A Scream in My Voice

Turns out the ligths...

2009-05-21T13:52:00.001-07:00

Good night, and good luck!

I can now be found at Trifles Make the Sum of Life

Finis

2009-05-21T10:59:00.003-07:00

This is the penultimate post in A Scream in My Voice.

To much has happened in my life since my last post to make it worthwhile to continue with this blog.

However, I've decided to dust myself off and begin a new project at Wordpress. Once I've set up everything at Wordpress, I'll post the details.

For a change, good news! Well, mostly...

2008-03-18T22:28:00.004-07:00

Yesterday afternoon, during a break from resting on the divan, I noticed that my sister had sent me an instant message advising me that my dad's new employer had let him go with no real reason given.

My immediate thought (and that of my sister as well) was that the employer had somehow gotten wind of my dad's cancer and gave him the sack to avoid insurance premiums down the road when he became eligible. Naturally, this did very little to improve my mood.

Sometimes words just don't suffice and one needs to start saying things with brickbats and broken bottles...

Fortunately (for them), some good news came along — which, I must say, was a welcome change. It's very tiring being perpetually screwed up in anticipation of something awful popping out at you when there's absolutely nothing at all that you can do to make things better. But, I digress.

Dad had an appointment today to have a bone marrow biopsy after which he met with the doctor who went over the results of the CT scan from yesterday and today's biopsy.

The CT scan and biopsy were both very, very good.

It turns out that the cancer has NOT spread like they initially thought. In fact, the cancer is localized in his skin on the spot on his leg. If I recall correctly, Mom said the doctors called it cutaneous large cell lymphoma. Or something. Regardless, it can be treated with Prednisone and localized radiation therapy. Mom also said that the doctor said that he (Dad) would die of other causes long before the cancer would carry him off — which, of course, is very, very good news.

Maybe I'll finally get a relatively decent night's sleep for a change instead of lying awake and worrying about my folks and being angry about the fucked up health care system (or lack thereof) in this country. Well, no, I'm still angry about the ghastliness of the American health care system. Clearly (as one political cartoonist put it), the President thinks it is better that we're sick than socialist.

One more as I couldn't determine which book was technically closer...

2008-03-18T22:13:00.005-07:00

Since I am generally surrounded by books (I count eight currently scattered about on my desk)...

1. Pick up the nearest book (of at least 123 pages).
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the next three sentences.
5. Tag five people.

"If he says a thing is so, it is so. I have the utmost confidence in the fellow, and am prepared to follow his lead without question.'

'But surely, sir, you are not proposing—'"

Wodehouse, Pelham Grenville. The Code of the Woosters. New York; Vintage Books, 1975

Book meme

2008-03-18T22:01:00.004-07:00

A flourish with the new bowler to dear Miche for this lovely little meme.

1. Pick up the nearest book (of at least 123 pages).
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the next three sentences.
5. Tag five people.

"There was a change in Boldwood's exterior from its former impassibleness; and his face showed that he was now living outside his defences for the first time, and with a fearful sense of exposure. It is the usual experience of strong natures when they love.

At last he arrived at a conclusion."

Hardy, Thomas. Far From The Madding Crowd. New York: Signet, 2002.

Some Retail Therapy.

2008-03-15T09:16:00.005-07:00

My new fourteen eye Doc Marten Triumph 1914s. :D They're teh awesome - very comfortable to wear (although, I should've thought better about stomping around Seattle in them for the rest of the day since I'm now sportin' some hellacious blisters on my feet. Ah, well) and super awesome looking.

My new hat! Several years ago, I had a nice bowler hat. Unfortunately, years of wear and it not being the greatest quality caught up with it and it went out to the rubbish tip since there was nowt that anyone could do for it.

So, for my birthday, I staggered round to Byrnie Utz hats and purchased a new one. :) This is a weird 'I'm on the Metro taking a picture' kind of picture. The hat is really awesome. Ignore the old rickety Metro carriage in the background.

One of the reasons we were out and about shopping was to find Sina a new corset or a cincher. I rang up my very awesome friend Jess to come rally round and lend a hand - she has impec. taste with such things and is very knowledgeable about corsetry.

Anyway, we tottered about all of Cap Hill and downtown looking for something that was a) nice looking, b) wasn't crap, and c) was affordable. Mind you, a really good corset is going to set you back a few hundred dollars, but we were looking for a nice balance of cost and quality. Which we found in this corset. She's got a lil' top thing on underneath this corset (which needs to be worn a little bit lower) but it looks grrrrrrrreat. :D

Meditating on Being and Not Being... Or 'Look, Alex, a post!'

2008-03-12T12:12:00.005-07:00

Have you ever had moments where you contemplate being and not being? F'rinstance, thinking about how and who you are (and why). Conversely, I find it makes me wonder about not being and how it would effect things and people and why — how have I effected my friends and colleagues. Would they be any different by not knowing me if I didn't exist? Why would it? Do we (or I) really have that much of an impact on anyone that it'd matter a jot if I were to disappear into nothing tomorrow ? Would anyone notice? Would anyone give a faint half damn?

Anyway.

Dad went into the oncologist yesterday. My mom was a trifle distrait — between my nephew M. having an accident and knocking out two permanent teeth and damaging four others and having to get him to the dentist and the oncologist, it's no wonder... — but sent me a link to some information on what the doctor thinks is what the guv'nor has: click here.

From what I understood my mother to say, dad has Stage IV of this stuff. For years, he's had problems with dry skin and whatnot that dermatologists just prescribed various ointments and creams. No one thought anything about it as his job has him creeping about in buildings pulling wire and whatnot and everyone just figured that it was owing to contact with unpleasant chemicals or substances and whatnot. I dunno.

At any rate, he's schedule to go in for a bone marrow biopsy on Friday afternoon.

In other (more pleasant news), I'm finally buying my new Docs on Friday. I decided that I needed to splurge and give myself something I will enjoy for my birthday. Besides, a little retail therapy always helps brace one up.

Alex sent me this link.

I have to say it. I know people will be shocked, appalled, horrified and take me to task; but, the murderers need to be hanged. Yes, they're teen-agers. Does that matter? No. They murdered someone and viciously attacked someone else. No amount of remorse, snivelling, 'they came from broken homes, drinking parents, etc.' will change the fact that these monsters (and monsters they are) killed an innocent woman and viciously attacked her boyfriend. Like rabid animals, they should be put down - both as an example to others that this sort of behaviour will not be tolerated and as a measure to protect society from any further actions on their part. Besides, a length of rope, a scaffold, and an executioner are far less expensive than maintaining them in prison and teaching them how to make tapestry drink coasters for the remainder of their natural days.

On a much brighter note: clickeh.

I'd like to go give her a pat, too. :)

This, that, and some of the other.

2008-03-06T12:49:00.002-08:00

Well, now, it's been an age and a day since I've posted. I don't know quite what my problem is other than writing a blog seems to smack of tiresome self-importance or a desire to inflict my le train train quotidien upon all and sundry which, frankly, makes for boring reading, viz.

6.45a - woke up
6.46a - hit "snooze" and dozed off
6.56a - jerked out of my pleasant doze by NPR recounting horrors in Darfur
6.57a - staggered out of room and into the lav, perform daily ablutions
7.3a - shrugged on clothing
7.9a - legged it out door, down stairs, and out of building to catch Metro.
7.11-8.3a - enjoyed terrors of daily Metro commute to office.
8.5a - 4.55p - work with its accompanying delights, joys, drudgeries, and irritants.
4.56p - 5.54p - further experiencing of Metro horrors on commute home.
5.55p - 6p - avoid strange homeless people and other human dregs that float about by my apartment building courtesy of the crisis centre next door.
6.1p - 6.3p - check to see if the ghettovator 900 is working, realize it isn't, stagger up five flights of stairs
6.5p -11p - home, dinner, dorking about, reading, bed.

Whee! What excitements!

Anyway, short version of what's going on:

Found out my dad has a really rare form of Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma that has a 90% survival rate. Although, the fact that they're already talking of survival rates in percentages bothers me considerably. Mom's upset, we're all upset. Waiting for Dad to see the oncologist and have more tests performed.

Did not bother to go see And One. Kind of regret it now. Still, I hate El Corazon and all ages shows. Worst Venue Evarrr! Why we, as adults, should be treated like dangerous and wild animals that need to be kept corralled is beyond me. You'd think that they'd keep the cretinous youths locked away from us and give us more space to roam about in since... surprise! We have jobs and aren't minors. God knows that coming into contact with teenaged boy sweat is not high on most sane adults lists of Important Things To Do. But, I digress.

I bought a new divan. Whee.

My thirtieth birthday is next Sunday se'nnight. I have no idea what the devil I want to do, really.

Anyway, on the off chance that you may be contemplating gifts. Don't, please. I really do not need anything.

Update

2008-01-18T12:34:00.000-08:00

Yep, I'm alive.

Just been busy with work and suchlike - and fighting off a fiendish bug that seems to be going round. It's a cross between an ague and a quinsy. Meh.

Anyway, two months to my thirtieth birthday. :)

Marcus Brigstocke Takes On The Abrahamic Faiths

2008-01-03T22:54:00.000-08:00

I think this sums up my position quite nicely.

Enjoy!

Enter 2008...

2008-01-03T09:54:00.000-08:00

There's generally a lot of foofaraw and pontificating (and pronunciamentos and predictions from people like that odious Pat Robertson) round about this time when the old year is dead and the New Year beginning.

There's also a lot of tripe about making New Year Resolutions that one earnestly intends to keep but wind up losing sight of within a few days or weeks of the new year.

For me, 16 March 2008 represents the thirtieth anniversary of my nativity which is rather sobering. It leads me to ask a lot of painful questions that I don't necessarily like the answers to.

Let's see:

Am I on a more stable financial footing? Yes and no. I still have debts of honour to remit and if (Cthulhu forbid) I should lose my job, I'd be very quickly in the breadlines, but I'm also not down to pence in the old Exchequer two days before payday. I'm getting better, but I'm not quite where I want to be.

Have I quit smoking? No. I desperately want to. I must and will quit smoking before I turn thirty.

Have I lost that weight I've been bitching about? No, and I need to. To that end, I'm eschewing eating out and will be eliminating a lot of junk from my diet. No more chemical, sugary, and additive-y things for me! I'll just send 'em all to Claes. I've set myself the goal of not eating out for lunch at work this month. This will, I believe, help reduce the amount of unhealthful food that I'm consuming AND save me money (which is a Good Thing). I also need to start being more active. Joining a gym won't do much for me since there's nothing conveniently close to work or on my way home. So I think I'll start walking downtown to catch my bus in the morning (which has the added benefit of avoiding a very tempting bakery by my Metro stop...) and I think I'll start going for walks/runs on the weekends. Moreover, I think I'll reduce the number of times I go out clubbing to once a month or so. Thus saving money and reducing the amount of the blushful Hippocrene I'm imbibing.

I also have decided that it's time to finish my unpacking, buy a new mattress and box spring for my bed so I can actually get a decent night's sleep without a spring gouging me in the gizzard, and purchase a new divan and another bookshelf since mine's run out of space. Oh, yeah, and a new computer. Aiie!

There is more, but that's enough for now. I'll let you know how things go. :)

End of the Year Natterings and Christmas Recapping

2007-12-26T17:29:00.000-08:00

I flew back to Spokane on Friday of last week after a hectic week of trying to get a ton of work done at the office. So far, every day has been filled to the brim with Things To Do - baking Christmas cookies (sprits, krumkake, rosettes, sandbakkels, kokosmakroner, and plain ol' sugar cookies), finishing a few last minute shopping things, wrapping presents since I couldn't wrap them before travelling as the tiresome airport security weasels would've had to unwrap them to make sure that my father's turtleneck work shirting wouldn't explode - I suppose this is a good thing, but it just means more work for me at the last minute.

Where was I? Oh, yes.

Saturday, I met up with Ian, Shannon, and Hannah (who, I might point out, is an awfully cute little kiddo - hopefully she liked her stuffed isbjørn that I got her! I know I sure did... hehe) for dinner at Moon Time with Sina which was a lot of fun since I hadn't seen them in donkey's years.

Sunday, we had a bit of a rest in preparation for the dizzying whirl that was Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. We had the crabs that I brought home from Seattle on Monday and the traditional flatbrød and lutefisk, of course. There was a massive bowl of smoking bishop to be consumed (which was), bottles of akvavit (which were also drained), divers wines, etc. Much jollity. Tuesday started off with a bang as we woke up early to get the pastries made for breakfast down at my sister's house. I was distracted by something and ruined the custard I was working on, but we had plenty of marzipan for the other filling so we just ran with that. We loaded up the Jeep - presents, pastries, Mom, Dad, Sina, and me - and went down to Michelle's where the boys were sproinging about like a thirteen and an almost eight-year-old will. Eggs, properly toasted muffins, bacon, and sausage went down the hatch with plenty of hot coffee and pastries.

