tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-65734652024-03-08T01:02:16.575-06:00Modern LivesMy life and world-views with dry wit, on the rocks with a twist.Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10776423565752386289noreply@blogger.comBlogger132125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6573465.post-5781457131982754292019-03-15T16:08:00.001-05:002019-03-15T17:06:30.182-05:00On "Political Differences"I had some thoughts on this <a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/politics/archive/2019/03/us-counties-vary-their-degree-partisan-prejudice/583072/" target="_blank">interesting article</a> and was gonna thread them on my Twitter timeline, but I have too much to say on the matter, so I decided to dig out and dust off my old blog and post them here.<br />
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Here's the thing about explicitly disliking a "political other" that the media doesn't want to cop to: There is actually clearly a right and wrong side at this point in history.<br />
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Once upon a time, the differences in the Democratic and the Republican parties were simply regional and political stances on tax policy and fiscal spending and a myriad of other procedural thingamabobs. Precisely because both parties were inherently and inexorably racist, misogynistic, and LGBTQ-phobic because <i>America</i> was vastly racist, misogynistic, and LGBTQ-phobic.<br />
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Some might argue that it still is. And they're right. It is. But it used to be FAR, FAR worse and much more banally violent about it, too. POC, women, and LGBTQ people were freely beaten and murdered, with little repercussion to their attackers, for merely existing, or having the AUDACITY for wanting to be simply left alone in that existence, or—crime of crimes—to have the same fair chance white men enjoy in life. Finally, enough people banded together and made their voices loud enough in declaring that this was not right, protections are needed, and slowly, reluctantly, the government began to listen.<br />
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The Civil Rights Act in 1964 ended racial segregation and employment discrimination based on race, color, religion, sex, or national origin, but any woman or person of color will tell you racism and sexism still exist and are still practiced in less-than overt ways that are difficult to prove in a legal system which still favors the wealthy and the white and the cis-het male among us with leniency and a larger share of the benefit of the doubt. The Voting Rights Act of 1965 aimed to remove the last state and local barriers meant to keep POC from exercising their right to vote.<br />
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In the decades following the Stonewall Uprising of 1969, LGTBQ people and their allies fought tirelessly for the right to live lives free of persecution, which finally culminated in 2003 when <i>Lawrence v. Texas</i> struck down so-called "anti-sodomy laws," and then 12 years later upon winning the right to marry whom they choose with <i>Obergefell v. Hodge</i>s. However, systemic prejudice against LGBTQ people is still perfectly legal in 26 states.<br />
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That's right. Twenty-six states—more than half the nation—find nothing legally immoral about firing, evicting, or otherwise banning/refusing service to people for simply being LGBTQ. Some even go so far as to <i>protect</i> people's ability to do so under so-called "religious expression" laws. Several more, out of pure spite, refuse to remove anti-gay consensual sex-act prohibitions from their law books even though the U.S. Supreme Court banned them from enforcing those laws nearly 16 years ago.<br />
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As America evolved to remove institutional roadblocks and oppression, one party started to recognize the inalienable humanity in us all (begrudgingly at first, but more and more without question as the generations have passed) and now actually embraces as an irrefutable truth that all humans are equal and should be treated as such under the law.<br />
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Undeniably, the taint of LGBTQ-phobia controlled the Democratic party all the way into the '90s and arguably up until Obama finally came out in support of full—unfettered by "states' rights" arguments—marriage equality in 2012. Also true is that the Democratic Party still has deep systemic problems and is still way too eager to rally around mediocre white men in favor of more qualified women, POC, or LGBTQ politicians when it comes to national offices, but it has made huge strides in just the past two decades and continues to bend its moral arc toward justice and fairness.<br />
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Then there is the other party.<br />
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The GOP, at its core, blocks efforts to end racism and misogyny, and still wants to at best re-criminalize LGBTQ people and at worst imprison, exile, or even execute us. They vacillate on these issues and refuse to condemn the very worst elements of their party when they speak in coded terms of drowning their children were they to be gay. They block efforts to expand the legal protections of the Civil Rights Act despite overwhelming public support, and it takes outright acts of violence to even elicit that most tepid and pandering of ineffective refrains: "thoughts and prayers."<br />
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Even now, the GOP is fervently working to undermine and overturn <i>Roe v. Wade</i>, and thus erase the right of every woman to make medical decisions for herself under no one's guidance but that of the trained medical professional of her choice. History has already shown how harmful and downright deadly to women this kind of legislative overreach is, yet they persist in their attempts to bring back those dark and dangerous times.<br />
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The GOP may pay lip service to POC by constantly invoking Abraham Lincoln and the 14th Amendment as their hallmark "we were anti-racist before it was cool" card, but the intervening years have proven theirs is no longer the party of Lincoln. Since the 1960s, they have impeded, watered down, or actively blocked legislation that would protect POC and level the playing field for them in everyday life. In more recent years, they have nakedly used their party's control at local and state levels to gerrymander districts and rig state voting laws to make it so difficult for POC to vote as to be nigh impossible, exploiting loopholes in and blatantly flouting the spirit of the Voting Rights Act.<br />
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The foundation of all social contracts and which underlays all morality and ethics, is basically this one simple ideal: Do no harm. Distilling it down to this simple, yet profoundly universal truth creates a very real moral and ethical difference in the two parties.<br />
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All fiscal policies aside, one party has evolved and continues to evolve its platform to raise up and protect all walks of humanity while the other actively tries to inflict harm on certain segments of the population for its own aims of wealth hoarding and maintaining its grip on legislative power. One side (sometimes over-zealously) condemns members of its own party if they are found to have behaved reprehensibly, while the other lies naked in its hypocrisy on such matters.<br />
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To put it more simply and free of motivations, one side actively attempts to hurt people based on their sex, the color of their skin, their lack of Christian belief, their gender identity, or whom they love. The other actively tries to protect and help people, to do better for all people in general, and protect the liberty and safety of those their "political opponents" would seek to harm, regardless of sex, race, religion, sexual orientation, or gender identity.<br />
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Or to put it in even simpler, net-effect of successful actions, terms: One side hurts people, the other side helps people.<br />
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Which brings me to people who are "fiscally conservative" but "socially progressive/liberal" who still hold their noses and vote Republican because they believe it is still economically advantageous to do so. They claim they want the GOP to evolve on human rights, yet do little to hold the party accountable because doing so might be fiscally inconvenient in the near term. They claim people are working on the inside to turn things around on human rights issues. Poppycock.<br />
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The only way you will ever see the change you claim to want so that you can have your preferred slice of economic pie and human rights, too, is to vote against your party. Ta-da! That's it. Force them to change by forcing them out of power. Only through a thorough and devastating reckoning will your party ever change for the better. Yeah, you may have to put up with a decade of Democratic fiscal policy that keeps you a little less rich, but ask yourself, how many pieces of silver is your conscience (assuming you have one) really worth?<br />
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To my historically Republican friends, if you truly are my friend, you would help me burn down what your party has become by holding your nose and voting against it, even though it means sacrificing your fiscal wish list in the short-term. It's the only way they will listen to you or cede power to you so that you can rebuild the Party of Lincoln as a benevolent party of true political differences you claim to want. Because by continuing to support the GOP despite all the evidence of the harm they perpetrate on POC, women, and LGBTQ people, you're telling me loud and clear that your tax returns are worth more to you than my life. Maybe that's the biggest difference between us. When I pick a side, I start with human rights and stop there when I see harm is being done because I don't care what a party's fiscal policies are if they're hurting people. But you start and stop at the fiscal policies and how they benefit you.<br />
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And to the media at large I put to you the same argument. Ignoring this stark juxtaposition of right and wrong is disingenuous and smacks of cynical ratings/clickbait mongering by keeping the legitimacy of a morally and ethically bankrupt party on life support through framing these oppositions as mere "political differences." These are no longer mere political differences. These are unambiguously right and wrong sides of who gets to live in freedom and who gets to die in oppression.<br />
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I know propping up this malfeasance and cancerous status quo of both-sides-ism is more lucrative, but continuing to prop up the side that actively tries to cause real harm to entire swaths of the population in itself violates the journalistic tenet of neutrality. By giving legitimacy to a clearly harmful party by propping up its misogynistic, racist, and LGBTQ-phobic platform as an argument worthy of uncritical display is in itself taking its side because it is a <i>de facto</i> endorsement of those ideals. Yet you continue to do it because holding that side accountable for its lack of humanity would actually aid in forcing change, until one day the differences in the two parties truly would be merely political, and that's not sexy nor dramatic. It's boring as hell. Because from a ratings perspective, safety and equality is exactly that: boring.<br />
