family's not known for its thick skin.) So, when I first saw how difficult all of Vicky's family is with each other, I figured her family to be as dysfunctional as mine! But then, her brother gave her gift after gift and her dad gave her mom a gag gift with the real one hidden inside and I realized that they just have a sense of humor different from my own. To them, the teasing's all just a joke; it has no teeth. And out in the high desert, it was very warm that night.
We went home and I had another nightmare. (This time, my wallet was stolen and I bolted out of bed to find it… cause you never know.) Okay, so the home purchase has been on my mind of late…
And speaking of nightmares… I gave Vicky a set of this year's CDs… that's not the nightmare… and they had errors - that's the nightmare! Now, I'm trying to get them out in the mail to everyone but it looks like I have a quality problem (probably with the burner or the disks because my master copies are good) which might take a couple days to iron out. But the "Christmas 2004 collection" will be going out… honest…
Yesterday, Steve (Vicky's Dad) came by to see our place, and I got the feeling that "hunk of junk" might have encapsulated his opinion pretty well. Vicky and he both spent the day fixing the shower, hooking up the water line to the fridge, rehanging shower doors, and talking about all the other projects that are going to cost me more money than I could ever make in a lifetime but will be cheaper because we'll do it ourselves.
Meanwhile, I played Sims2 and tried to remain in a state of ignorance or, at least, denial. Yep, Vicky and I are really different.
Thursday, December 23, 2004
A note to Mount St. Helens...
Who are you kidding?
Look at you! You're an embarrassment! Today's shots make you look more like you're farting than erupting, more like a bean burrito than the full menudo buffet!
I've been watching your sorry ass since I went up to Portland with Vicky in October, remember when all the "experts" kept saying your eruption was certain? Well, you didn't go then and you sure as hell ain't going now.
What happened? Loose your spunk? Lost your verve?
Or are you just a big pussy?
Come on, bitch! Blow bitch! Blow!
.... or are you chicken....?
Look at you! You're an embarrassment! Today's shots make you look more like you're farting than erupting, more like a bean burrito than the full menudo buffet!
I've been watching your sorry ass since I went up to Portland with Vicky in October, remember when all the "experts" kept saying your eruption was certain? Well, you didn't go then and you sure as hell ain't going now.
What happened? Loose your spunk? Lost your verve?
Or are you just a big pussy?
Come on, bitch! Blow bitch! Blow!
.... or are you chicken....?
Christmas forecast…
Well, the weather outside is frightful and inside (my house) it's a mess - boxes everywhere!
But enough of that… today's my last day at work before the holiday so I thought I'd take this opportunity to wish everyone a happy (non-Christian for those FOX NEWS watchers out there) Christmas! Yes, the fundamentalists, the "born agains", are doing there best to repackage Christmas as a time of intolerance for all so it's up to us non-Christians to preach Christ's message of tolerance for all. Truly sad, as I used to be a Christian, that those "Christians" who yell the loudest always shout a message the would make Christ turn over in his tomb: pro-gun, pro-death penalty, anti-tolerance, help the rich and steal from the poor, etc.
I'm hoping for a relaxing holiday but I, honestly, don't see that happening. Come Monday, I'm sure I'll be looking back on a very different kind of holiday.
Anyway, I was planning quite a Christmas story this morning. An old-time, My Side, "Ken" kind of story. But I'm having a hard time putting it together in my head because it's very noisy here at work. (What do I expect? Nobody's going to actually "work" today!)
In lieu of that, let me wish everyone a Merry Christmas. Most of you will be opening presents soon - and you're probably wondering what happened to mine. Well, the house happened! I haven't had a chance to mass product the disks so I won't be getting them out until after the New Year. Think of this as a way of extending Christmas.
And so…
Merry Christmas to Tim Clostio up in San Francisco. Not a town you think of when you hear the word "Christmas" but certainly a town you think of when you hear the words "New Years"!
Merry Christmas to Sean & Megan… though they don't read My Side.
Merry Christmas to Tim & Autumn up in the wilds of Portland. Vicky and I both send our warmest wishes to you.
Merry Christmas to Richard Lind out in Florida, experiencing Christmas weather much like our own… Christmas in summer! (And where's my book?)
Merry Christmas to Rob and Jamie and family (I don't know how they remember the names of all their children!). It's an absolute shame, as close as they are, that we don't see more of each other!
Merry Christmas to Dwight, who got all of the other side of my family together in Arizona last weekend for a pre-Christmas celebration. Vicky and I couldn't make it thanks to the move but I hope you got the FedEx package I sent!
Merry Christmas to Dad, Blanche & Richard - though they don't read this site, either.
Merry Christmas to Lori and her family. One of my most loyal readers and a good friend.
Merry Christmas to Steph & Tony. I got your card and tried to reply and thank you but your ISP is rejecting the emails from my new address… I hate your ISP.
Merry Christmas to everyone I forgot. Forgive me. I've got a lot on my mind and it's hard to think while people here complain about how they have to be here on the day before the day before Christmas. (Not that they don't have a point…)
Merry Christmas to my readers. It's cool to have readers.
Merry Christmas to the Repugnicans, Hawks, Haters, and Misers… you should be ashamed of yourselves.
And, lastly and most importantly, Merry Christmas to Vicky, my love. We've been having problems since the move (just like after the last move!) but I'm hoping things settle down and we can be nice to each other again. I'm looking forward to spending our first Christmas together, even if our home doesn't feel "Christmas-y". ("Deck the halls with tons of boxes!")
But enough of that… today's my last day at work before the holiday so I thought I'd take this opportunity to wish everyone a happy (non-Christian for those FOX NEWS watchers out there) Christmas! Yes, the fundamentalists, the "born agains", are doing there best to repackage Christmas as a time of intolerance for all so it's up to us non-Christians to preach Christ's message of tolerance for all. Truly sad, as I used to be a Christian, that those "Christians" who yell the loudest always shout a message the would make Christ turn over in his tomb: pro-gun, pro-death penalty, anti-tolerance, help the rich and steal from the poor, etc.
I'm hoping for a relaxing holiday but I, honestly, don't see that happening. Come Monday, I'm sure I'll be looking back on a very different kind of holiday.
Anyway, I was planning quite a Christmas story this morning. An old-time, My Side, "Ken" kind of story. But I'm having a hard time putting it together in my head because it's very noisy here at work. (What do I expect? Nobody's going to actually "work" today!)
In lieu of that, let me wish everyone a Merry Christmas. Most of you will be opening presents soon - and you're probably wondering what happened to mine. Well, the house happened! I haven't had a chance to mass product the disks so I won't be getting them out until after the New Year. Think of this as a way of extending Christmas.
And so…
Merry Christmas to Tim Clostio up in San Francisco. Not a town you think of when you hear the word "Christmas" but certainly a town you think of when you hear the words "New Years"!
Merry Christmas to Sean & Megan… though they don't read My Side.
Merry Christmas to Tim & Autumn up in the wilds of Portland. Vicky and I both send our warmest wishes to you.
Merry Christmas to Richard Lind out in Florida, experiencing Christmas weather much like our own… Christmas in summer! (And where's my book?)
Merry Christmas to Rob and Jamie and family (I don't know how they remember the names of all their children!). It's an absolute shame, as close as they are, that we don't see more of each other!
Merry Christmas to Dwight, who got all of the other side of my family together in Arizona last weekend for a pre-Christmas celebration. Vicky and I couldn't make it thanks to the move but I hope you got the FedEx package I sent!
Merry Christmas to Dad, Blanche & Richard - though they don't read this site, either.
Merry Christmas to Lori and her family. One of my most loyal readers and a good friend.
Merry Christmas to Steph & Tony. I got your card and tried to reply and thank you but your ISP is rejecting the emails from my new address… I hate your ISP.
Merry Christmas to everyone I forgot. Forgive me. I've got a lot on my mind and it's hard to think while people here complain about how they have to be here on the day before the day before Christmas. (Not that they don't have a point…)
Merry Christmas to my readers. It's cool to have readers.
Merry Christmas to the Repugnicans, Hawks, Haters, and Misers… you should be ashamed of yourselves.
And, lastly and most importantly, Merry Christmas to Vicky, my love. We've been having problems since the move (just like after the last move!) but I'm hoping things settle down and we can be nice to each other again. I'm looking forward to spending our first Christmas together, even if our home doesn't feel "Christmas-y". ("Deck the halls with tons of boxes!")
Wednesday, December 22, 2004
My Christmas List…
As a committed reader of My Side (and why do all my readers end up committed?), you're probably wondering about what I want for Christmas. What can you buy me, Ken, the writer who graces your eyes with such literary effluvium (but it's really good effluvium) every day (or so) for Christmas? How can such a meager soul, such as yourself, get me, Oh Ken, The Great One, just the right gift for Christmas?
Well, Vicky and I have been using the stock answer: Home Depot Gift Certificates!
But I'd like to take it one step beyond that.
You want to get me something for Christmas? Here's what you do:
1. Tell three people how much of a positive influence they've been on your life.
2. Do something to help the planet. (You choose.)
3. Hug someone.
4. Eat less meat.
5. Buy local.
6. Be good to you.
7. Be welcoming.
8. Life isn't meant to be safe. Enjoy differences.
9. Flip off a Republican.
And, lastly, here's what you can do for me this Christmas: Send me money!
Ho - Ho - freakin' Ho!
Well, Vicky and I have been using the stock answer: Home Depot Gift Certificates!
But I'd like to take it one step beyond that.
You want to get me something for Christmas? Here's what you do:
1. Tell three people how much of a positive influence they've been on your life.
2. Do something to help the planet. (You choose.)
3. Hug someone.
4. Eat less meat.
5. Buy local.
6. Be good to you.
7. Be welcoming.
8. Life isn't meant to be safe. Enjoy differences.
9. Flip off a Republican.
And, lastly, here's what you can do for me this Christmas: Send me money!
Ho - Ho - freakin' Ho!
The true meaning of Christmas…
There's a huge backlash going on right now with Christian Fundamentalists. (You know, the people who "got Bush elected".) Scan your TV dials and you'll see more and more of these "beaten down underdogs" (not very rich people who hold a lot of power such as owning corporations and TV networks - oh no!) claiming the Christmas is getting a "bad rap".
You'll hear them whining that they're sick of people celebrating Hanukkah and Kwanzaa when they should be celebrating the birth of our Lord who died for your sins and who will cast you into hell for what you're doing you non-white freak with your bugaboo idols and you just wait cause after Iraq we're coming after you and we'll kill your children!!!!!!
Yep. They're a might perturbed.
Well, as a service here at the My Side Foundation, we like to reach out to all off our readers. So, if you're feeling Christmas should be the only holiday celebrated, if you believe your Christian traditions should be the only ones followed, if you believe your God is the only one that can be worshipped, if you're intolerant of other's ways and beliefs, if you insist on having your own way even when you're dead wrong: FUCK OFF.
You'll hear them whining that they're sick of people celebrating Hanukkah and Kwanzaa when they should be celebrating the birth of our Lord who died for your sins and who will cast you into hell for what you're doing you non-white freak with your bugaboo idols and you just wait cause after Iraq we're coming after you and we'll kill your children!!!!!!
Yep. They're a might perturbed.
Well, as a service here at the My Side Foundation, we like to reach out to all off our readers. So, if you're feeling Christmas should be the only holiday celebrated, if you believe your Christian traditions should be the only ones followed, if you believe your God is the only one that can be worshipped, if you're intolerant of other's ways and beliefs, if you insist on having your own way even when you're dead wrong: FUCK OFF.
Tuesday, December 21, 2004
Bush says troops on a mission of PEACE...
You heard right. According to (burning) Bush, the troops over in Iraq are on a mission of peace.
A mission of peace.
We are not killing and torturing innocent people.
WE'RE HANDING OUT FUCKING FLOWERS AND ICE CREAM!
A mission of peace.
We are not killing and torturing innocent people.
WE'RE HANDING OUT FUCKING FLOWERS AND ICE CREAM!
Introducing torture…
It looks like the ACLU has gotten a hold of documentation that suggests (burning) Bush issues an executive order authorizing the use of inhumane torture. This would mean that all those victims at Abu Ghraib were not the victims of "a few bad apples". This would be yet another indication that (burning) Bush's administration sees nothing wrong with committing acts of unmitigated evil.
And before you start guessing where I'm going with this, let me tell you that, if this the case, I honestly believe the citizens of the United States will support it by a wide majority.
Yep, that's right. Do you think (burning) Bush was reelected by a bunch of people who didn't know better? Do you think the popularity of Fox News and talk radio is a fluke? Do you think the dumbing trend numbing our national intellect has no lasting effect? You'd be painfully wrong.
The days when right-thinking people can sit back on their hands and allow this progression to continue are long over. Government-sanctioned, nay ordered, torture doesn't come out of nowhere. Rather than simply rant against this obvious evil, something over which I have little control, I'd like to use my time this morning to briefly remind you how we allow the conditions that give it birth to exist.
The only way we can stop it is to strike down the society that allows it. The next time you see intolerance around you - even in something so small as a child speaking about some group of people with disrespect - stop it and make the person understand why it's wrong. The next time you see anyone supporting the war - even those idiots with such brilliant bumper stickers as "These colors don't run" - make them realize what it is they're saying. The next time you hear a family member or a friend defend "less threatening" Republicans as Shwartzenfucker - "He's really pro-choice." - remind them that there is no such thing as a "less threatening" Republican, no more than there were "less guilty" Nazis.
Your silence is leading our nation down the toilet. Make no doubt about it.
And before you start guessing where I'm going with this, let me tell you that, if this the case, I honestly believe the citizens of the United States will support it by a wide majority.
Yep, that's right. Do you think (burning) Bush was reelected by a bunch of people who didn't know better? Do you think the popularity of Fox News and talk radio is a fluke? Do you think the dumbing trend numbing our national intellect has no lasting effect? You'd be painfully wrong.
The days when right-thinking people can sit back on their hands and allow this progression to continue are long over. Government-sanctioned, nay ordered, torture doesn't come out of nowhere. Rather than simply rant against this obvious evil, something over which I have little control, I'd like to use my time this morning to briefly remind you how we allow the conditions that give it birth to exist.
The only way we can stop it is to strike down the society that allows it. The next time you see intolerance around you - even in something so small as a child speaking about some group of people with disrespect - stop it and make the person understand why it's wrong. The next time you see anyone supporting the war - even those idiots with such brilliant bumper stickers as "These colors don't run" - make them realize what it is they're saying. The next time you hear a family member or a friend defend "less threatening" Republicans as Shwartzenfucker - "He's really pro-choice." - remind them that there is no such thing as a "less threatening" Republican, no more than there were "less guilty" Nazis.
Your silence is leading our nation down the toilet. Make no doubt about it.
Monday, December 20, 2004
New Home. Old Home. Warm Home. Cold Home…
Here's the good news. The good news is that we are in. The house is ours. Vicky and I have a new home!
I drove down to the house Friday night, surprised to see my agent, Cathy, already inside. We hadn't been given keys. In fact, the seller's agent was screaming for $5000 more! (Turns out the seller didn't know about that and, anyway, it was too late so I told her, the agent, she could screw herself.) Cathy was in there because a door had been left unlocked. She had already called a locksmith to come out and re-key the locks. This wasn't how I'd been let into my first home but this baby was costing me over three hundred thou - re-key the mother!
