Matt Damon pretty much capturing my emotional state with regard to the presidental election. And before you nutjobs go psycho on me, the destain and disgust extends well beyond both sides of the aisle and into all arms of the media. But there's something surprisingly shocking about the way he states the obvious here and how it contrasts against the contrived discussions that almost everyone else is having.
Onto less depressing things
Me (on phone): Hello Sophie
Sop: This isn't Sophie, its Sabrina
Me: Yeah....whatever. Put Uncle Ron on.
Sop: He's not here.
Me: He's not ?!
Sop: No...he's out eating sushi.
Me: Dammit, put Uncle Ron on !
Sop: OK....and I'm telling Mom you used bad words again.
I had a guy at work who called me three times in three days being a bigger and bigger asshole each time he called. I reacted by being a nicer and nicer guy each time. By the thrid time I had enough. The real problem was during the third call a workman for our security system provider came into my office set up his ladder and was working on something in the ceiling just in front of my desk. What he first heard was me ridiculously dripping with niceness, " yes sir, no sir, I understand sir" etc, etc....then I blew. " I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF YOUR NONSENSE !!!!!", I yelled at the top of my lung...standing and sceaming into the phone. PLOP. Down went the screwdriver as the workguy needed both hands to stead himself on the ladder. Then he hustled down the ladder, grabbed the screwdriver and ran out the door.
Oh yeah, the guy on the phone couldn't have been any nicer. " Hey, thats great, thanks for helping me out". Go figure.
I'd write more... but after McNabb threw into tripple coverage on 2nd & 14 with 10 yards of open field to run in front of him last night..I have an email to Philly I need to take care of.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Monday, September 15, 2008
Thursday, September 04, 2008
where I've been
In a nutshell...
Got stuck in one airport....then got stuck in a second airport...was in both places with a headcold, so getting hammered drunk was out of the question. In an airport, with a headcold, sober might be the second level of hell.
Anyway up in the air, sinuses exploding, back down...rinse and repeat.
Finally got home after 12 hours miserable and exhausted. I loaded up no twice as many cold meds as recommended, pounded a beer, and went straight to bed at 8:30. I traded rooms with my daughter so that I wouldn't infect anyone else.
Somewhere around 2 am I woke up doped and disoriented and with a full bladder. I tried to figure out where I was made a beline for the only lightsource coming from the hallway.
WHACK
I walked right into a opened closet door and split my nose and head open. I didn't even bother dealing with it. I took a leak and went back to bed.
Got stuck in one airport....then got stuck in a second airport...was in both places with a headcold, so getting hammered drunk was out of the question. In an airport, with a headcold, sober might be the second level of hell.
Anyway up in the air, sinuses exploding, back down...rinse and repeat.
Finally got home after 12 hours miserable and exhausted. I loaded up no twice as many cold meds as recommended, pounded a beer, and went straight to bed at 8:30. I traded rooms with my daughter so that I wouldn't infect anyone else.
Somewhere around 2 am I woke up doped and disoriented and with a full bladder. I tried to figure out where I was made a beline for the only lightsource coming from the hallway.
WHACK
I walked right into a opened closet door and split my nose and head open. I didn't even bother dealing with it. I took a leak and went back to bed.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
dookie
Part of starting my new job has been to try and make sure that I'm respectful of the fact that all the employees who were here when I have here have their own particular way of doing things. I'm also substantially more self aware because everyone in the office is a woman...more specifically all women between 50-65 years old.
The first week of work that was on my mind when I went into the non-urinal, shared bathroom and was sure to put the seat down when I was done. On the second day, I went in and saw the seat was UP ?! I took my leak, put the seat down, and off I went. The third day I went in SEAT UP ?!?! I was starting to freak out. With an entire office full of women either one of the chicks was getting freaky, or someone was trying to set me up.
On day four the seat was up and I was on full out paranoia. About a half hour later I heard the secretary get up and go walking down the way toward the bathroom. I went, put the seat down then laid in wait to see who the culprit was. I went into the bookkeepers office which is directly across from the bathroom ( another story for another time). I brought a folder she and I were going to review so I could keep an eye on the bathroom door without drawing suspicion on myself. After a minute or two I heard a click and looked up but the bathroom door didn't move. Instead, off to the left, the hall closet opened and the secretary came walking out of the closet.
" Huh ?!", I said aloud, " What was she doing in the closet ?"
The bookkeeper look at me puzzled, " the closet?"
" Yeah Suz just came walking out of the closet !"