One of my presents was a set of scrapbooks that my mother made for me with pictures and other artefacts from my childhood. It was a very moving gift and I wanted to cry when I saw pictures of me in my early twenties and much, much thinner. So, I think this year I'll be hitting the gymnasium with Mr. Brad or someone to slim down. I miss being that thin (and I sort of wish I could be that young again... sigh).

I've been feeling very but at my back I always hear Time's wingéd chariot hurrying near over the last day or so.

At any rate, we returned to Casa Parents around noonish and promptly started preparing the Christmas Day Feast - Crown Roast of Pork, sauerkraut (surkål) with apples and caraway, rutabagas, turnips, and potatoes pureed, mashed potatoes with a hint of horseradish, brussels sprouts with balsamic vinegar, italian sausage dressing, brandied cranberries, cranberries and mandarin oranges in aspic, mince pie, and a yule log. Om beroofen.

My ancient grandmother thing was there. She looked rather frail and out of it. She kept asking me where I was going to high school - nevermind that I graduated eleven years ago. If we're lucky, she'll peg out this year and not linger on and be tiresome and expensive to maintain in her dotage.

Tonight, I'm going to try to get together with my friends Patrick and Brent. So, I must totter off and start ringing them.

Combichrist, Consumption, and Labor Day

2007-08-28T12:25:00.000-07:00

Friday last, I staggered off to go see Combichrist with my friend Jesse. We decided to give the opening bands a miss as none were bands that I'd ever heard of before. While Dr. Echidna said that SITD could be clichéd but wasn't too ghastly, I wasn't exactly sold on the deal.

So, we got there at a quarter to ten. SITD had cancelled owing for some reason that I never heard, we missed Modulate, and arrived in time for Imperative Reaction. At the time, I noticed that Combichrist would take the stage at 10:45.

After entering El Corazon, I beelined for the lounge area as my tongue was hanging out for a drink. I should've known better than to order a whiskey and soda since what I was given bore about as much resemblance to one as a four-year-old's sidewalk chalk drawing does a Rembrandt. Anyway, while we stood in the line for our weak and overpriced beverages, I was bored to tears by the repetitive and uninspired music of IR.

As the Weltschmerz mounted with every passing second, I hurriedly drained my drink and legged it for the open spaces so I could have a puff, escape from the press of people, and kill the time until Combichrist came on stage. Eventually, I wandered back inside and ran into my friend Brett and his girlfriend Jennifer. We surveyed the all-ages crowd with something of a jaundiced eye and retreated to the lounge again.

I finally took up a position near the center area and was predisposed to enjoy the Combichrist show - how can you not love hot, rivet-head Norwegian boys? Unfortunately, the crowd intervened and ruined the show for me in short order.

This show, sadly, ranks as one of the worst I've ever seen and I thank all of the underaged fucktards for this.

Yes, you want to dance to Combichrist. I sympathize. However, in a venue the size of El Corazon, slam dancing is not quite appropriate. Shoving your way through the crowd repeatedly to visit friends is unacceptable.

Confidential to the dumpy short chick who thought it'd be awesome to thrash about like a gaffed salmon or someone with St. Vitus' Dance: Thank you for elbowing me in the thorax repeatedly and for stomping on my feet. You weigh about as much as a Belgian draft horse. And no, I was not kidding when I told you that, if you didn't stop stomping on me, I'd donkey punch you. I hope your dog dies.

Being forced to absorb twenty-year-old boy sweat is unacceptable, too. I think the final straw came when I got hit in the eye with about a cup of lukewarm water. I don't know whether it was thrown from the stage, from an audience member, or what. Nor do I really WANT to know.

Anyway, I legged it out of the venue when Andy said they were playing their last song - I couldn't handle any more and I wound up furiously chainsmoking and waiting patiently for Jesse, Brett, and Jennifer to exit the building so we could head up to the Mercury and get away from the under twenty-one crowd.

Other than that, Friday night was enjoyable. Saturday, I woke up feeling a bit lungy and it has gone down hill from there to the point that I feel like I'm in the throes of a raging consumption or at the very least the Lesser Asiatic Death Cold. Fortunately for me, I'll be heading to Coeur d'Alene for Labour Day weekend to spend time with my family and friends.

Week-end Update

2007-08-24T07:01:00.000-07:00

Tonight is Combichrist.

Whee!

I'll have a review up on Saturday depending on how late I get in from The Mercury. If you're lucky, you'll get some blurred photos like I got at VNV. [laughs]

I'm looking forward to seeing Mr. LaPlegua aka Ole Anders Olson as the man has about 205920459205920 projects happening...

Alt for norge!

Think the inconceivable, desire the untouchable...

2007-08-16T20:29:00.000-07:00

Since I last posted:

1) I purchased and read Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows on the day which it was released;
2) I received a much needed (and much welcome) pay raise at work;
3) I've purchased my tickets for next week's Combichrist show and the Assemblage 23 show on 9 September 2007;

There has also been the usual run of le train train quotidien but none of it particularly interesting.

I've also fallen in love with the music of the German industrial/EBM band Seabound and must recommend it to those of my friends who appreciate such music. Dr. Echidna, naturally, needs no introduction to them.

I'm very excited about the upcoming Combichrist and A23 shows. Therefore, I shall give vent to an 'Aiiieeeeeee!!!'

AIIIEEEEE! [bounces up and down]

Oh, and my very lovely and exceptionally dear friend Sina will be coming to Seattle for her birthday next month. EEeeeeeeeee!! [more bouncing in seat]

At any rate, this concludes this update. I'm off to go watch the first episode of Firefly.

These Boots Were Made for Stomping and Why I Hate Push-Cyclists

2007-07-20T11:20:00.000-07:00

The above is a picture of the wonderful Doctor Marten Triumph 1914 fourteen eye Black Boot of Doom that I have decided that I Simply Must Have.

They are, as Dr. Echidna said, 'sexeh.' Best of all, they're only $150.00. I can't wait to get 'em. Next month, I'll be sporting the above boots and so will be prepared to kick people in the face or neck as the situation warrants.

Oh, and I hate push cyclists with a passion.

After work, I occasionally ankle my way across a bridge to go catch the No. 15 or 18 Downtown rather than take the ghastly 31 over to the University District where I transfer to another bus after an interminable wait and then transfer to yet another one at Jefferson and 23rd. It's an irksome commute that way.

Anyway, there is a narrow little flywalk for pedestrians across the bridge. Every evening, without fail, as I'm beetling along I hear a faint 'on your right' or 'on your left' or 'garble garble guh' from behind as some fucktard push-cyclist is riding along ON THE PEDESTRIAN PATH IN DIRECT CONTRAVENTION OF THE LAW.

Now, I don't claim to be overly concerned with whether or not people obey the laws. What they choose to do is their own concern and as long as it doesn't interfere with my day-to-day existence I couldn't give a faint half damn what they do.

Yet when some health nut decides to ride his push-cycle along the narrow pedestrian walkway rather than slither through traffic, I become irritable. It's not just there, either. You see them swerving in and out of pedestrians on sidewalks all over the bloody place. I've taken a Schwinn amidships because I hadn't an earthly that the fucktard was behind me.

And it isn't just them riding on the sidewalks that irks me. They irk me when they zoom along in their obnoxious swarms behaving like menaces to pedestrians and traffic. May their differential gears all rust and send them flying head over handlebars into a drainage ditch!

A pox upon their houses!

Enter the Critics Followed By A Disclaimer

2007-07-18T12:52:00.000-07:00

On Friday, my friend Brent will be arriving at the Seattle-Tacoma Aerodrome for a weekend visit. His brother, Kyle, is here in Seattle for the summer and they are both very entertaining people with whom it is always a pleasure to biff around.

We have plans to go to The Mercury on Friday night after Brent arrives in town. For those who haven't an earthly what The Mercury is, I'll explain. The Mercury is a private goth/industrial nightclub on Capitol Hill in Seattle. In order to gain admittance, you must be accompanied by a current member and after going a number of times (roughly three to five - it depends on whether the doorkeeper remembers you), you pay ten dollars as a subscription and you're given right of entry. It's a great nightclub and I enjoy going there. It is blessedly free from such filth as Aberzombie and Fitch wearing meatheads and their poseur pseudo-Goth girlfriends. It is, in short, an oasis in the desert of ghastliness. Besides, the music is great.

Anyway, it should be an enjoyable time. On Saturday, we've discussed going to see Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. I have yet to see the movie and am looking forward to doing so. I enjoyed the book immensely and while I know that for the movie to be successful, parts will need to be excised owing to the massive length of the tome, I hope that the director will handle the story well.

Several of my friends and co-workers have seen the movie already and while I respect their right to form an opinion of the work, I can do without the unsolicited asseverations that 'the movie sucked!' or 'the movie was great!' that have been proferred. I'd like to develop my own judgement based on the merits of the movie without undue influence from others. I think that I am quite capable of forming an opinion of my own without input from anyone else. While I'm sure that it is well meant, please spare me the benefit of your wisdom until I, too, have seen the movie and am able to judge accordingly or unless I ask you directly for your opinion.

My apologies if I sound a trifle liverish, but there it is. If you think I'm directing this at you, you're most likely mistaken. However, should this assertion on my part fail to assuage your wounded breast, I'm sorry.

Monday Musings

2007-07-16T12:27:00.000-07:00

Today is my roommate Peter's birthday. Thus, I'll take this opportunity to wish him a very happy anniversary of his nativity. I trust he'll have a pleasant year.

Yesterday, Peter and I put together the bookcase and I've restored most of my books to their home. Sadly, I need more shelving to contain them all. I hate leaving books in boxes. It seems quite criminal. We also wrangled my awful, rickety old computer desk into position and got Maude all set up which meant that we're now able to eat like normal human beings instead of grubbing over our food at our respective computers. Civilisation is so wonderful.

Tonight, my favourite former Marine, Brad, will be coming over to help me hang the curtains in the house. This will make the place look more homelike and less we've-just-moved-in-excuse-our-dust,-please. I also need to hang a few pictures and place various other objets d'arts.

I also really need to get my vacuum cleaner out of storage. Unfortunately, it's in Post Falls, ID - 300 miles east of Seattle so collaring it will be something of a treat. I'll have to check with various and diverse people to find out when they'll next be going over there or headed here. New carpets tend to shed a bit and I'd love to give the place a good hoovering.

I had the dickens of a time getting out of bed this morning. I was up late playing EQ2 (later than I should've been to be honest) and when I finally did go to bed the Hottentots in the apartments next door were carrying on regardless. Someone apparently was incapable of parking their Ford Behemoth 2007 without a ground crew to direct them - the direction consisting of bawling, 'Bring the wheel over! No! The other way!' at the top of their lungs in an open garage at 2 in the ack emma accompanied by the squealing of fan belts and tires on pavement. This went on for what seemed like a veritable geologic epoch.

I hope that their Behemoth 2007 flips and bursts into flames like the Canyonero. Preferably ONTO the ground crew.

Jackasses.

What do you want to bet that these are the same people who listen to their infernal house music at incredibly high volume at all hours?

I hope they catch elephantiasis, sprue, a raging quinsy, AND dropsy!

I think I'll start keeping a supply of bricks on hand so I can bung them in their general direction as needed.

Ramblings

2007-07-13T12:53:00.000-07:00

I'm tired to-day.

The last several days have been appallingly hot. Wednesday was over ninety degrees and made one curl round the edges like St. Thingummy on a gridiron. Thursday was a trifle better but I didn't go to bed until midnight because my room was a bit too warm for my tastes.

It is almost pleasant today. I'm going to go out this evening but I'm feeling lackluster.

It's Peter's birthday on Monday so I'm going to make him a cake to-morrow. A lemon cake.

I've discovered that the neighbours up a floor and over a building annoy me. They're listening to godawful club music with shrieking divas at volumes that would stun a police dog at fifty yards. Meanwhile, I'm trying to be a good tenant and not blare my music at earsplitting levels. I think I may just give up and blast Funker Vogt at them. I hate guys that are TGTF.

Anyway, must dash. Just a quick update.

Enter the News, followed by the Internet and Ms. Sioux

2007-07-10T09:15:00.001-07:00

The move is accomplished! We met with the off-site apartment manager last night and did our walk-through, signed away our lease, and whatnot.

News-in-brief:

A super colossal Thank-you-very-much-I-love-you-more-than-gin-or-Guinness-or-Whiskey-and-Soda to Theresa, Chris, and Jess for their much needed (and greatly appreciated) help with the move. As promised, let's go have a Mouthgasm at Via Tribunali.
The intarweb is currently inoperative at Chez Nous. I'm suffering from the DTs because I can't come home and play on the web. Since the company who provides the intarweb to us doesn't have Customer Disservice on the week-ends, we had to wait until Monday after Peter got off work to call them. In theory, I should have the intarweb this evening when I get home.
My telephone numbers (both home and mobile) have remained the same.

