Indulge me, I have to wait for the sheet to hit the floor.
Category: News and Politics
At that moment of sleep...
There has to be a moment right before sleep, when the world goes on without us. We cease to exist. That vulnerable moment when each of us lays down on our bed and becomes- nothing.
Worries are quieted, fantasies are let loose and we lay as if in a coma. Humanity's grip over the planet slips, and somehow, someway, earth keeps turning.
George Bush lies silently in his bed, his thoughts almost completely extinguished. But his finger is not asleep yet. His finger, the most powerful finger on the planet is rubbing his ear. His finger, the finger that on some days hovers over "The Button" that controls our nuclear arsenal; this finger has it's very own thoughts before it retires.
His finger is thinking the same thing it thinks every night as George's brain releases control to ghostly nerve impulses. Tonight, his finger is thinking, "I've got promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep."
Michelle Obama is on her slightly arched back, her brilliant white teeth almost glow in the dark like phosphorus numbers on a clock. The other side of her bed is empty. She is in a swing state. She is in a swing town in a swing state. She is alone in a motel, and the room is warm and stuffy.
We are looking down at her as if our camera was mounted in the ceiling right above her.
Michelle Obama is sleeping naked, with only a sheet to cover her. She is smiling, satisfied with her appearances of the day. As sleep overtakes her she changes her position slightly and the sheet starts to slide to the floor.
Vicki Iseman is also in a motel, in a swing state. She is laying next to John McCain who is already asleep next to her. His sleep is restless, and his leg keeps jerking.
Vicki is thinking of a documentary she saw about Viet Nam. It described how Americans dropped mines that were made to look like toys. Vietnamese children would pick them up and have their hands and arms blown off. She wondered what kind of things John had been dropping on the Vietnamese. She drifts slowly to sleep, wondering, wondering.
The prime minister of Canada lies nameless, quiet.
Sarah Palin's mind is already in neutral. Her thoughts are becoming free and random. "Win. Free throw. America win. He won. John. Highway. Sky."
Dick Cheney does not sleep. He is in a secret bomb shelter a thousand miles below the surface of the planet. Dick Cheney is doing what he does every night, he wanders around a little room that is brightly lit with florescent lights. All the furniture in this room is made of stainless steel. There is a stainless steel table in the middle of the room, like you might use for an autopsy.
As Dick Cheney wanders around he keeps making little grunting noises, kind of like Beavis and Butthead. He's laughing and grunting and walking around his stainless steel table. Occasionally he stops to write a note which he takes to the door of his room and hands out to a secret service agent.
He will continue like this for days at a time.
The planet is dark and it's thoughts are clouded and unknowable. The future has not quite reached this side of the planet, but it's already on the way.
Have character? My friends ARE characters!
Current mood: Verklempt.
Category: Verklempt. Friends
It's another birthday blog.
Yes my birthday was today, and I guess I have to say I had a wonderful time. Frani apparently sent out a little message, and bunches of you responded with very sweet, and very funny cards.
I really loved them. Friends make life wonderful and worth living.
I started my day with a stranger buying me breakfast because it was my birthday, and now, here I am wrapping up a great day. No, I did not go to Chuck E. Cheese.
The leg bone’s connected to the knee bone, and the knee bone’s connected to the...
Category: Goals, Plans, Hopes
"Everything that was keeping us together is falling apart." Modest Mouse
Riding my bike with Frani the other day I saw something that I couldn't get out of my head.
I watched a small boy throw a nut or something, maybe a firework, (I'm not really sure,) down on the pavement.
He stomped on the nut with all his might. Then he stomped on it again and again. Pausing occasionally to examine his target.
A couple of times, not satisfied with merely stamping with all his might, he would jump up and come down on his target, stomping as he landed.
Pavement. Asphalt street.
I know something about legs and feet and pavement. If you stomp hard enough you might break the nut, but you might break your foot too.
When you're five years old, and perfect in every way, unblemished by life, you don't understand that your legs have to last you through grade school, and then high school, and THEN through college or perhaps through military service.
When you're finished with school, those legs and feet have to take hundreds of thousands of more steps to carry in the groceries, walk the dog, get coffee, visit shut in's, and walk to the mailbox. This doesn't even count work, or recreation!
I didn't take this picture, but I think you get my point.
When I saw that boy stomping with such gusto I marveled at his ignorance. Some day he's going to be walking down the street and feel a tinge in his knee.
"Hmmm, that's odd." He'll think to himself, reaching down to rub a mysterious pain in his knee.