The next morning, the movers were at the apartment pronto and moving - I mean, MOVING! These movers could move! And they could move while they moved! Now, I'm not one to plug companies on My Side but I think this calls for an exception. Millennium Moving! I paid a pretty penny but it was all worth it. (Of course, your mileage may vary so take it for what it's worth.)
By Saturday night, the movers were done but Vicky and I were still moving. We were moving the boxes around, putting furniture in place, and just unpacking!
Vicky got an idea of how she wanted to re-paper the shelves. She brought one of the kitchen drawers to me, holding it in the air by one side - and this is where I started to get an idea about what I was in for! She started to tell me - and the drawer came apart in her hand! It just came right apart! Oh, No, I thought; I've worked on sets that are put together better!
I could hardly sleep that night.
I rose early Sunday morning. Vicky and I had a full day planned, a full day of moving. We still had about 1/5th of our stuff still in the old apartment. We got an early start, bring SUV-filled load after load from the apartment to the house, and sweated as the house filled with the afternoon sun. (Oh, the pets love it!) We started talked about getting the shower-head installed - we were stinky! But we kept going until, around 9pm, my back gave. Mind you, I'd lifted nearly everything and carried it to the car or in to the house all day up to then: the tvs, the boxes, the PCs, and everything else. My arms had gone long before. Now, my back was twisting into a pretzel. Thankfully, there wasn't much left (or so Vicky led me to believe), so she took me home with that penultimate load and went back to grab the last of the stuff.
I was going to lie down but the pets would have none of it. By the way, my white cat, Alacrity, has to die… a grizzly death, preferably. When we brought him to the house, he peed on himself in the carrier. As I tried to grab him with a towel, he veered in and out of boxes - I tripped - I banged my head in the edge of a table - I fell into a wall unit - I fell onto the concrete garage floor (covered only with a thin carpet)… so, he's dead. Anyway, Suki had to go out. Harley needed to be cuddled.
Eventually, I got upstairs and took my first shower in our new home.
The rest of the night's a blur. Vicky got home at nearly midnight with dinner. (She needs to stop doing that.) We went to bed.
And I woke up this morning, sore, hurting, tired, and cold. Good thing we have central heat… we should set that...
I drove down to the house Friday night, surprised to see my agent, Cathy, already inside. We hadn't been given keys. In fact, the seller's agent was screaming for $5000 more! (Turns out the seller didn't know about that and, anyway, it was too late so I told her, the agent, she could screw herself.) Cathy was in there because a door had been left unlocked. She had already called a locksmith to come out and re-key the locks. This wasn't how I'd been let into my first home but this baby was costing me over three hundred thou - re-key the mother!
The next morning, the movers were at the apartment pronto and moving - I mean, MOVING! These movers could move! And they could move while they moved! Now, I'm not one to plug companies on My Side but I think this calls for an exception. Millennium Moving! I paid a pretty penny but it was all worth it. (Of course, your mileage may vary so take it for what it's worth.)
By Saturday night, the movers were done but Vicky and I were still moving. We were moving the boxes around, putting furniture in place, and just unpacking!
Vicky got an idea of how she wanted to re-paper the shelves. She brought one of the kitchen drawers to me, holding it in the air by one side - and this is where I started to get an idea about what I was in for! She started to tell me - and the drawer came apart in her hand! It just came right apart! Oh, No, I thought; I've worked on sets that are put together better!
I could hardly sleep that night.
I rose early Sunday morning. Vicky and I had a full day planned, a full day of moving. We still had about 1/5th of our stuff still in the old apartment. We got an early start, bring SUV-filled load after load from the apartment to the house, and sweated as the house filled with the afternoon sun. (Oh, the pets love it!) We started talked about getting the shower-head installed - we were stinky! But we kept going until, around 9pm, my back gave. Mind you, I'd lifted nearly everything and carried it to the car or in to the house all day up to then: the tvs, the boxes, the PCs, and everything else. My arms had gone long before. Now, my back was twisting into a pretzel. Thankfully, there wasn't much left (or so Vicky led me to believe), so she took me home with that penultimate load and went back to grab the last of the stuff.
I was going to lie down but the pets would have none of it. By the way, my white cat, Alacrity, has to die… a grizzly death, preferably. When we brought him to the house, he peed on himself in the carrier. As I tried to grab him with a towel, he veered in and out of boxes - I tripped - I banged my head in the edge of a table - I fell into a wall unit - I fell onto the concrete garage floor (covered only with a thin carpet)… so, he's dead. Anyway, Suki had to go out. Harley needed to be cuddled.
Eventually, I got upstairs and took my first shower in our new home.
The rest of the night's a blur. Vicky got home at nearly midnight with dinner. (She needs to stop doing that.) We went to bed.
And I woke up this morning, sore, hurting, tired, and cold. Good thing we have central heat… we should set that...
Friday, December 17, 2004
Nothing about this house is easy…
So, I went to sign loan docs yesterday. That's what they call them, by the way, "loan docs". Not "loan documentation". Or "your loan's paperwork". No, it's "loan docs". And they always have that way of saying it off the hip, almost as if it's supposed to be cool.
It's not cool! It's pretty stupid, if you ask me! Now, mind you, I wish in a rush - docs had to get to the bank before the close of the day - so I couldn't pause for an explanation at each sheet. (As far as I know, I signed away my liver.) The "loan doc" lady would say "Disclosure form" and I'd sign it or she'd say "Acknowledgement" and I'd sign it. I signed a variety of papers that she wasn't even sure they were going to use - nice!
Now, I'm not going to get into details because the first part of this story ends with me getting raped anally with a broken, wooden stool. (No, not the leg. The who fucking stool.) The condensed version goes like this:
1. They took too long on the loan. Far too long. Eons too long.
2. I signed a waiver saying I'd take the home if everything went okay with the appraisal and inspection. (This was supposed to move things along faster.)
3. What the waiver really meant was that I was obligated, by law, to buy the house.
4. Back when we thought everything was moving along okay, we gave our notice to our apartment managers. (Actually, this is probably the one time Vicky should have let me vacillate. She really wanted to get the notice put in; I kept waffling. She should have let me waffle!) So, our "get the hell out" date was/is 12/20.
5. So, between the realty agent and the loan person. they stuck me with no financing for a house I was forced to buy and made me homeless. With me so far?
(I really don't think I could have moved in with no financing. I'd probably move into court.)
6. This is when I went to sign the forms. They were wrong. Really wrong. I had two choices: a) homelessness or b) shelter at a high price.
7. I signed.
8. I went to the loan folks and they said, "Hey, you're right! We really screwed you! Have a nice day!"
Now, you'd think the story would end there. But it doesn't. Before I go on, though, two bits of warning. First: Orange County Mortgage - stay the hell away from these people. Second: There's no such thing as a fixed HELOC loan!
And, yes, there's more. Now that I've jumped through so many hoops I feel like a slinky (I've become the hoop!), the seller's agent doesn't want to hand over the property. My agent thinks it's because they're entertaining a second offer. I cried FOUL. "No. Wait. Documents. Legal. Signed. And I got ass raped."
So, they're working on that.
It looks like we might move Saturday. Let's hope it's into that house...
It's not cool! It's pretty stupid, if you ask me! Now, mind you, I wish in a rush - docs had to get to the bank before the close of the day - so I couldn't pause for an explanation at each sheet. (As far as I know, I signed away my liver.) The "loan doc" lady would say "Disclosure form" and I'd sign it or she'd say "Acknowledgement" and I'd sign it. I signed a variety of papers that she wasn't even sure they were going to use - nice!
Now, I'm not going to get into details because the first part of this story ends with me getting raped anally with a broken, wooden stool. (No, not the leg. The who fucking stool.) The condensed version goes like this:
1. They took too long on the loan. Far too long. Eons too long.
2. I signed a waiver saying I'd take the home if everything went okay with the appraisal and inspection. (This was supposed to move things along faster.)
3. What the waiver really meant was that I was obligated, by law, to buy the house.
4. Back when we thought everything was moving along okay, we gave our notice to our apartment managers. (Actually, this is probably the one time Vicky should have let me vacillate. She really wanted to get the notice put in; I kept waffling. She should have let me waffle!) So, our "get the hell out" date was/is 12/20.
5. So, between the realty agent and the loan person. they stuck me with no financing for a house I was forced to buy and made me homeless. With me so far?
(I really don't think I could have moved in with no financing. I'd probably move into court.)
6. This is when I went to sign the forms. They were wrong. Really wrong. I had two choices: a) homelessness or b) shelter at a high price.
7. I signed.
8. I went to the loan folks and they said, "Hey, you're right! We really screwed you! Have a nice day!"
Now, you'd think the story would end there. But it doesn't. Before I go on, though, two bits of warning. First: Orange County Mortgage - stay the hell away from these people. Second: There's no such thing as a fixed HELOC loan!
And, yes, there's more. Now that I've jumped through so many hoops I feel like a slinky (I've become the hoop!), the seller's agent doesn't want to hand over the property. My agent thinks it's because they're entertaining a second offer. I cried FOUL. "No. Wait. Documents. Legal. Signed. And I got ass raped."
So, they're working on that.
It looks like we might move Saturday. Let's hope it's into that house...
Thursday, December 16, 2004
Sowing the seeds of love…
I was going to be really smart today. I was going to write a really smart and provocative My Side.
Then, I realized I couldn't.
You see, I was going to take the lyrics to Phil Ochs' "Here's to the state of Mississippi" and turn them into "Here's to the state of George Bush Jr.". The song basically tore Mississippi a new one back in the 60's and, I thought, could again for (burning) Bush.
Then, I saw the lyrics.
Here's to the state of Mississippi,
For Underneath her borders, the devil draws no lines,
If you drag her muddy river, nameless bodies you will find.
whoa the fat trees of the forest have hid a thousand crimes,
the calendar is lyin' when it reads the present time.
Whoa here's to the land you've torn out the heart of,
Mississippi find yourself another country to be part of!
Not bad, huh? After all, (burning) Bush certain doesn't stop at our borders and god knows where the bodies are hid. As for the calendar, I just heard "Rock Around the Clock" on the radio the other day, so…
But then...
And here's to the people of Mississippi
Who say the folks up north, they just don't understand
And they tremble in their shadows at the thunder of the Klan
…
Klan? The Klan?
Surely, you remember the Klan. It was/is a group of guys who got together for BBQs, cook-offs, and nigger lynchings. Now, before you recoil at the so-called "N" word, consider for a moment that our modern society does not only condone the prosecution of a racial class it institutionalizes it! Who do you think we're at war with??? Think it only applies to blacks? More blacks men are in prison then ever and fewer black men are in college then ever. (And don't bother saying they're shifty and dumb unless you want a list of accomplished black americans a month and a half before Black History Month!) Or maybe you just think people back then were more repressive over all. Well, in that case, look at the prosecution of homosexuals. Look at the gutting of hate-crime legislation.
Face it. American society in the early 21st century makes the Klan of the 60's look like pussies.
So, I dumped that idea. No more pithy wisdom from Ken… back to his old shtick…
For the past few days, I've had the Tears for Fears song, Sowing the Seeds of Love, going through my head. Now, seriously, this is not just nostalgia for the 80's going on here. It was, actually, a very well constructed song, harkening back on the Beatles as only they could. It's a song I wish I'd put on this year's CDs… but… no. Maybe next year. (I'm thinking about making one CD next year called "love", with every song having the word "love" in the title.)
It's also a good song for de-stressing.
This home purchase has really been a tempest. Everything would be cool and then HELL! The deal would be in place and then CATACLYSM! I'd have the house and then I'd be DESTITUTE!
Finally, everything came together last night. But do you want to know how close we came?We're losing our apartment on Monday - the same day the house is legally mine. Fortunately, we finagled a deal wherein Vicky and I get to take possession early (which is actually three weeks late, but whatever) so we can move our stuff this Saturday. This involves packing. Hordes of packing!
So, no great political statement this time, just moving news...
...
I spy tears in their eyes
They look to the skies for some kind of divine intervention
Food goes to waste!
So nice to eat, so nice to taste
Politician Grannie with your high ideals
Have you no idea how the Majority feels?
So without love and a promise land
We're fools to the rules of a Government plan
Kick out the style ! Bring back the jam!
Anything...
Sowing the Seeds
The birds and the bees
My girlfriend and me in love
Feel the pain
Talk about it
If you're a worried man - then shout about it
Open hearts - feel about it
Open minds - think about it
Everyone - read about it
Everyone - scream about it!
Everyone
Everyone - read about it, read about it
Read in the books in the crannies and the nooks there are books to read
And anything is possible when you're Sowing the Seeds of Love
Anything is possible - Sowing the Seeds of Love
Time to eat all your words
Swallow your pride
Open your eyes
High time we made a stand and shook up the views of the common man
And the lovetrain rides from coast to coast
Every minute of every hour - " I Love a Sunflower "
And I believe in lovepower, LovePower, LOVEPOWER !!!
Sowing the Seeds
An end to need
And the Politics of Greed
With love
Then, I realized I couldn't.
You see, I was going to take the lyrics to Phil Ochs' "Here's to the state of Mississippi" and turn them into "Here's to the state of George Bush Jr.". The song basically tore Mississippi a new one back in the 60's and, I thought, could again for (burning) Bush.
Then, I saw the lyrics.
Here's to the state of Mississippi,
For Underneath her borders, the devil draws no lines,
If you drag her muddy river, nameless bodies you will find.
whoa the fat trees of the forest have hid a thousand crimes,
the calendar is lyin' when it reads the present time.
Whoa here's to the land you've torn out the heart of,
Mississippi find yourself another country to be part of!
Not bad, huh? After all, (burning) Bush certain doesn't stop at our borders and god knows where the bodies are hid. As for the calendar, I just heard "Rock Around the Clock" on the radio the other day, so…
But then...
And here's to the people of Mississippi
Who say the folks up north, they just don't understand
And they tremble in their shadows at the thunder of the Klan
…
Klan? The Klan?
Surely, you remember the Klan. It was/is a group of guys who got together for BBQs, cook-offs, and nigger lynchings. Now, before you recoil at the so-called "N" word, consider for a moment that our modern society does not only condone the prosecution of a racial class it institutionalizes it! Who do you think we're at war with??? Think it only applies to blacks? More blacks men are in prison then ever and fewer black men are in college then ever. (And don't bother saying they're shifty and dumb unless you want a list of accomplished black americans a month and a half before Black History Month!) Or maybe you just think people back then were more repressive over all. Well, in that case, look at the prosecution of homosexuals. Look at the gutting of hate-crime legislation.
Face it. American society in the early 21st century makes the Klan of the 60's look like pussies.
So, I dumped that idea. No more pithy wisdom from Ken… back to his old shtick…
For the past few days, I've had the Tears for Fears song, Sowing the Seeds of Love, going through my head. Now, seriously, this is not just nostalgia for the 80's going on here. It was, actually, a very well constructed song, harkening back on the Beatles as only they could. It's a song I wish I'd put on this year's CDs… but… no. Maybe next year. (I'm thinking about making one CD next year called "love", with every song having the word "love" in the title.)
It's also a good song for de-stressing.
This home purchase has really been a tempest. Everything would be cool and then HELL! The deal would be in place and then CATACLYSM! I'd have the house and then I'd be DESTITUTE!
Finally, everything came together last night. But do you want to know how close we came?We're losing our apartment on Monday - the same day the house is legally mine. Fortunately, we finagled a deal wherein Vicky and I get to take possession early (which is actually three weeks late, but whatever) so we can move our stuff this Saturday. This involves packing. Hordes of packing!