The ever lovely Patrick, knowing my passion for the Great Goddess Herself - Siouxsie Sioux - has sent me the following video with the emphatic instructions to hang onto my wig and keys. I thus present unto you, my loyal readers (all two of you), Siouxsie's new release - Into A Swan, I suggest you hold onto your wigs and keys.

Siouxsie -Into A Swan

More and various animal cries

2007-07-06T10:28:00.000-07:00

AIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

*stops for breath*

I hate packing. It is one of the most odious, tiresome, irksome, aggravating, and generally wearisome projects in the world.

I hate disassembling my house. I've lived here for two years and I've inordinate amounts of tchotzkes, oojahs, doo-dads, old clothes I'll never fit my fat ass into again, CDs I'd sooner sharpen and cut my wrists with before listening to ever again, and I'm feeling overwhelmed with this packing of stuff. And I need to meet the landlady person this afternoon, meet the cable install tech person, and finish tearing up the roots I put down during the last years.

Thankfully, my friend Theresa is coming round shortly to help and to keep me company so I don't go completely mad.

[sigh]

AIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! [gives vent to more animal cries and goes back to work]

Updated links

2007-07-05T00:07:00.000-07:00

This is to announce the arrival of the link to my dear friend Miche's blog, Little Ray of Sunshine.

Miche and I have been friends since the Distant Days of alt.callahans. She's an absolute gem and a complete scream. Besides, she has a thing for food.

Mr. Trevethan Discovers A Dinosaur, with Illustrations

2007-07-04T23:02:00.000-07:00

It isn't terribly often that I get to write about something this remarkably interesting.

My very dear friend Ian, whom I haven't seen in an age nor do we get to talk as frequently as I'd like owing to a myriad of factors, discovered a dinosaur while on a dig in Montana.

Let me back up a smidge, Ian's currently studying the delightful science of paleontology at the Montana State University in Bozeman, MT. I've been over to Bozeman several times in the Distant Past to visit friends of the family who live out there (one of whom was the head of the Art Department at MSU as I recall).

Anyway, I was tottering about the house this morning when I noticed that Ian had called (I was fiddling in the kitchen with a spot of breakfast or something and missed his call). I returned his call and we were soon chatting about this and that when he said something in the vein of, "I just returned from a dig in northern Montana where I found what I believe to be a semi-articulated hadrosaur." Now, how often do you get to have a phone conversation where someone tells you in a delighted manner that they'd found what most of us call the duck-billed dinosaur?

Just another reason why I love my friends.

Ian surmises that the fossilized skeleton was that of an Edmontosaurus. Click here for more information regarding the Edmontosaurus.

Again, Bradley

2007-07-03T11:51:00.000-07:00

It's with great pleasure that I edited the HTML of this humble blog to include a link to the ever amusing and exceptionally entertaining blog of my dear friend Bradley (of Swivek and Carlton Heights fame). We've shared plenty of booze, smokes, and riotous good times. Pity that the bitch lives in WeHo.

Go drink in his weirdness. Trust me, it'll be fun.

Enter Millennium Digital Media

2007-07-03T10:42:00.000-07:00

Right, I've just about lost my patience with these fucktards at Millennium. So far I've spent twenty-five minutes on hold. I've yet to speak to a live induhvidual. I've tried using their LiveHelp chat thingmajig and the person working there is clearly an imbecile.

I have never had such a terrible customer service experience. EVER!

FINALLY! 31 minutes into being on hold, someone in Michigan answered the phone.

{grumble, grumble, grouse}

The good news:

Intarwebs installed at the flat on Friday between 12-5p. Yay!
Only $29.95 per month for a year (before taxes, fees, and surcharges).

First released in Kuwait!

2007-07-02T23:02:00.000-07:00

I found this while visiting Malicious' blog.

I really have nothing to say beyond:

ROTFLMAO!

Update!

2007-07-02T22:48:00.000-07:00

New linkeh to Djehuty.info - an exceptionally erudite, although rarely updated, blog written by my very dear friend Kyle. I suggest you read it or else I'll burn tires on your front lawn and chop the heads off your garden gnomes (which, by the way, the French call nain de jardin).

{insert various animal cries here}

2007-07-02T21:41:00.000-07:00

As I mentioned in a previous post, I'm going to have to switch my ISP... again.

Currently, I'm with Comcast with which I'm happy. For whatever reason, when I move all twenty blocks down the street to my new flat, I'm unable to get Comcast service and must switch back to either Qwest DSL (bleh) or subscribe to Millennium Digital Media for my Intarweb service. This irks me. I just went through the song-and-dance of changing my email address on every fucking bill or other service I use online.

Also, Chris was going to give me the number for the tech to come out and set up the Intarwebs for me. Unfortunately, the flyers in his condo building have vanished into the Ewigkeit. [sigh]

Go fucking figure.

Since I want to have my 'net connection set up when I move in on Saturday (how much of a 'net junkie am I?), I tried calling the fucktards at Millennium today from work and sat on hold with them for about forty-five minutes listening to their Automaton woman telling me that someone would be with me shortly. Lies, all lies. -_-

As I had far better things to do than sit at home and listen to Cyberella lying to me (not to mention their shitty fucking hold music) - namely working, I decided I'd call when I got home as I anticipated they'd have standard fucking business hours. But no! They're only available from 7.30a to 7p.

Why is it that I already don't care for these people very much?

At any rate, I'm going to try them again tomorrow when I get in to work. I hope that when I finally DO talk to a customer disservice weasel there that I'll be able to schedule the appointment when I want it.

If you hear shrieks of rage, you'll know why.

Howls From The Wilderness

2007-07-02T15:46:00.000-07:00

I would accept as an axiom the following quote by Harlan Ellison, "The two most common elements in the universe are hydrogen... and stupidity." Even with this fact very firmly in front of me, when the Hottentots run amok or the howling savages rise up and make an infernal din - generally over something which should be painfully apparent to even the dimmest of dim bulbs -, I find myself in awe of the sheer stupidity of those involved.

Unfortunately, people have a profound (and startling) capacity for delusion and willful ignorance. I know that we will have reached the End Times when it is the norm for people to see things steadily and seem them whole. Only connect... ¹

I know, I know! I can hear you all now, "Good grief, what has started HIM off? A nasty case of the rams? Is he seeing the Little Mean Man in a yellow slicker on roller-skates again?"²

Rest easy, my gentle readers, it is not a case of the rams nor is it a case of general malaise. It is nothing! A mere bagatelle! A passing moment of angst such as even the most sunny tempered of people (and my exact opposite) would experience every so often.

Hold your horses! Hey! Put down that driving iron! I'm getting to it! Alright! Alright!

I shall begin at the beginning of my tale as I'm told that it is the best place to start.

Of the course of several years, my good friend Patrick of OrangeTV has, like so many others, kept a blog. His blog is a collection of thoughts, reviews, dithyrambs about artists, restaurant encomiums, and bars that he has enjoyed and wished to share with us his friends. It has never to my knowledge and belief been his driving goal to become the next lifestyle writer for such estimable publications as The Stonewall News or even Vogue. No. He's always written candid, interesting, and oft amusing tit-bits for his friends (and whomever cared to read his words). He has never claimed credentials that he hath not. I do not recall him proclaiming himself the Julia Child of Coeur d'Alene nor the Terry Wogan of northern Idaho. Nor has he represented his written efforts as anything other than what it is: one man's take on a certain restaurant, CD, band, bar, or what have you.

Consequently, when one of the editors/writers for the only local daily worth two hoots, The Spokesman Review, took notice of his efforts and suggested he begin writing for the aforementioned paper; we were all pleased for him. By the time that this occurred, I'd moved to Seattle and I continued to read his blog because it is entertaining and it reminds me of old times.

Besides, my fathering and mothering creatures both enjoy reading his articles and I usually get a phone call from them with comments (or questions) about something he'd written.

Now, with the facts in place (no pretensions, no credentials beyond that of a normal mortal), I was more than a little irked when some kadodie hiding behind the ever so à propos nom de forum of "John Duh" decided to take Patrick for task for enjoying complimentary food and drinks at a preview of a new watering hole that's opened in good ol' Bored n'Lame (which, knowing most of what is offered at places in CdA, qualifies Patrick for a Congressional Medal of Honor for Conspicuous Heroism).

I suppose what annoyed me most about this cretin was his disingenuous attempt to cast nasturtiums at Patrick and portray him in an unflattering light as a person puffed on his own self-importance. But then, this is nothing unusual for anyone who finds themselves in the public eye. God forbid should someone have a modicum of success because the howling savages will start to do a species of snake dance and begin whetting their knives.

Further, deponent saith not.

¹ Forster, Edward Morgan. Howards End

² Parker, Dorothy. "Re-enter Miss Hurst, Followed by Mr. Tarkington." The New Yorker 28 January 1928

Wheeeee!!!

2007-07-01T01:31:00.000-07:00

Just got home from the VNV Nation show at El Corazon with Babyland from LA as the opening band.

What an amazing show.

Babyland seemed to be pretty high energy - not quite my thing, though. Banging on empty oil barrels and pipes just doesn't really do it. So I wandered off, with my friend Dakota, to the side bar where it was quieter and got a beer. Besides, it was blessedly free of the underage crowd.

VNV Nation, though, kicked ass. As Ronan said tonight, 'Fuck yeah'.

Awesome set - I heard just about everything I wanted to hear. They opened with The Farthest Star off of their latest album Judgement.

Here's a partial set list for those who care:

Chrome
Beloved
Darkangel
Savior
Standing
Legion
Perpetual
Testament
Illusion
Nemesis

Anyway, the venue was packed to the gills and the show was sold out. This was evinced by the fact that it was about 438 degrees Kelvin in there. Ronan at one point asked the various crew people to hand out water - sadly, none ever got to my corner. Ah, well.

This was one of the best shows I've been to in a really fucking long time. I'm still totally amped from the energy of the crowd as well as that of Ronan and Mark. They really do a great fucking show.

I'm looking forward to the following upcoming shows:

Voltaire - 7/17
Combichrist - 8/24
KMFDM - 8/25
Assemblage 23 - 9/9

I'm still deciding if I want to go see Haujobb. Hm.

I'm tired, sweaty, and need to go shower as my hair feels crunchy and I don't want to wake up all covered in dried sweat. Ick.

Here are a few photos taken with the camera in my phone. My apologies for the quality, but you'll just have to cope.

You know what they say, 'Never mix, never worry!'

2007-06-26T10:21:00.000-07:00

I've spent a good portion of this morning dealing with scheduling utilities to be disconnected at my current flat and reconnected at my new one. Entertainingly enough, my internet service provider is NOT going to be Comcast. Apparently, the move from 98144 to 98122 crosses a service boundary and puts me into Millennium Cable territory. I've never done business with them.

Curious, I rang up Chris to find out more information about them. Apparently I can just call the tech and have him come out and do the install - and pay him twenty dollars cash at the time. Now, having worked for a third party customer disservice center for both Qwest and Comcast, I was taken aback by this since we never, ever wanted the customer to give the techs money. However, Chris assured me that it was all legitimate and not a weird scam. He's going to get the number to me this evening so I can call him and set it up.

My transfer of service with Qwest went smoothly enough - same home telephone number, etc. I still need to call Seattle City Darkness and schedule the electricity (E! Electricity! When you're in the dark and you want to see, Electricity, E! Electricity!) to be connected. Thankfully, I'm going to be able to cancel my PSE service. I look forward to being shot of those fucksocks. You've no idea the amount of disdain I've stored up for them.

I made a really tasty curry last night - chicken, potato, bamboo shoots, mung bean sprouts, mushrooms, and onions in a nice yellow curry. Delish. I burnt my bottom lip testing a potato.
I also picked up some yummy gyoza and had those and cream puffs from the ever fabulous Yummy House Bakery.

I don't know what my problem is lately, but I've not been sleeping very well. Part of it is, without a doubt, due to my mattress. At one point I'm sure it was terribly comfortable. Now it is more like something that Torquemada would use to convince recalcitrant heretics to confess. Meh. I'm irked about having to move the blasted thing and then turn around and get rid of it. O well. Nothing I can do about that right now.

O well. That's it for now.

Rubbing alcohol for you, Martha?

2007-06-25T22:45:00.001-07:00

Right.

So.

I solemnly swear to update my blog more regularly than once a year.

I promise! Really! Or something.

I blame Icha, Clippeh, and Lac for this. I thought I was done with blogging. It had been, like sex (until recently), packed away in a box marked 'Winter Hats 2006' and stuffed in the back of my closet.

Anyway, let's see, when I last updated this I was still working for the Wicked Witch of SODO. Hell, The Devil Wears Prada was nothing compared to this broad. Not only was she verbally and emotionally abusive - she also neglected to pay me my final paycheque.

Cow. I hope someone drops a house on her soon. Meanwhile, I'm working on finding a good lawyer so I can sue her and try to recover SOME of the money owed.

Hm. Now I'm working for a company on the otherside of town - I've worked in SODO, Downtown, and now I'm in Magnolia near the Fishermen's Terminal. It isn't what I expected to find myself doing but it is a living and my boss is entertaining.