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That's what it all boils down to though, isn't it? Money. And until we hold each other accountable for putting money ahead of the safety and well-being of our fellow citizens, we will never break free of this cycle.<br />
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So you're right, mealy-mouthed authors of The Atlantic; as long as the Republican Party actively tries to harm people and presents a clear and present danger to the civil rights and safety of my fellow humans, I will harbor a deep mistrust for anyone who still props up that party to protect their own pocketbooks. Not just because I am one of the humans threatened by the party they support, but because when it comes to basic human decency, to doing no harm, standing against tyranny and oppression is always the right thing to do, no matter the cost.Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10776423565752386289noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6573465.post-62666139458880153472012-08-31T10:54:00.000-05:002012-08-31T10:58:00.484-05:00Of Childhood CrushesThere is a disturbing trend among parents that has been permeating popular culture for a couple of decades now: the objectification of young children. One need only witness the horrors that are toddler beauty pageants (and the reality TV shows, books, and movies that spawned from such) to know what I mean. Girls too young to even grasp basic arithmetic are gussied up, given dental veneers, bikinis, enough makeup to give Tammy Faye pause, hairstyles to rival the stature of any found in small-town Texas, and paraded around like tiny objectified dolls for the aesthetic enjoyment of the creepy old men and women who judge the degree to which these 4–6 year-old children successfully emulate adult sexiness.<br />
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Increasingly, this behavior has become a mainstream oddity that most sensible Americans are morbidly fascinated by, but publicly dismiss with a tsk-tsk and solemn head shake while secretly DVRing the latest episode of "Toddlers and Tiaras." Every now and then, someone will take a very serious stand against the objectification of 4 year-old girls, and the media will dutifully report on it, but the mock furor will quickly dissipate and the pageant continue.<br />
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Not only are these bizarre rituals and behaviors accepted and tacitly encouraged by American society, they also expose a hypocrisy: It is acceptable—nay, almost expected—for little girls to sculpt themselves in the image of sexually objectified adult women, only so far as they conform to the hetero-normative gender roles society assigns to all children. Should a little boy want to put on a dress or play house or prefer My Little Pony to G.I. Joe, he is immediately corrected and told to "man up." And heavens forbid that little boy should reveal a crush on another boy.<br />
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We are a voyeuristic society that simultaneously shuns and obsesses over sex. It's made us a rather screwed up bunch with a mastery of cognitively disconnecting our loathing of sex from our innate obsession with it. You know what it's gotten us? We accept truly aberrant behaviors such as encouraging little girls to remake themselves as tiny sex goddesses while rejecting and demonizing the perfectly natural state of being a little gay child with same-gender affections.<br />
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Somehow, a little boy's crush on a little girl, or a little girl's crush on a little boy is acceptable—even encouraged and nurtured as a rite of childhood. Yet, when a little boy shows affection for a member of his gender, people get squeamish. Many adults in this instance seem to suddenly and completely lose the ability to view childhood crushes as innocent emotional attachments based in love, and view same-gender crushes through their own lens of prejudice, colored by the ick factor that taints their view of adult gay people. For some reason, many people cannot think about gay people without simultaneously grossing themselves out by imagining what we do in private with each other's privates. Which goes to the heart of the struggle for equality: society can't get past the sex in <i>homosexual</i>. If you remove gender and sex from love, there is no distinguishable difference between the relationships enjoyed by Bob and Mary, Bob and Bob, or Mary and Mary. But we can't seem to help obsessing over everyone else's sex lives. Anything that differs from our own hard-wired sexual behaviors is viewed with suspicion, disgust, or outright loathing.<br />
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Guess what?<br />
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All heterosexual women were once little straight girls who crushed on and dreamed of meeting and falling in love with their generation's Justin Bieber.<br />
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All heterosexual men were once little straight boys who crushed on and dreamed of meeting and falling in love with their generation's Emma Watson.<br />
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All homosexual men were once little gay boys who crushed on and dreamed of meeting and falling in love with their generation's Blaine Anderson.<br />
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All homosexual women were once little gay girls who crushed on and dreamed of meeting and falling in love with their generation's Zooey Deschanel.<br />
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All too often, a little boy who has a same-gender crush is dismissed as being too young to know what he is talking about because we conflate a same-gender crush with sexual attraction, while at the same time a little girl is encouraged to make herself sexy so she'll get the boy she's crushing on. In both instances, we're assigning sexual attraction where it isn't warranted and can actually cause harm. The little girl is being encouraged to have such a <i>lassez-faire</i> attitude toward sex that it will become destructive when her sexual feelings awaken later in life and the little boy with the gay crush will become confused and conflicted when his emotional attachments <i>are</i> eventually joined by sexual attraction at the onset of adolescence. I know because I was that little boy.<br />
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Though too young at the time to know what gay was, I was once a little boy who, like the young son of <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/Amelia/">blogger and Twitter friend Amelia</a>, had a crush on a boy on TV. Unlike Amelia's brave little boy, however, I had inferred enough about the evils of homosexuality from parents and family members to internalize their homophobia unconsciously, and thus knew on a visceral level to keep those feelings secret. The only exposure I had to gay people in the 1980s were the hushed and condemning whispers about one of my mother's cousins who until AIDS outed him, had lived a deeply closeted and duplicitous life.<br />
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Cute boys being the object of my affection <i>felt</i> as natural as my affection for my parents, but somehow I knew I was alone in feeling that way. I was 5 and too young to even know what sex was, let alone think about actually doing it with anyone. What I felt for the boy on TV was a romantic love, the kind of oversimplified and exalted love every movie Disney ever made portrayed to its young audiences. The only problem? I was supposed to be the prince but I felt like the princess. In 1983, there were no princes like Blaine and Kurt with which I could identify. Hell, even "Will and Grace" was still 15 years away. So I hid my crush on "You Can't Do That On Television's" Alistair—and every boy crush that followed—and blissfully played with My Little Ponies <i>and </i>G.I. Joes <i>and </i>Star Wars toys.<br />
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Though, really, Mom, the My Little Pony obsession should have been your first clue.<br />
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That, and the Cabbage Patch Doll. The <i>female</i> Cabbage Patch Doll.<br />
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Huh. My Little Ponies. Cabbage Patch Dolls. G.I. Joe and Star Wars. Never really thought about it before now, but obviously my mother was more interested in making her little boy happy than worrying much about adhering too stringently to gender roles. In retrospect, I have to wonder if my mother wouldn't have been too dissimilar from Amelia had she not grown up in a time and region which taught her hate and fear rather than acceptance and love for the gayness inherent in her precious little boy.<br />
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Maybe when we as a society stop focusing on the <i>objects </i>of these feelings of love and instead focus on just nurturing and encouraging love itself, maybe then we'll stop the cycle of objectification in all its ugly forms.Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10776423565752386289noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6573465.post-49715591589441315782012-08-17T13:52:00.000-05:002012-08-17T14:19:46.902-05:00Exit Stage Left, Enter Stage RightWow. Has it really been over four years since I last posted to this thing? Does anyone ever actually read this?<br />
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*tap-tap-tap* This thing on?<br />
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A lot has happened since my last post. We lost Ezry almost exactly a year to the day after the last post. Shortly after publishing that post, she had gone back to her old ways and we had to exile her to the backyard again. Then, in the Spring of 2009, we remodeled the front living room and dining room with fresh paint, new furniture, and shiny new laminate floors. Having finally exorcised the ghost of little puppy peesalot, we allowed Ezry her place back in the house. All went extraordinarily well. We finally had our little girl back and she was happy to be allowed inside again. Ezry still went outside whenever she wanted, but usually came in before bedtime.<br />
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One night early that summer, she didn't come back in. It wasn't the first time she had opted to stay out all night when the weather was nice, so we didn't think much of it. But then she didn't come in the next morning for breakfast, which <i>was</i> unusual. Being a workday, we didn't have time to look for her, and decided she'd probably be back that afternoon.<br />
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She wasn't. That's when the dread and panic crept in. We walked the neighborhood calling for her, put up posters, visited the animal shelter, put an ad on craigslist, and wished desperately for her safe return.<br />
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About a week later, we went searching in the field under the tasco row that divides our neighborhood. At first we didn't find anything. But then we found a feline skull fragment, several days old, the obvious victim of a coyote encounter. We didn't find anything else. No collar, fur, or any identifiable bones. But I knew. Deep down I knew it was her.<br />
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A decade from when she entered our lives as a tiny mewing ball of black fluff, she was gone.<br />
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We mourned her for a long time. Even Sebastian wasn't the same after she left. Despite their uneasy relationship, I guess he had grown accustomed to her face. He wailed at nothing in particular more than usual, seemed listless, yet restless.<br />