Odd? Really? I wish someone would show him a movie of how he took one half of his bi-pedal system and stomped it repeatedly against an unmovable object- the planet. I would like to see the look on his face as he watched himself jump as high as gravity would let him, and pile drive his foot on the asphalt.
We wonder why our legs and knees and feet bother us? Because stupid children are in control of our bodies for the first many years of our lives and children don't care about the incredible machine they must hand over to us. They really don't care at all.
Currently I am...
Moving things from one room to another. And then moving other things from some other room to some different room.
Evil rainbows, bad puppies, carnivorous unicorns, satan in a satin dress.
Category: News and Politics
Random thoughts and observations.
Phelps didn't really beat spitz in the only category that matters...
"Winning seven Olympic Gold medals while wearing a speedo and rocking a mustache that would make the downy paper towel guy proud."
Eat your heart out phelps, you've still got a long long way to go.
Speaking of swimming and diving, I'm saving all of my kudo's for Guo Jingjing. How does she do that? Oh, and also that crazy romanian who won the women's marathon.
On to politics...
George Bush, how does it feel to be so constantly wrong about foreign policy? George, look at you railing against Russia and your homey Vladimir Putin. You said you had an understanding with Putin. You could feel his soul, or some such nonsense.
The reality is- you spent all of America's dollars, energy, and will, fighting in Iraq. We're spent, we're done. We have nothing left for Russia. George, how impotent you are with your empty threats. Everyone knows they are empty. You've got nothing.
George, your gang of idiots have made a mockery of America as a superpower.
You have offended the gods with your hubris, now go have sex with your mother.
Barak Obama and John McCain, what are you thinking? Both of you are kissing the ring of some crazy fundamentalist pastor? What was going through your mind? These are the same people that have dug us into the hole that we are currently in.
Why don't you stand up and tell them to go fuck themselves? Both of you?
These are the same people that wanted to know of the people we were sending to rebuild Iraq, did they believe in abortion! Not, do you speak the language, not, do you know anything about economics, not, do you know anything about rebuilding a nation. No, they asked our people sent to rebuild Iraq if they believed in abortion.
Unbelievable.
While I am on the subject, John McCain you aren't a maverick, you are just a crazy old coot. You want to go to war with Russia? Did you forget that they still have atomic weapons? Why do you keep saying that we are going to protect Georgia?
Why? Wait, please tell me that you thought the Russians were in Atlanta Georgia. Is that it?
John McCain, you spent too many years in a bamboo cage.
Barak Obama the people at "white, suburban, homeschooling, super church" are never going to support you. For one thing, you're black. Can you remake yourself into George Bush? That's what it's going to take because those people STILL love George Bush.
"I'm writing a song all about you. A true song as real as my tears. But you've no need to fear it Cause no one will hear it."
Cake- Sad songs
I have a new dental plan, and thus a new dentist. My teeth love to go to the dentist. I hate going to the dentist, but I do love to eat risky food- like black plums.
I know what you're thinking, "Spilt Milk you iiidiot! Black plums are like land mines for the teeth."
Yes, I know that. I kind of give a plum or a nectarine an MRI with my mind before I start on it. Entropy has made me cautious. As I chew towards the center I consciously tell my mouth to slow down and chew smartly. "Careful. Carrrrrrreful." I tell myself.
But this black plum had some tricks up it's sleeve. The main pit, the mother ship so to speak, had sent out a drone pit about the size of a small pea, and it was in a wholly unexpected location.
I heard my tooth crack when I bit down on the pit with (apparently) all my might.
So anyway, now I get to go to my new dental corporation to see what they can do. I wasn't expecting good news.
I have only recently changed over to the massive faceless dental corporation from my long time dentist of about 20 plus years. The last time I was at Mega dental corporation they assigned me to a dentist who was okay, but I sensed she didn't like me.
This time when Frani made the appointment they said I would be seeing a Dentist by the name of Dang. Oh great! I thought, he's probably some army surgeon from the South Vietnamese Republican Army who got his start torturing Red Army Cadre's in 'Nam.
(When it comes to people putting their fingers in my mouth I can be very xenophobic.)
I like to get completely ready when I go to the dentist. I mean, there's an intimacy with the dentist.
Trim my beard- check. Clean clothes- check. Good Sneakers- check. Cell phone turned off- check. Take a short nap- check. Brush teeth extremely well- check.
When my shoes are at eye level, the dentist is staring in my mouth, has her hands in my mouth, and I'm staring in her eyes I don't want anything to distract her.
The receptionist with the butterscotch voice directs me into the maze of offices, X-ray suites, and examination rooms. I hear the screams of the damned in the distance. Little four year old souls, crying in pain.