Lemme see... I'm moving from my house in Leschi into a place on First Hill (closer to Downtown - the lights are much brighter there, you can forget all your troubles... errrr) with Peter next weekend. We were supposed to move THIS weekend but the nasty boys living there now aren't going to be out of the place until the thirtieth and they'll need to cleanse the carpets of straight-boy funk and re-paint the flat. I wasn't keen on moving my belongings in only to have to move them about so they could clean. Nor was I particularly keen on delaying my move; however, it works out OK in the long term.

I've been suffering from an earwig lately. :x It's terrible. I heard a song at The Mercury on Saturday night while rather squiffy and now I can barely remember the lyrics but I can remember enough of it for it to irk me and defy attempts at identification. I may have to hum it into MSN and transmit it to Clippeh and Lac for identification. They have been Warned. BWAHAHA!

Anyway, my friend Brent's older brovva Kyle is staying with us while he looks for a place to rent through August. He's a super nice guy and fun to hang out with. I'm dragging him to go see VNV Nation with me on Saturday (well, not really dragging him - merely suggesting suggestively) at El Corazon. Should be an awesome show. If you haven't picked up their latest effort, I suggest you do so and soon.

There are some seriously killer shows coming to Seattle in the next couple of months - VNV Nation this month, KMFDM in August, and Assemblage 23 in September.

Anyway, it's late, I'm tired still from my weekend. I'll write more tomorrow.

G'night, Moon.

White Trash Loser Thanks W for Katrina Aid

2006-08-23T09:34:00.000-07:00

Clearly this person is suffering from some obscure brain-rot contracted from the poisonous sludge in the waters after Hurricane Katrina.

Read the ghastly story here.

Eighteen minutes from now...

2006-07-26T07:44:00.000-07:00

The Washington State Supreme Court will release its opinion on same-sex marriage.

"Rage, rage against the dying of the light" - In Memory of Byron Card

2006-07-20T11:44:00.000-07:00

In the early evening on Tuesday, 18 July 2006, I received a phone call from my friend Quincy who relayed to me the ghastly news that my friend Byron had taken his life. I was sitting on the #23 to downtown from my office in SODO after a particularly gruesome day at work.

I don't remember much of the phone conversation after he'd broken the news to me. He didn't have much information other than Byron had committed suicide. I vaguely remember calling Chris and telling him. Beyond that, I've blurred impressions of the people surrounding me on my commute and the sharp *snick* and the hiss of the flame from my lighter as I lit cigarette after cigarette, savoring the bitter taste of the smoke and the burning of my lungs as I chain-smoked at my bus-stop on Yesler while I waited for the bus home. It reminded me that I was alive.

What I felt (and still feel to a degree) was an overwhelming sense of numbness. This numbness is wearing off and being replaced by a growing sense of anger.

I'm angry that the lovely, kind Byron is dead.

I'm angry that Byron, who was always so generous and sweet-tempered, was so despairing that he took his life.

I'm angry at myself for having lost touch with him - even before I'd moved to Seattle, we'd kind of drifted apart. I in the dizzying whirl of preparing to move, he in the dizzying whirl of finding a boyfriend.

And I'm angry because I've no-one at whom I can direct this anger.

---

Byron was a fantastic person. For a long time, he was the only person I'd have color or cut my hair. I looked forward to going down to Studio 120 on Fourth and sitting and chatting with Gail while waiting for him to finish up and then gossiping with Byron. He was never as sharp-tongued or venomous as me. He'd giggle at my acerbic comments and we'd make plans to go out later to the bar for a few drinks. We'd wind up spending far too much and far too many hours drinking and having fun with the others. He would dance and dance. Occasionally, he'd grumble about the rude straights; but generally, he kept an even temper and shrugged them off.

When Patrick and I lived together, I'd on numerous occasions had Byron over for dinner - either as part of a dinner party or one or two friends coming over for a quick bite before heading to the bar. One time, he brought round a few boxes of "Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans" candy. And I remember him, Chris, and me sitting in the kitchen trying them in between cocktails.

I remember Byron as the nice one - the foil to my bitterness. He had, on many occasions, chided me gently when I'd given too free of a rein to my acid-tongue.

---

I've been having a hard time accepting that Byron's dead. Of all of my friends (and this will sound terrible, but you know exactly what I mean), he was the last person who I would've imagined would choose suicide.

I hadn't any idea that he was filled with such despair and I am bitter that someone like Byron would be driven to such lengths.

---

I really haven't much more to say...

Other than one last shout of "HOOKERS!" to you, Byron.

I'll miss you.

You can read Patrick Jacob's comments here.

Dorothy Parker...

2006-03-17T08:07:00.000-08:00

Résumé

Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.

---

L'Envoi

Oh, beggar or prince, no more, no more!
Be off and away with your strut and show.
The sweeter the apple, the blacker the core --
Scratch a lover, and find a foe!

Nativity Natterings

2006-03-16T07:21:00.000-08:00

A sound like a knock caused me to wake this morning. "Who can be at the door at this hour?" I thought sleepily as I swung my legs out of bed. As my bare feet touched the chilly hardwood of my bedroom floor, the remnants of sleep dissipated and I glanced at the clock - a quarter to seven. I heard Madonna singing "Hung up" from the bathroom as my roommate showered. I quickly went to the door, opened it to the grey, rainy day and saw no one.

As I shut the door and headed for the kitchen to set the kettle on the stove for a cup of Assam, the shower ceased and moments later, George popped out of the bathroom like the Demon King in a pantomime and bade me a cheery view-hallo and happy birthday.

It's odd. I don't feel any different than I did last night when I tottered off to bed. I'd like to say I don't feel a day over eighteen, but unfortunately, I've more grey hair and a few creaks and aches that I didn't then.

Tonight, I'm off to barge round with a few friends and have cocktails. It should be a scream. I look forward to it. I'll write more later.

BEWARE THE IDES OF MARCH!

2006-03-15T10:31:00.000-08:00

Brian's Travelogue Part 1

2006-02-26T13:22:00.000-08:00

A little over a month ago, my sister rang me up and our conversation went as follows:

"Hello, Michelle."

"Hello, Brian, are you planning on coming home for Mother's Birthday?"

"Well, I hadn't really planned on doing so, however, I've this $125 travel voucher from The Airline because of the hideous experience I had at Christmas. Let me see what I can get for airfare and I'll let you know."

With that fateful phone conversation, whatever dynamic forces exist in the Universe were set in motion to prepare and deliver this weekend for me or as my biographers will likely call this in later years, 'The February Visit to Coeur d'Alene Horror'.

Now, when I came home for Christmas, I hadn't much time to spend with most of my friends. I saw Brent and Sina frequently as both came to dinner with my family on Christmas Eve and Sina stayed with us for the weekend. However, mixing with Dougie, Patrick, and Jhanie didn't happen because of the whirlwind of activities, cookery, and suchlike that takes place at the Hardison household during the Yuletide.

As a result, I looked upon this visit to Coeur d'Alene as a great way to kill two birds with the proverbial stone - visit the 'rents for Mom's birthday and spend time with my friends (most of whom I hadn't seen in one spot all together since before I moved to Seattle).

After speaking with my sister, I opened an Internet Exploiter and navigated the perilous waters of the Internet to The Airline's homepage. After wading through the overpriced dilettante fares, I finally came across one that met my needs and was also only one hundred and twenty-eight dollars. Bingo! I could afford three dollars to fly home. "How frabjous is this," I asked myself.

O foolish mortal...

With a merry song on my lips and a tra la la, I tried to use my travel voucher thingamajig to pay for the tickets. With increasing frustration after several abortive attempts to do so, I dialed the customer service number for The Airline and spoke to a Perky Pet who advised me that (alas!) I couldn't pay for my fare online with the travel voucher but would have to go down to SeaTac to do so.

"Ugh," I thought, "how irritating is this? I hate going to SeaTac."

However, stifling my irritation for the nonce, I sweet-talked my roommate to drive me down to SeaTac so that I could purchase my tickets the next day. Carefully making certain to reserve the airfare I'd found, I put my travel voucher away and went on with my day and did other things and didn't think any more of the situation.

The next day, after slogging through a wearying day of work, I got home, fiddled around waiting for traffic to settle down and finally we departed for SeaTac.

While en route to the aerodrome, my roommate and I discussed the fare and the plan.

The Plan consisted of him dropping me at the concourse and driving round for a bit since it couldn't conceivably take that long to run in, fling the voucher at them, grab my receipt and go. Right?

Ha, bloody, ha.

An hour and a half later, I was still watching the village idiot poke about the keyboard with maddening slowness. After much head scratch, humming, hawing, and general horsing around, I was told that the travel voucher that I had covered the base fare only and that I'd have to pay the taxes myself and that the leftover amount (twenty five dollars) from my travel certificate would be given to me in the form of another certificate.

To be continued...

Borte bra, hjemme beste...

2006-02-26T00:32:00.000-08:00

Translated from the Norwegian, it means, 'Elsewhere nice, home best.'

That sums up my trip nicely.

I'll rant when I get home about the misery of my air travel experience. I'm tired and don't feel like doing so now. Besides, I'll most likely have more horrors to recount after I return to Seattle tomorrow afternoon.

Meanwhile, I'm somewhat low spirited because my evening wasn't as enjoyable as I'd hoped. While I really, really loved seeing Patrick, Dougie, Sina, and Brent in one spot again and once more at our old stomping grounds, I discovered that nostalgia is a perilous thing.

The bar hadn't changed while I had. The music was tired and was the same setlist that was in rotation when I left nearly a year ago. I had to plead to get some of the new Madonna played - and that's several months old.

Right now, I'm really home-sick for Seattle, how crrrazy is that? When did Coeur d'Alene stop being home?

Kami Jo, one of the bouncers/bartenders at the bar whom I've known for ages, paid me a great compliment when she said I looked happier than I had in a long time. And that's true even though it has been at times something of a struggle to keep my head above water in Seattle, I'm still generally happier - if somewhat lonely - there than here.

I'm also low-spirited because I found out tonight from Chris that this guy I've been crushing on for several weeks is interested in (or seeing) someone.

Anyway, I think I'll close this for now.

Good night, moon.

Beat Me, Daddy, Eight To The Bar.

2006-02-24T18:24:00.000-08:00

So, I'm sitting here quietly before packing my overnight kit and going to the aerodrome and decided to update my blog a bit.

Let's see, I'm heading home for the weekend for my mom's sixtieth birthday. I'm going to be staying with my friend Brent so as to retain a certain amount of sanity. That, and it'll be much simpler to negotiate going to the bar and suchlike from his pied à terre.

It'll be nice to see everyone since I wasn't able to when I was home for Christmas. Granted, my visit is short and sassy, but I've managed to wangle everyone out to the bar on Saturday evening.

Sina is collecting me from the aerodrome. Chris is driving me to the aerodrome here in Seattle and also getting a phone number for me to-morrow.

Well, I'd better go get busy.

Dear me, dear me...

2006-02-19T17:13:00.000-08:00

I've been very remiss in posting.

The weather is blah. Life is starting to be less blah. I'm drinking a cocktail.

There we go. That'll work for now.

Howl, howl, howl, howl! O, you are men of stones.

2005-09-01T08:25:00.000-07:00

Once more we return to continue our peregrinations and conversation.

I'd written a long, dithyrambic, and discursive commentary on change, but circumstances change, and I'm shelving that commentary for a few days.

I hear you now, "O, do stop grizzling on, Brian, what in the name of Mike are you going to write about now?"

Très simple, mes enfants.

Blog authors have decided that to-day would be devoted to helping raise awareness of the Hurricane Katrina relief efforts. To that end, I have added a link to the American Red Cross. The site is hosted by Yahoo! to help alleviate the delays as people open their wallets and purses to donate money in order to give aid to the people of New Orleans, Biloxi, and other cities and towns that were in the path of Katrina and are now lying shattered. Go here to donate. The minimum donation through this link is ten dollars.

Folks, normally, I wouldn't try to solicit money from you. I get enough phone calls from The Citizens' Alliance for the Eradication of Litterbuggery and divers emails, begging letters, and suchlike for the groups such as the Concerned Public for the Preservation of Goshawks that I presume that you do as well and there are only so many calls for money that one can entertain.

However, this is a different situation. Now you have an opportunity to assuage any feelings of guilt you may have for turning down the homeless person who asked you for spare change or a smoke. You can work off a bit of bad karma (if you believe such things) with a few clicks and a couple of keystrokes. There is also the feeling of having done well by a stranger in need.

What is ten dollars? I know that there are times for many of us when ten dollars is a dear sum, but think on how it can help if enough people donate.

Mister President, you are no FDR.

2005-08-30T12:23:00.000-07:00

And so it begins.

President Bush has, during commemorations of VJ Day, likened the war in Iraq to the honorable and desperate Second World War. Furthermore, he was drawn comparisions between himself and President Roosevelt.

While Bush is prone to exaggerating himself and singing paeans to himself and his grand vision, this recent statement makes me seeth with cold fury.