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We knew we'd get a new cat eventually, but never made plans. Two years later—last summer to be exact—our friends Leeann and Ron called to tell us about how the night before, they found a black mother cat and four gray and brown tabby kittens. Mama cat had collars, but no ID.<br />
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A throwaway. Whether before they were born, or because of her litter, someone had abandoned her and her kittens. The morning after finding the family of five in their yard, Ron heard another kitten outside, this time up a tree. They had apparently missed seeing him the evening before and he had spent the entire night in a tree full of ants. This tough little guy was the one Leeann wanted to introduce to us.<br />
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When we met that tiny mewing ball of gray and white fluff, who was a flea-bitten, ant stung, earmite ravaged, ringworm carrying survivor, we immediately fell in love with him.<br />
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Funny how these things happen. Over the years, we would talk about getting dogs or another cat, but never really planned it out. Never set a date and officially prepared. It would always just sorta happen. It had with Ezry when we found her in the bushes and took her in. It had when, on a whim, I went to see the kittens my parents' veterinarian had ready for adoption and came home with Sebastian. It did with Joxer when my coworker emailed pictures of him looking for someone to adopt him and I forwarded them on to Tim for a "Hey, want a dog?" laugh and brought him home the next day. Then, the week of my 30th birthday, we started a spur of the moment search for a second dog and when we were about to give up after meeting a couple of dogs and not really connecting with them, Tim happened to find Xander on craigslist.<br />
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July of last year, another lost soul found us, and we welcomed him into our family. We eradicated his fleas, bathed him, salved his bites and stings, and even vanquished the ringworm. He bonded with us immediately, litter trained without problem, and made friends with everyone. The first night we had him, Tim was playing with him in the powder room (tiny kitteh's temporary quarantine), and I was lying in the halway outside the closed door with the dogs, playing paw grab with the kitten under the door. As I was lying there, marveling at this little guy's incredible will to live and good-natured tenacity the name Simon just popped into my head and I couldn't help but blurt it out. Before Tim could respond I continued, "He's a Simon. I don't know why, but it just fits. Simon Kitty." Tim agreed, and so he was named.<br />
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As it would happen, when I told people about him the following week, one coworker thought, since we had named the dogs after TV characters, that it was after the <i>Firefly </i>character of the same name, while another thought it was after the lead singer of one of my all time favorite bands, Duran Duran. I was actually surprised that when the name popped into my head the night before, I never made those connections. Maybe it was my subconscious that made the connection and quietly whispered the name to me. Or, more likely, it was just a coincidence. Besides, if I ever write more real-life-inspired cat stories, "Simon and Sebastian" has a nice ring to it. And, over the last 12 months, his antics have caused us to extend his name to Simon Pickles McGillicuddy. Guess he got his TV name, after all.<br />
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We got him neutered and vaccinated, and he has gone through his terrible kitten months with minimal damage done (though, he did earn the moniker of Demon Kitteh), and has turned into a wonderfully friendly, mischievous, laid back, and bold cat who has to be in whatever room we are. Even as I type this, he is blissfully napping next to my laptop.<br />
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We'll always miss Ezry, but she leaves a legacy in our hearts to help the tiny fluffballs who can't help themselves whenever they happen to enter our lives. We didn't know it at the time, but when Ezry left, she had set the stage for Simon's entrance.<br />
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<br />Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10776423565752386289noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6573465.post-36281783742389339052008-07-14T09:27:00.011-05:002008-07-14T12:01:24.830-05:00Ezry<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_IQF6WFqgDPA/SHtq0P1juSI/AAAAAAAAAB0/JJrQezZ3h5E/s1600-h/Evil+E.bmp"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_IQF6WFqgDPA/SHtq0P1juSI/AAAAAAAAAB0/JJrQezZ3h5E/s320/Evil+E.bmp" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222885638703135010" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">We call her the bitchpuss for a reason. But before I get to that, a little early biography . . .<br /><br />She came to use a few weeks after our first anniversary at our first apartment, way back in 1999, when Clinton was still president, gas was 99 cents a gallon, and I had just turned 21 and finished my first semester at college. This tiny voice in the bushes outside our apartment building started mewing at me as I headed off to class. Stooping to peer through the bushes, I discovered the tiny furry black source—and she discovered me!<br /><br />About six-weeks-old and all black except for a white star on her chest, she came tottering out of the bushes and straight toward me. I picked her up and gave a little rub on the head, but being that I was running late, I quickly put her back down under the bushes and convinced myself that she must belong to the people in the apartment behind the bushes (never mind that it was vacant).<br /><br />When I returned from class I didn't see or hear her, so I figured her owners had realized her escape and after a heart-wrenching search, were reunited in joyous joyousness. I flipped on the television content that she was safe and I didn't have to rescue her and watched some Comedy Central something-or-other (we had cable at this point, before the cable companies became really evil; they were only quasi-evil at the time).<br /><br />Then Tim came home. I heard him coming up the steps, along a with a certain familiar, plaintive meowing that grew louder with each step. He opened the door and came in with his keys dangling from one hand, the kitten in his other hand, and peered over his sunglasses at me with that "please don't murder me" look of someone who had just brought a stray kitten home.<br /><br />"Can we keep her?"<br /><br />And so that is how she came into our lives. We paid a pet deposit, went litter box and food dish shopping, and named her Ezry after the character <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ezri_Dax">Ezri Dax</a> on "Star Trek: Deep Space Nine," albeit with a different spelling.<br /><br />Come to think of it, 3/4 of our mammalian pets are named after TV characters. Hmmmmm . . . I wonder what that says about us . . . but I digress.<br /><br />So with Ezry started our family. At first we called her the timeshare kitty because she would sit in one of our laps, purring, and being petted for a few minutes, then jump down and run to the other person to get in his lap for more petting and purring, repeating this every few minutes. She did this for the first couple of years, but then stopped being so obvious about it. As she's aged, her quirks have multiplied and diversified, and she's getting, shall we say, <span style="font-style: italic;">eccentric</span>. Evilly so. She'll be all lovey-dovey, letting you pet her and rub her belly, purring the whole time. Then she'll disagree with a thought that may have just crossed your conscious or subconscious mind and flip around to devour your hand, arm, and face. Sometimes Ez'll sit across the room from you and stare with the cold calculus of a demon trying to extract your soul for sustenance. But she is our little girl and we love her dearly.<br /><br />I once kicked a good friend of ours—we'll call her Truvy—out of our apartment for smacking Ezry. I kept telling Truvy to quit getting all up in Ezry's business or she was gonna attack her. Truvy didn't listen and kept putting her face in Ezry's. So Ezry bit her on the face, natch. Truvy smacked Ezry on the head so I started yelling at Truvy and kicked her out. We didn't talk for weeks. Everything is fine now, though. Truvy has a new respect for Ezry's psychotic ways and even patched things up with her somewhat.<br /><br />When we moved into our house in December 2005, Ez did not handle it well. She started using the downstairs carpet for her litter box (this was probably a combination of the moving stress and the dried remnants of the previous owners' dogs' urine saturating the carpet and pad), and nothing we tried succeeded in altering this behavior. She wasn't ill, just ill at ease, apparently. So we cat-proofed the fence and reluctantly kicked her out of the house and into the backyard, where she lived for the last two and a half years. We have felt terrible about doing that and swore that once we replaced the downstairs carpet with tile and wood, we'd let her back in for another chance.<br /><br />Considering reflooring that area would be quite expensive and with no end to our financial woes in the near-term, we decided on letting her back in and working with her while we were home on vacation a couple of weeks ago. The carpet's already ruined, so there isn't much she could do to make it ruined<span style="font-style: italic;">er</span>. She has done remarkably well, and at the risk of jinxing things, she hasn't had a single accident, going back to using the litter box like nothing had ever happened to the contrary. However, not all is a rosy picture of Leave It to Beaverness.<br /><br />Remember how I said she's getting <span style="font-style: italic;">eccentric </span>in her old age? Evilly so?<br /><br />She does this thing—well, its a series of things that are all related—while we're trying to sleep. I guess she doesn't feel we deserve to sleep after locking her outside for two years in all but the most extreme weather conditions. Revenge is a dish best served up with purrs and claws and teeth and reckless abandon. I know what you're thinking. You're thinking "why don't you just lock her out of the bedroom?" Ezry doesn't do closed doors (unless, thankfully, it's a bathroom door). She'll destroy the door, trim, and floor within minutes.<br /><br />First of all, she doesn't want me to get to sleep. As soon as I get in bed, she jumps up and starts kneading the comforter next to me and purring as loud as she can while licking my arm and head-butting me. I have to completely bury myself under the pillows and bedspread to make her cease and desist. But the fun doesn't stop there; it is but the first step in what has become our nightly waltz of wit, agility, speed, and insanity.<br /><br />She likes to mess with me when I'm in my deepest sleep. Tim tries to stop her, but he has to sleep, too, so he can't be altogether insomniously vigilant. Her enhanced sleep deprivation techniques vary from night to night, and last night she added to that repertoire. Usually, she likes to run across my head, put her front paw over or in my mouth or on some other part of my face (sometimes with a little claw, but usually just paw), sit on one of the nightstands or the dresser and push things off onto the floor (like my glasses, rings, wallets, phones, etc), or madly licking my arm, hand, or face.