I meet Dang, and it's love at first sight. He's a beautiful boy who's obviously just barely out of dental school. The assistant confides in me, when he walks out of the room, that his schedule is "wide open."
This is just fine with me, because he has the energy of someone that thinks life is wonderful. He is ready to conquer the world one tooth at a time. He still hadn't realized that his career choice wasn't going to shield him from pain and entropy.
Dang seems almost excited to examine my teeth and tell me all his plans to make them wonderful again. My last dentist, who I loved, would look in my mouth and sigh. The weight of the world would press on her stooped figure so hard she barely had the energy to order around her assistants.
I imagine my last dentist lighting up a cigarette, taking a deep deep drag and then staring up at her diploma through a cloud of exhaled smoke. She would silently sit on her stool and wonder what had gone wrong with her life, while the assistant and I stared at her expectantly.
So Dang fixed me up with a little bit of "Fuji 9" whatever that is, and an appointment to come back for more of his confident work. Whatever it is that Dang has must have rubbed off on me. I'm eating black plums again.
Putting out a bowl of milk for pussy.
Category: Friends
"Let's face it, privacy is dead." Recent headline in Utne Reader.
It seems like all of my friends have moved away or disappeared. It's been happening to me for as long as some of you have been alive.
I can google old friends, but that doesn't always work. Friends off the radar don't show up, friends with common names show up on page 5000 of a google search.
But a response to one of my blogs has given me an idea for finding my lost friends. It's free, and it's easy.
In a recent blog, I mention by name, a guy by the name of Buck. So some weeks later he googles his name and my blog comes up! I barely knew the guy. Our paths crossed a few times in 1972. But- rather than me search for him, he searched for himself- and found me. (He sent me an email updating his life since then.)
Using this same method I am going to include, in this blog, the names and (if possible) the pictures of friends that have gone away. The theory being that when they google themselves, this blog (my bait, so to speak) will appear, and they will contact me.
It's a reverse search I guess.
It's not so much that I want to reconnect for a shared vacation, it's more like- okay, what happened after chapter 23?
I'm curious.
So if you're a regular blog reader, I'll let you know if I have any success. I figure that in the next six months I should have at least a couple of people contact me.
Below are just tidbits that might come up in a google search.
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Rolf Janson, or is it Rolf Jannson? You moved to New Mexico. After you moved you sent me a hilarious account of the move- but then all was silence. Your phone is disconnected, and I can't find you on the internet. What happened to you? (contact me at my hotmail account- mannthey2@hotmail.com)
Anna Maturo, you fled Oregon for Connecticut or New Hampshire, or maybe the Rocky Mountains, I'm not really sure. On the day I met Ray Eldred I saw a cartoon drawing of a little girl crying with the caption, "Boo hoo, life sucks." laying on Ray's kitchen table.
I looked at him quizzically and he explained his girlfriend drew it. I knew I would really like you, and it turns out I really did. I still remember the time I lived with you and Ray, and your sister Fran Maturo, or was it Fran Maturro? Those were some great times, but I think I smoked too much weed during that period. Where is Fran Maturo? Do you remember that other Frani? Well I can tell you where she is. (contact me at my hotmail account- mannthey2@hotmail.com)
Anna Maturo in one of her home made shirts.
I lived with Ray Eldred for a summer, and was friends with him for a year or two while he lived in Gresham. I remember he had a framed letter he wrote while on acid (the letter made no sense whatsoever) with two tickets to woodstock hanging in his living room. Ray, do you remember you reluctantly accompanied me to see Pink Floyd in 1971?
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Pictured above, Ray Eldred, Anna Maturo, mystery room mate. Ray loves to make people mad by letting the cat at the birds. Bad Ray!
Ray Eldred, I found you on the internet, or at least I found your mother, but then I lost the number for you, and now I can't find you with a google search. What happened to Sam Hertzler, and all the others that moved out from the east coast to go to school in Gresham Oregon? You were living in Olympia last time I saw you. Let's hook up for a phone call at least. (contact me at my hotmail account- mannthey2@hotmail.com)
Linda Hill, you lived in Corbett on Trout Creek road for awhile. Wow, I remember you blew into town, and then disappeared. Did we go out on a date once with Dorian and your cousin? I was always curious about your back story because you seemed so mysterious.
Linda Hill, my mother said you called the house once, some years later, but my mom can really get confused about things, so it might have been someone else. Email or call me so I can find out the answers to questions I had then, but never asked. Yeah, I'm real nosey now. (contact me at my hotmail account- mannthey2@hotmail.com)
Cecil Berry, when you were living in Vancouver Washington you had some scheme going to make your fortune, but I can't remember what it was. I do know that I have this picture of you, and I bet you've never seen it. Email me. (contact me at my hotmail account- mannthey2@hotmail.com)
Cecil Berry explaining to me why clear cuts are bad.
