11:28 PM - The most important debate in history. I think I’m gonna barf.
Well friends, I've finally been able to blast the debris from of the bunker hatch and smell the fresh smog. Thanks to all my friends and their calls and worry, I know it was you folks that kept the roof over my head. I got some shots of the aftermath, but it's a bit depressing so I'm taking my sweet ass time getting it posted. That's a post for a later date. My phone died, so I promise to return calls soon.
Now it is time for even more depressing shit. The Vice Presidential debate. Sadly enough, this will be the debate that decides the election. McSame and Obama have both been deft enough not to take a firm stand on anything, but the coming debate on the economy will have a hell of an impact.
There isn't much analysis required on this election or debate. This is a question of whether or not people in small towns have figured out that just because you might might feel comfortable enough have a hand butchered barbecued moose steak and a beer with someone doesn't necessarily mean that that person has the wherewith all to handle delicate negotiations with a half-baked glue huffer with a medieval mentality and a nuke to back up. Then turn around manage a government with a multi-trillion dollar budget and a two front war.
No wait, you're missing this, this the vice president we're talking about. Dan Quale, you know the guy that was out spelled by a fifth grader educated in America was the Veep. This is a fifth grader in America, not one of those Asian super geniuses, but a regular chubby sugar-soaked American.
That was then and this is now. This isn't your dad's election kiddos. There is a big if as whether or not either one of these presidential candidates to finish their term. Obama's got the wack job nazi's, kkk'ers, militia's, and lets not forget all the wacko Arabs who will think him a traitor. Don't believe me, a woman drinking at my regualr watering hole actually called Obama a n-----. This isn't any redneck bar either. Thankfully she was pilloried and ejected. But the fact that she even felt comfortable enough to say it in front of a bunch of liberals made me worry.
McSame is easy, he's just flat out old and worn out. Ten years ago his age would not matter.Being on the back half of 3 melanomas is no good place. Its one of those weird cancers that can come out of nowhere and kill in less than six months. Lets not forget about the fact that he's less than two years to the average age of death for American men. This a job that ages the healthiest of men, its will kill John McCain if he is elected.
I don't know about you, but I want my Veep to be able to take over the reins from day one. No, Biden is not my favorite choice for president, but at least if he sits down behind the desk his understanding of the world will exist beyond mere geography.
This debate is Palin's to win or lose. All Biden has to do is not bully her and press her to express her opinion or lack there of.
Palin is going to keep things short and you'll know when she's versed, she'll articulate. She will rely on hyperbole, repeating words while she thinks. If she gets stuck she will move any energy talk to drilling in America, any foreign policy answer to getting terrorists, and attacking Obama directly. As to the economy she'll make vague references about working across party lines, but will not be able to articulate anything cogent. She will rarely use her entire time to speak and rely on a folksy approach.
My guess is that America is fed up with the "regular guy" approach and know that we need smart people. But the fear is that simple folks living in a town of 20,000, having never met anybody outside their own country, and in many cases their own state, will think that its the rich elite that got us in this mess, so why give it back to the egg heads. Hopefully bush and too many neighborhood foreclosures have gotten us past the regular guy.
Here's to Palin dropping an N-bomb. A boy can dream.
7:03 AM - Oh my god were all going to die!
Current mood: breezy
Well, Anderson "metal hair" Cooper had it right. After Saturday there will be nothing left of the Texas coast but shattered trailer homes, body bags floating down flooded streets. and dismembered poverty stricken babies. Hurricane Disemboweler (Ike) is coming to kill us all.
I'm beginning to wonder if our problem doesn't lie with our solutions, but how we look at our problems. Everything has to be a monumental success or a catastrophic clusterfuck. We leave nothing in between to just be what it is.
I think the world would be a much better place if people approached all problems with same state of mind as they do when they take their morning shit. Not the urgent I shouldn't have ate the half-price sushi shit. Nor the roadside prayer for a toilet with at least a third world sanitation standards need to shit. I'm talking your standard Sunday morning paper in hand business time. The world would be able to approach things with a much clearer head.
But of course, God thinks my life is a joke and I'm stuck with glue huffers and mouth breathers to analyze and spew news out their ass. If they had their way even James Cameron's terminator world would look like a Rivera vacation spot compared to the effects any natural disaster that occurs early enough to hit the six-o'clock Action Team report.
Sorry, I'm grouchy. The fucking news is making my cell phone light up like a Christmas Tree plugged into an outlet with a short. I've had everybody from my third cousin to the guy that sat behind me in 10th grade geometry call me to check up on my plans for the storm. Worst is they've made two of my favorite women in the world cry.
My close friend Mary Mary left me a frantic voice mail, her voice cracking, freaked because , according to CNN, an onslaught of hell was barreling down upon me and the Contessa the likes of which the only the residents of Sodom and Gomorrah could sympathize. I was touched that she though so much to call us. But not like that. Cable news can suck my high water balls.
Worst of all, that fucking Vander-vulture with a silver spoon shoved up his ass agonized my grandmother. My saint of a grandmother was brought to the edge of a worrisome collapse by that vapid silver haired ratings whore. If I ever see that wedding cake face of his I'm gonna crack it in half and give him some character. My grandmother you frenum sniffer!
Alright I feel better, not because of Cooper's impending ass whooping, but because of the faith I have in my community.
Thanks to Mother Nature the wife has tomorrow off and will be able to spend the day here at the home office. It rocked because I was able to drag her out to a Thursday night drink. I decided to take her to my buddies place for the 9000th time. She was gracious enough not to mind.
The air outside is thick and thin all at the same time. Like ice cold water being brought to boil instantly. By sticking your arms out you could feel the cool sea air from the hurricane and the warm earth bound air mingle and mix around the bare skin. There is something eerie about feeling the atmosphere work out the calculus of the storm on your arm.
Avoiding freeways and cops we made our way to the bar via the back road of my hood. Plenty of customers and regulars were there taking advantage early weekend and had already tied a couple on. The game TV blared the 42nd hour of informational minutia surrounding the coming apocalypse. We all joked and laughed and poured beers and wine down our throats like gutter rain through the storm sewers.