So, no great political statement this time, just moving news...
...
I spy tears in their eyes
They look to the skies for some kind of divine intervention
Food goes to waste!
So nice to eat, so nice to taste
Politician Grannie with your high ideals
Have you no idea how the Majority feels?
So without love and a promise land
We're fools to the rules of a Government plan
Kick out the style ! Bring back the jam!
Anything...
Sowing the Seeds
The birds and the bees
My girlfriend and me in love
Feel the pain
Talk about it
If you're a worried man - then shout about it
Open hearts - feel about it
Open minds - think about it
Everyone - read about it
Everyone - scream about it!
Everyone
Everyone - read about it, read about it
Read in the books in the crannies and the nooks there are books to read
And anything is possible when you're Sowing the Seeds of Love
Anything is possible - Sowing the Seeds of Love
Time to eat all your words
Swallow your pride
Open your eyes
High time we made a stand and shook up the views of the common man
And the lovetrain rides from coast to coast
Every minute of every hour - " I Love a Sunflower "
And I believe in lovepower, LovePower, LOVEPOWER !!!
Sowing the Seeds
An end to need
And the Politics of Greed
With love
Wednesday, December 15, 2004
Los Angeles cops plan to beat fewer people with flashlights...
Aw... aren't they nice? That's really thoughtful!
The city's police commission unveiled a plan Tuesday aimed at discouraging officers from using flashlights as weapons, except in emergencies.
Mind you, this doesn't include beating people with their fists or the blunt end of a car... or just plain shooting them. But, hey, it's a start!
(And for those of you wondering, an "emergency" is considered any time they really want to.)
The city's police commission unveiled a plan Tuesday aimed at discouraging officers from using flashlights as weapons, except in emergencies.
Mind you, this doesn't include beating people with their fists or the blunt end of a car... or just plain shooting them. But, hey, it's a start!
(And for those of you wondering, an "emergency" is considered any time they really want to.)
More Santa La Salle for the masses...
No, he's not coming back... yet... (gotta leave your options open, you know?)
Actually, Rob has emailed me with his recollection of events and I thought I'd share them with you:
Ah, Santa La Salle. Who could forget? Or, who could COMPLETELY forget. I didn't remember that Deanna provided the Santa suit on the second year. (Actually, it was Deanna's parents. Thus the "talking-to" provided by her mom. One I justly deserved, may it be said.) Yes, there were two years of it.
The first year you wore a plaid shirt (whose shirt was that?) (It was probably mine. My mom liked to keep me stocked with plaid shirts for all those cold, California winters...) , suitably stuffed, and we didn't have much to whiten the fake hair, so it was more grey than white. It looked good, though. If there was one thing we could do, it was apply fake hair. If the writing ever runs out, we have that to fall back on. (Better make sure there's a lot of it though . . . nice and cushy.) I'm not certain that I wore that elf outfit (a leftover from my role in the FVCT musical, "The Hobbit") that first year, though I may have. There weren't many stops the first year, but there were enough. And, as you point out, it was fun.
The second year was more of a production, with the suit, with more white spray (we even got your brows, I believe), and with makeup to give you something of a ruddy complexion. Also, I definitely wore the elf outfit. There were more stops the second year. As you mentioned, we even had a few stops based on referral alone. There were also some Santa La Salle carols during that second year . . . but I don't remember the words. I'm sure, though, that one was "Santa La Salle Is Coming to Town." Once again, we had a lot of fun.
The third (or, really, fourth) year? The world's a poorer place because it didn't happen.
Auld lang syne.
Indeed. Some of the best times of my younger life, folks. And I was very fortunate to share them with folks like Rob and Tim. (I hope Tim checks in with his insights but, as I said, he doesn't consider himself a writer so you may have to go on my recall for that.)
Ho Ho - freakin' - Ho!
Actually, Rob has emailed me with his recollection of events and I thought I'd share them with you:
Ah, Santa La Salle. Who could forget? Or, who could COMPLETELY forget. I didn't remember that Deanna provided the Santa suit on the second year. (Actually, it was Deanna's parents. Thus the "talking-to" provided by her mom. One I justly deserved, may it be said.) Yes, there were two years of it.
The first year you wore a plaid shirt (whose shirt was that?) (It was probably mine. My mom liked to keep me stocked with plaid shirts for all those cold, California winters...) , suitably stuffed, and we didn't have much to whiten the fake hair, so it was more grey than white. It looked good, though. If there was one thing we could do, it was apply fake hair. If the writing ever runs out, we have that to fall back on. (Better make sure there's a lot of it though . . . nice and cushy.) I'm not certain that I wore that elf outfit (a leftover from my role in the FVCT musical, "The Hobbit") that first year, though I may have. There weren't many stops the first year, but there were enough. And, as you point out, it was fun.
The second year was more of a production, with the suit, with more white spray (we even got your brows, I believe), and with makeup to give you something of a ruddy complexion. Also, I definitely wore the elf outfit. There were more stops the second year. As you mentioned, we even had a few stops based on referral alone. There were also some Santa La Salle carols during that second year . . . but I don't remember the words. I'm sure, though, that one was "Santa La Salle Is Coming to Town." Once again, we had a lot of fun.
The third (or, really, fourth) year? The world's a poorer place because it didn't happen.
Auld lang syne.
Indeed. Some of the best times of my younger life, folks. And I was very fortunate to share them with folks like Rob and Tim. (I hope Tim checks in with his insights but, as I said, he doesn't consider himself a writer so you may have to go on my recall for that.)
Ho Ho - freakin' - Ho!
Tuesday, December 14, 2004
The nearly lost history of Santa La Salle…
I was reading Tim Murphy's blog last night. (Hey, who doesn't have a blog these days?) I don't think he knows I read it. When I was visiting him in October, I saw it. He said, "This is just stuff for work. You won't find it very interesting." No? Well, I check it all the time. Tim doesn't figure himself as a writer but I am a reader, so…
Anyway, I was reading it last night and I saw a passing mention of Santa La Salle. Ah, Santa La Salle.
Who was he? Well, history (if made up) tells us that there are a lot of Santas. Only that Kringle guy gets the good press. The rest are out there doing their giving in less… flashy ways. Then, there's Santa La Salle.
The first appearance of Santa La Salle happened one Christmas when I wanted to drop off some gifts. (I forget which year.) Now, I have no idea how I'd been able to purchase gifts because, back then, I was always broke. (Hey, I was a teenager, you know?) Tim and I hung out a great deal back then. He figured he'd come along… and we came up with this idea. I didn't have a Santa suit but I did have some fake, white hair and some spirit gum (actor that I was) and some pillows. And when we were done making me up as Santa, I looked nothing like that Claus fellow. I didn't look like THE Santa but we figured I looked like A Santa. Santa La Salle.
We walked all around Santa Ana (yet another Santa), delivering gifts. Tim wasn't dressed like an elf but figured he must be one since he was with me and didn't have antlers (thus ruling him out as a reindeer). I'd say "Ho Ho Ho" in a low voice and he yell "Ho Ho - Ho Ho Ho Ho" in a high-pitched whine. It was really cool. Partially, I think it was cool because almost nobody got it. "And you're Santa WHO?" they'd ask. "Santa La Salle, of course," we'd reply. "Who?"
It was a one-time thing. I was never supposed to happen again.
But then, Rob came along. Rob, who had an elf costume (actually, I think it was a modified Robin Hood) and, more importantly, a CAR! Tim and I had walked because we hadn't had a car. Now, it's really sad to say this but my memory has faded so much over the years that I can't remember if we did it one year or two. I know it couldn't have been more than two. So, it was either the one year we did it or the last year we did it when we actually got me a Santa suit.
The suit belonged to the parents of DeAnna - whose last name I remember but couldn't spell to save my life, something life "Leifgshkey" - the girl who had been Rob's girlfriend and who I had dated that recent October. Yep, I screwed up my friendship with Essex by dating his ex (DeAnna Caudillo), Tim Murphy by dating his ex (Mary Cassidy), and Rob by dating his ex (DeAnna Lievchgzki - or something). (For the record, I also dating another of Rob's exes, Christy Morrison. For the record, she was HOT HOT HOT.) I was a dick. Her mother talked to me outside of their home as Rob got the suit. "You know, Ken, we all like you even though things between you and Dee didn't work out. You just need to learn when enough is enough. Don't let your emotions have such control over you. You need to just reign it in a little." I kept wishing she would shut up or Rob would come out with the suit or BOTH. You see, I'd fallen hard for DeAnna (as, oddly enough, Rob had predicted I would) and couldn't really accept when she'd broken up with me. I didn't stalk her… really. But I bugged any good feelings she might have still had for me right out of her.
Anyway, we got the suit. I looked like that Claus guy. The problem with looking so Kringl-esque, however, was that nobody understood the Santa La Sall-iness of it all. It was no longer an absurd take on a Christmas tradition. ("Bifmas" anyone?) Now, people kept assuming I was Claus! NO, I told them over and over. But it didn't help. Sure, I got served booze in people's homes (where they didn't know me personally - we were also dropping off Rob's gifts) because they didn't realize how young I was but others would bring their kids up to me ("Kids, Santa's here!" "Yeah!" No kids, I told Rob afterwards. No kids! It was supposed to be a surreal, teenage rebellion against Christmas, not a complete embrace of the traditional image!) and still others would give me their gifts and ask us to make stops at other homes!
We could have made a fucking business out of it!
But it ended in 1985, with Rosa. Or, perhaps I should say, because of Rosa. You see, that year, we couldn't get the suit. I was so glad! I was so looking forward to a return to form! I even had images of giving Santa La Salle this great backstory about how he got syphilis from Turkish nuns!
"Would that make me, Mrs. Claus?" Rosa asked.
"No, not Claus," I corrected. "La Salle. Mrs. Santa La Salle."
You see, she wanted to go with us, make her appearance as the third of our troop.
Then, she found out there'd be no Santa suit.
"Well, what are you going to wear?"
"Oh," I spitballed, "maybe jeans and a red windbreaker."
"That's not Santa!"
"No. That's Santa La Salle."
But she didn't get it. I even showed her all the fake, white hair and spirit gum!
I think it all came crashing down when she forbad me from visiting her friends or family. She didn't want them seeing that. With a kidney blow to the concept, she turned Santa La Salle from absurd and surreal into cheap and stupid. (I must admit, it's painfully easy to do. I can't count the amount of ideas I've had that have been shot down by a simple, "I don't get it.")
And so, Santa La Salle came to an end. I never told her it was because of her. I said something like, "Well, I'm kind of tired of doing it anyway." "Wait until you have a Santa suit," she said… and that killed Santa La Salle.
That is, until last night. Last night, I read Tim Murphy's account and remembered something that she never got. I'd lost it because I'd been with her and had been infected with her sensibility. (We're all infected by others to one degree or another, like it or not.) Very simply, cheap or stupid, absurd or dumb, surreal or sucky, it was FUN! It was fun to appear on someone's doorstep in this crazy getup, yelling "Ho Ho Ho" and giving gifts. That's the Christmas fucking spirit, dammit! Was Kringle's getup that normal looking when he first did it? Hell no! And for those of you looking to tie in that Christ fellow, who is he but someone hard to look at, saying "Ho Ho Ho"?
Maybe Santa La Salle will return one day. Maybe I'll find another cohort who says, "I've got this great idea…" But until that day, he's been reborn in my heart and I have Tim Murphy to thank for it. Thanks, Tim. Thanks for starting a short-lived tradition with me and for reminding me once again what it all meant. And, lest I forget, thanks to Rob for carrying on that tradition with me. (As traditional as that Santa suit might have been, we both got huge laughs out of explaining the Santa-mobile to the kids who thought I was the real Claus.)
Merry Christmas.
Anyway, I was reading it last night and I saw a passing mention of Santa La Salle. Ah, Santa La Salle.
Who was he? Well, history (if made up) tells us that there are a lot of Santas. Only that Kringle guy gets the good press. The rest are out there doing their giving in less… flashy ways. Then, there's Santa La Salle.
The first appearance of Santa La Salle happened one Christmas when I wanted to drop off some gifts. (I forget which year.) Now, I have no idea how I'd been able to purchase gifts because, back then, I was always broke. (Hey, I was a teenager, you know?) Tim and I hung out a great deal back then. He figured he'd come along… and we came up with this idea. I didn't have a Santa suit but I did have some fake, white hair and some spirit gum (actor that I was) and some pillows. And when we were done making me up as Santa, I looked nothing like that Claus fellow. I didn't look like THE Santa but we figured I looked like A Santa. Santa La Salle.
We walked all around Santa Ana (yet another Santa), delivering gifts. Tim wasn't dressed like an elf but figured he must be one since he was with me and didn't have antlers (thus ruling him out as a reindeer). I'd say "Ho Ho Ho" in a low voice and he yell "Ho Ho - Ho Ho Ho Ho" in a high-pitched whine. It was really cool. Partially, I think it was cool because almost nobody got it. "And you're Santa WHO?" they'd ask. "Santa La Salle, of course," we'd reply. "Who?"
It was a one-time thing. I was never supposed to happen again.
But then, Rob came along. Rob, who had an elf costume (actually, I think it was a modified Robin Hood) and, more importantly, a CAR! Tim and I had walked because we hadn't had a car. Now, it's really sad to say this but my memory has faded so much over the years that I can't remember if we did it one year or two. I know it couldn't have been more than two. So, it was either the one year we did it or the last year we did it when we actually got me a Santa suit.
The suit belonged to the parents of DeAnna - whose last name I remember but couldn't spell to save my life, something life "Leifgshkey" - the girl who had been Rob's girlfriend and who I had dated that recent October. Yep, I screwed up my friendship with Essex by dating his ex (DeAnna Caudillo), Tim Murphy by dating his ex (Mary Cassidy), and Rob by dating his ex (DeAnna Lievchgzki - or something). (For the record, I also dating another of Rob's exes, Christy Morrison. For the record, she was HOT HOT HOT.) I was a dick. Her mother talked to me outside of their home as Rob got the suit. "You know, Ken, we all like you even though things between you and Dee didn't work out. You just need to learn when enough is enough. Don't let your emotions have such control over you. You need to just reign it in a little." I kept wishing she would shut up or Rob would come out with the suit or BOTH. You see, I'd fallen hard for DeAnna (as, oddly enough, Rob had predicted I would) and couldn't really accept when she'd broken up with me. I didn't stalk her… really. But I bugged any good feelings she might have still had for me right out of her.
Anyway, we got the suit. I looked like that Claus guy. The problem with looking so Kringl-esque, however, was that nobody understood the Santa La Sall-iness of it all. It was no longer an absurd take on a Christmas tradition. ("Bifmas" anyone?) Now, people kept assuming I was Claus! NO, I told them over and over. But it didn't help. Sure, I got served booze in people's homes (where they didn't know me personally - we were also dropping off Rob's gifts) because they didn't realize how young I was but others would bring their kids up to me ("Kids, Santa's here!" "Yeah!" No kids, I told Rob afterwards. No kids! It was supposed to be a surreal, teenage rebellion against Christmas, not a complete embrace of the traditional image!) and still others would give me their gifts and ask us to make stops at other homes!
We could have made a fucking business out of it!
But it ended in 1985, with Rosa. Or, perhaps I should say, because of Rosa. You see, that year, we couldn't get the suit. I was so glad! I was so looking forward to a return to form! I even had images of giving Santa La Salle this great backstory about how he got syphilis from Turkish nuns!