How dare he compare this war to the Second World War?

Then we had the goodwill of the world and comrades in arms against a depraved and utterly ruthless enemy bent on total domination. The fight was a noble one and our soldiers, sailors, and airmen knew exactly what they were doing.

Now, the majority of nations are opposed to this war in Iraq, our allies have distanced themselves from us as we had no justification whatsoever for invading Iraq. Claims of a clear and imminent danger were disproved. Claims of Saddam manufacturing weapons of mass destruction were also proven false. Assertions that the Iraqis were somehow involved in the terrorist attacks of September 11th were never more than lame attempts at justification. All we've done in the attempt to "free" the Iraqi people and install a form of government agreeable to us is cause turmoil, international protests, and dissent. Not to mention destabilizing the entire region and fomenting further discord and terrorism.

Our soldiers now don't know who the enemy is. Is the teen-ager down the street an enemy? Or is the old man sitting out front of a café the enemy? The mujaheddin don't wear uniforms. They aren't the Nazis. They aren't the Fascists of Italy and they aren't the Armies of Japan. Our soldiers and citizens don't know why we're even at war.

I don't think our president does either or else he wouldn't make statements comparing the war in Iraq to the Second World War.

I find this comparison insulting to the memory of my maternal grandparents and uncles and aunts. My grandfather fought in the Pacific with honor while my great-uncles fought elsewhere. Meanwhile, my grandmother and great-aunts endured privations to support the men and worked in various positions to further the war effort. What they did was noble and in defense of our country and our friends like the United Kingdom and France. We had the moral right of the matter.

Shame on you, President Bush.

---

Also, yesterday, my great-aunt Coreen passed away.

So I dedicate this to her piæ memoriæ.

Requiescat in pace, Aunty.

Beware the Communists!

2005-08-24T13:35:00.000-07:00

One does get bored of the normal. The humdrum. The same-ol' same-ol'. Who hasn't had a fit of the blahs? Hollyweird hasn't coughed up anything interesting lately, unless you count Madonna's birthday riding accident (which I don't). And the news has been a succession of plane crashes, casualties in Iraq, but thankfully (in recent days) there haven't been any more additions to the freakish number of electrocuted or lightning zapped Boy Scouts.

Reading the news the other day, I was slogging through the endless reports of examples of presidential stupidity, fact-fudging, and avoidance (meet with Cindy already, jackass!). When (Go tell it on the Mountain!), I came across an article worth a refined snigger. Nay, a chortle. Oh, hell, I'll be honest, I'm talking about a full out belly-laugh that had me crying from the sheer lunacy of it all. Ask my co-workers. They'll tell you. They looked at me as if I was a loon.

"What," you say, "is this silly ass rambling on about now?"

The other day, that prime example of a crepuscular old fart, Pat Robertson, slithered out of whatever whited sepulcher he lurks in and made one of his bizarre, inappropriate, and uneducated comments for which he is known - in addition to leading that fine, upstanding bunch of bigots, dumbfucks, hypocrites, and morons who are the Christian Coalition.

For those of you who mayn't remember, Robertson proclaimed that God (yeah, right) told him that he was going to clear out the Supreme Court a few years back, and due to Disney having Gay Days at Disney World, God was going to send hurricanes, earthquakes, plagues of locusts, etc. to terrorize the United States into reform. Oh, and he said that feminism causes women to a) kill their children, b) practice witchcraft, and c) become lesbians. If feminism does that to women, what does it do to feminist men? P'raps Ol' Robertson could take a page from Cotton Mather's book on how to deal with these alarming things.

Of course, as Robertson actually believes these things, he's an ardent supporter of the Gombeen-in-Chief. He's rallied the troops of the God Squad and helped get Bush elected since Bush shares his belief in asinine things like a flat Earth and Creationism.

But I digress.

The other day, Robertson started in on a fresh tangent. Using his 700 Club program on the Christian Broadcast Network, Robertson called for the assassination of Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez.

Let me give you a quote:

If he thinks we're trying to assassinate him, I think we really ought to go
ahead and do it. It's a whole lot cheaper than starting a war. We have the
ability to take him out, and I think the time has come that we exercise that
ability. We don't need another $200 billion war to get rid of one strong-arm
dictator. It's a whole lot easier to have some of the covert operatives do the
job and then get it over with. - Pat Robertson, “The 700 Club”, 8/22/05

Naturally, this was a comment given off the cuff and, as with all of Robertson’s comments, with very little thought. Apparently, Robertson’s biggest concern regarding President Chavez is that he’s a “leftist” and is, according to Robertson, a “terrific danger” and likely to start importing Communism and Islamic extremism to the Americas.

Hmm.

I didn’t realize that we were still fighting the Cold War. Sure, we’ve got China being quietly Communist while absorbing capitalist trends and that whack job with the birth-control glasses and bad hair in North Korea being weird and alarming, but The Great Red Menace of McCarthy’s day and Emperor Ronnie’s time is gone.

Also, I can’t really see the Islamic extremists like Osama bin Laden really buying into Communist theory.

Aside from those colossal howlers, there is the plain fact that he just did like Osama bin Laden and called for the assassination of someone with whom he disagreed politically. Rather frightening that.

Onward to Wednesday…

After several indignant responses from the Vice President of Venezuela and their Ambassador to the United States, the State Department and Department of Defense distanced themselves from Robertson. Additionally, several of Robertson’s more prominent fundie cronies scrambled in utter bug-fuck panic to distance themselves from such lunacy. Finally, today, Robertson claims he was misunderstood.

And now for his new statement:

I didn't say 'assassination.' I said our special forces should 'take him out.'
And 'take him out' can be a number of things, including kidnapping; there are a
number of ways to take out a dictator from power besides killing him. I was
misinterpreted by the AP [Associated Press], but that happens all the time. -
Pat Robertson, “The 700 Club”, 8/24/05

Go ahead and scroll back up to his earlier comment.

Thanks, Pat. I needed a good laugh. Never mind that you actually did imply that we ought to assassinate President Chavez (which isn’t a particularly Christian thing to do, you old devout follower of Christ you), but kidnapping dictators isn’t exactly the best way to conduct our foreign affairs.

Dear old Bob Dole even weighed in and called Robertson’s comments “ludicrous” and “stupid”. And you wonder why you lost the nomination in ’88, old cock?

What a classic gaffe this is! First, Robertson says something monumentally stupid and then disappears for a day while his keepers scramble to come up with a response and then he feeps out again to pronounce his apology and clarification. A clarification that is a prize example of someone trying to dodge the truth and place the blame on the media – apparently Robertson forgot that his deranged comments were broadcast on television to approximately a million homes and has been preserved for posterity.

The Moral: Think prior to speaking. Especially on national television.

A Dull New Redux

2005-08-05T08:35:00.000-07:00

One do get around. Contrary to what some may think, I do occasionally leave my Ivory Tower and co-mingle with the masses – most notably at 5:55 A.M. when I leave home to catch my bus to the office where I work. On most days, I leave the office at 3:30 P.M. and return home via the Metro. Twice a week or thereabouts, George gives me a lift home from work thus sparing me from the lunacy of the Metro commute. In addition to the convenience, I also get to take care of errands and other such delights. Moreover, I am frequently exposed to ‘new’ music.

On Tuesday, as we were winding our way through the traffic, a radio deejay, (I can’t remember who, nor can I determine why he was hired as a deejay as he had the diction of a warthog with a mouthful of marbles… Take that, Demosthenes!), mumbled something about a ‘new’ song titled ‘Why’.

Already bored with the repetitious and utterly incoherent dreck that passes for music, specifically ‘club’ music, whatever the hell that may be, music to that makes you want to club people, perhaps? I don’t know… Anyway, after suffering in silence while someone grizzled on about being taken to the clouds way up high or getting high or hell, who knows, this deejay introduced us to this supposedly new and exciting song by one of the nameless horde of au courant deejays who appeal to the throngs of people whose taste have been subverted by years of sitting in front of the television. Or eating mucilage — the effect is the same. These haute artistes of music, rather than produce their own music, apparently enjoy great fame and presumably income by taking the lyrics and vestiges of the music (crafted by a much better lyricist and songwriter) and adding distortion, an annoying and repetitive bass line, and finding a nameless shrill and incoherent woman to mangle the original song rather like a pack of hyenas feasting on an unfortunate dik-dik. They then, presumably, sit back from exhaustion and wipe the sweat from their brow. All of this travail in the name of Music and Art.

So after a breathless panegyric about this song and how exciting and new it was, he pressed play and wandered off to go have a coffee or play footsy with the janitor. With something less than anticipation, I sat hunched in the passenger seat waiting to be assailed with new.

Imagine my surprise when new was nothing more than an exceptionally meretricious remix of Annie Lennox’s song, ‘Why’.

Appalled at the temerity of this peddler of shlock, I listened for a few moments in the hope that it was all a ghastly dream. The original Lennox song released on the album Diva in May of 1992 is a poignant and bittersweet reflection the breakdown of communication and consequently a relationship. The entire album was a departure from Lennox’s previous work with the Eurythmics; however, Lennox lost none of her perspicacity.

Now, before I continue much further, let me address several points.

This is not a screed against cover artists per se. There are many instances where cover artists have brought something new to the work by their interpretation. One of these would be Siouxsie and the Banshee’s cover of the Beatles’ song “Dear Prudence”. There are others, but let us not get bogged down by this cavil.

Moreover, I am not disparaging groups such as the avant-garde Ladytron or Fischerspooner. They are not engaged in the manufacture of pabulum. Their work is not derivative. Nor is their entire oeuvre dross manufactured with a minimum of thought or creative effort, if one can indeed call the dreck produced (I refuse to use the word ‘create’) by these hacks creative.

Furthermore, I am not casting nasturtiums at genuine deejays like Felix da Housecat or others who explore new concepts in music and are genuinely creative. My criticisms are reserved for those who ride on the coat-tails of their betters and push their tawdry wares on the gullible and unsuspecting.

Ask yourself what do these so-called artists produce that is of any merit?

Absolutely nothing, rather than face the daunting challenge of doing something innovative, these cretins subscribe to a theory similar in nature and form to that of the ghastly auteur theory of directing — they are the authors of this work. It is their sublime talent that makes it worth viewing/hearing. What utter poppycock! Lennox’s original was greater by far. Hell, we’re not talking time zones here, kiddos, we’re talking light years.

So what the hell does all this matter?

By rights, this crap should be given its just deserts and treated accordingly — with contempt — however, it identifies an underlying problem.

It matters because it is another example of how mindless the masses have become.

Please ignore the screams of angst from those who ardently protest the label mindless.

Yes, people, the masses have become mindless. They accept penny dreadful fiction as the apex of literary achievement; these same people gorge themselves on McDonald’s “hamburgers” and are sated, they buy into such quackery as is promoted on those sublime salons of rationalism and critical thinking called daytime talk shows, these folks sat in line and in the suffocating boxes called cinemas to watch the inane Star Wars prequels and thought that the pisher of the decade, Peter Jackson, was a wondrous director for his hatchet-job on Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings. These, too, are the people who think that astrology is real in a pitiful attempt to shirk responsibility for their lives. It is this same lot who buy “fantasy” art featuring disproportionate women in clothing that would be ill-suited for leaving the house. And presumably, their parents are the cretins who collect Hummel figurines and buy those daubs of Thomas Kinkade.

They buy all this because they’ve been told to do so by suave marketing and the dreadful fear of being considered… elitist. Egalitarianism has gone much too far. Not everything is created equal. Judith Krantz is certainly not of the same caliber as Dorothy Parker. Kinkade’s messes don’t even compare to Titian or Rembrandt. An ‘Healthy Choice’ (an illiteracy, for those of you that care) microwaveable dinner is not the same as even the most simple pasta puttanesca. The list is endless.

So tonight, turn off the boob tube, go buy a decent bottle of plonk — no, Carlo Rossi doesn’t count, you dunderhead — make some pasta puttanesca, and talk with your lover or your roommate about things that matter. Forget about bills and other tiresome subjects for an hour or two. Or read a good book. I’ll even go so far as to suggest a couple. Try P.G. Wodehouse’s The Cat-nappers, if you’re feeling in need of a laugh. Or Austen’s Mansfield Park should you desire something meatier. Or if you want a combination of both, I heartily recommend to you Dickens' David Copperfield. I’ll even lend you my copy. Aren’t I just a swell guy? Anyway, grab your lover, or your book, and watch the sun set, enjoy the food and the wine, and savor life.

Don’t argue, just do it. You’ll thank me later.

Have a great weekend.

Morons, Intelligent Design, and the JREF

2005-08-03T07:19:00.000-07:00

I won't even attempt to apologize for the discursiveness of this post, however, a few things happened which have given me cause to comment.