Everyone was excited, nearly electric at the coming of Ike. When buffed homo on the Accuweather team showed the gridlock of low lying evacuees, we raised our glasses and cheered. The community of a common threat happy not to be that poor fucker on the road.
Not to worry my dear friends, all is well here in the bunker. We've got three weeks of food, twenty five gallons of water, three cases of quality booze, and seventy five rounds of ammunition. I feel confident. Besides I'm a Boy Scout and there isn't a Scoutmaster in sight. there is no way I'm getting my ass reamed.
More to come so long as the power holds. Here with you till the end...
8:19 AM - And they’re off, Obama Christ vs. McRambo, let democracy’s annihilation begin.
Current mood: bewildered
Hello my friends its been awhile so I'll give the Reader's Digest Update.
I can be wet moist pussy, and I know them because I love them, when I get drunk watch a big International athletic love fest and then write.
I now know more about the tactics, strategy, and raw visceral power of water polo, doubles badminton, and handball then I ever knew humanly possible. Then I watched 84 hours of fucking beach volleyball and decided on the lobotomy instead.
Giant athletic orgies aside, the Chinese Government are a bunch of shifty fucks. Forget the fact that they form national Olympic gymnastics squads by way the kiddos handle the tumble of the womb and onto the rice paddy, factory floor, re-education campgrounds, or leaking nuclear reactor. Don't think that more than a few judges were paid off. Because I'm sure it was way more than that.
These Chicoms are soulless.
They digitally faked all those pretty fireworks in the opening and closing ceremonies. They invented fireworks and they faked them with Hollywood technology. Now I'm positive we won.
And I'm still living in pants shitting fear of Mother Nature.
Well the Olympics are over and now it on-to America's greatest and bloodiest sport. The Presidential selection. I haven't said much about this, but there hasn't been dick to talk about. There's been no race. Just bags of hot wind, a pressgasm over Obama, and McCain's handlers having to guide him back to the Straight Talk Express after he wanders off looking for his fighter jet or some Geritol depending on the state of his lucidity.
But now its on like Donkey Kong. The Knights have chosen their squires and are prepared for combat. The selection of Vice Presidential candidates is over. The battle has begun.
One-vote Obama, the young steely buck, full of piss, vinegar, and according the press, has an articulate and well-spoken vocabulary, chose Delaware Senator Joe Biden. A thirty-five year veteran of the Senate. He chairs the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, has a power grin, and fiery campaign rhetoric. So he voted for the Patriot Act, the Iraq War. and he sticks his foot in his mouth from time to time. He can help Obama with Congress, add some depth to the foreign policy, and could run the country in the event of Obama's incapacitation by illness or disgruntled racist.
So McCain, in all his years of life and death experiences, his Twenty-Five years in Congress, his close work with the leadership of this great Nation has decided that the second in line to his 72 year old, cancer clipped, infirm ass, is the one term Governor of Alaska.
Don't get me wrong, Alaska is beautiful, I've had the pleasure to visit and I'm sure Sarah Palin is a smart nice lady, and she's a biscuit in her own right. But I don't want the second in line to get their finger on the button be the one term governor of a state a quarter of size of the Continental US with the population of Fort Worth, Texas.
She's a mayor/park ranger, not the next possible President and Leader of the Free World.
To add insult to injury he picked her for all the wrong reasons. His first choice, Lieberman, was immediately burned in effigy by the Jesus Reich because of his stand abortion. She on the other hand supports drilling in the Arctic Wildlife Refuge and thinks global warming is a crock of shit.
Essentially McCain picked this poor women, who is about to be wrung out and hung out, because of her plumbing, her coziness to big oil, and because she doesn't piss off the bible thumpers.
Does he want to lose this election? Does he listen to what the people are saying with the mouths and wallets? Oh wait that's right, he doesn't use the Internet. He relies solely on the Infotainment of network TV.
God didn't help us with the last one, so what are in the fuck are we going to do this time. I swear, God hates us, She wants us to die, its just that do over takes a decade or two.
All we got is each other, grab the extra ammo and canned goods. and love the one you're with. A storm is coming in and its going to be a hell of a blow.
One last question....
Now I hate hurricanes, but you think God is saying something interesting by scheduling two and putting two on deck during the Republican Convention?
I like many of you am sure that you feel a bit of pain, a bit of melancholy, over the state of this our family earth. If you are like me, which I know for a fact many of you are. When you are with your friends you make jokes about swollen bellied kids on the late night TV. You laugh at the cruelty of slap stick humor, you playfully groan at a racist joke with your like minded liberal friends. Because you are moving in the right direction. To Liberty, to Freedom, to Equality. Even with your jokes, you can still feel good about yourself.
But the hate lingers, for your neighbors. The rivals in the town just North of you. That team that knocked you out of the playoffs. They don't get us, we know each other, we struggled with each other. In the hot sun, hearing the Gods yell to push harder, make them yours, you are the best, you are the chosen. It's your time for district.
You hunger for blood, you cry for guts, you expect victory. You rally to those that are near against those that are far. As far as an ocean, a river, a street.
But the hunt is fun. Its in our genes. Thirty-five thousand years of programming.
How can you fight that?
Today was like every other day for me. I awoke with great aspirations, and once again achieved mediocrity. Mediocrity 12,045, Genius 3. At least the shitter got its weekly polish. Porcelain can put up a hell of a shine when it wants to.
My reward was more than I deserved. The Mrs. put together a nice a dinner of pasta, fresh greens, and good wine. Our tongues unwound with wine's soft wicked ways ways and we goofed and gushed at our dinner table. Men really do get the better end of this deal.
For dinner, for a bit of sophisticated cliché we put the opening ceremonies to the Olympics, and immediately started making fun. Its just too easy when you have that much neon and Lycra in one place.
Before long I'd sunk my fat ass into the drinking couch, the Contessa perched near on her decidedly more elegant settee. Still the Chinese rolled out of the tube. We stopped trying to figure out where to set the channel and instead settled into the communion of a billion.
The eerily imperial opening crumbled against the sea of humanity marching around the track for sport. I looked for pretty girls and national costumes to jibe and josh against. It was then that the Olympics won. It hit me here in a rush.