He face twisted up a little more, " Don't you...Do you mean the women's bathroom ?"
Apparently, we have a women's bathroom.
Also...apparently the maintenance MAN comes in at time.
And finally....apparently I'm a jackass.
The first week of work that was on my mind when I went into the non-urinal, shared bathroom and was sure to put the seat down when I was done. On the second day, I went in and saw the seat was UP ?! I took my leak, put the seat down, and off I went. The third day I went in SEAT UP ?!?! I was starting to freak out. With an entire office full of women either one of the chicks was getting freaky, or someone was trying to set me up.
On day four the seat was up and I was on full out paranoia. About a half hour later I heard the secretary get up and go walking down the way toward the bathroom. I went, put the seat down then laid in wait to see who the culprit was. I went into the bookkeepers office which is directly across from the bathroom ( another story for another time). I brought a folder she and I were going to review so I could keep an eye on the bathroom door without drawing suspicion on myself. After a minute or two I heard a click and looked up but the bathroom door didn't move. Instead, off to the left, the hall closet opened and the secretary came walking out of the closet.
" Huh ?!", I said aloud, " What was she doing in the closet ?"
The bookkeeper look at me puzzled, " the closet?"
" Yeah Suz just came walking out of the closet !"
He face twisted up a little more, " Don't you...Do you mean the women's bathroom ?"
Apparently, we have a women's bathroom.
Also...apparently the maintenance MAN comes in at time.
And finally....apparently I'm a jackass.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
First day of school
Let me begin by saying I have some allergy that strikes me in August and September. I have no idea what it is, and it doesn't affect me any other time, but starting right around the second or third week in August I wake up every morning with my eyes burning and my nose running uncontrollably.
That's exactly how things started for me yesterday, which was the kids first day of school.
The allergies set the tone for what is always destined to be a disaster of a morning. The kids aren't used to getting up, my wife is all depressed because the kids are going away and summer is over, and more importantly ( to me anyway) is that my morning routine is interrupted.
All summer long I have the pleasure of being the only up in the mornings. The rare chance to enjoy the quiet solitude has really made me a morning person. Grib, who had 4 brothers and 3 sisters told me how he would occasionally find his father sitting in the dark at 5 am with a pot of coffee all alone. What was once seen as maniacal seems prudent now.
So instead of quietly getting dressed and sipping coffee while listening to sportscenter I spent the better part of the morning screaming shit like, " I'm leaving in 3 minutes with or without you !" ( I wasn't) or " I'm going to make you all wear burlap sacks to school for now on" ( I was).
Finally, 5 minutes late, we got out the door, into the car, and off to school. In my haste I forgot my allergy medicine and the entire time over to the school I have to drive with my head tilted back and my nose toward the heavens so that I didn't have mucus running all over my shirt. This was of course made worse by the face that my eyes were watering. Frankly I'm proud of the fact that we got to school without me dragging 100 yards of corn stalks behind us.
We got to school and after dealing out the hugs, kisses and goodbyes I ran into the bathroom and got a giant handful of that sandpaper-grade institutional towels every grade school has. With a giant sigh of relief I stepped out the front doors blew my nose with great vigor, and wiped the burning from my eyes. Finally....relief.
With that, a passing mother on her way into the building stopped for a second, put her hand on my shoulder and said, " awww, I know exactly how you feel, the first day always breaks my heart too..it'll be ok."
That's exactly how things started for me yesterday, which was the kids first day of school.
The allergies set the tone for what is always destined to be a disaster of a morning. The kids aren't used to getting up, my wife is all depressed because the kids are going away and summer is over, and more importantly ( to me anyway) is that my morning routine is interrupted.
All summer long I have the pleasure of being the only up in the mornings. The rare chance to enjoy the quiet solitude has really made me a morning person. Grib, who had 4 brothers and 3 sisters told me how he would occasionally find his father sitting in the dark at 5 am with a pot of coffee all alone. What was once seen as maniacal seems prudent now.
So instead of quietly getting dressed and sipping coffee while listening to sportscenter I spent the better part of the morning screaming shit like, " I'm leaving in 3 minutes with or without you !" ( I wasn't) or " I'm going to make you all wear burlap sacks to school for now on" ( I was).
Finally, 5 minutes late, we got out the door, into the car, and off to school. In my haste I forgot my allergy medicine and the entire time over to the school I have to drive with my head tilted back and my nose toward the heavens so that I didn't have mucus running all over my shirt. This was of course made worse by the face that my eyes were watering. Frankly I'm proud of the fact that we got to school without me dragging 100 yards of corn stalks behind us.