"Would that make me, Mrs. Claus?" Rosa asked.
"No, not Claus," I corrected. "La Salle. Mrs. Santa La Salle."
You see, she wanted to go with us, make her appearance as the third of our troop.
Then, she found out there'd be no Santa suit.
"Well, what are you going to wear?"
"Oh," I spitballed, "maybe jeans and a red windbreaker."
"That's not Santa!"
"No. That's Santa La Salle."
But she didn't get it. I even showed her all the fake, white hair and spirit gum!
I think it all came crashing down when she forbad me from visiting her friends or family. She didn't want them seeing that. With a kidney blow to the concept, she turned Santa La Salle from absurd and surreal into cheap and stupid. (I must admit, it's painfully easy to do. I can't count the amount of ideas I've had that have been shot down by a simple, "I don't get it.")
And so, Santa La Salle came to an end. I never told her it was because of her. I said something like, "Well, I'm kind of tired of doing it anyway." "Wait until you have a Santa suit," she said… and that killed Santa La Salle.
That is, until last night. Last night, I read Tim Murphy's account and remembered something that she never got. I'd lost it because I'd been with her and had been infected with her sensibility. (We're all infected by others to one degree or another, like it or not.) Very simply, cheap or stupid, absurd or dumb, surreal or sucky, it was FUN! It was fun to appear on someone's doorstep in this crazy getup, yelling "Ho Ho Ho" and giving gifts. That's the Christmas fucking spirit, dammit! Was Kringle's getup that normal looking when he first did it? Hell no! And for those of you looking to tie in that Christ fellow, who is he but someone hard to look at, saying "Ho Ho Ho"?
Maybe Santa La Salle will return one day. Maybe I'll find another cohort who says, "I've got this great idea…" But until that day, he's been reborn in my heart and I have Tim Murphy to thank for it. Thanks, Tim. Thanks for starting a short-lived tradition with me and for reminding me once again what it all meant. And, lest I forget, thanks to Rob for carrying on that tradition with me. (As traditional as that Santa suit might have been, we both got huge laughs out of explaining the Santa-mobile to the kids who thought I was the real Claus.)
Merry Christmas.
Monday, December 13, 2004
It just needs to be said...
For those who might not have noticed:
The "Save The Planet" people have done an absolutely horrid job in the last 30 years. You people suck!
When it comes to achieving goals, the "Fuck The Planet" people should be really fucking proud of themselves. Way to go, guys!
The "Save The Planet" people have done an absolutely horrid job in the last 30 years. You people suck!
When it comes to achieving goals, the "Fuck The Planet" people should be really fucking proud of themselves. Way to go, guys!
Know it some...
So, I'm listening to this book right now called "The Know it All". (Remember that Audio.com membership I keep raving about?) It's a book about a guy who decides to read the Encyclopaedia Brittannica straight through. (At 15 hours, you'd think that would be the EB alone!) It's a funny mix of insights and neurosis. Neurosis? Well, that's right up my aisle!
I actually did this once many years ago. When Tim moved to Sonoma in 1985, he had to pack light. He left me with a television and a set of encyclopedias. (His was only 26 volumes. The EB weighs in a 32.) One night, I told Rosa I'd do it and, sure enough, I eventually did it. It was great. So, I can relate to this guy.
Feeling "encyclopedia fever" once again - watch out, Vicky! - I looked up the EB's web site today and found it to be very useful. More than just a site that sells books. You should check it out.
(There. That's my good deed for the day!)
I actually did this once many years ago. When Tim moved to Sonoma in 1985, he had to pack light. He left me with a television and a set of encyclopedias. (His was only 26 volumes. The EB weighs in a 32.) One night, I told Rosa I'd do it and, sure enough, I eventually did it. It was great. So, I can relate to this guy.
Feeling "encyclopedia fever" once again - watch out, Vicky! - I looked up the EB's web site today and found it to be very useful. More than just a site that sells books. You should check it out.
(There. That's my good deed for the day!)
A housing update…
Oy, what a weekend. Once this house is mine, I think I'll burn it down for all the headaches it's caused!
Well, okay, it hasn't been the house that's given me the headaches. Actually, it's been my mortgage broker. (As I understand it, the "mortgage wrangler".)
Originally, it was supposed to be Julee. Julee is one of Vicky's best friends. (Actually, "was" is probably more appropriate now…) I decided to let her do my loan because Vicky has some good history with her and Vicky seemed to think she'd do a better job that the first bank that was trying to do my loan. (Just a taste of why: They LOST my loan!) Seriously, how could anyone do worse?
Well…
Julee screwed this up so badly that the president of the mortgage company had to step in - and he's been quick to point out to me that, normally, he's not supposed to be doing this. But it's clear to him that she really muffed it, so…
I found out this weekend that everything fell apart. And I did so in a rather dramatic way.
You see, I wanted to talk to this guy to tell him what a shitty job I thought his people were doing. When he called Friday afternoon, I thought it was because I had told Julee I wanted to talk to him. I thought she had asked him to call me. So, I was ready to chew him out.
And I did. I did BIG TIME!
Then, he said, "Wait." I should have waited before the tirade. Turned out he was calling because he KNEW how screwed up it was and had decided to take over to save the loan and if I wasn't happy with his company, I could take my business elsewhere. (Which I couldn't do because it was too far along in the loan and there's this stipulation in my paperwork that says the seller could come after ME for the cost of the home even if I didn't get a loan. We're talking possible bankruptcy! So, I'd forgotten the first rule of negotiation, namely to have the upper hand.)
Well, after threatening me - and shutting me the hell up - this guy then worked the whole weekend to get my loan back on track. You see, Julee was the screw up; he wasn't. He knew what he was doing. (Oh, but I made sure he knew that she didn't… and, boy, did he know!)
That said, by yesterday I was this close (he said, holding thumb and forefinger an inch apart) to saying, "Fine. You know what. Take my money! Take me to court! I'll declare bankruptcy! I just can't deal with this any more!" I mean, my god! I've lost a lot of sleep, had so many headaches, and possibly developed an ulcer over this! I was SO done!
But before I did, I went back to Vicky and ran the numbers with her again. Now, I just have to take a moment and repeat how wonderful this girl is. She's the best. Not only did she help me figure out how we're going to do it but she remained positive and hopeful that things would be okay. Instead of feeding my neurosis (bordering on full-blown panic), she totally put me at ease. She's incredible and I am incredibly lucky to have her.
And, with that, I went back to the pres… and the hard truth.
Now, look, we're going to be homeless as of this weekend. Our apartment has been rented out. We need a place to live - soon! Though the interest rate on my loan keeps going up with each new revision - and, let me tell you, it ain't afraid of heights! - he assured me that he'll do everything to get me in the house this week, so we could move this weekend. Coming from a guy who just worked his whole weekend to resuscitate my loan - I believe him.
But Friday's a long time away… and, until then, I wait...
Well, okay, it hasn't been the house that's given me the headaches. Actually, it's been my mortgage broker. (As I understand it, the "mortgage wrangler".)
Originally, it was supposed to be Julee. Julee is one of Vicky's best friends. (Actually, "was" is probably more appropriate now…) I decided to let her do my loan because Vicky has some good history with her and Vicky seemed to think she'd do a better job that the first bank that was trying to do my loan. (Just a taste of why: They LOST my loan!) Seriously, how could anyone do worse?
Well…
Julee screwed this up so badly that the president of the mortgage company had to step in - and he's been quick to point out to me that, normally, he's not supposed to be doing this. But it's clear to him that she really muffed it, so…
I found out this weekend that everything fell apart. And I did so in a rather dramatic way.
You see, I wanted to talk to this guy to tell him what a shitty job I thought his people were doing. When he called Friday afternoon, I thought it was because I had told Julee I wanted to talk to him. I thought she had asked him to call me. So, I was ready to chew him out.
And I did. I did BIG TIME!
Then, he said, "Wait." I should have waited before the tirade. Turned out he was calling because he KNEW how screwed up it was and had decided to take over to save the loan and if I wasn't happy with his company, I could take my business elsewhere. (Which I couldn't do because it was too far along in the loan and there's this stipulation in my paperwork that says the seller could come after ME for the cost of the home even if I didn't get a loan. We're talking possible bankruptcy! So, I'd forgotten the first rule of negotiation, namely to have the upper hand.)
Well, after threatening me - and shutting me the hell up - this guy then worked the whole weekend to get my loan back on track. You see, Julee was the screw up; he wasn't. He knew what he was doing. (Oh, but I made sure he knew that she didn't… and, boy, did he know!)
That said, by yesterday I was this close (he said, holding thumb and forefinger an inch apart) to saying, "Fine. You know what. Take my money! Take me to court! I'll declare bankruptcy! I just can't deal with this any more!" I mean, my god! I've lost a lot of sleep, had so many headaches, and possibly developed an ulcer over this! I was SO done!
But before I did, I went back to Vicky and ran the numbers with her again. Now, I just have to take a moment and repeat how wonderful this girl is. She's the best. Not only did she help me figure out how we're going to do it but she remained positive and hopeful that things would be okay. Instead of feeding my neurosis (bordering on full-blown panic), she totally put me at ease. She's incredible and I am incredibly lucky to have her.
And, with that, I went back to the pres… and the hard truth.
Now, look, we're going to be homeless as of this weekend. Our apartment has been rented out. We need a place to live - soon! Though the interest rate on my loan keeps going up with each new revision - and, let me tell you, it ain't afraid of heights! - he assured me that he'll do everything to get me in the house this week, so we could move this weekend. Coming from a guy who just worked his whole weekend to resuscitate my loan - I believe him.
But Friday's a long time away… and, until then, I wait...
Friday, December 10, 2004
Why burn 'em when you can ban 'em?...
Well, here we go again. Another move so fucking stupid you'd never imagine even the (burning) Bushies could do it:
In an apparent reversal of decades of U.S. practice, recent federal Office of Foreign Assets Control regulations bar American companies from publishing works by dissident writers in countries under sanction unless they first obtain U.S. government approval.
The restriction, condemned by critics as a violation of the First Amendment, means that books and other works banned by some totalitarian regimes cannot be published freely in the United States.
What does this mean? This means that if the government doesn't like what you have to say, you don't get published. Big Brother has final say.
As a writer, I find this appalling and, again, find myself questioning my decision to remain in the States. Sure, I'm a citizen - but of what worth are those ideals when they are increasingly limited by qualifiers such as "citizen", "white", "male"?
In an apparent reversal of decades of U.S. practice, recent federal Office of Foreign Assets Control regulations bar American companies from publishing works by dissident writers in countries under sanction unless they first obtain U.S. government approval.
The restriction, condemned by critics as a violation of the First Amendment, means that books and other works banned by some totalitarian regimes cannot be published freely in the United States.
What does this mean? This means that if the government doesn't like what you have to say, you don't get published. Big Brother has final say.
As a writer, I find this appalling and, again, find myself questioning my decision to remain in the States. Sure, I'm a citizen - but of what worth are those ideals when they are increasingly limited by qualifiers such as "citizen", "white", "male"?
B DC, like Warshington...
By the way...
I've received a couple emails about my "B DC, like Warshington" My Side, asking me specifically, "HUH?"
Just goes to show how in touch I am... finger's on da pulse!
Well, here's a hint. It's the alphabet song! (Does that help?)
I've received a couple emails about my "B DC, like Warshington" My Side, asking me specifically, "HUH?"
Just goes to show how in touch I am... finger's on da pulse!
Well, here's a hint. It's the alphabet song! (Does that help?)
Getting an ulcer and getting in trouble…
Can I say ouch? You bet the fuck I can!
Turns out that this whole house-buying experience may have given me an ulcer. I spent the past two days doubled over in pain, clutching my gut. No, not a few minutes here and there - two whole days!
Why? I could give you a million reasons why (well, a hundred), but that's not all of it. It's not just the house - and the fact that the lender screwed everything up and raised my interest rate and pushed back the close date - and it's not just that everything in my life seemed balanced on a pin - such as how it looks like the only way I can pay Sean back the money he gave me to help get the house is to sue Rosa for the money she never paid me back and as much as it looks like I'll win it makes me sick to think of it - no, it's all that and more.
And so my gut said, "Fuck you."
I'm sorry, gut. I'm really, really sorry.
So, I took a couple days off work but here I am again and so I write to you.
Not just to you. I put a new entry up over at OC MetroBlogging - one that's bound to have me banned from the site! Well, we'll see. It's called "Things to do with the TBN building…" You "Born Agains" are going to love this one!
Anyway, it looks like we should close by Monday. This will give us one weekend to move before Christmas. Sadly, this means that the holiday CDs may get to you a little late. Sorry! I burned a master copy of Reflections of Summer last night and, when I put it in my cd player this morning, it was totally silent. Back to the drawing board on that one!
Oh well.
Hope you have a great weekend.
Turns out that this whole house-buying experience may have given me an ulcer. I spent the past two days doubled over in pain, clutching my gut. No, not a few minutes here and there - two whole days!
Why? I could give you a million reasons why (well, a hundred), but that's not all of it. It's not just the house - and the fact that the lender screwed everything up and raised my interest rate and pushed back the close date - and it's not just that everything in my life seemed balanced on a pin - such as how it looks like the only way I can pay Sean back the money he gave me to help get the house is to sue Rosa for the money she never paid me back and as much as it looks like I'll win it makes me sick to think of it - no, it's all that and more.
And so my gut said, "Fuck you."
I'm sorry, gut. I'm really, really sorry.
So, I took a couple days off work but here I am again and so I write to you.
Not just to you. I put a new entry up over at OC MetroBlogging - one that's bound to have me banned from the site! Well, we'll see. It's called "Things to do with the TBN building…" You "Born Agains" are going to love this one!
Anyway, it looks like we should close by Monday. This will give us one weekend to move before Christmas. Sadly, this means that the holiday CDs may get to you a little late. Sorry! I burned a master copy of Reflections of Summer last night and, when I put it in my cd player this morning, it was totally silent. Back to the drawing board on that one!
Oh well.
Hope you have a great weekend.
Tuesday, December 07, 2004
Shit like this just pops into my head...
So, a kid was asked to recite the alphabet and he/she said:
"B DC, like Warshington - that covers a lot of letters and leaves us with bfjmpquvxyz."
... took me a few minutes to figure out the last part...
"B DC, like Warshington - that covers a lot of letters and leaves us with bfjmpquvxyz."
... took me a few minutes to figure out the last part...
What is it about $310,000 that makes me feel uneasy?...
Contrary to popular belief (and the fact that I was telling everybody), we didn't close on the house yesterday. Our lame-ass lender (who is blaming her lame-ass assistant), didn't get everything together in time and, so, the bank will be ready today.
Today.
Ready.
Ready for me to sign my life away. Ready for me to assume the burden of a debt that nears a third of a million dollars.
And so I guess it should come as no surprise that I just want to crawl into a dark hole and not come out… ever… send down my Ben & Jerry's and a blanket… I'll be fine.
It started as I drove home yesterday. It wasn't a depression or sadness of any kind. It was just a general kind of malaise, a simple funk. I just thought, "I wanna lie down." So, I sat down in front of my PC, started up Diablo II: Lord of Destruction, and zoned out for four hours. Then, Vicky got home and I played for a couple more hours. I woke up this morning with no enthusiasm but, rather, just a desire to lie back down. I needed hugs and lots of them. Now, here I am at work, thinking I just want to put my head down.