<br /><br />When she succeeds in completely rousing me, I try to catch her and throw (read: gently toss) her off the bed, at which point Sebastian (our other cat and the only exception to the TV name rule) chases her downstairs, giving her a sound thumping the entire way. But she comes back. She always comes back. Most of the time she's too fast for me and disapparates into thin air only to reappear the moment I drift back to sleep. The times I do catch her I manage to either make her stop completely for the night, or at least buy myself a few hours of uninterrupted REM.<br /><br />Last night after running across my head and me failing to grab her, she pulled a new trick out of her bag a little while later: she bit my elbow. So I pulled out a new trick of my own (admittedly borne of instinct rather than malice) and punched her with my other arm. I didn't hit her hard, but I felt her jolt into the air and leap from the bed, Sebastian on her tail. She didn't bother me anymore after that, but the damage was already done. She succeeded in her mission and I didn't sleep very well the rest of the night.<br /><br />And so the dance continues.<br /></div>Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10776423565752386289noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6573465.post-50554198349866183872008-07-12T13:28:00.002-05:002008-07-12T13:33:52.831-05:00Doggles<div align="center">I just wanted to share some videos of Xander and Joxer. Enjoy!<br /><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/x0a_zzV86yM&hl=en"><param name="wmode" value="transparent"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/x0a_zzV86yM&hl=en" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/1CNIo0dIu-8&hl=en"><param name="wmode" value="transparent"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/1CNIo0dIu-8&hl=en" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/PvkVu20ZCHs&hl=en"><param name="wmode" value="transparent"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/PvkVu20ZCHs&hl=en" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br /><br /></div>Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10776423565752386289noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6573465.post-67878645589981481482008-07-10T07:40:00.012-05:002008-07-11T13:06:29.238-05:00You Don't Belong Anymore<div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify">Ever feel like a <a href="http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/england/norfolk/7496923.stm">bat trapped in a bra</a>? Suffocating in your warm coziness?<br /><br />Or maybe you feel like a <a href="http://news.bbc.co.uk/go/em/fr/-/2/hi/europe/7494184.stm">headless bunny</a> sometimes. It's that feeling of contentment mixed with frustration with a just a dash of insanity (or maybe a dollop if your insanity comes in a thick, cream-based form). Usually, you're content except for some extremely frustrating and difficult circumstances. Maybe it's one or two things, or it could be a multitude of things, but everyone's dealt with this at some point.<br /><br />For me, it's several things. Tim's job, my difficulty in making time to write, gas prices, and our debt. But it's that last one that is a constant weight whispering raspy discontents in my ear. So if everyone in Americaland could just send one dollar to my PayPal account, we could beat that motherfucker down, right off the ba—<br /><br />No?<br /><br />Well, it was worth a shot.<br /><br />Seriously, though . . . the last four things are so inextricably intertwined, it becomes a tenuous balancing act. If any one of them goes the wrong direction, it directly affects everything else and could be ruinous. I've been trying to take care of the debt. Have a budget plan all lined out and everything. Even managed to stick with it the past four months. But now that gas prices are nearing $4 a gallon here, and with the skyrocketing cost of groceries and pet food eating into our budget, I don't know that I'll be able to follow it much longer even though I've managed to pay off four credit cards.<br /><br />You know, I always hear that I <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">must</span> contribute to my 401(k) and I'm a fool if I don't start investing for my retirement now, blah, blah, blah. What they don't explain is, if my annual salary increases are being outstripped by inflated costs of living (I'm talking gas, utilities, and groceries) to the point I can barely make ends meet, where the hell am I supposed to find the money to contribute to a damn 401(k)?<br /><br />Admittedly, I'm at least mostly responsible for getting myself into this mess. But when your car needs tires or repairs or inspection, or you need a computer for college, or you need a suit for going on interviews, or you need two root canals and a crown and three wisdom teeth pulled, and you have no cash to cover it and the credit card companies make it sooooooo easy for you, the college student with little-to-no income to get a credit card, which route are you gonna take? Exactly.<br /><br />Then the interest piles up and your payments begin to increase, then the rent, utilities, groceries, and gas prices start going up, and the student loan payments start kicking in even though you still haven't been able to land a job six months after graduating, making you even more cash-strapped. You still have dental bills, medical bills, car maintenance and repairs, etc. to pay for, so you put it on plastic. Next thing you know, you're in debt up to your eyeballs.<br /><br />And even when you do have insurance, you still have bills. Take my dental plan, for example. I had to have three crowns, a wisdom tooth pulled, a root canal, and some other expensive, but necessary procedures done. Even with my dental insurance, I had to pay about $2,600 for it all. What do you think I put it on? Credit. Dentists don't do payment plans; they take cash or credit card. Hey, they got bills to pay, too, you know.<br /><br />Then when Tim first started his job and thus had no sick time, we both got sick several times over the course of two months and had to go to the doctor several times. We have a $40 copay, and Tim had to take the time off unpaid. Four doctor visits and then some really pricey medicine added up to about $300 on top of him losing two days of pay. Yeah, it all went on credit.<br /><br />This year, we both needed glasses and contacts. Insurance pays for the eye health exam, but if you're nearsighted and you wanna be able to see, you gots to pony up. Another $500+ on credit.<br /><br />You see where I'm going with this? Ten years of this has dug us a pretty deep hole, with setback after setback putting us just a little bit further behind, slowing down our progress just <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">that much</span> every time.<br /><br />And I will freely confess that some of the purchases we put on credit weren't absolutely necessary. But anniversaries and birthdays actually comprise a fairly small portion of the debt.<br /><br />Anyway . . .<br /><br />It will hopefully all work out eventually. We're still making ends meet, still staying on top of all the bills and crap. As long as Tim doesn't lose his job unexpectedly, gas doesn't hit $5 a gallon and the <a href="http://www.cnbc.com/id/15840232?video=789010961">stock market doesn't crash</a>, we'll climb out of our hole . . . eventually.<br /><br />Than maybe, just maybe, I can stop whining and start investing.<br /></div>Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10776423565752386289noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6573465.post-60005334361813350002008-07-09T11:39:00.009-05:002008-07-14T11:43:45.023-05:00Is There Anybody Out There?Wow.<br /><br />Long time, huh?<br /><br />It has been almost exactly 18 months since my last post. I almost could've had a couple a kids since I last wrote. And actually, I guess I have. You see, we've adopted two dogs in the past 12 months, Joxer and Xander.<br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_IQF6WFqgDPA/SHTs2ZZ5waI/AAAAAAAAAAM/IvxDTjaK-K8/s1600-h/Joxer+%2812%29.JPG"> </a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_IQF6WFqgDPA/SHUaVC1GsbI/AAAAAAAAABc/zHLbUTLdeto/s1600-h/Joxer+%2815%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_IQF6WFqgDPA/SHUaVC1GsbI/AAAAAAAAABc/zHLbUTLdeto/s320/Joxer+%2815%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221108291845140914" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_IQF6WFqgDPA/SHTtAOHBiqI/AAAAAAAAAAU/qCCRVICtBbg/s1600-h/Xander2.bmp"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_IQF6WFqgDPA/SHTtAOHBiqI/AAAAAAAAAAU/qCCRVICtBbg/s320/Xander2.bmp" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221058456072587938" border="0" /></a><br /><br />But I digress . . .<br /><br />Remember way back when, when I said it had been a crazy seven months? No? You've never read my blog before and all the people who used to read it have died or moved on, you say?<br /><br />Oh.<br /><br />Well scroll down a bit and read the previous post or two.<br /><br />Go on . . . I'll wait.<br /><br />. . .<br /><br />All done? Excellent.<br /><br />You see, in September 2006, Timmy was laid off. Nice, huh? For his company to lay him off nine months after buying a house was quite the crap on the head. That was followed by three depressing months of frantic job-searching and straining to make ends meet with my meager salary and his tiny unemployment checks. He finally landed a job near home, luckily (or so we thought).<br /><br />That job quickly revealed itself to be a Pandora's box of spiteful coworkers and miserable work conditions and departmental policy so focused on the bottom line that it makes The Donald(tm) look downright nonprofit. He's still there, unfortunately. As you all well know, the souring economy that cost him his job in the first place has only gotten worse since then. This has made it increasingly difficult to find another job and added the stress of not losing this one since another may not be in the near-term offing. But he just goes into automaton mode and does his job to bring home a paycheck while trying to find something better. Someday. *sigh*<br /><br />Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, right?<br /><br />You know, I have been saying that for years now, and I never knew it was from Shakespeare's <span style="font-style: italic;">Macbeth</span>:<blockquote>To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,<br />Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,<br />To the last syllable of recorded time;<br />And all our yesterdays have lighted fools<br />The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!<br />Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player<br />That struts and frets his hour upon the stage<br />And then is heard no more. It is a tale<br />Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury<br />Signifying nothing." (<span style="font-style: italic;">Macbeth</span>, Act 5, Scene 5, lines 19-28)</blockquote><br />I think that's how I've been feeling for awhile now. Running around with frenetic energy, doing the same routine day after day, week after week, <span style="font-style: italic;">ad nauseum</span>. Aside from trying to keep a roof over our heads and feed us and our cars, what else is there? Is that what I spent my whole life building up to? To spend the rest of my life in an unfulfilling job making a pittance that barely covers expenses only to die having had no purpose to live in the first place?<br /><br />I'm reminded of another quote by the great 21st Century thinker, Happy Bunny:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_IQF6WFqgDPA/SHTxa_wdGII/AAAAAAAAAAc/YcY_z5nW2XA/s1600-h/Happy+Bunny+die+anyway.PNG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_IQF6WFqgDPA/SHTxa_wdGII/AAAAAAAAAAc/YcY_z5nW2XA/s320/Happy+Bunny+die+anyway.PNG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221063314122807426" border="0" /></a>It's true though. Everyone dies. Why make ourselves miserable trying to do and be something we're not if we're all just dust in the end anyway?