We got to school and after dealing out the hugs, kisses and goodbyes I ran into the bathroom and got a giant handful of that sandpaper-grade institutional towels every grade school has. With a giant sigh of relief I stepped out the front doors blew my nose with great vigor, and wiped the burning from my eyes. Finally....relief.
With that, a passing mother on her way into the building stopped for a second, put her hand on my shoulder and said, " awww, I know exactly how you feel, the first day always breaks my heart too..it'll be ok."
Friday, August 22, 2008
good reading
Michael Phelps to write new book
2 hours ago
NEW YORK (AP) — Olympic superstar Michael Phelps will write a book telling the story behind his historic eight gold medal swims just in time for the holiday season, Free Press, an imprint of Simon & Schuster, announced Friday.
In "Built to Succeed," Phelps will also cover his philosophy on training and competition, as well as his life being raised by a single mother and coping with an attention-deficit disorder, the publisher said.
The book is scheduled to be released in December.
Phelps, 23, became the winningest Olympian ever at this summer's Beijing games, winning eight golds to add to six previous Olympic first-place victories. He holds seven world records.
Hosted by Copyright © 2008 The Associated Press. All rights reserved.
I bet it will sound a lot like this:
2 hours ago
NEW YORK (AP) — Olympic superstar Michael Phelps will write a book telling the story behind his historic eight gold medal swims just in time for the holiday season, Free Press, an imprint of Simon & Schuster, announced Friday.
In "Built to Succeed," Phelps will also cover his philosophy on training and competition, as well as his life being raised by a single mother and coping with an attention-deficit disorder, the publisher said.
The book is scheduled to be released in December.
Phelps, 23, became the winningest Olympian ever at this summer's Beijing games, winning eight golds to add to six previous Olympic first-place victories. He holds seven world records.
Hosted by Copyright © 2008 The Associated Press. All rights reserved.
I bet it will sound a lot like this:
Thursday, August 21, 2008
losin it
I've been trying to lose weight.
I track what I eat on fitday.com and I'm exercising and I'm doing all the stuff that you're supposed to. After 4 weeks I weighed in at 209. I lost exactly one pound.
When you're in a jam you should always go with what you know, and since I've never been comfortable with moderation, I figured there was only one way to go. Starting on Sunday I started starving myself.
Sunday was fine.
Monday I woke up hungry and spent most of the day thinking about food and telling people what I really thought of them (note to self: telling people they're whiny fucks might not be the best way to make a good impression at your new job).
Tuesday I woke up feeling like I was half drunk...that was the more functional half. I got up all dizzy and drove to work swerving all over the road and crying my eyes out over some NPR story about Arctic drilling...THOSE POOR ESKIMOS.
I got to work and finally cracked. I had a Clif Bar in my bag and wolfed it down. 2 minutes later the sugar hit my system and I got a euphoria that bordered on a religious experience. It was like all the vomiting you do before you start hallucinating on peyote....I mean, so I've heard....allegedly...anyway, I wouldn't recommend it as a form of getting high, but I wouldn't discourage it either.
So basically I made it from Sunday night till Tuesday morning, about 36 hours, eating almost nothing. It makes me realize that if I'm on a plane that goes down on the Andes, I'm definitely going to be one of the ones that eats the other passengers. And notice I didn't necessarily say "dead passengers".
In any case, I started eating a little more regularly, with of course the accompanying guilt that required a couple of 2.5 hour rides the last couple of days. So its reassuring to see the the anorexia has taken at least a small hold.
Oh yeah, and I got on the scale today...205.
I track what I eat on fitday.com and I'm exercising and I'm doing all the stuff that you're supposed to. After 4 weeks I weighed in at 209. I lost exactly one pound.
When you're in a jam you should always go with what you know, and since I've never been comfortable with moderation, I figured there was only one way to go. Starting on Sunday I started starving myself.
Sunday was fine.
Monday I woke up hungry and spent most of the day thinking about food and telling people what I really thought of them (note to self: telling people they're whiny fucks might not be the best way to make a good impression at your new job).
Tuesday I woke up feeling like I was half drunk...that was the more functional half. I got up all dizzy and drove to work swerving all over the road and crying my eyes out over some NPR story about Arctic drilling...THOSE POOR ESKIMOS.