A third of a million… that's a lot of money…
So, anyway, we're supposed to close today. I hope so. But, if we don't, let Vicky know that she should pick up some Ben & Jerry's and meet me under the bed.
Today.
Ready.
Ready for me to sign my life away. Ready for me to assume the burden of a debt that nears a third of a million dollars.
And so I guess it should come as no surprise that I just want to crawl into a dark hole and not come out… ever… send down my Ben & Jerry's and a blanket… I'll be fine.
It started as I drove home yesterday. It wasn't a depression or sadness of any kind. It was just a general kind of malaise, a simple funk. I just thought, "I wanna lie down." So, I sat down in front of my PC, started up Diablo II: Lord of Destruction, and zoned out for four hours. Then, Vicky got home and I played for a couple more hours. I woke up this morning with no enthusiasm but, rather, just a desire to lie back down. I needed hugs and lots of them. Now, here I am at work, thinking I just want to put my head down.
A third of a million… that's a lot of money…
So, anyway, we're supposed to close today. I hope so. But, if we don't, let Vicky know that she should pick up some Ben & Jerry's and meet me under the bed.
Monday, December 06, 2004
On Houses and Blogging and Christmas, too…
Today's the day - oh, what a day!
I may be closing on my house today. My house! All mine! Well, mine and Vicky's. Well, mine and Vicky's and Bandoo's. Well, mine and Vicky's and Bandoo's and Alacrity's and Suki's and Harley's and Othello's… we'll call it "The Commune"!
I'll be signing a shitload of papers. Have you seen my right arm? I wish anyone trying to read my signature by the 47th form very good luck.
But enough about houses and communes, it's time for the Big Announcement!
Wait. That's not good enough.
THE BIG ANNOUNCEMENT!
… better. Looks like I'm going to be writing for another website, so, on top of your daily (or semi-daily) My Side's you'll get to see me at MetroBlogging Orange County! (That's http://oc.metblogs.com/ on your radio dial.) Take a look. They already have my name up! (Ain't that sweet?) I'll be writing articles about life here in Orange County - not an easy task for me. (Usually, I just bitch.) So, keep your eyes peeled - no, don't. That sounds disgusting!
But enough about houses and communes and blogging and bitching, let's talk about Christmas.
I'm not a big fan of Christmas. It's turned into a rather ugly holiday. In fact, for the past few years, I've referred to it as Bifmas and, even, Bobmas - thinking, "Why should Chris get a holiday while Bif and Bob are left out in the cold?" Since I don't think Vicky's going to go in much for "Timmas" or "Seanmass" or "Richmas" or even "Robmas", I guess I'm back to calling it Christmas again.
But some traditions continue - like it or not - so I'm producing yet another in a seemingly endless catalog of CD collections for the holidays. Having shucked off the traditional, holiday bonds last year, this year's CD collection contains:
Ken 3.8
Songs I Heard as a Child Vol. 1
Reflections of Summer (a continuation of "Love Out of Time" from last year)
I'll be taking a couple listens for "quality control" this week (to make sure I didn't completely screw up) and, with any luck, getting them out to people in the weeks leading up to the Arbor Day Holiday.
What do you mean, "Christmas"?
I may be closing on my house today. My house! All mine! Well, mine and Vicky's. Well, mine and Vicky's and Bandoo's. Well, mine and Vicky's and Bandoo's and Alacrity's and Suki's and Harley's and Othello's… we'll call it "The Commune"!
I'll be signing a shitload of papers. Have you seen my right arm? I wish anyone trying to read my signature by the 47th form very good luck.
But enough about houses and communes, it's time for the Big Announcement!
Wait. That's not good enough.
THE BIG ANNOUNCEMENT!
… better. Looks like I'm going to be writing for another website, so, on top of your daily (or semi-daily) My Side's you'll get to see me at MetroBlogging Orange County! (That's http://oc.metblogs.com/ on your radio dial.) Take a look. They already have my name up! (Ain't that sweet?) I'll be writing articles about life here in Orange County - not an easy task for me. (Usually, I just bitch.) So, keep your eyes peeled - no, don't. That sounds disgusting!
But enough about houses and communes and blogging and bitching, let's talk about Christmas.
I'm not a big fan of Christmas. It's turned into a rather ugly holiday. In fact, for the past few years, I've referred to it as Bifmas and, even, Bobmas - thinking, "Why should Chris get a holiday while Bif and Bob are left out in the cold?" Since I don't think Vicky's going to go in much for "Timmas" or "Seanmass" or "Richmas" or even "Robmas", I guess I'm back to calling it Christmas again.
But some traditions continue - like it or not - so I'm producing yet another in a seemingly endless catalog of CD collections for the holidays. Having shucked off the traditional, holiday bonds last year, this year's CD collection contains:
Ken 3.8
Songs I Heard as a Child Vol. 1
Reflections of Summer (a continuation of "Love Out of Time" from last year)
I'll be taking a couple listens for "quality control" this week (to make sure I didn't completely screw up) and, with any luck, getting them out to people in the weeks leading up to the Arbor Day Holiday.
What do you mean, "Christmas"?
Friday, December 03, 2004
I now have a reason to respect Will Smith...
And it certainly isn't for his films! (I'm still shuddering over "I Robot" - the horror!)
Looks like Will Smith got the whacko right hating him. They even have a website PABAAH.com (Patriotic Americans Boycotting Anti-American Hollywood), talking shit.
Why?
Asked whether the 9/11 attacks had changed him, Smith said, "No. Absolutely not. When you grow up black in America, you have a completely different view of the world than white Americans. We blacks live with a constant feeling of unease. And whether you are wounded in an attack by a racist cop or in a terrorist attack, I'm sorry, it makes no difference." Smith continued, "In the '60s, blacks were continuously the victims of terrorist attacks. It was civil terrorism, but terrorism nonetheless. We are used to being attacked. That constant state of vigilance -- a sort of defensive state -- that hasn't changed at all. For me, nothing has changed at all."
Looks like Will Smith got the whacko right hating him. They even have a website PABAAH.com (Patriotic Americans Boycotting Anti-American Hollywood), talking shit.
Why?
Asked whether the 9/11 attacks had changed him, Smith said, "No. Absolutely not. When you grow up black in America, you have a completely different view of the world than white Americans. We blacks live with a constant feeling of unease. And whether you are wounded in an attack by a racist cop or in a terrorist attack, I'm sorry, it makes no difference." Smith continued, "In the '60s, blacks were continuously the victims of terrorist attacks. It was civil terrorism, but terrorism nonetheless. We are used to being attacked. That constant state of vigilance -- a sort of defensive state -- that hasn't changed at all. For me, nothing has changed at all."
Torture gets the go-ahead!...
I was going to write about the house this morning but, in the face of this news, that is simply meaningless.
Startling news. According to a U.S. District Court, we can now torture AND IT'S LEGAL! It is fully admissible as evidence!
What does this mean? Well, for one, if you are suspected of anything, you can be tortured until you confess (and who wouldn't under torture?) and that can be held against you.
Am I the only one who remembers when we would hate those who did this? The Soviets. The Kmer Rouge. The FUCKING NAZIS! Well, we're in great company now!
But that's not the end of it. According to the District Court, if you are kidnapped from your home and held is a secret prison, you've lost all your constitutional rights. In other words, it's your own fault you're in there. And why's it your own fault? Well, because you're bound to confess to what they think you did eventually. And that confession is admissible as evidence. Just as though you'd walked into the courthouse, having a smoke, and said, "Sure. I flew a plane into a big building. What'cha gonna do about it?"
If anyone reading this has heard themselves say, "It won't go that far." Folks, it HAS gone that far. We're there. You can get off the bus now.
This is truly a sad day for what was once America and doubly sad for us all because we have to live in it.
Perhaps this will get overturned in the Supreme Court (doubtful - remember who they put in office) but, until then, THANK GOD I'M WHITE!
Startling news. According to a U.S. District Court, we can now torture AND IT'S LEGAL! It is fully admissible as evidence!
What does this mean? Well, for one, if you are suspected of anything, you can be tortured until you confess (and who wouldn't under torture?) and that can be held against you.
Am I the only one who remembers when we would hate those who did this? The Soviets. The Kmer Rouge. The FUCKING NAZIS! Well, we're in great company now!
But that's not the end of it. According to the District Court, if you are kidnapped from your home and held is a secret prison, you've lost all your constitutional rights. In other words, it's your own fault you're in there. And why's it your own fault? Well, because you're bound to confess to what they think you did eventually. And that confession is admissible as evidence. Just as though you'd walked into the courthouse, having a smoke, and said, "Sure. I flew a plane into a big building. What'cha gonna do about it?"
If anyone reading this has heard themselves say, "It won't go that far." Folks, it HAS gone that far. We're there. You can get off the bus now.
This is truly a sad day for what was once America and doubly sad for us all because we have to live in it.
Perhaps this will get overturned in the Supreme Court (doubtful - remember who they put in office) but, until then, THANK GOD I'M WHITE!
Thursday, December 02, 2004
Intolerant of intolerance...
For those of you who saw yesterday's My Side about the refusal by CBS and NBC to run a United Church of Christ ad promoting tolerance (claiming that it was too "controversial"!), my good friend Lori has turned me on to petition to go out to those intolerant morons. (In this case, I'm talking specifically about CBS and NBC.)
Take a stand for tolerance! Don't allow your voice to be drowned out by (burning) Bush's brigade! Sign the petition!
... and do it even if you didn't see yesterday's entry!
Take a stand for tolerance! Don't allow your voice to be drowned out by (burning) Bush's brigade! Sign the petition!
... and do it even if you didn't see yesterday's entry!
Fighting, Torturing, and moving on...
Not a whole lot to write about today...
... actually, I have a ton to write about. Vicky and I are fighting again and I'm royally pissed off. But I'm not going to go into details about it here. This just isn't the place for it. We've all had these days. Think of your own and replace the names.
So, let's get back to politics! (Burning) Bush is nominating (Black Hood) Gonzalez as Attorney General. This guy's more pro-torture than my ex-wife! Now, if you have no problem with hypocrisy, don't worry about it. If, on the other hand, you don't think the U.S. should encourage, facilitate, practice, and get downright hard over torture as public policy, go to this site and send word to your senator! Remember, the enemy is your neighbor; the definition of "bad guy" has become so diluted that anyone can fall victim.
Last bit of news is just going to be a teaser at this point. Let's just say things are changing around here and you might start seeing my ranting some place else pretty soon... I'll keep you posted.
... actually, I have a ton to write about. Vicky and I are fighting again and I'm royally pissed off. But I'm not going to go into details about it here. This just isn't the place for it. We've all had these days. Think of your own and replace the names.
So, let's get back to politics! (Burning) Bush is nominating (Black Hood) Gonzalez as Attorney General. This guy's more pro-torture than my ex-wife! Now, if you have no problem with hypocrisy, don't worry about it. If, on the other hand, you don't think the U.S. should encourage, facilitate, practice, and get downright hard over torture as public policy, go to this site and send word to your senator! Remember, the enemy is your neighbor; the definition of "bad guy" has become so diluted that anyone can fall victim.
Last bit of news is just going to be a teaser at this point. Let's just say things are changing around here and you might start seeing my ranting some place else pretty soon... I'll keep you posted.
Wednesday, December 01, 2004
Disgust and uplift...
It's not every day I blatantly paste in someone else's stories and try to pass it on to you folks... every other day, sure! But, then, it's not every day that I read two stories back to back that both fill me with disgust and uplift me at the same time. And certainly not on such sites as IMDB.com! But...
Here you go.
... Disgust:
Church Ad Rejected by Networks
Viacom's CBS and UPN networks have rejected a paid public service announcement by the United Church of Christ in which an announcer says, "Jesus didn't turn people away. Neither do we. ... No matter who you are, or where you are on life's journey, you are welcome here." In a statement, Viacom said: "Because this commercial touches on the exclusion of gay couples and other minority groups by other individuals and organizations. .. and the fact the Executive Branch has recently proposed a Constitutional Amendment to define marriage as a union between a man and a woman, this spot is unacceptable for broadcast on the networks." NBC has also rejected the ad as "too controversial," the church said. In a statement, the Rev. John H. Thomas, the church's president said that it was ironic that "an ad with a message of welcome and inclusion would be deemed too controversial. What's going on here?" The ad was accepted by Viacom's black-oriented BET cable network and its Nick at Nite channel as well as by ABC Family, Fox, Hallmark, and many Turner Broadcasting channels.
And just so you know, it's not the commercial that offends me or the church... but you probably guessed that.
... Uplift:
'Super-Size Me' Director In Deal with FX
Morgan Spurlock, whose Super Size Me became a rare documentary hit at the box office this year, has signed a deal with News Corp's FX cable network to produce a reality series, 30 Days, which will place an individual for 30 days into an environment that is completely at odds with his or her beliefs, upbringing, religion or profession. In the pilot episode, a Christian insurance salesman from West Virginia will move into the home of a Muslim family in Michigan, where he will learn to understand what it's like to be considered a security threat in one's own community. "I thought it would be great to create a television show that examined social issues without being preachy and didn't tell you what to do but deals with problems in a way that is palatable and entertaining," Spurlock told today's (Wednesday) Los Angeles Times. "We literally take somebody and have them walk in someone else's shoes and question their own belief structure."
Intelligent TV? It'll never last!
Here you go.
... Disgust:
Church Ad Rejected by Networks
Viacom's CBS and UPN networks have rejected a paid public service announcement by the United Church of Christ in which an announcer says, "Jesus didn't turn people away. Neither do we. ... No matter who you are, or where you are on life's journey, you are welcome here." In a statement, Viacom said: "Because this commercial touches on the exclusion of gay couples and other minority groups by other individuals and organizations. .. and the fact the Executive Branch has recently proposed a Constitutional Amendment to define marriage as a union between a man and a woman, this spot is unacceptable for broadcast on the networks." NBC has also rejected the ad as "too controversial," the church said. In a statement, the Rev. John H. Thomas, the church's president said that it was ironic that "an ad with a message of welcome and inclusion would be deemed too controversial. What's going on here?" The ad was accepted by Viacom's black-oriented BET cable network and its Nick at Nite channel as well as by ABC Family, Fox, Hallmark, and many Turner Broadcasting channels.
And just so you know, it's not the commercial that offends me or the church... but you probably guessed that.
... Uplift:
'Super-Size Me' Director In Deal with FX
Morgan Spurlock, whose Super Size Me became a rare documentary hit at the box office this year, has signed a deal with News Corp's FX cable network to produce a reality series, 30 Days, which will place an individual for 30 days into an environment that is completely at odds with his or her beliefs, upbringing, religion or profession. In the pilot episode, a Christian insurance salesman from West Virginia will move into the home of a Muslim family in Michigan, where he will learn to understand what it's like to be considered a security threat in one's own community. "I thought it would be great to create a television show that examined social issues without being preachy and didn't tell you what to do but deals with problems in a way that is palatable and entertaining," Spurlock told today's (Wednesday) Los Angeles Times. "We literally take somebody and have them walk in someone else's shoes and question their own belief structure."
Intelligent TV? It'll never last!
Maybe I'm not too old to be called up!...
Think you're too old to be sent to Iraq? Think again!
(All I can say is I'm SO GLAD I was never in the "service", cause the service never ends!)