<br /><br />Maybe you people who believe in an afterlife don't see the futility of it all. I'm an atheist. Or at the very least an agnostic. I've seen no proof of an afterlife for human or animal. I've seen no proof of any god, Hindu, Muslim, Judea, Christian, pagan, or otherwise. I believe in humanity. I've seen its best as well as its worst. I've experienced it. I live it. We all have and do.<br /><br />I guess that's the point of it all. To be here for the ones you love and to take care of them when you can and vice versa. To make the most of your life, even if it's on a scale that only affects those directly around you. We can't all be presidents and celebrities and saints to the world, but we can to those individuals with whom we come into contact daily.<br /><br />You've only got the one life. One shot. That's it. Make the most of it. Do the most good you can do within your own power. Rescue a dog or cat from homelessness. Hold a door or elevator for someone. Use your turn signal and <span style="font-style: italic;">don't </span>cut off that guy in the next lane. Give your significant other a back or foot rub. Bring him or her a glass of chocolate milk without their having to ask.<br /><br />Live and let live.<br /><br />Be human and be humane.<br /><br />Sorry, I didn't mean to go all soap-boxy on you. I wasn't really sure where this post would go, but I must say it was an interesting, albeit short, journey. Hopefully, it won't be another 17 months before I take it again.<br /></div>Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10776423565752386289noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6573465.post-2822866315544401542006-12-06T07:51:00.000-06:002006-12-06T07:53:32.852-06:00It's been a while . . .If anyone still reads this, I am sorry for being absent for so long. It has been a crazy 7 months.Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10776423565752386289noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6573465.post-1148703670587587542006-05-26T23:17:00.000-05:002006-05-26T23:21:10.606-05:00Against All Balls<p style="font-family: verdana; text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal">The following is the lost post as best I can recall it. I'm sure it's no where near the land of "Good" as my last one, but it will have to suffice since I am an imperfect being with an imperfect memory.<br /><br />Ever since last Thursday, as in the past 7 days, there has been much ado about the human hackey sack. It's weird, actually, how prevalent the topic has been--it even got to <a href="http://timmyjstudios.blogspot.com/2006/05/oh-balls.html">Timmy</a>. <br /><br />It started last week when the conversation two of my coworkers were having about basketball turned to something that happened one of the Clippers/Suns games. Apparently one player decided to pull another player out of the air by his . . . ahem . . . "area." Ow.<br /><br />Later that day, as per Tim's post, we went to a restaurant with my coworkers for happy hour. Once the appetizers arrived, I tore into them and realized about halfway through my second what-I-thought-was-a-chicken-fried-steak-nugget, that what I was in fact eating were calf fries. The taste wasn't too bad, but when I realized what I was eating, I lost my appetite for them. It just seemed wrong to be eating <i>that</i> body part, regardless of the species of its original possessor. <br /><br />The next day, after our plans with our two fave lezzies fell-through because of, what else, a baseketfootieball game (Mavs v. Spurs) , I learned that during the game, another crotchal-area incident occurred when a Spur began punching a Mav in Jimmy Johnson's boys. What got me though, was that the Mav was suspended for socking the guy in the face afterward while the berry-mashing Spur was let off with a warning. Riiiight. I don't blame the guy for socking the guy in the face afterward. I would have done the same. <br /><br />. . . I also would've hit the teammate of mine who was standing right there and did nothing. <br /><br />. . . and the stupid ref for doing nothing afterward. <br /><br />And the next day, I would've hit the jackass NBA higher-up who made the suspension decision. <br /><br />But that's just me. <br /><br />Yesterday, I overheard another set of coworkers discussing an injury one of their nephews suffered the day before. An incredibly painful injury. It hurts just to write about it, but apparently he twisted one sphere of influence around to the point of possibly needing surgery to correct it. *cringe* Again, gonna have to say "Ow." Not exactly sure how one would go about causing such a twist of excruciating fate, but then again I think I am perfectly content in my ignorance.<br /><br />I should have known there would be many balls in the air when all the kiwis we had for our lunches the past two weeks did indeed resemble another kind of furry fruit. <br /><br />Beware the balls. They're <i>everywhere</i>.</p>Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10776423565752386289noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6573465.post-1148496067416500922006-05-24T13:35:00.000-05:002006-05-24T13:41:07.473-05:00Lost postI had a post. It was funny, too. Funny and witty and lengthy. You would've enjoyed it. Alas, it is lost to the ether. Oh well. I'll try again tomorrow.Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10776423565752386289noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6573465.post-1137109196145458402006-01-12T17:32:00.000-06:002006-01-12T17:57:47.796-06:00In the News<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">OK, I have since realized that my Tuesday News post was a bit premature since all the </span><i style="font-family: verdana;">interesting</i><span style="font-family:verdana;"> things have happened in the past 24 hours.<br /><br /></span><b style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/asia-pacific/4605202.stm">It's a Ghost! It's a Mutant Firefly! It's a . . . Glowing Pig?</a></b><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />Scientists in Taiwan have successfully spliced the genes of a glowing jellyfish into the genes of a pig, which resulted in a pig that looks kinda green during the day, but glows at night. Traditionally, if your bacon was green--and especially if it glowed in the dark--that meant it was time to toss it in the garbage. However, these lime swines were what the scientists have been striving for so they can track their glowing DNA without slicing and dicing their little piggy cells. Unfortunately, as it goes with the dorky science-types, they didn't know that day-glo genes are just </span><i style="font-family: verdana;">so</i><span style="font-family:verdana;"> totally '80's.<br /><br /><br /></span><b style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/4603442.stm">Have Rubber Will Travel</a></b><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />Legislators in a Colombia town in Central America are planning a law that would require every male over the age of 14 to carry a condom. It's an experimental law trying to stem the increase in STD's, such as AIDS, and unwanted, unplanned, unneeded pregnancies, such as babies. The local Catholic priest blasted the proposed law, likening it to "handing out guns." Obviously, the priest is somewhat uninformed about the actual biology of human sexuality since his analogy makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. Idiot. Hey Padre, the "guns" are already out there, this law would just make sure everyone had a "bullet proof vest" should random "holdups" and "shootouts" ensue. </span><br /><b style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><br />Brangelina Baby?</b><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />The rumors are true. Brad and Angelina are having a little square-jawed, pouty lipped spawn. Yeah, Angelina had </span><i style="font-family: verdana;">nothing</i><span style="font-family:verdana;"> to do with the break up of Brad and Jen's marriage. Right. Here's a picture of what Taiwanese genetic experts believe the baby will look like:</span><br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3545/361/1600/B%26A%20baby.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3545/361/320/B%26A%20baby.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><b style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/business/4601690.stm">Levi's Announces Jean-splicing of Its Own</a></b><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Levi Strauss, after ditching America for cheaper labor overseas, announced it will soon release iPod jeans. There will be a special pocket to hold the iPod and built in headphones and controls. My question is, how does one work the controls if they're concealed in one's pant area without appearing to the un-iPod-afficianado eye to be doing something completely different and highly inappropriate? Peeing your pants, I'm guessing, would be quite a shocking experience in these jeans.</span><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><br /><br /><b style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/health/4602872.stm">Computers Cause Drinking/Smoking</a></b><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">A new study in the UK shows that computers and other IT stressors are becoming an increasing cause of boozing and tar-choking, beating out the old stand-by rationales of bankruptcy, losing a limb, and commuting. So I'm less likely to become an alcoholic if I lose an arm than I am working on a computer everyday? Interesting. Give me a hacksaw. Better yet, make that a J&C.</span><br /><br /><br /><b style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/4600192.stm">French Court Orders Pop- & Mom-cicles Defrosted</a></b><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">You just can't keep your dead folks around the house anymore. A Frenchman who has kept the bodies of his parents frozen in his cellar was ordered to stop selling tickets for public viewing and to cremate or bury them (his parents, not the tickets). The court cited public health and order concerns in making their decision. Yeah, those ice-people can really cause a ruckus and spread diseases with their wild sex-parties.</span><br /><br /><br /><b style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="http://www.cnn.com/2006/US/01/11/boy.driver.ap/index.html">Seven Year-old Pulled Over for Suspected Drunk-driving</a></b><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">When police in Tennessee began pursuing a suspected drunk-driver, they were surprised to learn the culprit was actually a seven year-old boy who had jumped in the family pick-up and went out in search of a driver's license. Witness Susan Daniel had this to say: "It blew my mind, because we actually watched him put on his turn signal and turn. And we could see when he went past that he had seat belts on." All you grown, </span><i style="font-family: verdana;">licensed</i><span style="font-family:verdana;"> drivers out there who turn and change lanes without signalling should take note--Using a turn signal is so easy, even a seven year-old can do it!</span><br /><br /><br /><b style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="http://www.cnn.com/2006/WORLD/meast/01/12/israel.robertson/index.html">Robertson's Still an Idiot</a></b><span style="font-family:verdana;"> </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">On his morning show, The 700 Club, Pat Robertson once again proved he has an anus where his mouth should be when he said that Israeli Prime Minister Ariel Sharon's stroke was divine retribution for allowing the Palestinians to take back the Gaza Strip. Robertson spoke for his god by saying it was his god's land and Sharon had no business saying who should or shouldn't occupy it. Apparently, keeping the Palestinians out to make room for Israeli settlers did not violate this ideal. Israel responded with a big Kosher middle-finger, saying Robertson was no longer welcome to build his church on the Israeli land where Jesus was reported to make bread and wine. Evangelical Christian carb-addicts and wine tasters everywhere were outraged, but too fat and drunk to do anything about it. </span><br /><br /><br /></div><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 51, 255);font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">Cheers-Thanksalot!