I got to work and finally cracked. I had a Clif Bar in my bag and wolfed it down. 2 minutes later the sugar hit my system and I got a euphoria that bordered on a religious experience. It was like all the vomiting you do before you start hallucinating on peyote....I mean, so I've heard....allegedly...anyway, I wouldn't recommend it as a form of getting high, but I wouldn't discourage it either.
So basically I made it from Sunday night till Tuesday morning, about 36 hours, eating almost nothing. It makes me realize that if I'm on a plane that goes down on the Andes, I'm definitely going to be one of the ones that eats the other passengers. And notice I didn't necessarily say "dead passengers".
In any case, I started eating a little more regularly, with of course the accompanying guilt that required a couple of 2.5 hour rides the last couple of days. So its reassuring to see the the anorexia has taken at least a small hold.
Oh yeah, and I got on the scale today...205.
Monday, August 18, 2008
I might have to give this guy a second look
the story here
John McCain's temper is well documented. He's called opponents and colleagues "shitheads," "assholes" and in at least one case "a fucking jerk."...
Three reporters from Arizona, on the condition of anonymity, also let me in on another incident involving McCain's intemperateness. In his 1992 Senate bid, McCain was joined on the campaign trail by his wife, Cindy, as well as campaign aide Doug Cole and consultant Wes Gullett. At one point, Cindy playfully twirled McCain's hair and said, "You're getting a little thin up there." McCain's face reddened, and he responded, "At least I don't plaster on the makeup like a trollop, you cunt." McCain's excuse was that it had been a long day. If elected president of the United States, McCain would have many long days.
John McCain's temper is well documented. He's called opponents and colleagues "shitheads," "assholes" and in at least one case "a fucking jerk."...
Three reporters from Arizona, on the condition of anonymity, also let me in on another incident involving McCain's intemperateness. In his 1992 Senate bid, McCain was joined on the campaign trail by his wife, Cindy, as well as campaign aide Doug Cole and consultant Wes Gullett. At one point, Cindy playfully twirled McCain's hair and said, "You're getting a little thin up there." McCain's face reddened, and he responded, "At least I don't plaster on the makeup like a trollop, you cunt." McCain's excuse was that it had been a long day. If elected president of the United States, McCain would have many long days.
Friday, August 15, 2008
yeah yeah yeah
I know I've been fairly tame since my return.
The thing is this new job has polarized my personality so that most of the time I'm so square there's nothing the write about. The rest of the time the shit that I'm writing is so freaky that I'm frightened to read it myself, let along post it.
So far the freakiness hasn't manifested itself in the material world, simply meaning that I've held it together in an impressive run of patience and sobriety. However I have a sneaky feeling that may all come to a head this weekend. What was it Jules said ?...
" I'm a mushroom cloud laying motherfucker, motherfucker !" ahahaha good stuff.
Here's a great link:
http://www.allmyfaves.com/
And I just discovered Conor Oberst:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BWRhwJ6p1yg
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ndeTIkOi9Y
Have a great weekend.
The thing is this new job has polarized my personality so that most of the time I'm so square there's nothing the write about. The rest of the time the shit that I'm writing is so freaky that I'm frightened to read it myself, let along post it.
So far the freakiness hasn't manifested itself in the material world, simply meaning that I've held it together in an impressive run of patience and sobriety. However I have a sneaky feeling that may all come to a head this weekend. What was it Jules said ?...
" I'm a mushroom cloud laying motherfucker, motherfucker !" ahahaha good stuff.
Here's a great link:
http://www.allmyfaves.com/
And I just discovered Conor Oberst:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BWRhwJ6p1yg
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ndeTIkOi9Y
Have a great weekend.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
dang !
On my way to shoot 3 under until the final hole got me.
49 is my best. Watch out for the windmill.
http://www.addictinggames.com/miniputt.html
49 is my best. Watch out for the windmill.
http://www.addictinggames.com/miniputt.html
Monday, August 11, 2008
smooth
when asked about the complex intros that marked his songs and offset his trademark barartone voice, Issac Hayes said, " You don't stick bread in a cold oven baby ".
Isaac Lee Hayes, Jr. (August 20, 1942 -- August 10, 2008)[1] was an American soul and funk singer-songwriter, musician, record producer, arranger, composer and actor. Hayes was one of the main creative forces behind southern soul music label Stax Records, where he served as both an in-house songwriter and producer with partner David Porter during the mid-1960s. In the late 1960s, Hayes became a recording artist, and recorded successful soul albums such as Hot Buttered Soul (1969) and Black Moses (1971) as the Stax label's premier artist.