Two thousand seven hundred some odd years ago a bunch of semi-literate Greeks thought it a religious imperative to stop war for a naked foot race. That the spirit of beneficial competition and the beauty of human movement was more important than hacking each other to pieces over farm land.
Here we stand, several millennium later, nearly every nation in the world standing in the same arena of competition. Most know they'll never the glory of heavy weight around their necks, they'll never pose for the Wheaties box. From mud huts, from gated suburbia, from disappearing islands, and war zone hell holes they come. For the tender laurel of standing on common ground.
Across continents, across time, across heinous hate and putridity.
All so we can figure out who wins the naked foot race.
4:24 PM - Edouard blog. The March of Mother Nature’s armies rolls on.
Life on the gulf coast just doesn't get any better. Lung sucking heat, air thick with humidity only found in Turkish baths and swamps. Lets not forget the odd hurricane or 12 that lay waste and destroy everything in their path leaving me in pants shitting paranoia for 6 months out of the year. Wife constantly berating me about buying water, nonperishable foods, plywood, extra batteries, nasa sealed dog food for the boys. Me constantly reminding her of the essentials. Whiskey, tobacco, extra ammo, one of those bitchin Rambo knives in case the fits really hits the shan.
Of course that isn't my biggest irritation. It's the name of these storms. From what I understand NOAA (that's the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration to you and me Russ) uses a 6 year rotating list of names. Some storm names get retired because their severity, Andrew and Katrina being examples. They use it for ease of identification and communication with the public. But they need to give names that inspire defecation, not snickering,
Dolly and Edouard, give me a break, it sounds more lead roles in the all gay version of the Vagina Monologues. Now Katrina, Rita, those are names to fear. Those are names of crazy coke whore bitches that come to town, fuck you in holes you never knew you had, steals your social security number, and leaves you a cock that pisses fire. But you still need something with punch.
Hurricane Satan, Hurricane Ass Ripper, Hurricane HIV, these are names that inspire fear and compliance with state and local evacuation orders. Look I'm all for thinning the dull ones from herd, but a few of them might have Mozart or an Einstein crawling around on their putting green thick trailer carpet. Those are the ones we need to save. If that means the mouth breathing driver of the aforementioned Proto-Einstein makes it, so be it. That is a cost I'm willing to bear.
The wispy high icy cirrus clouds are moving quickly heralding Edouard's approach. The rain and wind are expected at dawn, landfall of the center at noon.
I'll keep you good folks out there in Webville posted. With any luck and enough wine in the wife, I can make out in it a couple of times go all Action News on Edouard it and post some shots.
Back in a few..
August 5, 2008 1:12 PM Central Standard Time.
The previous part of this blog was posted some 12 hours prior at 1.30 in the morning or so. Not at 530 pm as posted, guess I'll have to take a look at that.
So far nothing, I know I said I'd post some shots of the storm, but so far not a damn thing has happened in my neck of the woods. Not that I'm complaining mind you, as far as natural disasters go I like to keep my minor and as few and far between. Though I'm not sure how long that will last with this administration, they can fuck a minor deimma up into a major catastrophe with blinding speed. But for day, they lucked out. Any picutes I might post would look like you average rain storm. Funny thing, it doesn't look like the typical summer squall, more a winter storm with the low clouds and steady rain.
The Mrs. got to stay home with me, which was nice, we ate left over Mexican take out from the night before and had a pleasant lunch. At least I got that out of it.
Though jack and shit are currently in charge as far as the storm is concerned there are still plenty of rain bands coming our way. A few years ago folks yawned about Tropical Storm Allison, and it killed 11 people by the time it made its second landing. The local weather dorks don't see this happening this time, but they do have teenage hard ons for any good storm that makes a landing, so if the apocalypse erupts here they'll let us know quick and I be there with pictures and bells on. Below is a bitchin shot of the storm from space. More to come...
Alright I tried to post a picture of the storm but mywaste has decided that its own photo url is unacceptable. Thanks Rupertom. Check my photos.
9:34 PM - Email, queers, and hope for the future
Current mood: dorky
Category: News and Politics
Hello my friends, its been a long time. Its election eve in the Newtonian world of American politics and I think its high time we sat down for a chat.
To recap, our infantile Commander in Chief still huffs paint, we have far too much sand in our boots, the continuing life of president cheney is a miracle of modern medicine, McCain is a fossil who witnessed the invention of fire and still thinks a mouse is something you buy a cat for, Obama won because his gonads dropped and bigots fear the bitches more than a darky, and Mother Nature is preparing for reaming not seen since the Great Flood of Yore.
My faithful three might be pondering why its taken me so long to crumble my fingers against the key board and crack the bunker door to let in a little fresh air. Besides the obvious issues listed above of course there have been many boring and wonderful things taking up my time. But fuck you, I don't want to get into that. Lets get on to stuff that really matters rather than my personal proclivities.
A couple of weeks ago my good and loving wife conked me over the head with the spousal frying pan and dragged me to the George Michael concert. I can't say I wasn't surprised. Her sequels of joy upon the purchase of tickets over the Interweb and the endless rounds of Father Figure, Faith, and Freedom90 being drilled in my head while we grocery got might of given something away. George sure liked the F didn't he. That's beside the point. Well fuck. Actually that is the point. More on that later. I floated in a sea of fabuhomos, transvestites, and chunky ex-sorority-wives; clinging desperately to my wife and cool, a peculiar thought struck me.
John McCain does not use e-mail.
So its not the first thought that might pop into one head during such an auspicious occasion, sue me. The liquor line was long and I figured my precious love was still too tired from the days toil to trudge through dead end after dead end of my witty repartee. My testes in her purse and my book parked with the car all that was left to do was take in the sights. Strange sights indeed.
The last I stopped at my local publicly funded professional basketball arena they were hosting a match between minor league hockey. That crowd was like this one, predominately male with a sizable minority of females, some stiff and uncomfortable dates way out of their element, and the electricity that hangs in the air at all big events. I was surprised to see a comparable number of cowboys at each show, till I realized it was the Gay Butch nation representing the family. This of course can draw all sorts of comparisons using log cabins, cowboy hats, and georgie porgie's own sexual proclivities. But we'll leave it at that.