<br /><br /><br /></span></span>Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10776423565752386289noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6573465.post-1137075625497766942006-01-12T08:19:00.000-06:002006-01-12T08:20:25.510-06:00F.R.I.E.N.D.S. QuizSorry, Curiosity got the better of me.<br /><br /><center>Take the quiz: <br><a href="http://quiz.myyearbook.com/zenhex/quiz.php?id=10831"><font size = "+2"><b>Which F.R.I.E.N.D.S. Cast Member are you? (pics!)</b></font><br><img src="http://img.myyearbook.com/zenhex/images/quiz3/10831/res3.jpg" border="0"></a><br><font size = "+1"><b>Monica </b></font><br><b>You are a control freak who needs every thing to be perfect!! Don't worry though, your charm is amazing and your talents really stand out!</b><br><br><a href="http://www.myyearbook.com"><b>Quizzes by myYearbook.com -- the World's Biggest Yearbook!</b></a></center>Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10776423565752386289noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6573465.post-1136939964672894132006-01-10T18:30:00.000-06:002006-01-10T18:41:45.556-06:00I'm Baaaack!<div class="Section1" style="text-align: justify;"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style=";font-family:Georgia;font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:Georgia;">Just in case you were wondering, no, I haven't completely abandoned my blog. A lot has happened since my last post (as many of you already know). New job, new house, new Timmy car--the last two of which has happened since about November 15th. Crazy, ain't it? So yeah, still <em><i><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><span style="font-family:Georgia;">loving </span></span></i></em>the new job. Tim's new car is supersweet, and have I mentioned we bought a house? It, too, is <em><i><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><span style="font-family:Georgia;">quite</span></span></i></em> nice.<br /><br />So in the spirit of old, I give you this week's quirky news items.<br /><br /><strong><b><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><span style="font-family:Georgia;">Noklone oom-e? Foo khyou! </span></span></b></strong><br />A Korean scientist was shamed--deeply shamed--when it was discovered that the stem-cell research breakthroughs he had reported making last year was all a big fat lie. The cloned embryo was actually made the old-fashioned way with one of his interns. Former Pres. Clinton was quoted as saying, "At least all I ever did was lie about getting a b*****b!"<br /><br /><strong><b><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><span style="font-family:Georgia;">Bush Still Clueless </span></span></b></strong><br />Need I say more?<br /><br /><strong><b><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><span style="font-family:Georgia;">Mummy Dearest</span></span></b></strong><br />The mummified remains of a 61 year-old woman were found seated in a chair, watching TV in her bedroom. Her caretaker said that the woman didn't want to be interred, so she just cranked the A/C and left the TV on for her . . . for the past 2 1/2 years. The A/C unit crashed a few weeks ago and the corpse began, well, stinking up the neighborhood. When one of the decedent’s friends finally remembered the number for 9-1-1, she called police to tell them she had not seen or heard from her in a couple of years. When police went to perform a welfare check of the woman, they noticed the odor and discovered its source. EEWWWWW. Living on the first floor of the house was the dead woman's daughter, granddaughter, and her former caregiver. The woman's daughter was reported as saying upon the officer's discovery, "I wondered why momma wouldn't never come down fer supper. Don't that beat all?"<br /><br /><br /><strong><b><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><span style="font-family:Georgia;">Glutton for Punishment: Chevy Camaro Concept Unveiled</span></span></b></strong><br />GM flaunted it's concept for what may or may not be the possible reincarnation of its mullet-beloved Camaro for 2009. Proving once again that GM is no fool when it comes to ripping off the competition, not only does the concept follow in the footsteps of the Ford Mustang's retro-modernist design approach, it also looked suspiciously like the New Dodge Challenger, all of which harks back to the copycat nature of the Camaro's first introduction in 1967, when it looked like a Mustang in Chevy badges. The GM CEO was quoted as saying, "Look at my bitchin' camaro!" before flipping his mullet and downing his forty.<br /><br /><strong><b><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><span style="font-family:Georgia;">Dodge Concept Vehicle Missing</span></span></b></strong><span style="font-weight: bold;">, Then Found </span><br />Dodge reported the strange disappearance of their Challenger concept vehicle just weeks before the Detroit Auto Show. Luckily, the vehicle was found in an alley in <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Flint</st1:city>, <st1:state st="on">Michigan</st1:state></st1:place>, trembling and muttering to itself, "They call it a camaro, but it's not a camaro, they call it a camaro, but it's not a camaro."<br /><br /><strong><b><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><span style="font-family:Georgia;">NEWS FLASH: CORRUPTION ON CAPITOL HILL</span></span></b></strong><br />Washington went all a-tremble when high-powered lobbyist Jack Abramoff plead guilty to fraud and tax evasion and promised to point fingers at as many as 60 high-powered Senators, Representatives, and prominent staffers in the House, Senate, and White House in return for a lighter sentence. Liberal bloggers everywhere are piddling themselves in sweet anticipation of the "naming of names." Conservatives are just plain piddling themselves. Former Pres. Clinton was quoted as saying, "At least all I ever did was get a b*****b!"<br /><br /><strong style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"><b><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><span style="font-family:Georgia;">Cheers-thanksalot!</span></span></b></strong> <o:p style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"><span style=";font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p></div>Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10776423565752386289noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6573465.post-1128106879866150222005-09-30T13:52:00.000-05:002006-01-12T17:46:53.393-06:00Last Day<div style="text-align: justify;">So here I am, the last day at my first job out of college. It's really a shame that I couldn't stay at this job, but too many circumstantial conflicts make it impossible for me to continue on here. It's another one of the cliched moments of bittersweetness. One chapter ends, another opens with hopes upon promises of a brighter future.<br /><br />So here's to Huge Print Press, my (as of 4:00 PM today) former employer who gave me a shot when no one else in 9 months of job-hunting would: Thank you.<br /><br />And here's to [the new company], my (as of 9:00 AM Monday, October 3rd) new employer, who wanted to hire me so badly that they actually went to a lot of trouble: Thank you.<br /><br />Technically, I guess I am officially unemployed again for the next two days, so what better way to celebrate than by pigging out and getting plastered.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255); font-weight: bold;"><br />Cheers-Thanksalot!<br /><br /></span></span> </div>Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10776423565752386289noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6573465.post-1127913995800645862005-09-28T08:08:00.000-05:002006-01-10T18:43:54.286-06:00Aha! A New Nine Inch Nails Video . . .<div style="text-align: justify;">OK, I know I complained about the blog videos in the past, but I got curious and clicked over to check out the website that hosts them . . . you know, to see what was there. Well, I came across the new Nine Inch Nails video for the song "Only." After watching it, I decided I had to share it with everyone because it reminded me of a music video from the '80s by Aha (sp.?). You know the one I'm talking about--unless you're too young to have seen it, let alone remember it.--it was "Take on Me." Obviously the music and sentiment share nothing in common, but the <span style="font-style: italic;">style</span> and medium of the video have an interesting parallel. Both depict being trapped in an alternate plain of existence visible to and of physical reality, but seperated and sharply divided from it--the inner fantasy world juxtaposed and competing with reality.<br /><br />Anyway, enjoy!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">(Video No Longer Available)</span><br /></div> </div><center><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">Cheers-Thanksalot!</span></span><br /></div> </center>Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10776423565752386289noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6573465.post-1127828287323519542005-09-27T07:42:00.000-05:002005-09-27T08:55:56.680-05:00You Can't Make This Sh!t Up<div style="text-align: center;"><img src="http://images.ibsys.com/2005/0926/5020261.jpg" /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">(Photo NBC5i.com)</span><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><br />Elsie, a St. Bernard puppy from Florida, proved a puppy's stomach can be as big as its eyes when<a href="http://www.cnn.com/2005/US/09/26/puppy.swallows.knife.ap/index.html"> she swallowed a serrated 13-inch knife</a>. O. J. Simpson had no comment except to say, "I was at McDonald's and that puppy's too small for that knife." The knife was successfully removed by a vet and Elsie is now back to salivating over other fine cutlery, though she has been banned from the local House of Blades.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.cnn.com/2005/US/09/26/return.neworleans/index.html">Nesbitt</a>, a 13 year old cat and resident of a West Bank home in New Orleans, was found napping peacefully in his usual spot under a chair on his back porch when his people returned home for the first time in the three weeks since Katrina ravaged their city. The eggs in their fridge had exploded, a tree was now part of one wall, facade was missing, an overhang sagged, and a gutter had collapsed, but none of it seemed to bother Nesbitt, whose greeting was a satisfied swish of his bushy tail, as if to say, "Suckers."<br /><br />Michael "Drownie" Brown of FEMA ill-repute, the man who resigned in disgrace after killing hundreds of people with bureaucracy in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, is <a href="http://www.cnn.com/2005/POLITICS/09/27/brown.fema/index.html">back on the FEMA payroll</a> as a consultant. Guess Bush figured not enough people died needlessly in Brown's absence after Hurricane Rita.<br /><br />The only state-sanctioned peeping-tom porn will soon be commissioned in China as they plan to use the latest in satellite and lubricant technology to <a href="http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/asia-pacific/4285694.stm">spy on the sexcapades of the elusive Panda</a>. No word yet on who will be brave enough to be the Panda fluffer.