Alongside his work in popular music, Hayes was a film score composer for motion pictures. His best known work, for the 1971 blaxploitation film Shaft, earned Hayes an Academy Award for Best Original Song (the first Academy Award received by an African-American in a non-acting category) and two Grammy Awards. He received a third Grammy for the album Black Moses.
In 1992, in recognition of his humanitarian work, he was crowned an honorary king of Ghana's Ada district. From 1997 to 2006, he provided the voice for the character "Chef" on the Comedy Central animated TV series South Park.
Hayes was found dead in his Memphis home on August 10, 2008 as reported by the Shelby County sheriff's department. His death came 10 days before his 66th birthday.[1]
[2]Here is a complete slo-mo video clip of Isaac Hayes conducting the Theme from Shaft, which won an Oscar for best song.
After viewing, visit this lost mash-up classic from 1985
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9UTpVW...
Isaac Lee Hayes, Jr. (August 20, 1942 -- August 10, 2008)[1] was an American soul and funk singer-songwriter, musician, record producer, arranger, composer and actor. Hayes was one of the main creative forces behind southern soul music label Stax Records, where he served as both an in-house songwriter and producer with partner David Porter during the mid-1960s. In the late 1960s, Hayes became a recording artist, and recorded successful soul albums such as Hot Buttered Soul (1969) and Black Moses (1971) as the Stax label's premier artist.
Alongside his work in popular music, Hayes was a film score composer for motion pictures. His best known work, for the 1971 blaxploitation film Shaft, earned Hayes an Academy Award for Best Original Song (the first Academy Award received by an African-American in a non-acting category) and two Grammy Awards. He received a third Grammy for the album Black Moses.
In 1992, in recognition of his humanitarian work, he was crowned an honorary king of Ghana's Ada district. From 1997 to 2006, he provided the voice for the character "Chef" on the Comedy Central animated TV series South Park.
Hayes was found dead in his Memphis home on August 10, 2008 as reported by the Shelby County sheriff's department. His death came 10 days before his 66th birthday.[1]
[2]Here is a complete slo-mo video clip of Isaac Hayes conducting the Theme from Shaft, which won an Oscar for best song.
After viewing, visit this lost mash-up classic from 1985
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9UTpVW...
Friday, August 08, 2008
A reasonable idea
So I came up with the idea for the shows "The Contender" and " The Ultimate Fighter". Social networking sites...I had that one years ago. When I was 9 I invented the turn signal that turned itself off ( although I was saddened to find that one had been around for about 25 years already).
In recent years I've been working on this idea of putting the shortstop between the pitcher and the catcher to obscure the view of the batter. When I inquire about any rule prohibiting such actions I just get funny looks and comments like, " There probably NOT a rule because nobody would be that stupid". I think those people underestimate both my genius and ballplayers stupidity/courage. In any case, even Edison had his detractors.
Which leads us to a discussion of last night which brought about a very reasonable idea...what if we started teaching high school kids how to not be morons.
(OK, that might be harsh...and impractical...I mean we're not miracle workers.)
What I mean is that society used to have support systems that have largely eroded in modern society. There was a time when a mother would teach a daughter how to cook, what to expect during pregnancy, or the fact that the quickest way to get a man to do what you want is an unexpected handjob ( ok, not MY Mom, but probably your Mom). A time when fathers would teach a son to throw a ball, how to haggle over the price of a car, or where the hide all the parts left over after you've built the grill.
But there was also the larger support structure when people would learn either how to do stuff or who to ask when it came to mortgages, dealing with local government issues, how to deal with house maintenance issues, money management.
And finally, there was enough common culture and community where people felt compelled to act civilly toward each other...more than that, there was a formal and accepted way to deal with each other. People shared certain verbal and non-verbal cues that prevented interactions from escalating to the point of chasing someone around their yard with a snow shovel. The constraints of society that went out the window over the last 30 years as being too formal or unnecessary, IMO actually served a practical purpose.
Here's an analogy that might make my point....
When I play poker with people for the first time I go over a few rules that I view as essential
* keep you bet in front of you and don't throw it into the middle of the table
* The dealer should deal the same way every time...burn-don't burn-whatever, just be predictable
* do not talk about the current hand while its going on
and there are a couple more, but you get the point.