This morning brought the news that the Halfwit-in-Chief supports the teaching of Intelligent Design (ID) in the classroom. To any but the most mind-bogglingly stupid, ID is without a doubt a colossal piece of pseudo-science and quasi-religious flummery; so one is not particularly stunned when President Bush comes out swinging in its defense. Our inestimable Dumbya in Pennsylvania Avenue seems to embrace slipshod theories and muddled thinking such as Iraqis behind the terrorist attacks of September 11th. I almost miss the astrologers in the White House.

This pronunciamento from our elected Theocrat-in-bureaucrat's clothing will, no doubt, fan the flames of illogic, paralogia, and irrationalism that are currently sweeping the nation. Kansas, which is already poised to plunge back into the twelfth century, will no doubt make hay while the sun shines and cheerfully wave good-bye to the twenty-first century. I anticipate witch-burnings and Inquisitions by the end of the year from the Sunflower State.

What our dearly loved President doesn't understand is that by promoting the instruction of half-baked pseudo-science in the classroom, he's paving the way for lower test scores in the sciences. And I'm sure that the religious kadodies who embrace the precepts of ID will soon find a way to condemn algebra - If God had meant for numbers to be represented by letters he would've made netters or lumbers, show me the transitional links... - as they add more books to the pile waiting to be flung onto the pyres.

But I digress.

President Bush's statement was, no doubt, calculated to garner further support from the religious and social conservatives to whom he panders in the most obsequious manner. The White House Science Advisor, John Marburger, stated that evolution is the 'cornerstone of modern biology' in an interview with the Chronicle of Higher Education earlier this year. Additionally, Mr. Marburger has characterized ID as not even being a scientific theory. Confidential to Mr. Marburger: Resign in protest now; before the hooded cabal comes knocking at your door to drag you away for having the temerity to suggest that the earth isn't flat.

It's a pity that Ol' Moses hisself - Charlton Heston, for those of you not in the know - isn't quite as active as he was during the Reagan Administration. Ol' Moses was a good mouthpiece for that particular crepuscular old fart (de moriturii and all that notwithstanding, he WAS a crepuscular old fart). Besides, he commanded the attention of the Moral Malignancy and their masses of morons who are just a-waitin' for the Rapture.

As an aside, have any of you noticed an increase in the number of loons driving around with bumper stickers that read, 'In case of Rapture, this car will be unattended' or some such? Is it just me or is this really alarming? Viz. 'Excuse me, sir, but did you realize that you were swerving across six lanes of oncoming traffic?' 'No, officer, I wasn't present, I'd gone up to Sweet Baby Jesus in Rapture.' Of course, I jest, when the Rapture comes (if ever), it'll sweep all the True Believers off to the arms of the Lord in Heaven. The sooner, the better, I say. We could use a good housecleaning here on old Terra.

For any of my loyal readers, all two of you, who are not familiar with James Randi, I commend to you the website for the James Randi Educational Foundation (JREF): http://www.randi.org/. It is a wonderful site, I suggest that you read his commentary and the archives to get a few laughs and more than a little bit of disgust at the yipyops and cretins who feep about trying to make a quick buck with their shills and flimflams all at the expense of the ignorant. As a quick overview, the JREF is working to combat the Forces of Darkness by exposing the shams and tricksters who peddle pseudo-science, the paranormal and other dreck and raise false hopes and claims in others. To this end, they've offered a million dollars ($1,000,000 US) to the first person to successfully demonstrate their claim under rigorous scientific testing using mutually agreed upon methods by a third-party. To date no-one has successfully passed the preliminary examination. Sylvia Browne, that 'psychic' darling of Montel Williams has accepted the challenge and then oiled out of it. The JREF is running a timer on its site indicating the number of days elapsed since she said she'd try for the money. I'd suggest reading the submitted applications and the dialogue with Kramer from the JREF. They're a hoot. Don't mind the typographical errors which occasionally crop up. If you can, I'd suggest buying a little something from their store. It'll help keep the JREF going and quite possibly help in the battle against these jimooks.

On a related note, I’m wondering what the stoats that push astrology will have to say about the discovery of that tenth planet. When Pluto was discovered, they at least had the ‘mystical’ number nine to work with and could cover themselves that way. I’m not familiar with any particular mysticism surrounding the number ten, but then I wouldn’t follow that sort of lunacy if I were paid to do so.

You know, I just thought of something. Isn’t the pushing of ID monumentally stupid on the part of El Presidente in light of his much vaunted No Child Left Behind scheme? After eating of the insane root that is ID, how could a child, without previously having been exposed to rationalism and the scientific method, be expected to do well on a science test? Are they going to think that dinosaurs were placed here to confuse us? That, by the by, begs the question: Why would any “loving” deity ever willfully seek to confuse his/her/its followers in such a manner? Does the aforementioned deity have a perverse sense of humor? Or is he/she/it not really as nice and kind and loving as suggested by the people who are still waiting to be rapt off this planet and into Heaven? I don’t know about you but I tend to find trust to be one of the cornerstones of a successful relationship. In what other subjects is this deity deceiving us? Just a thought…

Hey, no complaints, didn’t I warn you that this was going to be discursive?

Musings for a Saturday Morning.

2005-07-30T10:46:00.000-07:00

My very dear friend Kyle laid on my doorstep the posession of a sense of ethics and character. It was the best compliment I've ever been paid.

And so I must admit that I cannot be bought. I will tell you and everyone what I perceive is the Truth. This is not to say that I can't be mistaken or co-opted like everyone else. I just have a very strong bullshit detector and have values and beliefs that I will not sacrifice for anyone come Hell or high water. And I thank my parents for these.

So, that having been said, let's turn to other matters.

With everything going on, I very seriously worry about my community. I refer not to the neighbourhood to which I belong, but rather to the queer community that seems to be in such need of a gadfly. So I'm going to take the opportunity to function as such. As it is, I'm part of it, but only marginally.

I've made that realization lately. At first, I was depressed and then I stepped back and took a very good look at what I'm missing. Some folks may accuse me of being bitter and hateful because I'm not a part of it all. I hate to break it to them, but that doesn't wash for several reasons that I'll get into momentarily. And shame on you for using such a blatant Karl Rove type of thinking.

So, what am I missing?

As I see it, most of my community is comprised of people who are as devoid of thought as an M. Night SomeDamnedSillyLastName movie. It was during my stint amongst the smog-choked byways of Los Angeles, that I began to realize that the vast majority of gay men (I've very few lesbian friends so I won't even presume to try to comment on them) rarely think of much beyond what the wear and where they're going to go out and will Butch, Buck, or Billy be there tonight? Perhaps I'm doing a disservice and over-generalizing but I doubt very much if many of the guys rubbing the sleep from their eyes this morning and wondering if they should make this dude in bed breakfast or just hustle 'em out the door really will give a rip that scientists have seemingly discovered a tenth planet. Although, I wonder what it'll do to their irrational little brains as all those dreadfully insipid astrology books and the silly damned newspaper horoscopes are quickly proven to be flummery. Hell, I put it to you that they won't even open a bloody NEWSPAPER to read their horoscope. God forbid that they should worry their widdle bwains with the ghastliness in Iraq or the machinations of Karl Rove, that direct lineal descendant of Joseph Goebbels, and trouble themselves to get angry enough to start asking questions, those critical questions that our Fearless Leader and his cabal of crepuscular advisors don't want us to ask, and raising a duece of a stink. How many of these guys can even explain intelligently WHY what Karl Rove did ought to be enough to make us all rise up and defenestrate the fat, pasty sonofabitch. But I digress.

Apparently, I'm also missing a whale of a good time being sexually irresponsible and sleeping with any guy who answers my ad on Craigslist or Gay.com or who staggers up to undulate serpently at me at a bar. Now, let me head off the feeps in the back row who are going to start screaming that I'm repressed. Forget it already. I've sown my oats, I've just grown up and come to the realization that sex has its own meaning and for me that doesn't include fucking everyone who enters my ken. But what really startles me is that guys in this day and age are being so irresponsible and idiotic as to advertise for unprotected sex and engage in the same regularly with no more thought to their health or their partners than Mary Cheney had for us when she allowed herself to be prostituted by Georgie-Porgie and her cadaverous father, Dickhead Cheney for political purposes. I take this as further evincing the lack of grey matter. What otherwise sane and rational individual would knowingly court HIV not to mention the endless varieties of STDs? If we keep this up, we'll fuck our way to the grave and cause Santorum and his ilk to do a jig of glee. Wake up already, you moronic stoats, before tertiary syphilis rots what is left of your brain.

Vaunted gay taste seems to be another thing that I'm missing out on. Since I rarely concern myself with which designers are currently in and which are definitely not and I haven't shelves and shelves of unguents, creams, and other messes from the merchant designed to combat the ravages of age, gin, and cigarettes, I am something of an oddity. Mind you, I don't go out looking like something the cat just dragged in from the garden, but I manage to dress myself before going out without having to cycle through my contacts on my mobile to reach a consensus on what I am to wear. Nor am I afraid of growing older. It's a part of the natural progression of life. I frequently see men who are of a certain age who are in quite good shape (be it through their own efforts or the skill of the surgeon, that is another matter) but are trying so desperately to cling to their late teens and early twenties that it is painful to see. I counted thirty-two silver hairs amongst the raven tresses this morning and I'm leaving them in.

While I'm on the subject of taste, what the hell is up with the music in the clubs? As I write this, I recall noise of such a ghastly sort that it pains me. Shrieking pseudo-divas (I hate you MTV and VH1) and noise, noise, noise... as people look on and clutch their drinks in desperation or flail their bodies around in an approximation of St. Vitus' Dance while trying not to too obviously stare at themselves in the assorted mirrors present on the walls.

And then there is the... Oh, hell, what does it matter? I can sit here and shout that the sky is falling and that the emperor ain't gots no clothes and all that'd do is drive me hoarse. So I'll sit here and shake my head and keep a weather-eye on things, point out folly, and do my part (and yours, asshead, you know who you are) to keep the likes of Santorum at bay so that you can enjoy your overpriced cocktails and "dance" the night away. Let me point out a bit of lunacy and folly.

F'rinstance, what the fuck was with the theme for Pride this year? Pride Explosion? How long did it take the lackwits who organize Pride to come up with that one? By all accounts, however, it was much, much better than last year's. When we're being assailed on all sides and those precious gains we've made in the fight for equal rights are being eroded by elected assholes like Santorum (who, by the way, is a sick fuck and the last person who should be getting up on his hind legs and spouting off about the depravity of homosexuals - but that's a whole 'nother blog), the best they can come up with is "Pride Explosion"? What the hell is that? Were they expecting people to start exploding the moment yet another drag queen staggered by drunkenly? Rather than challenge us in our complacency and risk offending some, the organizers went for insipid rather than inspiring. In a year when much is/was at stake in Washington State (like the right to marry, morons), our brilliant Pride organizers give us dreck.

So as I reflect on this, any sadness at not being really one with my community is overwhelmed by relief.

Have an angry day.

Stuff and Nonsense! Continued

2005-07-28T22:31:00.000-07:00

Where were we? Ah, yes... Pride Weekend.

So, the poor dear George was in a bit of a stew because he really wanted to go out but had "nothing" to wear. Mind you, he has more clothes than Imelda Marcos had shoes, they're just unorganized. Additionally, he was still moving in so some were at his old place and some here. At any rate, we were also short on booze so he couldn't pre-funk prior to going out. What a drag, eh?

I, on the other hand, was quite content to lurk at home and avoid the nonsense and the drunk and drugged out homos rolling around the Hill. Kissing someone in a drunken moment and getting a contact high for a week isn't my idea of fun, thank you very much.

Anyway, Holly popped up to bum a smoke and then discovered George's pitiable state and quite decently rallied round with encouraging words and a stiffish Cuba Libra.

She and Drew are both really fabulous people and we were saddened to learn that they'd bought a house in West Seattle and are moving in a month.

Lemme see, what else is going on...

Oh, I smashed out a kitchen window quite by accident immediately after I'd finished cleaning the kitchen. It was one of those moments where you can do nothing but stare silently and then go about cleaning it up.

We've yet to get a dinner table and that's beginning to annoy me as is the distinct lack of shelves. I've boxes and boxes of books that need a home and soon before I go insane.

Anyway, I think this is it for now.

Good night, and remember to turn the light out when you go to bed.

Stuff and Nonsense!

2005-07-28T11:11:00.000-07:00

Right, then.

First, my apologies for having disappeared and become seemingly incommunicado. It was not intentional, however, circumstances dictated that I focus on other things for a short space and now I have time to devote to this space once more.

So, what has your humble blogger been up to of late?

In short, on the third of June, I bade my co-workers farewell, cleaned out my desk and went home to pack. That evening, the inestimable Brandy, aka Chicken Dinner Woman, now Helpmeet and Partner to the Lovely Dougie, rallied round to give my mane a much needed cropping. By early morning on the fourth, I'd loaded my assorted belongings onto my father's truck and a rented trailer thingamajig and was on the road with my parents to Seattle. We arrived in the early afternoon and were met by my housemate, George, and we hurriedly unloaded my assorted objects. After making a quick call to find out where my folks could return the trailer, I waved good-bye to them as they roared off in a cloud of diesel fumes and sat down on the porch of my new home to have a smoke and wonder what the hell I'd gotten myself into. By a strange co-incidence, dear Quincy and the Brentling were in Seattle that weekend and helped assuage the transitional sadness I was feeling.