<br /><br />Modern workers are stupid--not that this is news, but a new study found that they are <a href="http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/technology/4272382.stm">more stupider than originally thought</a>. The study found that about 75% of workers spend more than an hour a week staring blankly at coworkers who use such alien technical jargon as "jpeg," "javascript," "cookies," "firewall," "monitor," "keyboard," and "mouse." The study also found a large proportion of workers don't seem to grasp the problem with clogging e-mail inboxes with large-attachment, chain e-mails. IT people and those with a modicum of computer sense everywhere shook their heads in pity at the astounding proof of what they had long suspected: people are dumb.<br /><br />Breast-reduction surgery has seen a surge in popularity . . . <a href="http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/science/nature/default.stm">among men</a>. Not content to jiggle and sag anymore, man boobs around the world more and more are opting for surgery rather than admit defeat and settle into a Manzier. Doctors say the increase in man boob reductions is due to the increase in man boobs, which in turn is a result of increased levels of artificial estrogen men are consuming in meats and possibly the water. Eat your meat, grow your boobies.<br /><br />Ants in South America are smarter than the average human worker. Scientists discovered that the <i>Myrmelachista schumanni</i> <a href="http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/science/nature/4269544.stm">ants have been poisoning plants</a> that compete with the trees in which they build their homes. One such "Devil's Garden" contains nothing but 328 of the ants' favorite trees and is thought to be over 800 years old. Looks as if humans aren't the only ones destroying rain forest plant life.<br /><br />This year's Darwin Award goes to the family of five who managed to do what Hurricane Rita couldn't and <a href="http://www.cnn.com/2005/US/09/26/rita.apartment.deaths.ap/index.html">snuffed themselves out</a> by putting a generator in the closet . . . while it was still running. Did I mention it was a gas-powered generator? They all died from carbon monoxide poisoning.<br /></div><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">Cheers-Thanksalot!</span></span></span>Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10776423565752386289noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6573465.post-1127398497892302462005-09-22T08:55:00.000-05:002005-09-22T12:25:33.213-05:00One Rita, Extra Salt<div style="text-align: center;"><img style="width: 319px; height: 256px;" src="http://www.cbsnews.com/images/2005/09/22/image878555.jpg" /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">(photo CBS News/AP/NOAA)<br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><br />As if it weren't enough that Katrina destroyed all those thousands of New Orleanian homes, displacing a quarter-million people, Rita's got to come in and threaten to destroy many of those evacuee's new homes and shelters in Houston. Sheesh, enough with the major hurricanes already. We get it Nature, you are the supreme bitch ruling over all Earth with a might so powerful as to boil the very oceans themselves.<br /><br />Anyway, Houston is another town to which I have ties--I was born there, survived Hurricane Alicia in 1983 there, and lived there for several years as a child. Oh, and I <span style="font-style: italic;">loved </span>its Natural History Musuem. Yes, Houston is not only the origins of me, it's also the origins of my geeky-nerdiness. Maybe that's why I still hold some affection for the dirty, overcrowded, polluted, crime-ridden megaopolis.<br /><br />Houston's a resilient place, so despite Rita's worst, I know it will survive and flourish together with its sister-in-disaster, New Orleans. I can see it now, New Orleans & Houston: We Survived the Bitch Twins. No, not Jenna and Barbara; Austin already barely survived those bitches.<br /><br />So batton down the hatches, it's going to be a bumpy weekend, and not just in Houston/Galveston. Rita will most likely still be a hurricane when she passes through North Texas as well. That's one mighty powerful she-demon.<br /></div>Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10776423565752386289noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6573465.post-1126906752163281332005-09-16T16:35:00.000-05:002005-09-16T16:39:12.170-05:00THE NewsNow for the News you've all been waiting for, but probably already know:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">I HAVE A NEW JOB!!!!<br /></span></span></span> <div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"></span></span></span>That is all . . .<br /><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"></span></span></span></div> <span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"></span></span></span></div>Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10776423565752386289noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6573465.post-1126792785181531042005-09-15T08:47:00.000-05:002005-09-15T08:59:45.186-05:00More BIG NewsIt's not THE big news promised below--I'm still waiting for clearance on that--but it is quite Big and happy.<br /><br />Yesterday, the Massechussetts legisture DEFEATED the state constitutional amendment that would have banned same-sex marriage. <br /><br />Read more about it <a href="http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2005/09/14/national/main846230.shtml">here</a>.<br /><br />Which brings me to today's<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:180%;">THURSDAY SURVEY<br /></span></span></span> <div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);"><br />Targeting</span> <span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);">Gay</span>-<span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">W</span><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">e</span>d</span><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 102);">d<span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);">i</span></span><span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);">n</span>g<span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);">s!</span><br /><br /><br />If you had a same-sex wedding,<br />where would you register,<br />Target or Wal-Mart?<br /></span></span></span> <div style="text-align: justify;"><br />I know, I know, like I even need to ask. Target, hands down.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">Cheers-Thanksalot!<br /><br /></span></span></div> <span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span></div> </div>Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10776423565752386289noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6573465.post-1126703494575882062005-09-14T08:09:00.000-05:002005-09-14T08:11:34.586-05:00Big BIG NewsComing soon . . . stay tuned! <br /><br />Unless you've already heard, then it's actually old news to you, so don't spoil it for the other children in comments.<br /><br />Update is imminent.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">Cheers-Thanksalot!<br /><br /><br /></span>Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10776423565752386289noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6573465.post-1126273371462255582005-09-09T08:40:00.000-05:002005-09-09T08:42:51.466-05:00Ruh-RohYou know you fucked up when <a href="http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/4229238.stm">one of your former family-friends starts in on you</a>.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255); font-weight: bold;">Cheers-Thanksalot!</span>Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10776423565752386289noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6573465.post-1126187924093409102005-09-08T08:01:00.000-05:002005-09-08T09:36:19.930-05:00Death, Dreams, and The Thursday Survey<blockquote>To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;<br />For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come . . .<br /><div style="text-align: right;">--Prince Hamlet of Denmark, <span style="font-style: italic;">Hamlet</span> by William Shakespeare<br /><br /></div> </blockquote><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">I think maybe my mind is preoccupied with something lately. I've been having a lot of dreams about death the past few nights. Not violent or murderous dreams; I haven't killed anyone nor has anyone been "killed," per se. No, just dying. They've been emotionally intense dreams to say the least. Maybe it's just my mind's way of trying to deal with my grandmother's sudden death and all the death and destruction inundating us every night on the television since Katrina busted the levees and Potemkin-President Bush murdered all those thousands of people through his wonton and arrogant negligence.<br /><br />Hmm . . . Think I could be feeling some anger, too.<br /><br />Since I wrote Tuesday's post, I have to admit my optimism has jaded a bit. The red sun rising over the horizon of my morning drive now seems less majestic and more like a plastic sack caught in an alley air current--pretty stupid and meaningless, just there. And a bit blinding.<br /><br />Oh, and I'm still waiting for the "change for the better" thing to happen. I know, I know, it's only been three days. Did I mention that I am impatient and have a short attentio<br /><br />So on my drive in yesterday morning, I almost had three wrecks, all because other people are idiots. Sounds like a cop-out? It would be, if it wasn't completely true.<br /></div> <ol style="text-align: justify;"> <li>Almost rear-ended--twice--by people <span style="font-weight: bold;">NOT PAYING ATTENTION</span>.</li> <li>and some <span style="font-weight: bold;">Jackass-SUV</span> decided his lane wasn't good enough, so he made a hostile takeover bid on my lane . . . with ME still in it!<br /></li> </ol> <div style="text-align: justify;">I swear, these people and their goddamn SUV's. Oh, well. At least I can take comfort in knowing Karma is biting them in the ass now with $3.00/gallon gas. That is, until I remember that I bought a V8 Mustang. But then I remind myself that my Mustang GT still gets far better gas mileage than most SUV's and I'm right back to feeling superior. Stupid fucking SUV's.<br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><br />What's that you ask? Doesn't my very dear friend, Megan, drive an SUV? Why yes, yes she does, that's very astute of you. She also voted for Bush. Twice. How in the world am I still friends with her, you ask? Because even good people whom I consider friend-worthy sometimes make boneheaded decisions. Really, really, boneheaded decisions. Besides, Megan realizes her boneheaded-ness and is regretting and striving to change for the better--or at least wishing for it. Besides, it makes for great comedy fodder on her <a href="http://themegansblog.blogspot.com/">blog</a>.<br /><br />And <span style="font-style: italic;">she</span> doesn't drive like a <span style="font-weight: bold;">Jackass</span>.<br /><br />So taking a shameless ripoff of a semi-patented Megan <a href="http://themegansblog.blogspot.com/2005/08/wednesdays-random-poll.html">idea</a>, I bring you<br /></div> <div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);font-size:180%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />*The Thursday Survey*<br /></span><br /></span> <div style="text-align: justify;"><br />I would make it sparkle and flash, but I'm not that technologically advanced.<br /><br />So here it is, <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">The Thursday Survey </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">question:<br /></span> <div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:180%;" ><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"><br />Boxers or briefs? </span></span><br /></div> <div style="text-align: center;">Which would you rather watch:<br /></div> <div style="text-align: center;">A Celebrity Boxing match or<br />a White House Pressroom Briefing?