Invariably, the first time around everyone breaks these rules and I have to go through the whole thing again. Predictably, next time around it starts up again and then I just let it go. In almost every instance, either someone acts out of turn or can't figure out what their bet is or some other sort of disagreement breaks out and people suddenly realize WHY I asked that we follow prescribed rules and see the inherent benefits of commonly accepted behavior. Then once everyone is on board we can enjoy the game without any distractions, arguments, or bad feelings.
What high school kids really need is someone sitting at the poker table telling them how to play.
Stuff like:
- When you show up to an interview, don't wear ripped jeans
- When you're approaching an interchange on the turnpike, move to the left lane and make room for merging traffic
- Don't fucking talk on your cell phone in a way that includes everyone within 200 yards on the results of your gonorrhea test.
- When you cross the street, move your fat ass
- When you make $8.50 an hour, 900 anytime minutes and new sneakers might not be the most prudent investment strategy
- Subway charging you for onions and you not getting said onions is not an offense worthy of a 911 call
- If you drive through a neighborhood with kids at 80 miles an hour, talking on your cell phone, with your subwoofer blaring a song about 'fucking da bitches'...don't be surprised when you find your tires flat and three pounds of dog shit under your passenger seat
I'm sure the list can go on. I suggest starting it freshman year with the hope that you'd be able to get most of it in.
In recent years I've been working on this idea of putting the shortstop between the pitcher and the catcher to obscure the view of the batter. When I inquire about any rule prohibiting such actions I just get funny looks and comments like, " There probably NOT a rule because nobody would be that stupid". I think those people underestimate both my genius and ballplayers stupidity/courage. In any case, even Edison had his detractors.
Which leads us to a discussion of last night which brought about a very reasonable idea...what if we started teaching high school kids how to not be morons.
(OK, that might be harsh...and impractical...I mean we're not miracle workers.)
What I mean is that society used to have support systems that have largely eroded in modern society. There was a time when a mother would teach a daughter how to cook, what to expect during pregnancy, or the fact that the quickest way to get a man to do what you want is an unexpected handjob ( ok, not MY Mom, but probably your Mom). A time when fathers would teach a son to throw a ball, how to haggle over the price of a car, or where the hide all the parts left over after you've built the grill.
But there was also the larger support structure when people would learn either how to do stuff or who to ask when it came to mortgages, dealing with local government issues, how to deal with house maintenance issues, money management.
And finally, there was enough common culture and community where people felt compelled to act civilly toward each other...more than that, there was a formal and accepted way to deal with each other. People shared certain verbal and non-verbal cues that prevented interactions from escalating to the point of chasing someone around their yard with a snow shovel. The constraints of society that went out the window over the last 30 years as being too formal or unnecessary, IMO actually served a practical purpose.
Here's an analogy that might make my point....
When I play poker with people for the first time I go over a few rules that I view as essential
* keep you bet in front of you and don't throw it into the middle of the table
* The dealer should deal the same way every time...burn-don't burn-whatever, just be predictable
* do not talk about the current hand while its going on
and there are a couple more, but you get the point.
Invariably, the first time around everyone breaks these rules and I have to go through the whole thing again. Predictably, next time around it starts up again and then I just let it go. In almost every instance, either someone acts out of turn or can't figure out what their bet is or some other sort of disagreement breaks out and people suddenly realize WHY I asked that we follow prescribed rules and see the inherent benefits of commonly accepted behavior. Then once everyone is on board we can enjoy the game without any distractions, arguments, or bad feelings.
What high school kids really need is someone sitting at the poker table telling them how to play.
Stuff like:
- When you show up to an interview, don't wear ripped jeans
- When you're approaching an interchange on the turnpike, move to the left lane and make room for merging traffic
- Don't fucking talk on your cell phone in a way that includes everyone within 200 yards on the results of your gonorrhea test.
- When you cross the street, move your fat ass
- When you make $8.50 an hour, 900 anytime minutes and new sneakers might not be the most prudent investment strategy
- Subway charging you for onions and you not getting said onions is not an offense worthy of a 911 call
- If you drive through a neighborhood with kids at 80 miles an hour, talking on your cell phone, with your subwoofer blaring a song about 'fucking da bitches'...don't be surprised when you find your tires flat and three pounds of dog shit under your passenger seat
I'm sure the list can go on. I suggest starting it freshman year with the hope that you'd be able to get most of it in.
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
Showertime
This is my shower
After an hour of hacking my way through half-filled conditioner bottles...
YEA ! I finally found a shampoo !
I suppose that's what its like living with women.*
* I left the toilet seat up on purpose when I left today...so we're even.