So what does the gay nation and McCain's failure to enter the 21st century have do with this election.
Everything.
The Sunday before my rainbow extravaganza I caught a buried article in the New York Times where McCain admitted that he never used the Internet, that he never used email, and that he had people to do that for him. I am stunned that this has not been picked up by more folks. Here is a Senator of the United States, an esteemed member of the military, and candidate of for the President of the United States readily admitting that he does not have the first clue use one of the greatest tools of mankind.
Worst of all he didn't even know enough to fake his way through the question. "I try to use it, I'm learning everyday, but I also rely on some of my aides to weed through it, I'm a busy man."
Why would this hit me during such a fabulous occasion, because it was the first time I felt a bit of hope since the repubs stole the second election in 2004.
In 1992, 13 jackasses from high school, drove into Houston and killed Paul Brousard, a gay man, just because he like the company of men instead of women. Who knows what they were afraid of, maybe they were jealous. I knew a couple of the guys, one of them lived down the street, and another sat behind me in a computer class. They weren't intellectual giants by any stretch of the imagination. But this gives you an idea of the state of things in Houston 15 or 20 years ago.
Here I was with my wife, being straight, I figured I was apart of the minority. But the beautiful part was all the male members of the Docker nation accompanying their plump ex-sorority girlfriends. Many of these dudes looked really uncomfortable and wanted to be anywhere else. Besides a testament to the power of pussy, how incredible that these very conservative men, set their prejudices aside and came to huge gay event.
I think a lot Repubs feel somewhat sheepish about putting bush back in office because of men kissing and are finally starting to get over these ridiculous ideas. Put this with McCain being so completely out of touch with the forward edge of America puts his campaign in weak position.
This campaign has yet to begin in earnest. Once the veeps are picked and the conventions are behind us, McCain will begin to feel the death of a thousand cuts. I know I was despondent for so long, but oh the glimmer of hope. How sweet it is. I know Obama isn't the second coming, as much as Jon Stewart would like us to believe. But at least he is different. Sometimes just being different is enough.
5:28 PM - Ain’t it sweet watching China carry it’s collective red ass in its hands.
It's been too long since I've posted and I know that there are three of you just desperate to hear from me.
Well the campaign is moving into the best approximation of the Bataan death march I've seen since a Robert Taylor retrospective on Turner Classic Movies. I've about beat the presidential race to death, my friends are sick of hearing the term dynastic presidency fall out of my mouth every six seconds and I'm sick of hearing how Obama's preacher is racist, Hillary dodges fictional snipers, and McCain repeatedly screw up who hates who in the middle east.
So onto something juicer something where freedom and democracy aren't just selling points for corporate America's next shill, err I mean president.
I am giddy with glee at watching China get its ass handed to it this year. It's not just soccer moms finding out that most of Wal-Mart's products contain at least 50% lead; or that every country attending the Olympics without a UNICEF franchise in its back yard is opting to bring their own food; forget tonnes of Buddhist monks in funky colored giving a collective middle finger to another military dictatorship; and as cool as I think it is watching psychotic Frenchmen douse the torch.
It's all that and a bowl of noodles. Democracy and freedom's inevitable victory in China is beginning. China is fucked, not just because of its deplorable human rights record or criminal environmental record. It's because Chinese authorities are trying to fit a round peg into a square hole when the impose single party politics onto a multi-ethnic, multi-religious, 21st century country of a billion people.
Human brains were designed to exist and live in the natural world where an infinite number of ways of living and decisions could be made. When the human mind is exposed to choices and different ways of living, the only way that they used to know will never do for everybody. With Chinese people of all ilks seeing that it is possible to live in peace their own way with a culture of their own choice, thanks to the Internet, satellite TV, a movies, accepting the imposed peace of single party Chinese rule will never do again.
Couple this truth with the Chinese need to maintain public relations for business and they will never be able to contain the forces of liberalism. There are too many people who want to do their own thing. Just like God and Darwin designed them to be.
So it's Sunday night, late. The sidewalks are rolled up, the wind is rushing cold from the north, I've got two dogs piled on top of meeting competing for lap space. You Yankees up north may laugh, and likely rightly so, but the humidity here has a way of seeping into your bones and bringing the cold with it. The air and moisture work so you feel like ice accumulates in the hinges in your bones and old sports wounds quicker than it does in the eves. Even when the mercury has settled into a balmy 50. Don't believe me, ask my neighbors who moved back to Colorado because the winters were too cold here.
I don't know what you folks do with your weekly ritual on Sundays. In days past I'd always found the night before the work week, wherever it landed, a bit like the pending doom of a test you didn't study for. Not exactly world shattering, but certainly not pleasant thing to face. Especially on a weekly basis. But then again, I'm quite fond of eating, shelter, and odd the opportunity to use the furtherance of both of those into dalliance with the Mrs. I digress.
As I've moved on in my life and my habits have become more solid and ritualistic, I've found that I use those Sunday nights as my last chance to recharge before the onslaught of the week. I don't organize, iron, lay out work clothes, or any such other acquiescence to the end of my privacy. I fight it, stick in the it in the eye with 3- 6 bottles of beer, and stretch the evening into the late night using thick books with well thumbed pages.
Sometimes, when words on pages blur, but sleep must be kept at bay I'll give in to electric sex and intercourse with my cable box. More often than not I opt not for Adult Swim as many of my chemically addled contemporaries might, but instead I end up at Turner Classic Movies. No jack asses, I don't burn through my digital recording space with Matlock and Murder She Wrote, I do have one foot in this century. But there are times when you need a sexy, a cool calmness, a reflective moral reset can only come through the lens of history. There is something reassuring about men and women long dead, loving and fighting themselves and others. Holding on to the simple things, being corrupted by the shiny things. That good still struggles with evil. That good is good and bad is bad.
Strange isn't it?
We know that life, love, loyalty, friendship, fellowship, quiet afternoons, raging shindigs, full bellies, heads tickled by intoxication, kisses, hugs, reunion... ...these are the stuff of life that has held true to humanity since our tales fell off.