Many thanks to Tom Tomorrow's site for turning me on to these articles:
This woman is 43 years old and is being sent over for 18 months!
This one's being sent to Iraq or Afghanistan and she's over 50!
This guy was discharged honorably and is now being called up again because the Army has decided he was a "deserter".
These people aren't being drafted. It's perfectly legal for the service to call you up after your out and it's perfectly political for the (burning) Bush administration not to institute a draft.
Is your oil cheap enough, yet?
(All I can say is I'm SO GLAD I was never in the "service", cause the service never ends!)
Many thanks to Tom Tomorrow's site for turning me on to these articles:
This woman is 43 years old and is being sent over for 18 months!
This one's being sent to Iraq or Afghanistan and she's over 50!
This guy was discharged honorably and is now being called up again because the Army has decided he was a "deserter".
These people aren't being drafted. It's perfectly legal for the service to call you up after your out and it's perfectly political for the (burning) Bush administration not to institute a draft.
Is your oil cheap enough, yet?
The house is closing in…
… which is how I feel sometimes. Not that I'm buying a house but that the house is buying me! Think about it! How many papers does the house have to sign? Where's it's credit report? It ain't doing shit!!!
Okay… sorry. I'm a little stressed. Vicky and I got into it this morning… I just want this whole thing to end and stay in our apartment!
Oh well.
As the final days approach, we have all kinds of things coming up. Last minute things: Final walk-throughs, certified checks, and fees on fees on fees! When they say that buying a house takes a year out of your life, they don't tell you that it's the last few days that does it! And this isn't my first time, I should know better.
But it looks like, as of next week, I will, once again, be a home owner. (A misnomer if ever I heard done. I'll be a "home paying-offer"! Considering the plans Vicky and I have, I will never really "own" this home.) So… why don't I tell you something about it?
The townhouse is set in the midst of a fairly large complex, all looking alike in a kind of Republican/Soviet conformity. No gates surround us - and I like that. I like that we're not segregated from the world, that there's no "us" and "them". The whole place is very peaceful and serene… well, as peaceful as you can get up against a freeway and serene as Anaheim (pronounced "A - na - hy - em", with phlegm) can get. We're shoved back against freeway at the back of a long residential area, effectively buffered against the city because, basically, there's nothing back there for anyone to see. Ah, but there's plenty back there for me to see! One block away is the pool (kiddie pool, jacuzzi, and two pools, actually!) and a small park. Then, around the corner, there's another, larger park and an elementary school! (I told Vicky, "That's where our child will go to school," and made myself so nervous I nearly vomited.) Outside of this residential area, you find Anaheim, with a Ralph's and a Carl's Jr. and a Del Taco and all the trappings… but only a few blocks in, Vicky and I will find home.
Now, just to get through the next week...
Okay… sorry. I'm a little stressed. Vicky and I got into it this morning… I just want this whole thing to end and stay in our apartment!
Oh well.
As the final days approach, we have all kinds of things coming up. Last minute things: Final walk-throughs, certified checks, and fees on fees on fees! When they say that buying a house takes a year out of your life, they don't tell you that it's the last few days that does it! And this isn't my first time, I should know better.
But it looks like, as of next week, I will, once again, be a home owner. (A misnomer if ever I heard done. I'll be a "home paying-offer"! Considering the plans Vicky and I have, I will never really "own" this home.) So… why don't I tell you something about it?
The townhouse is set in the midst of a fairly large complex, all looking alike in a kind of Republican/Soviet conformity. No gates surround us - and I like that. I like that we're not segregated from the world, that there's no "us" and "them". The whole place is very peaceful and serene… well, as peaceful as you can get up against a freeway and serene as Anaheim (pronounced "A - na - hy - em", with phlegm) can get. We're shoved back against freeway at the back of a long residential area, effectively buffered against the city because, basically, there's nothing back there for anyone to see. Ah, but there's plenty back there for me to see! One block away is the pool (kiddie pool, jacuzzi, and two pools, actually!) and a small park. Then, around the corner, there's another, larger park and an elementary school! (I told Vicky, "That's where our child will go to school," and made myself so nervous I nearly vomited.) Outside of this residential area, you find Anaheim, with a Ralph's and a Carl's Jr. and a Del Taco and all the trappings… but only a few blocks in, Vicky and I will find home.
Now, just to get through the next week...
Tuesday, November 30, 2004
Theory of De-evolution…
(Why do I get the idea I'm gonna piss someone off???)
I've been talking evolution lately, now that it looks like a foregone conclusion that Vicky and I will be having kids one day ("Another La Salle?! Run for your lives!!!") and I'll have to deal with the uneducated educators our system propagates like pod people. I've spoken to Vicky about this… and Rich… and Sean. "Look," I've said, "if they start teaching my kid creationism or intelligent design or God's Holy Writ or whatever they want to call it, instead of SCIENCE - you know, EVOLUTION - I'm going to be raising some serious shit."
As I said to Tim, "It might not help but, at least, I'll be able to make someone else's life miserable."
After all, why should Vicky get all the fun?
It's a travesty and an absolute embarrassment that, in the country where the Scope's trial was won by thinking people long before mountains of evidence supporting evolutionary theory had been acquired, we must tolerate ignorance and superstition. Wasn't one of the primary principals that this country was founded upon "Protection of the minority again the tyranny of the many"? (Yes. It was.)
Well, now (he said, getting to the link) a school district in Georgia feels it has to cover its butt before teaching science to its kids, lest logic-hating morons raise a stink…. You know, cause who would want SCIENCE taught to their kid. IT ain't one of the three R's - Religiosity, Racial Intolerance, and 'Rithmatic - is it? So, the school district of Cobb County (you know, like corn on the cobb - CREATED BY GOD!) now feels they need to put stickers on their science textbooks, reading "This textbook contains material on evolution. Evolution is a theory, not a fact, regarding the origin of living things. This material should be approached carefully, and critically considered."
Some have actually asked what harm is there is giving our children a choice. (Tell that to a woman who wants an abortion!) I'll tell you where the harm lies. The harm lies in glorifying superstition over science. The harm lies in letting your ignorance cloud your judgment. The harm lies in allowing some stupid mother fucker who couldn't get better than a D in high school but finds acceptance in his god-fearing, non-white-hating, homosexual-beating, poor-starving Republican fucking party to dictate how educated my child is allowed to be, nay required to be. Just because you're comfy with the national I.Q. slipping like the value of the dollar, Georgie-boy, doesn't mean everyone else is!
Well, not to be outdone some rather witty (that extra intelligence is good for something) and topical folk have created a variety of other stickers for you to post, wear, or hurt ignorant people with, which is a fairly simple task - Just make them read. Enjoy. My favorite? "This book discusses evolution. President George W. Bush said, On the issue of evolution, the verdict is still out on how God created the Earth." And, remember, science is to superstition as fact is to fiction. If you don't get that, wake the fuck up.
I've been talking evolution lately, now that it looks like a foregone conclusion that Vicky and I will be having kids one day ("Another La Salle?! Run for your lives!!!") and I'll have to deal with the uneducated educators our system propagates like pod people. I've spoken to Vicky about this… and Rich… and Sean. "Look," I've said, "if they start teaching my kid creationism or intelligent design or God's Holy Writ or whatever they want to call it, instead of SCIENCE - you know, EVOLUTION - I'm going to be raising some serious shit."
As I said to Tim, "It might not help but, at least, I'll be able to make someone else's life miserable."
After all, why should Vicky get all the fun?
It's a travesty and an absolute embarrassment that, in the country where the Scope's trial was won by thinking people long before mountains of evidence supporting evolutionary theory had been acquired, we must tolerate ignorance and superstition. Wasn't one of the primary principals that this country was founded upon "Protection of the minority again the tyranny of the many"? (Yes. It was.)
Well, now (he said, getting to the link) a school district in Georgia feels it has to cover its butt before teaching science to its kids, lest logic-hating morons raise a stink…. You know, cause who would want SCIENCE taught to their kid. IT ain't one of the three R's - Religiosity, Racial Intolerance, and 'Rithmatic - is it? So, the school district of Cobb County (you know, like corn on the cobb - CREATED BY GOD!) now feels they need to put stickers on their science textbooks, reading "This textbook contains material on evolution. Evolution is a theory, not a fact, regarding the origin of living things. This material should be approached carefully, and critically considered."
Some have actually asked what harm is there is giving our children a choice. (Tell that to a woman who wants an abortion!) I'll tell you where the harm lies. The harm lies in glorifying superstition over science. The harm lies in letting your ignorance cloud your judgment. The harm lies in allowing some stupid mother fucker who couldn't get better than a D in high school but finds acceptance in his god-fearing, non-white-hating, homosexual-beating, poor-starving Republican fucking party to dictate how educated my child is allowed to be, nay required to be. Just because you're comfy with the national I.Q. slipping like the value of the dollar, Georgie-boy, doesn't mean everyone else is!
Well, not to be outdone some rather witty (that extra intelligence is good for something) and topical folk have created a variety of other stickers for you to post, wear, or hurt ignorant people with, which is a fairly simple task - Just make them read. Enjoy. My favorite? "This book discusses evolution. President George W. Bush said, On the issue of evolution, the verdict is still out on how God created the Earth." And, remember, science is to superstition as fact is to fiction. If you don't get that, wake the fuck up.
With imprisonment and torture for all...
This will probably come as no surprise to any of my readers:
The International Committee of the Red Cross has charged in confidential reports to the United States government that the American military has intentionally used psychological and sometimes physical coercion "tantamount to torture" on prisoners at Guantánamo Bay, Cuba.
The finding that the handling of prisoners detained and interrogated at Guantánamo amounted to torture came after a visit by a Red Cross inspection team that spent most of last June in Guantánamo.
Be sure to take time out today to spit on anyone you know who voted for (burning) Bush.
The International Committee of the Red Cross has charged in confidential reports to the United States government that the American military has intentionally used psychological and sometimes physical coercion "tantamount to torture" on prisoners at Guantánamo Bay, Cuba.
The finding that the handling of prisoners detained and interrogated at Guantánamo amounted to torture came after a visit by a Red Cross inspection team that spent most of last June in Guantánamo.
Be sure to take time out today to spit on anyone you know who voted for (burning) Bush.
Fatty McFatFat...
"I'm married now. I can gain as much weight as I want."
I remember thinking this, back in 1988, when Rosa and I were first married.
Times change. People change. Hairstyles change… and interest rates fluctuate.
This morning, I practically needed a winch to get into my pants, my obese form fighting against any attempt to be clothed. I've put on 15 pounds since June, when Vicky and I first got together.
Well, fuck that. Get thee to a gym, young man!
I've been dealing with a great deal of stress and uncertainty of late but one thing is certain. I'm disgusting. It's time for me to get back to work or I'm never doing another show and I'll forever fill the frames of my wedding pictures with Vicky.
No thanks.
I'll keep you posted.
I remember thinking this, back in 1988, when Rosa and I were first married.
Times change. People change. Hairstyles change… and interest rates fluctuate.
This morning, I practically needed a winch to get into my pants, my obese form fighting against any attempt to be clothed. I've put on 15 pounds since June, when Vicky and I first got together.
Well, fuck that. Get thee to a gym, young man!
I've been dealing with a great deal of stress and uncertainty of late but one thing is certain. I'm disgusting. It's time for me to get back to work or I'm never doing another show and I'll forever fill the frames of my wedding pictures with Vicky.
No thanks.
I'll keep you posted.
Monday, November 29, 2004
Who are my readers, anyway?...
Sounds like it's time for a quiz or two!!!
Which famous philosopher do you most agree with? (Looks like it pegged my Kant-ian philosophy.)
Try the Belief-O-Matic! (Wow! It pegged me as a Unitarian Universalist at 100%. Theravada Buddhism comes in at only 88%!)
Be sure to put your results in the Comments section!
Which famous philosopher do you most agree with? (Looks like it pegged my Kant-ian philosophy.)
Try the Belief-O-Matic! (Wow! It pegged me as a Unitarian Universalist at 100%. Theravada Buddhism comes in at only 88%!)
Be sure to put your results in the Comments section!
You really can buy anything at Target...
Target keeps diversifying to keep up with the market and what a market they're into! Gotta remember to go to Target after work!
Thanksgiving without the adventure…
After two years with Thanksgiving "Adventures" - and a lifetime of strangeness to precede - it is with mixed feelings that I tell about a Thanksgiving that was nearly downright NORMAL!
Mixed feelings? Why? Well, let me tell you. There's something extremely satisfying about having a "perfect moment", a moment that (for a moment) seems to clarify everything, bring everything into relief. (Right about now, I'm in need of relief!) Last year, I had it crashing a funeral. The year before that it happened when I tried to commit suicide. (These recent ones seem to be surrounded by death. Go figure.) Normality, with its slow, easy lack of neurosis-inspiring events, is far less dramatic than that moment of clarity, when the answers explode before you.
I guess you could say I got used to it. This is not to say I cannot get used to this new way of life. In fact, this new way of life is really fun.
Thanksgiving started for me very early… too early, in fact. I awoke much earlier than I needed to and sat around playing video games for a while. But the morning came quickly and Vicky and I were both getting ready shortly. We got up early because we were heading out to Lancaster, which is a bit of a drive from Garden Grove. (About 99 miles, if you'd like to know.)
Before heading out that way, though, we stopped by the Claim Jumper catering offices. We were picking up a complete Thanksgiving dinner to bring along with us. The reasoning was that, with Vicky's mom owning her own restaurant and cooking 364 days a year, we didn't want her mom to have to cook on her day off. The dinner came in two enormous boxes, one hot and one cold, and a platter of biscuits that I had a hard time not reaching into - it all looked very good! I wish I could remember the entire menu (or find the website) but will you believe me when I tell you it was thorough (very large!) without bringing up memories of Thanksgiving leftovers just yet? Thank you.
Once on the road, I popped in Ken 3.7. Vicky had yet to hear it and we had agreed to listen to it that day, with 3.8 to follow on the way home. For those of you who don't remember, Ken 3.7 was one of last year's Holiday CDs and it covered: the Happy Landings monologue, a fast food bit, totaling my car, the emotional trauma of losing my car, the first Thanksgiving Adventure, and endless moaning about Rosa. It went on and on and on. Crap. I sat there, mentally begging my recorded voice to shut the hell up about how I'd never love another and how I would always love Rosa, knowing how false that turned out, and tried not to show too much self-loathing, just hoping Vicky would get some of the jokes. Of course, she didn't. She didn't so much as crack a smile. She might love me but she definitely wouldn't pay to see me at the Improv.
Once in Lancaster, we dropped off the food at the restaurant. Vicky's mom was already in there… cooking! Cooking! What about the whole "save her from cooking" idea? That was shot to hell.
We had plenty of time before we ate - which sucked because we hadn't had breakfast and my stomach was singing "Feed Me Seymour" - so we took off (to get away from the food) and went somewhere less likely to make us hungry. We went to visit her grandmother in the convalescent hospital. I'd only met this woman once before. It was the day when I was going to ask Vicky to marry me and she had taken my hand and said, "I want you to know we approve of you." So, I already had a soft spot for her. This time, I don't know what happened to me, perhaps it was because my emotional walls had already been broken down by weeks of escrow and thoughts of taking Rosa to court, but I was totally connected with this old woman. We found her in the hall outside her room in a wheelchair and I wheeled her over to where we could all sit and talk and we did and I noticed her name was Audrey and remembered how Vicky and once said she wanted to name her daughter "Audrey" and thought about how it was also my mom's name, and my sister's, and thought "That might not be too bad" and thought "Oh, my god. We might just have a name for our daughter" and thought "Our daughter? Our daughter?" and thought "WE'RE GONNA HAVE A BABY!" and then spent the rest of the time there convincing myself not to cry.