After an hour of hacking my way through half-filled conditioner bottles...
YEA ! I finally found a shampoo !
I suppose that's what its like living with women.*
* I left the toilet seat up on purpose when I left today...so we're even.
Monday, August 04, 2008
lawn warrior
Like most, I detest mowing the lawn.
Given the fact that it does give me a solid 45 minutes of solitude the experience has grown on me a bit...with one exception.
Whenever I bring myself to START mowing that lawn, I want to FINISH mowing the lawn. I don't want to take a phone call, or take a break, or get half done now and do the other half later. Because as far as I'm concerned if you stop mowing the lawn for more than 5 minutes, then starting up again is the same as mowing the lawn TWICE. And I aint mowing the lawn twice.
So Saturday I was clipping along at a good pace when the mower started sputtering and died. Fine, OK, out of gas. Walking to the garage and getting the gas can is under the 5 minute rule and therefore maintaining the continuity of a single mow.
When I picked up the gas can I suddenly realized that we had a 'situation'.
The can was just about empty.
I was about 90% done with the front and only had a small backyard to do. I shook the can, and eyeballed the lawn and tried to get a feel for my gas to grass ratio. I did not have a very good feeling.
I made my way over the the mower and recreated the opening scene out of Road Warrior where a frantic Mel Gibson uses hubcaps and a bloody rage to sop up every last drop of gas in the desert.
I twisted and turned the can and nozzle to get every last drop of gas out of the can. Had I been able to cut it in half and scrape the inside of the can, I would have considered it.
Then I made a quick lap of the yard to maximize efficiency. I picked up all the kids balls and toys, I propped opened the back gate, and eyed up the shortest path from where I was to where I had to be.
Then I reared back, pulled the cord, and started running. And man did I run.
It's tough to get an accurate perspective while pushing a mower, but if I had to guess I was maintaining right around a 9 minute mile pace. And mind you that's with have to make turns !
I can't imagine what my neighbors though as the drove by to see me sprinting around my yard like a mad man putting the mower no two wheels and power sliding it around the swingset, but at this point I'm pretty sure that nothing happening at Chez Flick would totally catch them off guard.
The good news, I got the lawn done with gas to spare ! The even better news, I now realize it should really only take me about 18 minutes to do the entire lawn if I apply myself...and I can get my workout in to boot.
Monday, June 09, 2008
See Jane Run
Friday was the Hempfield qualifier for the Hershey Track meet
http://www.hersheystrackandfield.com/meet/results.aspx
Steph wanted to do the standing long jump and one of the sprints. Since she could do two running events I also ( against he will) signed her up for the 400.
In the standing long jump she jumped 5' 1" which was good for 4th.
In the 50 yard dash she finished a close 2nd, which was great, but only the winner advances to regionals.
That left the 400.
Steph was not happy. She got her ribbon for the 50 and that was good enough. Some of the high school kids had told her that the 400 was the hardest event and that combined with the fact that it was 88 degrees had her scared. What made matters worse was having to sit around for 20 minutes until after all the heats for the 200 were conducted.
I tried to take her mind off things and walked her around the infield a bit and joked around with her, but she'd have none of it. " How fast should I run...what happens if I'm last....I don't know what to do", she grew more worried by the minute.
As the start approached I told her, " Run at a comfortable speed and stay near the middle. I'll stand someone near the finish and when you get to me just start running as fast as you can."
They run this event as a pack race so the girls do not have to stay in a lane, but when the shot the starter pistol Steph stayed wide around curve by herself in lane two.
" Move to the rail, stay to the inside", I tried yelling over the crowd to no avail.
At the 100 yard mark a couple of girls separated themselves from the pack and got a two stride lead. With that Steph moved inside and settled into third place. They runners started to distance themselves from the field and the winner would come from these three.
At the 200 yard mark the lead runner picked up the pace and second place started to crack. Her stride faltered and got choppy and she started going backwards with each step. Steph went wide around her and lost another stride now falling three strides back.
" STAY WITH HER ! KEEP HER CLOSE !", this was heart wrenching.
I moved from the 80 yard mark out past 100 yards. Steph was going to have to close a lot of ground and if she stood any chance she'd have to start sprinting early. The girls started exiting the final curve coming to the 120 yard mark. The girl in the lead had the smooth relaxed gait of a distance runner with he face relaxed and calm. Three steps behind was Stephanie grinding it out, desperately hanging on with her face wincing in pain.
I leaned over next to the rail and into her ear, " you have to MOVE IT !!!!! NOW !!!!.........NOW !!!!"