<br /></div><br />Both are staged and egostroking measures done out of desperation to divert attention from a failing career. For me, it's a toss up.<br /><br />Wow, talking about randomness and misdirection--this post falls under both. From death and dreams to SUV's to crap survey. I guess, in the loosest possible way, you could apply death and dreams to all of these subjects as a highly subjective and abstract construct. Or not. Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255); font-weight: bold;">Cheers-Thanksalot!<br /><br /></span></div></div>Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10776423565752386289noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6573465.post-1126017431614066602005-09-06T08:44:00.000-05:002005-09-06T09:56:23.553-05:00Ink Stains & a Whole in the Sun<div style="text-align: justify;">Not writing much on this blog started out because I thought I'd run out of things to say. Then Life turned tragic and I didn't have the heart to write. Now, I think I am going to ease back into amusing, confusing, and sometimes infuriating my few readers. There is a wealth of things to bitch about--I suspect such will be the case so long as we have a Bush in the Oval Office--but I'm not going to bitch as much as I have in the past.<br /><br />I'll definitely still point out the sorry shit that goes on in the life politic; however, I realize I border on the whiney petulant pisant rather than the writer full of incredulous indignation. I don't know, maybe I've needed to whine. Offputting as it is to so many others, sometimes pissing and moaning is therapeutic to the Whiner, even if it is like so many Freddy Krueger claws on the blackboard to the Whinees.<br /><br />Don't worry, my little sheoples, I'm still angry and bitter at the world in general and most especially with the idiots who run it. From this point forward, however, I will endeavor to find more <span style="font-style: italic;">creative</span> ways of exploring my rantings so that they are more intellectually palatable.<br /><br />Now that I have dispensed with the "returning to duty" pleasantries, on to begin fulfilling my promise of last post to "write until my hands fall from my arms and scamper away."<br /><br />I was driving into work this morning after another hair-pulling episode of <span style="font-style: italic;">Cats Who Have a Death Wish</span>, and realized for the first time that the days have already gotten noticeably shorter because the sun wasn't up yet. It was the same time I usually left, but I guess since I had managed to sleep-in quite late for the past three or four days, the morning had lost another three or four minutes of sunlight without my noticing; i.e., the sun was rising three or four minutes later than the last time I drove to work.<br /><br />It was pre-dawn. The sky was lightening, but it wasn't quite there yet, wasn't quite daylight. Have you ever noticed how early morning air, unmolested by traffic and heat and people, has a distinct and refreshing smell about it? It is cool and crisp, it is distinctly morning air. While driving down LBJ, I saw the sun break the horizon. <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">RED</span><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">.</span> </span>That was the first thing I noticed about it, it was glowing blood red as it lifted lazily over the horizon, yawning in the morning air. The world suddenly seemed to come alive as the red light spilled over the highway, reflected off cars and bumpers and chromed skyscrapers, and filtered harmlessly through my sunglasses as it played shadows of light and awe on my mind.<br /><br />I was struck by its majestic simplicity and mundanity. I know it happens every morning--has since its fusion reaction began and the earth form into a solid mass, but this morning it was my sun, my dawn. So many things have come to an end over the past few weeks, things that saying I would much rather had not ended would be the biggest cliched understatement of my entire life, that I felt like this dawn was just for me. This dawn, my dawn was a signal from the Fates that it was time to start afresh, that yesterday was officially gone and a new time approached--that life was going to get better starting today.<br /><br />For the past two weeks, and last week in particular, I have been at a breaking point emotionally. Sleep deprivation, overwhelming stress at work and with family issues and responsibilities had left me a time bomb wrapped in a fragile sparrow's eggshell. I was lashing out in rages at people and animals closest to me over the smallest of insignificant slights. Had I had to work yesterday, the holiday which extended by a day the weekend of my first real break from <span style="font-weight: bold;">things</span> in weeks (a break I so desperately needed) in a non-air-conditioned office doing a job I have really come to loathe over the past nine months, I would probably be unemployed and institutionalized this morning, enjoying that magnificent sunrise through wired pane-glass. However, that didn't happen because of a last-second reprieve from my boss via a phone call Sunday evening.<br /><br />Yes, I did my happy dance when I hung up the phone.<br /><br />For the first time in days I felt like I could breathe, that life had finally quit kicking me in the gut, even if for just a moment. Joy flooded me for the first time in weeks and I didn't care that I had laundry to do the next day. Such a small thing not having to work on Labor Day is, yet it had such a deep affect on me for the better. I could breathe and relax. I had a fresh start. Suffice to say, it was the best damn laundry day I can remember. Except maybe the first laundry day that we actually owned our own washer and dryer and didn't have to lug a week's worth of clothing 30 miles to one of our parents' houses to wash it all--but that's another story. Best of all, I got to spend the whole weekend with Tim. We washed our cars and cleaned the apartment together on Saturday, relaxed and shopped all day together Sunday, then relaxed and did laundry together all day Monday, with shopping of the grocery variety that night. It was a mostly utilitarian weekend, but it was revitalizing work, adn with Tim by my side the whole time, I realized how lucky I am to have him and our life together.<br /><br />Don't worry, I'm not going to launch into some sanctimonious crap comparing my life to the tragedies of the world--all that goes without saying and I never lost sight of how much better I have it than so many other people, because, somehow and by my own admission, selfishly so, that knowledge was never any comfort.<br /><br />Then the dawn this morning. I feel refreshed. I feel like me (albeit still a bit moodier than usual).<br /><br />But most of all, I feel like writing again.<br /><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255); font-weight: bold;">Cheers-Thanksalot.<br /><br /></span></div>Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10776423565752386289noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6573465.post-1125321632958068132005-08-29T08:06:00.000-05:002005-08-29T08:21:49.766-05:00Healing Itches<div style="text-align: justify;">Slowly, life goes on.<br /><br />I took down "In Memorium" because the loss is so personal and deep, I felt I had held out there for all to see for long enough. Thank you again for all the kind words, support, and condolences. Also, a BIG THANK YOU to Leeann's mom, Marty, for volunteering to help my family and me settle my grandmother's estate. An even BIGGER THANK YOU to Tim for giving me the love, strength, and fortitude to survive this and to handle what needed, and still needs, to be done.<br /><br />As full of pallid sorrow as I have been, it feels weird to laugh again and to forget, just for a moment, that she's really gone. Each day it grows a little easier, though it still haunts almost every waking minute. Maybe once I settle everything for her, my mind can rest and my heart can heal.<br /><br />I am extending my blogging hiatus for a few more days at least, after which, I plan to dive back in and write until my hands fall from my arms and scamper away.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">Cheers-Thanksalot.</span><br /></div>Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10776423565752386289noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6573465.post-1124773693466971782005-08-22T23:36:00.001-05:002012-08-31T11:21:59.523-05:00In Memoriam<div style="text-align: center;">
<img 0px="" 10px="" align="" alt="" auto="" block="" border="0" center="" cursor="" display="" pointer="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3545/361/320/Dabaw.jpg" /><span style="font-size: 130%;"><br />Lida Marr Barrett</span><br />
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Born in San Antonio on September 22, 1920, Lida Marr Boyd moved with her parents and sister to Anson where her father settled a ranch. She married Charles Barrett in 1940 and gave birth to Sassy Barrett on December 30, 1954. She attended college in Abilene and received her teaching certification in 1964. She taught elementary school for 40 years in Abilene, Hurst, and finally in Dallas. She retired at the end of the Spring 2005 term. She passed away in her sleep the morning of Saturday August 20.<br />
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She was my grandmother. The only one I ever knew. When my mother left my father in 1984, my grandmother, "Dabaw," stepped in and helped my mother and I escape from a dangerous situation. Working not only as a teacher but for 15 years as a customer service rep at Wal-Mart on the weekends, she supported us through my mother's college education and later, supported me through my own. Without her help, love, and support, I would not be where I am today.<br />
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She was loved by not only her family, but by everyone who ever had contact with her. Her forthrightness, generosity of spirit, and all around stubbornness endeared her to all in her presence. Her coworkers, students, and friends loved her nearly as much as her own family. A testimony to her popularity, she had collected momentos given to her by former students as well as students whom she had taught in their sixth grade year keeping in touch with her as adults. She was an inspiration to everyone her life touched.<br />
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When I was seventeen, I came out to my family. I was most afraid of how she would take the news. I had assumed that being older and thus more conservative, she would not take the news well. I was so entirely wrong about her. She accepted me wholly and loved me unconditionally. It was then that I began to realize she was a complex human being with far more facets of personality than I had ever even suspected.<br />
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The plight of the grandchild is that, as children we see our grandparents as merely grandparents, it isn't until we are adults that we see them as whole human beings whom we'd like to know more personally, often when it is too late to do so. I was fortunate in that I got to know her more in the last two years than I did my entire life before that. Unfortunately, I still had so much to learn from her.<br />
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I will, as will everyone who knew her, miss her terribly.<br />
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I love you, Dabaw.<br />
Though your light extinguished,<br />
your love warms eternal.</div>
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And thank you everyone for your words of support and condolences. They are truly appreciated.</div>
Jameshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10776423565752386289noreply@blogger.com1