On the other hand we know death, apathy, treachery, loneliness, mournful mornings, awkward meeting, hunger pangs, heads wrung out by intoxication, hits, shoves, exile... ...these too also hold true. They balance out life and make the happy, happy, not just normal.
Balance is one thing... ...I think that is what roughs me up the most. Some Sunday nights TCM shows silent movies. Fascinating glimpses with Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton, Mary Pickford, displaying all that magic love and pain. But they are more than that they are keyholes in time, from an era where most of the actors and crew grew up riding horses and reading by fire or candlelight. Can you believe that they lived much in the same way people living Roman times did? Hell even only 80 or 90 year ago parts of the Middle East, Africa, and Asia were still locked in the bronze age. They hadn't even made it to the medieval times. From the bronze age to the computer age in only two or three generations and we wonder why shit is so fucked.
We think ourselves so advanced, on the edge of unimaginable breakthroughs. Eternal life, colonization of other planets, no disease, no suffering. At least in one part of the world. But people in my own city, hell my own neighborhood, go to bed hungry and sick.
I was watching Chaplin's classic 'The Kid.' In it a struggling young mother leaves her child for a rich person to care for. Instead the kid ends up with Chaplin. They struggle and scheme to get by in a ghetto that most modern American poor would ascribe to foreign privation. But in the end love is still their greatest asset.
Love, is their greatest asset. That blows. The rich people down the street have more money then they can spend in a life, but still they collect. When two people find and care for each other, they still rip them apart because it doesn't ascribe to their idea of a normal life. Indifference and ignorance rule just as much now as then.
Maybe there is hope, maybe the chance lies in creating more of those connections, spreading more of that love, more of that peace. I think that there is a lot more of us people that want big love and a simple life than those that want the big car and the complicated life. There just has to be.
2:42 PM - The Texas Cock-Us II. the reaming begins.
This makes a lot more sense if you read my previous blog...
It never ceases to amaze me how the political process finds new and interesting ways to chap my ass. For those who missed out last episode of the of the Democracy Devolved, I had the rare pleasure of being witness to a semi-historical moment in corruption history. I personally observed the Texas primaries. Now the actual vote went ok. Aside from the fact that the process itself was hobbled by mouth breathing staffers and inadequate equipment, the people's zeal and patience made everything peachy.
I've never participated in any sort of party shenanigans, as my previous musings have laid out. For once my assumptions and predilections were justified. I settled into my spot in the auditorium. The Contessa's place in line had long since moved into the secret area of action where we mere mortals dottering on the outside had no place nor ability to judge its activity. An African-American couple cut right from 1986, having both voted, sat waiting for the caucus. The gentleman,decked out head to toe in dark blue denim, not hip hop denim mind you but old school Levi's, kept his jerry curls under a flat cap and his lady under his arm. She wore a perfect set of ironed ringlets off her head, painted on jeans, a tight top, and a gargantuan set of fashion goggles. She at least made it to 1990. A whole truck load of campesinos, other assorted immigrants, and native born Hispanics made up a bulk of the crowd.
As the lines thinned on the walls, the crowd waiting for the caucus grew in the auditorium. What was most heartening were all the kids running the aisles. I'd like to think they brought them to be witness to democracy and history, but I imagine it was due to a lack of adequate and affordable child care. During this time an earnest set of folks were running about, giving out water, chips, cell phones for call to home. At first it made my heart glad that volunteers were helping others through the tedium. Then the nasal whine of the Bronx accent, a T-shirt foreign from Texas, and an inside-out Obama shirt turned my mind toward more sinister thoughts.
We applauded our last voter, a little old lady in a wheel chair. She of course took fifteen minutes to carry off the stage, and we could of got things organized then, but no, the mental giants in charge made us wait till she parked.
I should of enjoyed the respite before all hell broke lose.
The district captain had everybody figure out what precinct they were in. It was a small number in the corner of the voter registration card. Others could figure it out by looking at a set of maps that someone was smart enough to print out before everything fell apart. Everybody split up into their respective corners. Our tiny precinct of 16 in one corner, the other three larger precincts of 100 to 200 in the other corners. The moment the captain announced that the primary began, the Yankees revved their engines, turned around or put T-shirts touting Obama, and set loose.
The Texas two-step primary was born out Texas Democrat's attempts to the candidate selection out of the hands of old all white power structures and into the hands of people, namely more minority voters. Primaries were first born in the progressive era politics of the 20's and 30's. Once the 1964 civil rights act broke the back of Jim Crow, it took a few years for the ideas to bleed down to the local levels. The voting side was used to preserve the traditional version of primary voting, whereas the caucus was an attempt to get around those last bastions of racist gerrymandering and allow small minority voting precincts a chance to get a voice in the big show. But I don't think that what happened last Tuesday is exactly what they had in mind.
The Yankee Obamans seized the caucus packets and took them out to their various precincts. With these packets in hand the Yankees began telling the precincts that they as supporters and volunteers with the Obama campaign they couldn't help us but that we needed to appoint a temporary chair and use Robert's Rules of Orders and elect a chair and secretary.
The Contessa, herself irritated with the Yankees and in dire need of a glass of champagne, took the packet from the owner of a nasal accent and stated that she would be a temporary chair and that the Texans could handle things from here on out. The Yankee quite taken aback, which I can sympathize with her on this one, stood by with her mouth hung slack as my dear Contessa took control of the situation. The other precincts were not so lucky, the Yankees seemed to take things well into hand over there.
Once the chair and secretary were elected the members of the precinct signed in on an official list and indicated their choice for the presidential candidate on a list. The new chair and secretary, under the watchful eye of the Contessa administered the primary quite effectively. The Contessa didn't keep her eye on the prostrations of procedure so much as she did the carpetbaggers from the north.
Concerned by the Contessa and the fear that Texans were actually taking care of the primary with out them, three Yankees showed up to assist the slack mouth. With any luck my dear Contessa's actions allowed some other Texans and a hand and voice in their own primary.
Still all was not good. The caucus is weird 19th century creation used to allow a minority position a voice on the floor of the party convention without giving them any real power. To effect this, weird procedures or voting schemes are used. In Texas a formula using the the total number of voters and how each person voted is determines where the delegates will go. Here's where the Obaman Yankees got us. The formula is not placed in each caucus voting packet. It instead is contained in some giant primary voting bible held by the district captain. The Obamans somehow got this bible from our yellow and weak kneed captain and were using it to help us obviously illiterate Texans. They took the caucus sign-in and vote sheets and personally determined that all the votes went to Obama.