That weekend was a relaxed, yet somewhat busy one as I had seemingly endless loads of laundry, dishes, and unpacking to do in between adventures out with the Q and B team. George was still living at his old pied-à-terre. That Monday, I began the soul-searing task of looking for work. I had applied for several positions within the telecommunications company for whom I'd worked while living in Coeur d'Alene and trusted to the assistance of various kind and wonderful people who'd said they'd be willing to help - more on that later. I had an interview at a local placement agency that day.

For what it is worth, placement agencies tend to love me. They do a species of snake dance when I send them my résumé and come in for the wearisome tests designed to measure my office skills. (Confidential to any recruiters who are reading this: No matter *what* you say about your specific tests being more difficult or different from another agency's, you're full of shit. I took the same damned tests at about six different recruiters and scored within one to two points of my previous scores. Towards the end, I was getting consistently perfect scores because I had memorized the damned answers. Just an FYI.) At any rate, most of the recruiters start salivating at my experience and abilities, promise great things by the end of the next day, and then promptly disappear.

After a few weeks of desultory job hunting (in the third sense), I was finally offered a position with a company in the SODO (South of Downtown) district. While not as glamorous as working in on the forty-third floor of a massive glass tower, I like my job and my co-workers very much.

Shortly after moving over, Sina buzzed round for a few days visit to the city prior to winging off to Deutschland. It was a nice visit. She recently returned and buzzed through for a day and a half before legging it back to Coeur d'Alene, unfortunately, I didn't get much of an opportunity to spend time with her as our plans just never became more than discussion.

Doug and Brandy came over a few weeks ago for a spot of fun in the city and it was good seeing them again. They got into town at 8ish that Saturday and we went for brekkers at The Hurricane and drinks at Bleu on Broadway while Brandy was getting a new piercing. Later, we went to dinner at Nijo with his mum and several assorted friends of his from way back when. So after stuffing dear Brandy and Doug with tasty morsels of Seattle's finest sushi, we beetled up to Queen Anne in search of some karaoke for Dougie. Unfortunately, the place we hit on was like an upscale Mik-n-Mac's. Filled to the brim with white hats and bimbos with the merest veneer of class and taste, it was impossible to sit and getting drinks was even more of a nightmare. So I sat and chain smoked and commiserated with Brandy as she grew increasingly tired and (or so it seemed) annoyed with the general mayhem of the place and the jackassery of the individual running karaoke. While the word gentleman is an elastic term, I am hesitant to use it to describe this person nor will I be so bold as to use host as it is not an elastic term in the slightest. It implies a certain amount of courtesy and manner that this jimook did not demonstrate in the slightest. Further, deponent saith not.

My house is a bijou little dwelling I'm going to wrangle Brad into bringing round his digital camera so I can post new and better photos of Chez Nous on my blog.

Our neighbours downstairs - Drew and Holly - are fantastic. It was Holly who gave me the tip regarding the Leschi Market and its absolutely amazing selection of vins. I swear they have everything under the sun from decent plonks - I'm quite fond of two whose names escape me at present, thus I shall borrow a page from Mortimer and refer to them as Château Lake Washington Boulevard and the other as Château Leschi Marina. In addition to reasonable plonks, they also have more expensive offerings for discriminating palates. Moreover, they've nice chipolatas.

Back on Pride Weekend (this year named 'Pride Explosion' and even more of a snooze than normal. Nevermind the fact that it was as empty of social conscience as Phyllis Schafly - more on that later), George was in the throes of misery because he was unable to go out that evening. Or so he thought...

To Be Continued

House in Leschi Pictures

2005-05-31T11:35:00.000-07:00

Please note: My photography skills are rudimentary at best, so I do apologize for this. However, in my defense, the camera was a fiend in camera form and impossible to work with.

A View of Lake Washington from the Living Room

Another View of Lake Washington from the Living Room

A View of the Living Room Wall with a Hint of the Front Door and Hallway

A Sideways View of My Bedroom With a Touch of Cedar Fencing

A View of the Exterior of the House With a Touch of Bad Lighting

A Moment of Frustration With The Digital Camera Caught as a Bizarre Photograph of a Curtain in My Bedroom

An Edited and Much More Fabulous Picture of the Exterior of My House Courtesy of Patrick of MakingFlippyFloppy Fame.

They only want you when you're seventeen...

2005-05-18T13:35:00.000-07:00

So saieth Ladytron.

And 17 days until I move to Seattle. :)

Social Security Crisis

2005-05-10T12:55:00.000-07:00

Dear friends:

George Bush and Republican leaders have made phasing out Social Security through privatization and massive benefit cuts their top priority for 2005. Members of Congress are choosing sides over the next couple of weeks.We need to make sure they choose correctly now--before a massive election-style campaign by George Bush and the Wall Street interests gets to them including what might be a $100 million TV ad campaign.

MoveOn PAC is collecting signatures to present to lawmakers.

You can sign the petition now at:http://www.moveonpac.org/socialsecurity/

Thanks.

Wickedness afoot

2005-04-29T19:19:00.000-07:00

OK, all. It's time to get off your complacent asses and DO something.

President Bush is attempting to eliminate the Perkins Loan in this year's budget. As most students on financial aid depend heavily on this loan, I'd suggest writing your Congressweasels and telling them that if a) they don't do something to protect the Perkins Loan and b) tell Bush to stuff it up his nose, you'll not vote for them.

Perhaps we can get an exciting protest at the local Senator's offices.

That Potent Potable...

2005-04-29T09:19:00.000-07:00

The Martini

I can't think of a drink that conveys such a sense of sophistication and elegance. The sleek Y shape of the glass itself - so easily held in a devil may care manner. The Martini brings to mind characters such as Ian Fleming's James Bond and Truman Capote's Holly Golightly. Dorothy Parker and others drank them at fashionable parties in New York City. Winston Churchill (more about his Martinis later) enjoyed a stiff one, too.

Much of the history of the Martini is lost in legend. There are apocryphal stories of various miners in Gold Rush California making some noxious drink that morphed over time into the Martini. Back then it was called the Martinez after a town in California. Others claim it was named after Martini and Rossi vermouth. Still others claim that members of the British Army in the Boxer Rebellion named it after the Martini and Henry rifle - both were powerful and had a kick. The old recipes for the Martinez are ghastly numbers - using sweet vermouth and exceptionally junipery gin. Also, the Martinez recipes called for a cherry. At the turn of the century, the cherry had been replaced by a twist of lemon. No one knows when the olive made its appearance. At this point, no one knows where and when the Martini came in to being, but does anyone really give a faint half damn?

At any rate, last night I made the first of several visits to local establishments in search of the perfect martini - not too ginny, not too vermouthy, inciting of a pleasant tingle, and alcoholic enough to get you buzzy after one.

The panel last night consisted of the following people:

Brent - an entertaining fellow with a pash for The Simpsons. When I first met him, we thought he had a bit of a Seattle problem - in other words, a cat from Seattle alarmingly transported and plunked down in Coeur d'Alene. We took to him like a Provençal to pastis.

Patrick - our sister and author of Making Flippy Floppy.

Sina - one of the drinkingest gals around. Sina is a sophisticated student from Germany and one of the most fabulous people I know. A spot of gin and a cigarette and the entertainment begins!

Kate - while a recent addition to the drinking scene, Kate's a great addition to the crew and has a turn for commentary that'd make a Puritan burst into flames.

The Bar: Mik-n-Mac's

The Lineup:

Brian: Two Tanqueray Martinis, extra dry, shaken, with three olives, one Stoli Green Apple Martini.

Patrick: Two Midori and Stoli Martinis, one Tanqueray Martini - extra dry, shaken, with three olives.

Sina: One Tanqueray Martini, extra dry, shaken, with three olives, one Stoli Green Apple Martini.

Brent: One Tanqueray Martini, extra dry, shaken, with three olives.

Kate: Two Tanqueray Martinis, extra dry, shaken, with three olives.

-----

Patrick was a bit adventurous and decided to try some odd concoction of Midori and Stoli in a Martini glass. Patrick was nice enough to give Sina a swig, but she wasn't sold on it. Too sweet was both her and Patrick's verdict.

My Martini was definitely dry. The bartender had done like Churchill and waved the shaker in the direction of France and that was as close as the vermouth got to the gin. The Martini itself was definitely strong and gave you a tingle as you drank it. My lips were noticeably numb after a sip. All together, the Tanqueray Martinis were middle of the road. The gin was a little bruised from too vigorous of a shaking and as a result the more delicate botanicals of the Tanqueray were lost resulting in a drink that was stiff, but lacking panaché. Additionally, the glass wasn't sufficiently chilled which led the the Martini getting warm much too quickly. Also, I really hate frou-frou Martini glasses. Simple and sleek is best. These were rather clunky and the stem was difficult to work with - I couldn't grasp it and manage a cigarette easily - as it was this weird thick twisted glass jobby.

In my opinion, a Green Apple Martini should be smooth with a touch of apple. These were rather rough - there was a sour taste to it which was rather alarming. Again, the glass hadn't been chilled sufficiently and they were served in one of those annoying glasses that the trendy housewives try to spring on unsuspecting guests.

Sina's comments regarding the Tanqueray Martinis were sufficiently close to mine that I sha'n't bother trying to remember them.

Brent gave his a thumbs down - too ginny and not smooth enough for his tastes.

Kate was surreptitiously adding water to hers as she wasn't expecting something as strong as she got. Her reaction was to totter down the street to get Chinese food from Chinese Gardens. Her other comments were, unfortunately, unprintable.

The Ratings:

Tanqueray Martini (extra dry, shaken, three olives) - 3/5

Midori & Stoli Martini - 1/5

Green Apple Stoli Martini - 2/5

The Martini - An Introduction

2005-04-28T10:20:00.000-07:00

A Martini is a dangerous drink, my dear,

I have two at the very most,

three and I'm under the table,

four and I'm under the host.

-- Dorothy Parker

This has always been one of my favourite Dorothy Parker quotes. I love Ms. Parker as much as I love a Martini. Ogden Nash wrote the following poem about the Martini and I heartily commend it to you.

A Drink With Something In It

There is something about a Martini,

A tingle remarkably pleasant;

A yellow, mellow Martini;

I wish I had one at present.

There is something about a Martini,

Ere the dining and dancing begin,

And to tell you the truth,

It is not the vermouth--

I think that perhaps it's the gin.

Starting this week, I'll begin a series of discussions on the Martini - including my views and recipes for this libation - and visit local bars in search of the best Martini in town. The first of the series of articles will be published this week. And we'll be visiting a local establishment to test the abilities of their bartender.

Skål!

Habemus papem

2005-04-27T19:46:00.000-07:00

Your Papal Name is Pope Honorius V

You think Pope Benedict IX was a Saint who should have indulged himself a bit more. You're already halfway though "How to Excommunicate for Fun and Profit" and, if you were made Pope, you would have the treasures of the Vatican on www.ebay.com before the end of week one.

Get your own name at What's" My Papal Name?

Wednesday's Excitement

2005-04-27T13:10:00.000-07:00

Unlike the Brits, I typically don't find drains to be that terribly exciting. In fact, I rarely give them much thought as long as they're working correctly and raw sewage isn't flowing freely forth. To-day, however, was a bit exciting since the drains in my office building decided to withdraw their labour for a good whack of the morning.

It seems that flushing feminine hygiene products isn't exactly the best idea and after several years of ladies doing so, the main drain decided that enough was enough and went on strike. As a result, three floors of raw sewage was backing up and flooding the basement training rooms and break area. Add to this excitement a major client and corporate visit and we've a recipe for success.

Raw sewage + suits = mass entertainment.

For a good chunk of the morning, people were having to beeline next door to cadge a loo, either that or squirm in their seats while trying to hold it.

Fortunately, the plumber and his jeunes have arrived and resolved the problem. Now there is an horrific stink downstairs as the resulting mess is being cleaned up.

Meanwhile, in other news:

Russian President Vladimir Putin made waves the other day with his commentary decrying the fall of the Soviet Union. Apparently, poorly constructed concrete buildings, breadlines, and a drab economic outlook appeals to President Putin. But then, oddly enough, there are folks in Germany who miss the days of the shoebox-sized Trabi and the aforementioned concrete buildings, breadlines, etc.

In Iraq, the insurgency "is about where it was a year ago," according to the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. In other words, contrary to the rosy picture painted by Rumsfeld and the rest, we're still a long way from "winning" (if that is indeed possible) this ghastly war.

Finally, to close things on an up note, I commend to you all the fabulous comic strip Dykes to Watch Out For by Alison Bechdel. If you haven't ever read it, I'd suggest tottering over to PlanetOut and checking it out. It's most entertaining.