Marty Snella, Jim Coy said we would all be working for you one day, and I laughed at him. Hah, I guess the last laugh was on me. Did you climb to the top in Denver? How about that girl with the NY accent? Are you still married to her? Email me. I'm curious about what ever became of you.(contact me at my hotmail account- mannthey2@hotmail.com)
Tony Sabala do you remember having your license revoked because you had so many tickets? And then you borrowed somebody's car and backed into a police motorcycle? Or how about the times we rode our bikes around the 14th floor of TCI? What happened to you? You moved to some basque community in Nevada. (contact me at my hotmail account- mannthey2@hotmail.com)
Tony Sabala on his eponymous bike.
Cecil Emery, you were the meanest bastard I ever met when you lived in Portland. Hah! Just kidding. But I thought you might find that funny if it showed up on a google search.
Cecil, what are you doing down in that hole? And what are the odds that I would know two Cecils at the very same time in my life? Oh, guess what, they finally took those dishes down off of the Portland Medical Center, and Rocky Butte! After all those years it's weird to look up there and see them gone.
Cecil Emery at WTCI.
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Shirley Pfeffer, you almost married Reuben, but then, you almost married a lot of guys. Do you remember going to the top of council crest with Frani and that hick kid from corbett? Then you were managing or part owner of a restaurant in Milwaukie and you gave me a glass of gewurtzraminer, which I had never tasted before. Give me a shout out, and I'll hook you up with Frani.
Barbara Sheets- call Frani, she's convinced that you're dead. So I'm throwing you in here too.
Mike Carrol, remember Multnomah Falls? I'm throwing out random names now.
Mike Carrol rides his bike in Portland Oregon.
Okay, there it is, the first chapter in WHERE ARE THEY NOW?
Okay, so I'm probably in a rut. Everyone that comes to visit us gets taken to the Columbia River Gorge, or McMenamins. (A brewery/winery/distillery/theatre/restaurant/hotel.)
(Just something to look at as we drank our beer.)
So we planned on taking Joseph to the gorge AND Mcmenamins with Heezy for the Sheezy and her husband Dave. I was kind of curious about Joseph. He was the artist that drew those cool profile icons for several MySpace bloggers. A couple of years ago you could expect to see several popping up on profiles.
I always wondered why Joseph didn't do it in the style of Conan the barbarian. Depicting himself with his shirt open, totally buff, and the myspacer supine, leaning against his leg, holding on to it adoringly.
But I'm no artist, so I don't know why people draw what they draw.
We started out drinking beer with Heezy for the Sheezy and Dave, her husband. Joseph became quite animated. I can't remember what he was saying, but this complete stranger came over to our table and gave him a hug.
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Next stop was Crown Point. People with long memories might remember I blogged about crown point, and it's figured indirectly in at least a couple of my blogs.
Dave and I decided to climb over the fence (the one with the sign that warned you not to climb over it) and go out on the cliff.
Dave kept fooling around on the edge of the cliff. I told him to quit fooling around because he had a wife and two kids to worry about. Or maybe I just imagined that I said that. Anyway, when you stand on the edge of a cliff you can always feel your mortality in the pit of your stomach.
Dave's an engineer, so he was intrigued by the support pillars underneath the street. This picture is for him.
While we were walking around under the street and out on the cliff I guess joseph was struggling with a combination of too much beer, chinese food, and a train ride from chicago. It all caught up with him on the stairway of crown point in the form of projectile vomit.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." he said to the park ranger.
"Was it as good going up as it was going down?" Dave asked.
"Well," Joseph said good naturedly, "I remember the beer splashing off the wall, and then the chinese food, and the tator tots, and then there was the hydrochloric acid dripping down the wall."
We all had a good laugh afterwards. Joseph was funny and self deprecating over the incident. Here's the group sitting on the steps outside Crown Point.
Next stop was Crown Point Country Market. This is in the little town I lived in until just a few years ago. I figured I'd give Joseph some culture shock. Besides, he needed some water after losing his lunch. This place is over the top even for rural Oregon.
We had planned on climbing beacon rock, or hiking up one of the many trails in the gorge, but since Joseph was feeling a little under the weather we decided just to go to the Bonneville dam fish hatchery and feed the fish.
It was a great day with really fantastic friends that I'll remember for a long time.