Had my sweet and several children not been there, I'd of been introducing some Yankees to Texas justice.
My dear Contessa attempted to take a look in the bible, just to verify whether or not the Obaman determinations of the voting caucus was accurate or not. They, with much trepidation allowed her to look at the page which the formula was placed on, but would not allow her to take it in her possession by hand or any of the voting sheets therein. Even then, as she was in the middle of reading the one page they blessed her to look at, they took it away. "so the other precincts could utilize it."
The Contessa finally took hold of the sign in sheets, verified their accuracy, and sent up a prayer that the bean counters in the state party had not been totally infiltrated by Obaman Yankees as well.
Don't get my wrong, I love Yankees, many of my friends are Yankees. But could you please stay away until 'youze guys" are invited to the party. You don't see me running up there to tell you how to vote or run your shit. We have electricity, indoor plumbing, and air conditioning, its almost civilization, so fuck off we can take care of our own damn selves.
I'm not a fan of Hillary like the Contessa is. She being an intelligent and independently minded woman would like to see an intelligent and independently minded woman take the reins of this great nation of ours. I as well, just so long as were not creating a political dynasty in the process. So what does this leave me. If I support some tiny "third party" candidate as I've done during most of my voting career, I risk not throwing my support behind the lesser of two evils and thereby helping evil to win. (memories of Gore 2000 anyone?) As a result, by irony and default, I support Obama, because there is no way in hell I'm supporting McCain. Go read about his position on Iraq and you'll see what I mean. You can find it at www.johnmccain.com under issues. I never thought a war torture victim could turn into a war monger.
Still, bad form Obama campaign, bad form. You are living true to your South Chicago political roots. You may lose me yet.
Here I am, I should be joyful that cheney is likely on his way out, (baring some constitutional emergency) but somehow I feel worse than before. Anyone have an alka-seltzer?
9:14 PM - We went from a Texas 2 step and caucus to a Texas 2 fistted cock us in no time flat
Yes friends, I stayed true to myself and my morals. I did not participate in yesterday's primary here in the somewhat great state of Texas. To be sure, it was fun having a whole lot of attention paid to us. And not for easing the prison population via the pearly gate express through Huntsville or some damn carpetbagging Yankee who likes to set up shop then run for president. But for something glorious and spectacular, for democracy.
All four of my readers know why I did not participate, that horse is glue. But the Contessa did go down to share in the love and vote in an antiquated arbitrary layer of power filtering set up by incumbents and cronies through a computerized voting system specifically designed to deliver bush II the presidency. (I half expect to see him be the next Democratic nominee via 'computer glitch'.) She being beautiful, a patriot, and a hill blazer had to attend the social event of the season to vote and caucus. So being the dutiful husband and throughly devoted to still having sex I decided to join her. If only to be witness to something interesting.
Now don't get me wrong, just because I bitch, doesn't mean I don't love. I lived in several countries and without a doubt this one is my favorite. If for no other reason than I saw the primary unfold the auditorium of Jefferson Davis High School, filled to the brim with Hispanic, Black, Caucasian, gay, straight, young, and old all helping to decide whether a black man or a woman would be the next nominee for president. Can you fucking dig how cool that all these beautiful people where exercising their constitutional rights in a building named after a man who fought to destroy that right. No one was blowing anyone else up and everyone applauded when the last little old lady wheeled up to the booth to vote. America rocks no matter how bad the rich fuck things up. Because there is more of us and we're better shots.
We arrived at dear old Jeff Davis about 6:30 pm., just in the nick of time. Cars stacked nose to tail hole filling the streets. The normal gauntlet of candidates and volunteers desperate enough to pimp for our votes guarded the gates, people, and placards are piled on the lawn, An electric excitement shook the air made everyone simmer. Everything was bumping and jumping, The primary vote took place in an old neo-classical auditorium built in the late teens or early twenties of the last century. A plaque hangs in the foyer of the school memorializing the war dead, that's World War II dead. It's an apt setting for our festivities.
The initial primary vote was as compelling as a paint drying race. Roughly 400 folks lined the walls to use the whopping 7 voting booths, of which 3 worked intermittently. ( I'll give you one guess as to how many times my district has voted republican in the last 50 elections.) Folks waiting for the caucus filled out the middle seats of the auditorium. Fretting about the edges of the crowd were 5 or 6 people handing out water and Dorritos. One skinny little Latina wore a fun run t-shirt from DC, the cherry blossom run. She spoke constantly with a person who owned the nasal wine of a New York accent and some guy in New York Electrician Union jacket walked with them I knew this did not bode well.
Once we cheered out little old lady, everybody separated into their specific precincts by going to a designated corner of the auditorium. The district captain passed out the caucus information and instructions. Then all hell broke lose and my little bitty caucus turned into a gang bang during a lube shortage... ...rough and bloody.
11:08 PM - To raid and burn the Bastille or not, that is the question.
Well friends, my moral quandary is finally over. I know you all have been waiting with bated breath and anticipation. For all .5 of my new viewers, I'll update you to catch you up. I've been debating with myself about whether or not to vote in the primary. And my debate I mean engaging in penitent wailing prayer and self-flagellation so violent and intense the I make the Shi'a festival Ashura look like an elementary school field day picnic.
For me it is more than getting up an hour early or taking an hour off it lunch. This isn't even getting out of jury duty. It is an absolute moral quandary for me. I've never before voted in a political primary or affiliated with any party. The political parties, once tools to communicate to the masses over a wide area with no modern communication, and organize the selection of candidates through representative electors and delegates known personally by their constituents, have morphed into distended cancerous mass used by an elite few to dictate policy and candidates to the mass. Primary elections play into the hands of the extremists of the parties and force candidates to raise money for longer periods from more and more people. Taking time away from discussing issues and meeting the people and more towards $2000 a plate chicken dinners and coffees with donor organizers with such names and Pioneers, Aces, Blowhards, and Democracy Termites.