Yet another example of separate but "equal"...

2005-04-20T18:25:00.000-07:00

So to-day Connecticut jumped on the civil union bandwagon. I'm pleased that the legislation passed, but I'm afraid that it just doesn't make me want to dance with glee.

According to a report on Newsday.com by Susan Haigh from the Associated Press, "The legislation grants gay and lesbian couples the same rights, privileges and obligations as married couples in Connecticut, but does not allow them to wed."

In other words, separate and equal. Didn't the Supreme Court find the policy of separate but equal to be inherently unequal in the landmark decision of Brown v. Board of Education of Topeka in 1954? Granted, Chief Justice Warren was writing with regard to public education but his words hold true here, "To separate them from others of similar age and qualifications solely because of their race generates a feeling of inferiority as to their status in the community that may affect their hearts and minds in a way unlikely ever to be undone." Just replace the word "race" with "sexual orientation" and it becomes apparent that the gay and lesbian community is being deprived of the equal protection of the laws guaranteed by the Fourteenth Amendment.

Sed fugit interea, fugit irreparabile tempus...

2005-04-18T14:37:00.000-07:00

Sed fugit interea, fugit irreparabile tempus - But meanwhile, the irreplaceable time escapes. Virgilius, Georgica

And so I've found. I'd hardly clicked 'Publish Post' when there was a noise like a hoop and time just rolled away and now it is over two months since my last post.

Let me see, what do I need to do? Oh, yes:

Re: Terri Schiavo.

I'm thankful that the judges involved had the intelligence and courage to do what they did. Mrs. Schiavo's parents are lunatics, Tom DeLay and the rest of that crowd of ice cream suit wearing snake oil salesmen all need to be horsewhipped. I wonder if they've ever attended a high school or even grade school social studies class. As I seem to recall, the Republicans were all about states' rights and the individual, not interfering with private personal issues.

Re: Pope John Paul II.

Good-bye, Sir. I wonder if you realized as you lay dying the suffering your teachings have caused. Perhaps you felt some little part of the pain your hateful language toward gay men and women as your body finally collapsed. Then again, you probably didn't. While you weren't completely loathsome, you, sir, were no saint.

Re: My Birthday

Yep, another flippin' birthday went flying by back in March. Whee.

Re: Seattle

Ah, yes, the move. For some reason, I'm nervous as hell about this move. I took to-day off to fire off resumes. Keep your fingers crossed.

Oh, well. That's enough for now.

Government and Morality

2005-03-02T09:31:00.000-08:00

In a recent article on ABC News - go here for the full article - regarding the Ten Commandments on public property, one of the protesters, a David Condo of Beltsville, Maryland, outside of the United States Supreme Court made the following comment, ''I don't think government should be in the business of morality.''

Right, Mr. Condo, I agree in toto. By your statement, the Ten Commandments ought to be removed. If the government doesn't legislate morality, then we cannot have the Ten Commandments on public property or else our government is tacitly showing a preference toward Judeo-Christian mores.

What is interesting is that when some bright person tries to point out this fact, the Religious Right rises up and starts gibbering like deranged vampire bats.

Moreover, if our government is not in the business of legislating morality, why does the Religious Right start bellowing about morality when the topic of secular gay marriage rights are brought up? By the logic of Mr. Condo, the government should recognize same-sex marriages without a problem. Not a single piece of legislation supporting same-sex marriages has ever attempted to force religious foundations to perform them. All we want is the ability to march in to our City Hall, plunk down the money for our marriage license, and then get married by a Justice of the Peace or whomever.

Yet, for whatever reason, when this is discussed, John Q. Cheesepuff in the Bible Belt starts writhing on the floor and chewing holes in his shag carpet because two men or two women in loving and committed relationships are immoral or some such because 'the Bible tells me so'.

Whatever.

Oh, and no, legalizing same-sex marriage won't engender a sudden spike in people applying to marry their dog, pet goat, or gold fish. That seems to be a straw man created by the demented. And it is really an exceptionally offensive inference, too. We're not talking about non-sentient animals and humans when we discuss same-sex marriage rights. We're talking about a secular social contract between two consenting adults. How hard is that to grasp?

Ultimately, the government doesn't have the right to legislate religious morality. It does, however, have the right to govern the morality of such things as murder, perjury, etc. If we fail to stop the Religious Right from their drive to control our government, we'll have our own version of the Taliban right here in the United States. That's not a particularly pleasing idea, is it?

Well conceived idea, Mr. Savage.

2005-02-25T14:00:00.000-08:00

As I mentioned earlier, I was going to totter off to read the Stranger.

I commend unto my loyal readers (all three of you) the current Savage Love article by Dan Savage. You can find it here.

I'm sick to death of the tiresome and irresponsible assholes out there (both gay and straight) who run around engaging in unprotected sex. After having worked at a local non-profit HIV/AIDS advocacy group, I'm a little irritated by the attitude of 'It can't happen to me'. Wrong-o, Mary Lou. It CAN and WILL happen to you if you don't stop and think before you get down to the foolin' around.

Christ Almighty, people, just because there are all sorts of drug cocktails out there now that help prolong life and improve the quality of life after infection with HIV, that doesn't mean common sense needs to fly out the window.

While people are generally stupid, self-serving, arrogant pricks like the one in to-day's Savage Love article need to be horsewhipped. Wilfully exposing people to HIV is a criminal act. The fact that this contemptible fucksock is knowingly exposing people and doing so without turning a hair makes me sick.

Education, advertisements, free condoms, free testing, and other things obviously aren't doing much to stop the dumb fucks like this kadodie. Perhaps it is time that we adopt a plan similar to what Dan Savage is proposing. Why should all the responsible people out there foot the bill for medical expense that are incurred by the idiocy of two - and the intent of one?

With a 'Hey, Nonny, Nonny' and a Hot Cha-Cha!

2005-02-25T13:05:00.000-08:00

After what seemed an eternity, the work week is finally over. Or nearly so. A few tiresome reports, a bit of burbling at a meeting, and a little quick ankle work and I'm out the door until Monday next.

Normally, I look forward to Fridays like the chase heated hart views the cooling stream he's just staggered across. However, this Friday is a bit sad since one of my enjoyable co-workers is leaving. Alas! So, tonight, I think will entail a bit of a gin swigging and frivolity or perhaps a bit of gin swigging and crying jags. I don't know yet, it really depends on the venue.

Personally, I'd prefer the frivolity. Unfortunately, the majority of venues in this wretched town cause crying jags because they're so wearisome unless you completely sozzled.

And yet, I firmly intend to enjoy my weekend since it means I don't have to play Nanny to twenty-four adults (ha!) for two days.

Oh! Hm, I just realized that a new Stranger is out. I'll have to read that shortly.

Anyway, I just felt like marking the onset of the weekend with a rather loud, 'Hey, Nonny, Nonny' and a Hot Cha-Cha!

Thoughts of War

2005-02-23T16:27:00.000-08:00

With the Iraqi elections now a thing of the past and as the members-elect hammer out a coalition government and wrangle over who will be the Prime Minister, the current administration of the United States is collectively doing a species of snake dance and basking in near post-orgasmic bliss - as if the elections somehow have validated the slipshod thinking that created this mess in the first place.

I find it particularly telling that nearly ten years ago Bill Clinton was castigated and impeached for breaking his marriage vows and engaging in reindeer games with an intern. While Clinton was very properly punished for perjury, our current Fearless Leader (you won't hear me say or type his name lest I sully my lips or fingers) starts a war in one of the most volatile regions in the world on the intelligence that Iraq was producing and stockpiling weapons of mass destruction (WMD) and we've subsequently learned that all the arguments for war were nothing but a tissue of lies. Clinton's escapades in the Oval Office with cigars and interns haven't (at least so far) resulted in the deaths of thousands. While a lie is a lie, some lies have greater ramifications than others.

Where is the outrage? Why the hell haven't the masses risen up en masse thrown the current administration out of the White House and all the other government buildings? Why the hell hasn't our Fearless Leader been impeached and removed from office in disgrace for the deaths of over a thousand of our troops and the needless death of thousands of Iraqis as a result of his lies? And for that matter why the hell don't we hear more about the Iraqi death toll? Are we not given these statistics because the average American is a racist bastard who somehow thinks that the death of innocent Iraqi civilians is no big deal compared to Johnny Private in the Army?

So, where is the outrage? Where the devil are the protest songs and the "love-ins" and such like from the Vietnam era? In short, our current administration has so successfully manipulated the public that we swallow the continued lies and whitewashing because we're told by our Fearless Leader and his pet/puppetmaster, Karl Rove, that "father knows best" and to question the government is a sure fire way to Communism, terrorism, beastiality, Satan, and Hellfire.

Yet, I don't recall democracy involving blind obedience to The Party or The Government in any of my political science or civics classes. Before anyone decides to be cute and point out the last election was a mandate for our Fearless Leader, let me just respond by saying that it is the job of a shepherd to round up sheep and the American population is becoming as docile and moronic as a flock of sheep if they're unwilling to recognize a few critical tidbits of information. Hell, I'll give them to you now in a nice tidy list if you're such a meathead as to not have figured it out on your own.

- Contrary to our Fearless Leader and his legion of cretins, there were no WMDs in Iraq. Wasn't that primary argument for our going to war in the first place? Guess what, kiddos, we've been lied to.

- There were no Iraqis on any of the flights involved in the horrific events of September 11th, 2001. The hijackers were primarily Saudis which is interesting considering that our government (and not just the current one) has been in bed with the House of Saud since it became a sovereign nation. I'd suggest watching the Frontline episode titled 'The House of Saud'.

- Osama Bin Laden (who?) was not hiding in Iraq. From all the evidence out there his relationship with Saddam Hussein was not exactly that of Fred and Ginger. They disliked each other passionately, so why the heck would Saddam hide Osama? Besides, whatever happend to the vow to find Osama? He's the sick bastard that engineered the attack at the World Trade Center.

While I could go on for what would seem like eternity regarding the blatant signs that our Fearless Leader is leading us not to glory but down the garden path, I'll move on.

We've marched in, violently installed our theory of government, and generally stirred up the ethnic and religious tensions in and around Iraq. While everything may turn out to be just peachy in Iraq, we've further fomented such distrust and hatred for our culture and way of life, that regardless of how excited the free Iraqis may be, there'll be a throng of whackjobs out there who think that we're the Great Satan and will buy into the deranged ramblings of a religious zealot with an axe to grind. And they're not just in Iraq.

Furthermore, because of all the legerdemain and deceptions at the inception of this war, how can we expect the results to be clean?

I certainly hope that everything will be sunshine, lollipops, and roses, but I doubt it.

Soon...

2005-02-23T11:01:00.000-08:00

Several months ago my dear friend B was deployed to Iraq. My thoughts and feeling regarding the deplorable situation and the muddled and misguided thinking evinced by our Fearless Leader and his loathsome cronies will be the subject of another post.

Anyway, B has been over in the hell and mess in Iraq and every day he's been there, I've worried and fretted about him. B is one of the most gentle and sweet-tempered people I've ever known and sending him to war was akin to dangling a baby out the window like a certain lunatic celebrity, or in other words, absolutely deranged.

B has been able to email on occasion and periodically call. Unfortunately, I rarely was able to take his calls due to schedule conflicts. So, my conversations with him tended to be via voicemail. Not the most efficacious, nor satisfying, method of conversation.

However, yesterday morning I received a phone call from Sina advising me that B was now in Kuwait and would be home within two weeks. Desiring further information, I called B's primary point of contact here in the States to find out what was going on.

In short, B's in Kuwait and is anticipating to be on a plane bound for home today. If this is so, then he ought to be home by next week.

He's out of Iraq. He's coming home.

I could scream with excitement, relief, and happiness. As I write this I've tears in my eyes from relief and I keep thinking, 'He's out of Iraq and coming home.'

Now, we just need to bring all the other fathers, sons, brothers, husbands, uncles, cousins, wives, daughters, aunts, and mothers home, too.

A Blithe Scream

2005-02-23T10:05:00.000-08:00

It's really rather enjoyable setting up a blog again. My previous attempts were rather unsuccessful for a variety of reasons. I firmly intend to make this space my home for some time. So, do pop round for a visit. Mind you don't track mud or dirt in - the carpet is still new and I'm waiting for the rugs for the hardwood floors to return from the cleaners.

Reader (isn't that fabulously Victorian), I'm certain you're wondering what the hell I intend to do with this space. It is my intent to use this space wisely and well. Look for diatribes about the infernal and invectives directed toward the fatheaded all interspersed with my thoughts on Life, Literature, and the perfect Tanqueray Martini amongst other things.

These posts will primarily be short essays. Stop! I hear you shuffling and looking furtively for the exits. Sit down. It won't be too terribly ghastly. Some days will see experiential and stream-of-consciousness writing. Look for the essays at least once a week with more as time permits.

At any rate, I shall be fiddling round with things and making the nest a bit more comfortable so please excuse my dust.