"It's never gonna be Normal, you and me What you're signing on for Is a storm at sea" Zero Seven
I'm going through the dregs and sweepings of my iTunes. I have 5800 songs on my iTunes, which seems like a lot to me, but apparently isn't much in these days of free music.
Since I have teenagers and post teenagers loading music on my computer there's a lot of stuff on there that I have no idea of what it is. That includes mixes with no song title, except for "track 1", "track 2", etc.
When I get down to the end of iTunes there are lists of "track1", then lists of "track2" Mixed in to all this is "eve's mix" "Honeybear mix," "Subway mix," "Sasha mix" etc. etc. But no indication of Artist, Album, etc.
It's the dregs and leftovers of mixes made by one person for another. Each song was meant to convey something from one person to a certain other person. But now, all sorted and re-sorted by iTunes, it's been lost. Like an old letter left in a salvation army drawer, it's hard to say who was saying what to whom.
You stole my boy friend. I want you to like me like I like you. I hate you. I love you. I'm sorry. Let's be best friends. Why did you say that? I'm cool, and I think you're cool. Don't leave.
At the end of my iTunes list it's gone all quiet and empty. Just like this rainy fourth of july morning.
It's gotten to that hasn't it? We're a bunch of fucking dummies and we don't even care who knows it.
Who elects a dummy to be the leader, except a bunch of dummies? And it didn't start with George Bush. Our senators, congressmen, and Ronald Regan were no geniuses either.
War for dummies. The economy for dummies. The environment for dummies. Global warming for dummies.
"Hey america, don't think about that, did you know that activist courts are going to let gays get married? Quick, look over there!"
I heard some guy who drives an electric car interviewed on the radio. Oh yeah, everyone likes that electric car he says. Well, not everyone. His 12 year old son said that sometimes people in SUV's will roll their windows down and yell and swear at them.
What? Are people really that stupid?
OF COURSE THEY FUCKING ARE!!!! THEY ARE THAT FUCKING STUPID!!!
This is america, the land of the dummies. We empower the dummies, we give them massive sums of money, we let them flout the laws, we elect them to office, we put them on the radio and on TV.
Holy mother fucking god, what a fucked up mess of a country.
So now India has over 300 million people in the middle class. More people in India are in the middle class than live in America. Indians spend enormous sums of money on education, even poor Indians.
They want microwaves, and dishwashers, big houses, air conditioning, and cars, and oil.
They want fish, and meat (wait, aren't they supposed to be vegetarians?) and rice and beans and capt'n crunch, and starbucks, and hershey's kisses, and all kinds of processed foods. Not to mention timber, steel, rubber, and freshwater.
So what do you think americans? The Chinese are coming. The Indians are coming. When they ring the doorbell who are we going to send to answer the door? A dummy?
Whew. Okay, calm down grover. Quit watching PBS, you know it just gets you worked up.
Now on a totally different subject...
Thanks to everyone who gave me cholesterol advice.
I recieved the following suggestions-
Dabi-Fishoil capsules. Yes, I'm taking those. Honeybear-"Milkshakes from the yogurt aisle" Can't wait to try those. +rue-Walnuts, and omega3 peanut butter. Am carrying walnuts, but haven't even heard of Omega3 peanut butter. (It's probably really gross.) Desi-Substitute olive oil for butter. I just made my wife an egg, and I did that exact thing. Now she's going to have to reciprocate. Holly-Axe the Rueben's. What, the painter or the sandwich? My daughter-Quit yelling at the TV. I can't dear. I just can't.
"I got a little bird i'm gonna take her home put her in a cage and disconnect the phone"
White Stripes.
When you leave MySpace it's a little bit like death.
I've been gone for a record amount of time. Record for me anyway. The longer you're gone, the easier it is to stay gone.
I didn't plan on leaving. It just happened.
I admit though that I've been awfully curious about people, where they are, what they've been up to. Awfully awfully curious. Holly came out from connecticut and it was really great to sit down with an honest to goodness blogger and get some gossip.
But she and I only partially overlap friends. So, well, you know.
People that suddenly disappear rarely have a decent explanation about where or why they left. Mumbling about "personal real life stuff."
I hate that. I hate it, but I'm not going to be too much different. For those that are curious, I'll only say that I have running battles with another blogger, one that I happen to live with.
MySpace has become such a huge part of our lives (frani & I) that things can unexpectedly spin out of control. Especially when outsiders decide to reach in and give the merry go round an unexpected push.
A marriage that is a precarious stack of china plates doesn't need an unexpected spin.
Hows that for an obtuse explanation? If you know me at all, you know I'm not one for airing dirty laundry in public. My wife would say I'm trying to protect myself. I would say I'm trying to protect her.