I've been going through a lot, emotionally. I'm a bit raw.
Now, Vicky isn't pregnant, for those of you wondering, and won't be for a while. But the idea that I've been able to find someone to love and who I want to marry and with whom I want to have kids, when only a year ago I was sure it would never happen, is devastating to any emotional decorum I might have. It makes me enormously happy and is probably why I spend so much time looking at Vicky. In fact, I'd poke her to see if she's real but she's not the kind of person who likes to be stared at, let alone poked!
We were back at the restaurant a while later, picking at food as we waited for the real meal to be served, greeting people as they arrived. Her mom and dad were already there. Her mom gave me smiles but, then, I'm very flattering. Her dad, Steve, and I got along very well as always. Her brother came in and - I don't know what Vicky's previous boyfriends were like but Mike (her brother) likes me so I'm guessing (and who cares if I'm proved wrong) he likes me best. Her aunt and uncle, Reyna and John - no, Vicky, you don't have to correct my spelling - and her grandfather (who everyone seems to call "Grandpa" so why should I be any different) were also there. Reyna was very nice. We spoke quite a bit. John did what he always did. "You're still with this one," he asked Vicky over and over about me. Nice guy but I wanna smack him. (She doesn't need any encouragement from you, John!) Then, new faces. (This list is not in order of arrival, by the way. It's a few days late for that.) Her cousin Walter and his wife, Cindy, and their son, Andrew, were there along with family friends, Tom and wife Trudy and kids. So, there were a few people. And all of them were saying, "So, you're the guy. I've heard so much about you. Vicky seems so happy. When's the date?"
I felt important. I felt like I would be missed if I wasn't there. Maybe you'll be surprised by this, and maybe not, but I never felt like that around Rosa's family. I could do this every year. To hell with that, let's make Indian Killing Day a monthly event!
Anyway, back to the food. Things were brought, Vicky's mom (Noriko, if I'm getting the spelling right) cooked, and there was the feast Vicky and I brought. Here's a short list - and, remember, I'm leaving things out:
A 16-18 pound turkey
A big roast
A medium-sized ham (so, I didn't weigh them!)
Corn on the cob
Steamed veggies
Green beans w/almonds
Chunky mashed potatoes
Creamy mashed potatoes
A sliced potato with green beans and cheese and other stuff kinda dish
Two kinds of stuffing
Cranberry/Orange Relish
Rolls
Salad (Oh My God. This spinach salad, from Claim Jumper, was to die for!)
And a couple gravies…
(Vicky's going to tell me everything I forgot… )
And we had about four pies and a cheesecake. And wines and beers.
It was huge. Everybody talked. People laughed. Nobody fought. (And if you knew my family, you'd understand how amazing that is!)
Can I go back in time and be adopted? (According to the Marsha/Greg rule, we could still have sex since we wouldn't be blood relatives. See? You DO learn things from TV!)
After dinner, Noriko (if I'm misspelling her name, I'm really going to get it) went around handing out Cuban cigars. "Do you smoke?" she asked me.
Only when I'm on fire? Nope. Not the time for a line like that.
I took one and "the guys" all went out to smoke them. We tried to light them in the wind, Tom, Walter, Mike, and myself, and passed the time smoking and talking and relighting when the wind blow out our stogies. It was pretty neat.
Except that I found out that I hate Cuban cigars. They're not for men like me. They're made for the same men who drink rotgut for the taste and eat buffalo to prove they're at the top of the food chain, for men who fight cause they like the feel of it, and drive gas-guzzling cars because they can. They're not for men with brains. They taste like crap… but I smoked it anyway. Then, Walter and I smoked a cigarette later. He told me how happy he was for Vicky and I, which was really nice because it came without be asked for, as I asked him about living in Ventura (in a city whose name I couldn't spell if I tried).
Eventually, though, it was over and people trickled out. Soon, the only ones left were Vicky, Mike, Steve, Noriko, and myself. I helped them clean up and then we sat around, wrapping up. Mike talked to his mom about how she shouldn't speed. Vicky talked about how her office was moving. Noriko talked about how she couldn't take the day after Thanksgiving off because, when she did last year, one of her competitors had a really huge day. Steve did dishes - boy, he loves his wife. I just kind of sat back and enjoyed it.
Then, we drove home, listening to Ken 3.8… well, a rough cut of it. I had to fix a couple things once we got home.
And, that was it. No adventure. No perfect moments. Just a nice day - one I will always remember fondly.
Mixed feelings? Why? Well, let me tell you. There's something extremely satisfying about having a "perfect moment", a moment that (for a moment) seems to clarify everything, bring everything into relief. (Right about now, I'm in need of relief!) Last year, I had it crashing a funeral. The year before that it happened when I tried to commit suicide. (These recent ones seem to be surrounded by death. Go figure.) Normality, with its slow, easy lack of neurosis-inspiring events, is far less dramatic than that moment of clarity, when the answers explode before you.
I guess you could say I got used to it. This is not to say I cannot get used to this new way of life. In fact, this new way of life is really fun.
Thanksgiving started for me very early… too early, in fact. I awoke much earlier than I needed to and sat around playing video games for a while. But the morning came quickly and Vicky and I were both getting ready shortly. We got up early because we were heading out to Lancaster, which is a bit of a drive from Garden Grove. (About 99 miles, if you'd like to know.)
Before heading out that way, though, we stopped by the Claim Jumper catering offices. We were picking up a complete Thanksgiving dinner to bring along with us. The reasoning was that, with Vicky's mom owning her own restaurant and cooking 364 days a year, we didn't want her mom to have to cook on her day off. The dinner came in two enormous boxes, one hot and one cold, and a platter of biscuits that I had a hard time not reaching into - it all looked very good! I wish I could remember the entire menu (or find the website) but will you believe me when I tell you it was thorough (very large!) without bringing up memories of Thanksgiving leftovers just yet? Thank you.
Once on the road, I popped in Ken 3.7. Vicky had yet to hear it and we had agreed to listen to it that day, with 3.8 to follow on the way home. For those of you who don't remember, Ken 3.7 was one of last year's Holiday CDs and it covered: the Happy Landings monologue, a fast food bit, totaling my car, the emotional trauma of losing my car, the first Thanksgiving Adventure, and endless moaning about Rosa. It went on and on and on. Crap. I sat there, mentally begging my recorded voice to shut the hell up about how I'd never love another and how I would always love Rosa, knowing how false that turned out, and tried not to show too much self-loathing, just hoping Vicky would get some of the jokes. Of course, she didn't. She didn't so much as crack a smile. She might love me but she definitely wouldn't pay to see me at the Improv.
Once in Lancaster, we dropped off the food at the restaurant. Vicky's mom was already in there… cooking! Cooking! What about the whole "save her from cooking" idea? That was shot to hell.
We had plenty of time before we ate - which sucked because we hadn't had breakfast and my stomach was singing "Feed Me Seymour" - so we took off (to get away from the food) and went somewhere less likely to make us hungry. We went to visit her grandmother in the convalescent hospital. I'd only met this woman once before. It was the day when I was going to ask Vicky to marry me and she had taken my hand and said, "I want you to know we approve of you." So, I already had a soft spot for her. This time, I don't know what happened to me, perhaps it was because my emotional walls had already been broken down by weeks of escrow and thoughts of taking Rosa to court, but I was totally connected with this old woman. We found her in the hall outside her room in a wheelchair and I wheeled her over to where we could all sit and talk and we did and I noticed her name was Audrey and remembered how Vicky and once said she wanted to name her daughter "Audrey" and thought about how it was also my mom's name, and my sister's, and thought "That might not be too bad" and thought "Oh, my god. We might just have a name for our daughter" and thought "Our daughter? Our daughter?" and thought "WE'RE GONNA HAVE A BABY!" and then spent the rest of the time there convincing myself not to cry.
I've been going through a lot, emotionally. I'm a bit raw.
Now, Vicky isn't pregnant, for those of you wondering, and won't be for a while. But the idea that I've been able to find someone to love and who I want to marry and with whom I want to have kids, when only a year ago I was sure it would never happen, is devastating to any emotional decorum I might have. It makes me enormously happy and is probably why I spend so much time looking at Vicky. In fact, I'd poke her to see if she's real but she's not the kind of person who likes to be stared at, let alone poked!
We were back at the restaurant a while later, picking at food as we waited for the real meal to be served, greeting people as they arrived. Her mom and dad were already there. Her mom gave me smiles but, then, I'm very flattering. Her dad, Steve, and I got along very well as always. Her brother came in and - I don't know what Vicky's previous boyfriends were like but Mike (her brother) likes me so I'm guessing (and who cares if I'm proved wrong) he likes me best. Her aunt and uncle, Reyna and John - no, Vicky, you don't have to correct my spelling - and her grandfather (who everyone seems to call "Grandpa" so why should I be any different) were also there. Reyna was very nice. We spoke quite a bit. John did what he always did. "You're still with this one," he asked Vicky over and over about me. Nice guy but I wanna smack him. (She doesn't need any encouragement from you, John!) Then, new faces. (This list is not in order of arrival, by the way. It's a few days late for that.) Her cousin Walter and his wife, Cindy, and their son, Andrew, were there along with family friends, Tom and wife Trudy and kids. So, there were a few people. And all of them were saying, "So, you're the guy. I've heard so much about you. Vicky seems so happy. When's the date?"
I felt important. I felt like I would be missed if I wasn't there. Maybe you'll be surprised by this, and maybe not, but I never felt like that around Rosa's family. I could do this every year. To hell with that, let's make Indian Killing Day a monthly event!
Anyway, back to the food. Things were brought, Vicky's mom (Noriko, if I'm getting the spelling right) cooked, and there was the feast Vicky and I brought. Here's a short list - and, remember, I'm leaving things out:
A 16-18 pound turkey
A big roast
A medium-sized ham (so, I didn't weigh them!)
Corn on the cob
Steamed veggies
Green beans w/almonds
Chunky mashed potatoes
Creamy mashed potatoes
A sliced potato with green beans and cheese and other stuff kinda dish
Two kinds of stuffing
Cranberry/Orange Relish
Rolls
Salad (Oh My God. This spinach salad, from Claim Jumper, was to die for!)
And a couple gravies…
(Vicky's going to tell me everything I forgot… )
And we had about four pies and a cheesecake. And wines and beers.
It was huge. Everybody talked. People laughed. Nobody fought. (And if you knew my family, you'd understand how amazing that is!)
Can I go back in time and be adopted? (According to the Marsha/Greg rule, we could still have sex since we wouldn't be blood relatives. See? You DO learn things from TV!)
After dinner, Noriko (if I'm misspelling her name, I'm really going to get it) went around handing out Cuban cigars. "Do you smoke?" she asked me.
Only when I'm on fire? Nope. Not the time for a line like that.
I took one and "the guys" all went out to smoke them. We tried to light them in the wind, Tom, Walter, Mike, and myself, and passed the time smoking and talking and relighting when the wind blow out our stogies. It was pretty neat.
Except that I found out that I hate Cuban cigars. They're not for men like me. They're made for the same men who drink rotgut for the taste and eat buffalo to prove they're at the top of the food chain, for men who fight cause they like the feel of it, and drive gas-guzzling cars because they can. They're not for men with brains. They taste like crap… but I smoked it anyway. Then, Walter and I smoked a cigarette later. He told me how happy he was for Vicky and I, which was really nice because it came without be asked for, as I asked him about living in Ventura (in a city whose name I couldn't spell if I tried).
Eventually, though, it was over and people trickled out. Soon, the only ones left were Vicky, Mike, Steve, Noriko, and myself. I helped them clean up and then we sat around, wrapping up. Mike talked to his mom about how she shouldn't speed. Vicky talked about how her office was moving. Noriko talked about how she couldn't take the day after Thanksgiving off because, when she did last year, one of her competitors had a really huge day. Steve did dishes - boy, he loves his wife. I just kind of sat back and enjoyed it.
Then, we drove home, listening to Ken 3.8… well, a rough cut of it. I had to fix a couple things once we got home.
And, that was it. No adventure. No perfect moments. Just a nice day - one I will always remember fondly.
Wednesday, November 24, 2004
Sell phones...?
Or cell phones?
Either way, I got my first (working) cell phone today. Vicky gave it to me to keep track of me while I sleep around behind her back with her never being the wizer...
Actually, I think it's kind of neat.
That said, what's with all the cell phone explosions?! And why is it I only find out now?!
Either way, I got my first (working) cell phone today. Vicky gave it to me to keep track of me while I sleep around behind her back with her never being the wizer...
Actually, I think it's kind of neat.
That said, what's with all the cell phone explosions?! And why is it I only find out now?!
Eating and Writing...
Oy, what a world! What a world!
Well, we're entering the Thanksgiving holiday, known by the Indians (eg. Native Americans) as "Fuckin' Europeans" Day, known on the continent of Africa as "Can We Have Some" Day, know by the Iraqis as "Flaunt It You Greedy MotherFuckers" Day, and known by the turkeys as "We're Fucked" Day.
But enough with the cussing.
I finished a first master of Ken 3.8 last night. This gives me a chance to listen for and fix any major errors before it goes out the door. Vicky and I will listen to it on the way back from her parent's place on Thursday. Should be interesting.
Parent's place? Yep, we is going to Lancaster for Tumsgiving. You want to hear what Ken's life is like? We're having Claim Jumper catering in an empty Japanese restaurant in the desert. That one sentence tells me that Vicky has been fully indoctrinated into the Ken way of life.
Well, you may be hearing about a new novel from me sometime soon. Then again, you might not. But I'm climbing the walls, having not written anything since the summer, and I'm beginning to think that a chance of venue might be what I need. I've been focusing on a half-finished novel called "Vampire Society". It's a novel I started just before Rosa and I split up and I haven't been able to touch since. It's about a world where consumerism is the prime virtue. In fact, it could be non-fiction. The problem I've had is that there was a split between the characters early in their lives (they meet in high school). But what could be this split? Originally, the device used was the theft of something, but it never rang true. It would need to be something deep and primary to the characters that would cause this split.
Last night, it occurred to me that the perfect device - wait. Let me tell you something. This was supposed to be my third philosophical novel. Okay? It was supposed to be about BIG IDEAS. Got it? If you really follow me, it will probably come as some surprise that only after five years did it occur to me that the perfect device must be: POLITICS.
Once that wall fell, everything started falling into place.
But am I ready for the pain of writing a book? The pain of rejection? The pain of possibly putting another book on the shelf after not getting it published?
Let me put it to you this way. I'm buying a house. That gives me the rest of the year to think about it.
You'll hear more about this in '05.
Well, we're entering the Thanksgiving holiday, known by the Indians (eg. Native Americans) as "Fuckin' Europeans" Day, known on the continent of Africa as "Can We Have Some" Day, know by the Iraqis as "Flaunt It You Greedy MotherFuckers" Day, and known by the turkeys as "We're Fucked" Day.
But enough with the cussing.
I finished a first master of Ken 3.8 last night. This gives me a chance to listen for and fix any major errors before it goes out the door. Vicky and I will listen to it on the way back from her parent's place on Thursday. Should be interesting.
