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

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. :)

Howls From The Wilderness

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