Fareed Zakaria, a darling of the Daily Show, has written in his most recent book that this money hungry system is all a symptom of the over-democratization of our society. That this is too much democracy and that we must give some of it back in the way of independent legislative committees and more limited democratic involvement. He has good observations and sound ideas Though he lumps the party system in with his critique of the cheney administration and the need for reining in the democratization of culture he fails to address his critique of the political parties and he is a bit paternalistic. I imagine he was a fan of the neo-cons at one point. Thank God he is beginning to see the light.
I believe that you can have a successful democratized society, but its institutions must be changed to adapt to it. Not scale back the ideas of freedom and choice. With political parties its easy. Get rid of them, they are anachronistic, wasteful,and completely fail in being the intermediary between the people and the candidates. The day of the independent candidate. Raising money solely online and fully vetting and communicating their ideas is upon us. The parties both right and left will continue to battle to both save their traditional place as our national arbiter, while trying to differentiate themselves from each other, but not too much so as not to lose the all important swing voter of the year.
Candidates will begin to cut their ties and go the way Joe "Sore Loserman" Liberman. Though the party engineered things in such a way so as to be almost certain that they'd get rid of him. His step outside the box did the trick and his constituents rewarded him with an election. Gov. Dean's early Internet fund raising and Obama's current success point the way of the future. So much for the party's invincibility. Candidates, as the grow older and more web savvy, they will forgo the parties that helped create the current election fiasco, in favor of independently financed and run campaigns that aren't beholden to campaigning for others or relying on a machine for money. The people with be able to personally choose the candidate using their own money system against them. Worried about the big fund raiser Rolodex king and queen makers still being able to weld unnecessary influence. A simple demand by a candidate's constituency that all fund raising take place anonymously and on the Internet should suffice to minimize influence.
That is why I will not vote in any primary ever. Let burn the mother down.
A stand for the righteous can come shortly, it just requires that we make the demand and stand.
9:52 PM - Softball debates and digging through campaign bull shit. Just another day with the OC.
Well friends the witching hour is nearly upon. Only days till the primary and all the nation is atwitter with excitement. Well maybe you're atwitter if you're one of the half-inflated balloons helming the major news desks of America. Then again if you are one of those, you're just a twit. But if you're everybody else you're slaving away in some barely adequate service industry job, hanging on with bloody nails to an inflating mortgage on a house worth $5000 less than it was a year ago. All because some asshole with more money than you'll ever see in a lifetime wants a house in Cabo with a private runway for his jet. There goes your skilled job to China. He hears Aspen is great, your last shitty job on the phone flies off to India, and you're left holding the bill for his ski chalet. What a dick. He gets a private jet, a guaranteed white Christmas, and accompanying plastic pussy. Your only entertainment is flipping a coin to decide whether to pay for groceries or medical insurance. To add insult to injury you whore yourself out to this soulless bastard just to scrape enough together so you can buy heavy metal encrusted re-manufactured garbage from the other assholes across ocean who took the job you used to have.
Let's not forget about you're cousin. You know, the one sleeping on your couch because BP blew up your aunt in a refinery explosion. He donated his left leg so that Exxon could charge $101.00 a barrel for oil. Don't fret, he didn't notice the leg. Three 18-month tours with a whopping 30 days off between tours left his brains so scrambled he thinks Sesame Street is high art.
This about sum things up. You pumped?! You ready!? In one short year the troughs of Capitol Hill will be rearranged and we'll finally get a president who can complete a sentence. Oh, Lord that is depressing. The world is caving in and I'm stoked about grammar. On to lower and sicker things.
Here we are on the precipice of madness and I'm still waffling over principle. I hate, loathe, detest, and curse the political parties. They've become the tools of minority interests and moneyed corporations. A way to silence descent by distilling real problems into sound bites. Tool of an old age warped into a money launder and incumbent incubator. This gives you at least some idea as to why I never voted in a primary.
But then we have the dynastic presidency. Clinton's wanning momentum may be giving way, but it may be enough to get the state. Plus the Republicans hate her and her candidacy might galvanize the right for McCain. What is a poor boy to do? Then we have the superdelegates. Thirty-five political hacks deciding the fate of the nation. Anybody have a mountain cabin for sale?
I suppose I must wade hip deep into the muck and slug it out. Try to dig through the platitude and hyperbole, with a luck and pluck we'll find the nugget of truth in that pile of shit that is the modern American political debate.
Since the news media is of no help and I can't stand listening to candidates and politicians ramble, I like to read the transcripts of debates and speeches. I gave a brief read of the debate between Obama and Clinton held in Austin to see if I could get any idea of what their respective positions are. Tomorrow I'll read the second debate and try to put a score card together on when actual positions and plans are stated, and when their just sucking wind.
First of all, this is no debate. This is reporters softballing questions to the candidates. Not the classic Lincoln Davis debate that might show us some real color and truth.
I'm sure it comes to no surprise that the big topics were health care, the mortgage and economic crisis, Iraq, immigration, and surprisingly enough money's influence on policy in Washington. Their brief spat at the end of the debate on money and corruption was almost refreshing.
On the whole the OC agrees that health care is good, that everybody needs it. Where they put the big emphasis is on trying to get children health care. This is a good proposal as kids cant help when their parents suck so we as a people should just make sure all kids get health care. Of course the vets get thrown into this bunch because you know hey, the government blew off their limbs and turned them into half-vegetables. Grubby sheets, an over worked nurse, a doctor who graduated with a D average is the least we can do. Of course they are never able to explain how we help these people and where we get the money. Just that its a tragedy and it must be cured.
Clinton makes some notion of ending discrimination in health insurance. I have one question. How do we enforce it? Create a new bureaucracy, let the courts, both of those always turn out well. Just ask Homeland Security and tort reform.
From here question hour with Hill and Barak moved into corporate subsides. They didn't go into much detail. Just that it needs to end. Obama gave the number $55 billion as a target. Like any promises will ever be fulfilled when it comes to breaking corporate welfare, I'm not going to hold my breath. This one gets the votes, but never the bill signing ceremony.
Hill can't agree enough. Her sincerity was as deep as a used car salesmen.