Parent's place? Yep, we is going to Lancaster for Tumsgiving. You want to hear what Ken's life is like? We're having Claim Jumper catering in an empty Japanese restaurant in the desert. That one sentence tells me that Vicky has been fully indoctrinated into the Ken way of life.
Well, you may be hearing about a new novel from me sometime soon. Then again, you might not. But I'm climbing the walls, having not written anything since the summer, and I'm beginning to think that a chance of venue might be what I need. I've been focusing on a half-finished novel called "Vampire Society". It's a novel I started just before Rosa and I split up and I haven't been able to touch since. It's about a world where consumerism is the prime virtue. In fact, it could be non-fiction. The problem I've had is that there was a split between the characters early in their lives (they meet in high school). But what could be this split? Originally, the device used was the theft of something, but it never rang true. It would need to be something deep and primary to the characters that would cause this split.
Last night, it occurred to me that the perfect device - wait. Let me tell you something. This was supposed to be my third philosophical novel. Okay? It was supposed to be about BIG IDEAS. Got it? If you really follow me, it will probably come as some surprise that only after five years did it occur to me that the perfect device must be: POLITICS.
Once that wall fell, everything started falling into place.
But am I ready for the pain of writing a book? The pain of rejection? The pain of possibly putting another book on the shelf after not getting it published?
Let me put it to you this way. I'm buying a house. That gives me the rest of the year to think about it.
You'll hear more about this in '05.
OHIO = OMFG!...
Which is to say, Oh My Fucking God!
The Associated Press is reporting this morning:
A federal judge on Tuesday denied a request by third-party presidential candidates who wanted to force a recount of Ohio ballots even before the official count was finished.
Judge James G. Carr in Toledo ruled that the candidates have a right under Ohio law to a recount, but said it can wait. The judge wrote that he saw no reason to interfere with the final stages of Ohio's electoral process. Officials have said the results will be certified by Dec. 6.
With the Electoral vote directly affected (swayed if not chosen) by the popular, the judges move gives the state to (burning) Bush. I'd be pissed if I were you, folks. This is your government, your country, being stolen from you!
The Associated Press is reporting this morning:
A federal judge on Tuesday denied a request by third-party presidential candidates who wanted to force a recount of Ohio ballots even before the official count was finished.
Judge James G. Carr in Toledo ruled that the candidates have a right under Ohio law to a recount, but said it can wait. The judge wrote that he saw no reason to interfere with the final stages of Ohio's electoral process. Officials have said the results will be certified by Dec. 6.
With the Electoral vote directly affected (swayed if not chosen) by the popular, the judges move gives the state to (burning) Bush. I'd be pissed if I were you, folks. This is your government, your country, being stolen from you!
Tuesday, November 23, 2004
I don't know's on third...
I've told you I work with some real morons, right? Well, this was actually said at work today.
Me. This says Boot Version. What's a Boot Version.
Moron. It's a version of the boot.
Me. What's that?
Moron. It tracks the boot to give it a version.
Me. So, it tells you how many times the product was booted up?
Moron. No.
Me. What then?
Moron. It's an OS.
Me. No, it's not! An OS is an operating system.
Moron. Right. It operates the boot.
Me. The version of the boot operated the boot?
Moron. And gives it the version.
Me. What version?!
Moron. The boot version.
Me. Look. Why would anyone at home want to know what the boot version is?
Moron. In case they want to update the version of their boot, they'll need the boot code for that version to update a different version of the code.
Me. For that version?
Moron. Right!
Me. I don't even know what you're talking about!
Me. This says Boot Version. What's a Boot Version.
Moron. It's a version of the boot.
Me. What's that?
Moron. It tracks the boot to give it a version.
Me. So, it tells you how many times the product was booted up?
Moron. No.
Me. What then?
Moron. It's an OS.
Me. No, it's not! An OS is an operating system.
Moron. Right. It operates the boot.
Me. The version of the boot operated the boot?
Moron. And gives it the version.
Me. What version?!
Moron. The boot version.
Me. Look. Why would anyone at home want to know what the boot version is?
Moron. In case they want to update the version of their boot, they'll need the boot code for that version to update a different version of the code.
Me. For that version?
Moron. Right!
Me. I don't even know what you're talking about!
Monday, November 22, 2004
After Hours…
Move recommendation time!
So, I watched Martin Scorsese's After Hours last night on DVD, a movie I moderately liked when it was in the theaters and purchased only because of some deep-seeded, homosexual attraction for Griffin Dunne (face it, he's cute) [I'll give those of you barfing a second before I continue.], and found it to be a very entertaining movie and more! First off, the acting is really first rate, which says a lot because the story they were working off of looks like it was written off a series of bar napkins. On top of that, this has got to be Scorsese directing at his best. The camera moves with ballet-ic grace, and it's a hyperactive ballerina! For a movie shot over the span of 40 nights (it was all shot "After Hours"), it's surprising how much movement they get in there and how intricate and well-placed that shots are.
But there's more to it than that - and here's why you need to see it. This movie was shot in 1985 and, yet, embodies a "post-9/11" paranoia better than any move I've seen after 9/11! It's a world that has been shit on so much that people are looking over their shoulders! They're wonder when the (burning) Bush will stick them next - and where!
So, go get it. It's cheap! Or rent it. (Don't watch it on TV. You'll miss the tits - so I'm not that gay, after all - and the well-used cussing and it'll be cropped down to pan-and-forget it size.)
Or borrow my copy… you know, if you live close enough.
So, I watched Martin Scorsese's After Hours last night on DVD, a movie I moderately liked when it was in the theaters and purchased only because of some deep-seeded, homosexual attraction for Griffin Dunne (face it, he's cute) [I'll give those of you barfing a second before I continue.], and found it to be a very entertaining movie and more! First off, the acting is really first rate, which says a lot because the story they were working off of looks like it was written off a series of bar napkins. On top of that, this has got to be Scorsese directing at his best. The camera moves with ballet-ic grace, and it's a hyperactive ballerina! For a movie shot over the span of 40 nights (it was all shot "After Hours"), it's surprising how much movement they get in there and how intricate and well-placed that shots are.
But there's more to it than that - and here's why you need to see it. This movie was shot in 1985 and, yet, embodies a "post-9/11" paranoia better than any move I've seen after 9/11! It's a world that has been shit on so much that people are looking over their shoulders! They're wonder when the (burning) Bush will stick them next - and where!
So, go get it. It's cheap! Or rent it. (Don't watch it on TV. You'll miss the tits - so I'm not that gay, after all - and the well-used cussing and it'll be cropped down to pan-and-forget it size.)
Or borrow my copy… you know, if you live close enough.
Things are Great!... Oh, who am I kidding???....
Reporting live from the dumps, here's Ken:
Okay, so things are pretty stressful right now. I getting it from all sides with this house. I'll be glad when we're done or someone kills me. On top of that, things could be a lot better with Vicky.
But wait! There's more!
Looks like I may be suing Rosa. I got an email from her this morning (yes, another email -she's suddenly become Mary Fucking Talkative!), saying (yes, again) that things are really hard for her and she can't pay me back. I'd tell her to blow me but I'm engaged. So, it looks like the only way I'm ever going to get a cent back is to take her to small claims court. And I'm really torn about it. I can't even put it into words - well, I could but then you'd have my eighth book. In short: I loved her. She fucked me. (Repeat that sentence a few dozen more times.) Now, I've got to defend myself and that'll probably fuck her. I feel absolutely rotten about it.
That said, it looks very likely that I'm going to do it.
Now, how much would you pay?
I'm getting ready to finish Ken 3.8. For those of you new to this, it's the follow-up, autobiographical-monologue, CD of my 38th year. It includes: the Speed Racer theme song, crashing a funeral, the Mary Tyler Moore theme song, meeting Vicky, and me as a total ass. It'll go out as a Christmas gift along with two other CDs: Songs I Heard As A Child and Reflections on a Summer's Night. Send me an email if you'd like a copy - odds are, if you're reading this, you're already on the short list.
I told Vicky that these CDs have become just too much work. I've been working on Ken 3.8 for nearly a month! I was kind of hoping it would be the last one. Then, she said, "You have to do one next year! You have to cover the wedding!"
The wedding. Can you imagine me writing an autobiographical-monologue about our wedding?
… and not getting hit for it?
Okay, so things are pretty stressful right now. I getting it from all sides with this house. I'll be glad when we're done or someone kills me. On top of that, things could be a lot better with Vicky.
But wait! There's more!
Looks like I may be suing Rosa. I got an email from her this morning (yes, another email -she's suddenly become Mary Fucking Talkative!), saying (yes, again) that things are really hard for her and she can't pay me back. I'd tell her to blow me but I'm engaged. So, it looks like the only way I'm ever going to get a cent back is to take her to small claims court. And I'm really torn about it. I can't even put it into words - well, I could but then you'd have my eighth book. In short: I loved her. She fucked me. (Repeat that sentence a few dozen more times.) Now, I've got to defend myself and that'll probably fuck her. I feel absolutely rotten about it.
That said, it looks very likely that I'm going to do it.
Now, how much would you pay?
I'm getting ready to finish Ken 3.8. For those of you new to this, it's the follow-up, autobiographical-monologue, CD of my 38th year. It includes: the Speed Racer theme song, crashing a funeral, the Mary Tyler Moore theme song, meeting Vicky, and me as a total ass. It'll go out as a Christmas gift along with two other CDs: Songs I Heard As A Child and Reflections on a Summer's Night. Send me an email if you'd like a copy - odds are, if you're reading this, you're already on the short list.
I told Vicky that these CDs have become just too much work. I've been working on Ken 3.8 for nearly a month! I was kind of hoping it would be the last one. Then, she said, "You have to do one next year! You have to cover the wedding!"
The wedding. Can you imagine me writing an autobiographical-monologue about our wedding?
… and not getting hit for it?
Friday, November 19, 2004
Speaking of Florida...
I know, I know. Nobody was speaking of Florida!
But maybe they should be!
Check this out - and thank Vicky for turning me on to it:
'Stinking Evidence' of Possible Election Fraud Found in Florida
But maybe they should be!
Check this out - and thank Vicky for turning me on to it:
'Stinking Evidence' of Possible Election Fraud Found in Florida
Rosa… Rosa… Rosa…
You know, you think this would be all over. Wouldn't you? I know I would.
… I would. But then, I know something you don't.
Time to talk about it.
First, let me say that Rich was out from Florida this past week. It was great visiting with him. I wish I had a picture of us together; I'd post it for you to see. We spent a lot of time talking about writing. Scratch that. We spent an inordinate amount of time talking about writing, our common bond since the beginning. Most of the time was spent talking about "the book". "The book" is what Rich wants to write with me but he can't seem to get started. (And that was part of our agreement, that he get it started.) "The book" is going to be about two guys who have gone through life like it was a shredder and still keep going. A kind of "self-help book for guys" that says, "You bet it sucks but keep smiling". That's what it's supposed to be about.
He suggested it nearly a year ago and I told him recently that I did not want to write about Rosa after I'm married to Vicky. For that matter, I don't much want to write about Rosa now.
As you know, I loaned her $10,000 nearly two years ago. She agreed to pay me back, with interest, within six months.
She still hasn't paid me back.
So, a few weeks ago, I sent her an email. I told her that I didn't care about the interest. I didn't care about how much time had passed. I told her I didn't want a relationship, I didn't want to talk, all I want is my money. Give me my money, bitch!
She replied almost immediately, giving me her life's sad story, and said she'd pay me some of the money back next month.
This morning, I got another email from her. In it, she said that she assumed I never received her first reply. Why did she make that assumption? I can only assume it was because I didn't write her back. Of course, I didn't write her back! What was there to say? She went on to say that times are tough for her (I'll spare you the lies) and that she wouldn't be able to pay me back. That she refuses to pay me back is inescapable. It just took her a few weeks to admit that.
Receiving emails from Rosa naturally makes me question how I feel about her. I did that this morning.
And I came to some rather startling and, it would seem at least, contrary conclusions. I mention they're contrary for those of you who tempted to write me back and say, "Hey, this don't make any sense!" I know. That's just simply how it is.
First and foremost, I can't think about Rosa without feeling sick. That's where I'm at. I deeply regret ever losing her but I would never want her back. I feel terrible about how our marriage ended but I'm really glad it did. I miss her and hope I never see her again. In a way, I pity her… but mostly, I loathe her. I don't hate her. I don't wish her ill. But I hope, for her sake, that I never see her. I don't anticipate that it would be a pleasant encounter. Now, this doesn't mean I'd launch a flurry of blows, attacking her once I saw her. I see it going something like this:
Rosa: Ken! Hi! It's good to see you!
Ken: Get the fuck away from me. (And I'd probably say "bitch" just afterwards.)
She took much more than she gave and I see any suffering she endures simply as payback.
… and now Rich wants to write this book. Oh, that'll be fun.
… I would. But then, I know something you don't.
Time to talk about it.
First, let me say that Rich was out from Florida this past week. It was great visiting with him. I wish I had a picture of us together; I'd post it for you to see. We spent a lot of time talking about writing. Scratch that. We spent an inordinate amount of time talking about writing, our common bond since the beginning. Most of the time was spent talking about "the book". "The book" is what Rich wants to write with me but he can't seem to get started. (And that was part of our agreement, that he get it started.) "The book" is going to be about two guys who have gone through life like it was a shredder and still keep going. A kind of "self-help book for guys" that says, "You bet it sucks but keep smiling". That's what it's supposed to be about.
He suggested it nearly a year ago and I told him recently that I did not want to write about Rosa after I'm married to Vicky. For that matter, I don't much want to write about Rosa now.
As you know, I loaned her $10,000 nearly two years ago. She agreed to pay me back, with interest, within six months.
She still hasn't paid me back.
So, a few weeks ago, I sent her an email. I told her that I didn't care about the interest. I didn't care about how much time had passed. I told her I didn't want a relationship, I didn't want to talk, all I want is my money. Give me my money, bitch!
She replied almost immediately, giving me her life's sad story, and said she'd pay me some of the money back next month.
This morning, I got another email from her. In it, she said that she assumed I never received her first reply. Why did she make that assumption? I can only assume it was because I didn't write her back. Of course, I didn't write her back! What was there to say? She went on to say that times are tough for her (I'll spare you the lies) and that she wouldn't be able to pay me back. That she refuses to pay me back is inescapable. It just took her a few weeks to admit that.
Receiving emails from Rosa naturally makes me question how I feel about her. I did that this morning.
And I came to some rather startling and, it would seem at least, contrary conclusions. I mention they're contrary for those of you who tempted to write me back and say, "Hey, this don't make any sense!" I know. That's just simply how it is.
First and foremost, I can't think about Rosa without feeling sick. That's where I'm at. I deeply regret ever losing her but I would never want her back. I feel terrible about how our marriage ended but I'm really glad it did. I miss her and hope I never see her again. In a way, I pity her… but mostly, I loathe her. I don't hate her. I don't wish her ill. But I hope, for her sake, that I never see her. I don't anticipate that it would be a pleasant encounter. Now, this doesn't mean I'd launch a flurry of blows, attacking her once I saw her. I see it going something like this:
Rosa: Ken! Hi! It's good to see you!
Ken: Get the fuck away from me. (And I'd probably say "bitch" just afterwards.)
She took much more than she gave and I see any suffering she endures simply as payback.
… and now Rich wants to write this book. Oh, that'll be fun.
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