After about 25 minutes of rambling, asinine questions and answers that were not so much answers but time fillers of how much some individual American's life sucks. You'll notice in speeches and so-called debates that politicians love to haul out the old 'That reminds me a man/women I met in (insert name of burg near campaign stop). He/she told me about how much trouble she was having trouble (insert basic part of daily existence or hot button item) because (insert popular target)". This allows candidates to fill up air time without actually saying anything. Plus Joe Sixpack gets the warm fuzzies because the millionaire candidate is sympathizing with the plight of the little guy. Its usually accompanied by dramatic pauses and some heart felt looks. Remember its all baloney, it allows them to say that they are against a problem without having to give a real solution.
Despite a few spats and some minor disagreement, for the most part the OC spent most of their time campaigning against bush. They didn't just talk about how much the cheney administration screwed the pooch, they gave the positions, and their asking price for a blumpkin.
Before it ended Obama got one more concrete proposal in. A $4000 college credit in exchange of some years of service. From what it sounded like it would be a two for one deal. Four years of credits for two years of serivce. Though I could be wrong, he was still a little vague.
The OC did end things on a surprising note. Bashing corporate welfare greed, out of control spending, and earmarks. They didn't say shit on how to solve it, but at least they mentioned the issues.
As much as we have to pick through the murky mist of campaign platitude, I'm just thankful we don't have to go through Bush II again. That is one thing me and the OC can agree on. Still, I'm not holding my breath. Part of me still thinks some kind of crisis requiring the suspension of elections around the corner.
Like I said before, tomorrow I'll try have a scorecard on the BS and concrete stuff. Who knows...
Stay strong and fight the good fight, I'll be right there with you.
8:45 PM - Sumerians in ancient Iraq, why are we still screwing up?
Friends, you know how sometimes a book reveals things that you'd never expect, that shock and thrill, and even amaze. What makes me especially happy is when its not some piece of throwaway literature. Garbage reading. I love my fair share of Steven King and W.E.B. Griffin. The contessa is fond of magazines and VC Andrews. But when a book surprises you, when it becomes more that what you expect. When it changes your you expectations of the world. That's when the written word transcends its humble abstract form and delivers truth from across time and space. That is when the power and most providential state.
I as wear through the years books become less revolutionary and more like a comfortable sweaters. Not that I'm complaining. My knees are getting old and revolutions tend to leave bullet holes. But a quiet unassuming work snuck into my shelves and surprised me.
My standing gift request for birthdays and the various festivities surrounding the winter solstice is cookies along with gift cards for either books, movies, and/or music. Predictably books are tops on my list unusually and among my greatest haul. This year was no different that any other. I was wandering around the Barnes and Global, looking to burn through the rest of my plastic. As a fan of history and politics I tend to gravitate towards the ends of the bookstores.
Lately I've been plowing through works that tread on the edges of history. Lots of stuff on ancient Rome, Greece, Persia; as far back through the mists of time that I can reach back. I'm not entirely sure what I'm looking for, aside from what all historians are looking for, an understanding of today through a tattered tapestry of yesterday. But for the most part it tends to be a recitation of dates and facts or a cherry picking of incidents to twist a picture to fit a warped and prejudiced position. Among the ancient history books I found a quiet, obviously academic book entitled The Sumerians, their history, culture, and character by Samuel Noah Kramer. Written in 1963 and reissued in 1971, I wasn't expecting much. Maybe just another list of events or some academic treatise on the exhumation of some massive ziggart. Besides, I like the statue on the cover and maybe when people come over they'll be impressed that I'm into esoteric subject like the Sumerians. What an egotistical git I am.
Like all good and unexpected gifts, I got more than I ever could of bargained for.
The Sumerians were a people that made their way from the great grass steppe of Asia and into the fertile crescent in ancient Mesopotamia between 4500 and 5000 B.C.E. Thats over 7000 years ago to you and me Russ. Sumerian actually means black-headed people in Sumerian. Obviously self descriptive. They were the first to promulgate the written word, used domesticated animals widely, organize for civilization and war, write literature, write laws, administer justice, the list goes on and on.
Kramer painted a picture that made these people come alive. He gave relevance to their hierarchy and made even the most mundane detail about economics compelling and enlightening. He did this with a clever mixture of summation. (because lets face it, he is trying to condense nearly 3000 years of musty history) and direct translations of cuneiform. In the chapter devoted to literature he prints the translations of a funeral eulogy discovered in Iraq, that were popular for Sumerians to write about others that had passed on. Sort of obituaries with the all sorrow and melancholy of death intact. You could feel the lament of one man's loss of his father. I had sympathy for a man who has been dead himself for over 5000 years. Now that is power.
Not enough, I've got more.
We all know the term sophomore. To you more astute folks out there you will imediately identify the origin of the word as Greek. The modern word is a combination of two, sopho and moros. Sophos for clever and moros for fool. The word literally means 'clever fool' and was used to describe students early, though not new to their training. Quite an apt description that still works today. How impressive those Greeks are, except that the Greeks didn't think of it. They actually stole/ borrowed it from the Sumerians.
Sumerian schools were known as edubbas. Among the students of the edubbas was one know gurumhurum, which also is a combination of two words. Gurum and hurum, which mean, you guessed it, clever fool. Unreal that a concept could wind its way down through the ages nearly unchanged.
But enough of the parlor tricks. Where Kramer really shines is the closing chapter where he discusses the cultural impact of Sumer. Besides the listing of firsts, inventions, and other innovations he takes the radical step (well radical for the 50's and 60's) of providing a list of Sumerian stories and myths that directly influenced and were the forebears to the old testament of the Bible. So much for divinely inspired. This was regular discourse during the old college religion class, but I never actually had a list of them.
Modern archeology theorizes that Sumerians came from semi-city states on the plains of Asia and have even found proto-Sumerian writing. So there is hope for new insight and excitement.
Still, we must end on a down note.
Like all history of fallen empires and civilizations, the mighty must eventually fall. Throughout his work, Kramer refers to the people of Sumer as competitive, stoic, religious, and tribal. More apt to work against each other than with each other. I think that is the great lesson out of all of it.
breezy
dorky