In a blink her expression morphed from a struggling 9 year old girl into something very very frightening. She looked like a cross between a hungry lion and Mike Tyson looking at a Robin Givens poster. And she started to run.
Her initial burst brought her right onto the girl's heels and the crowd started to scream. The yelling inspired the front runner and she lifted the pace holding off Steph at the 70 meter mark. Then out of the crowd and up to the edge of the track stepped someone who looked remarkably like my mild mannered wife. Above the roar of the crowd I could hear her screaming, " GET HER !!!!.......GEEEETTTTTTTT HERRRRRRR !!!!!!!
Stephanie found one more gear and pulled out into lane two along side the girl. 40 meters....30 meters....then Steph started to gain ground. Finally the other girl cracked. 10 meters to go she had a full stride and that's how they finished 1-2, a good five seconds ahead of third place with Stephanie running her first quarter-mile in 1:23. Not bad for a 9 year old.
I was really proud of her effort and more proud of the fact that she congratulated all her competitors and consoled the distraught girl in second place. She's a really great kid and I'm happy to see her efforts rewarded. I'm hoping the experience will also help her when she's faced the the next intimidating thing that comes along.
Oh yeah, her mother is a little embarrassed but shouldn't be. I'm proud of her too.
http://www.hersheystrackandfield.com/meet/results.aspx
Steph wanted to do the standing long jump and one of the sprints. Since she could do two running events I also ( against he will) signed her up for the 400.
In the standing long jump she jumped 5' 1" which was good for 4th.
In the 50 yard dash she finished a close 2nd, which was great, but only the winner advances to regionals.
That left the 400.
Steph was not happy. She got her ribbon for the 50 and that was good enough. Some of the high school kids had told her that the 400 was the hardest event and that combined with the fact that it was 88 degrees had her scared. What made matters worse was having to sit around for 20 minutes until after all the heats for the 200 were conducted.
I tried to take her mind off things and walked her around the infield a bit and joked around with her, but she'd have none of it. " How fast should I run...what happens if I'm last....I don't know what to do", she grew more worried by the minute.
As the start approached I told her, " Run at a comfortable speed and stay near the middle. I'll stand someone near the finish and when you get to me just start running as fast as you can."
They run this event as a pack race so the girls do not have to stay in a lane, but when the shot the starter pistol Steph stayed wide around curve by herself in lane two.
" Move to the rail, stay to the inside", I tried yelling over the crowd to no avail.
At the 100 yard mark a couple of girls separated themselves from the pack and got a two stride lead. With that Steph moved inside and settled into third place. They runners started to distance themselves from the field and the winner would come from these three.
At the 200 yard mark the lead runner picked up the pace and second place started to crack. Her stride faltered and got choppy and she started going backwards with each step. Steph went wide around her and lost another stride now falling three strides back.
" STAY WITH HER ! KEEP HER CLOSE !", this was heart wrenching.
I moved from the 80 yard mark out past 100 yards. Steph was going to have to close a lot of ground and if she stood any chance she'd have to start sprinting early. The girls started exiting the final curve coming to the 120 yard mark. The girl in the lead had the smooth relaxed gait of a distance runner with he face relaxed and calm. Three steps behind was Stephanie grinding it out, desperately hanging on with her face wincing in pain.
I leaned over next to the rail and into her ear, " you have to MOVE IT !!!!! NOW !!!!.........NOW !!!!"
In a blink her expression morphed from a struggling 9 year old girl into something very very frightening. She looked like a cross between a hungry lion and Mike Tyson looking at a Robin Givens poster. And she started to run.
Her initial burst brought her right onto the girl's heels and the crowd started to scream. The yelling inspired the front runner and she lifted the pace holding off Steph at the 70 meter mark. Then out of the crowd and up to the edge of the track stepped someone who looked remarkably like my mild mannered wife. Above the roar of the crowd I could hear her screaming, " GET HER !!!!.......GEEEETTTTTTTT HERRRRRRR !!!!!!!
Stephanie found one more gear and pulled out into lane two along side the girl. 40 meters....30 meters....then Steph started to gain ground. Finally the other girl cracked. 10 meters to go she had a full stride and that's how they finished 1-2, a good five seconds ahead of third place with Stephanie running her first quarter-mile in 1:23. Not bad for a 9 year old.
I was really proud of her effort and more proud of the fact that she congratulated all her competitors and consoled the distraught girl in second place. She's a really great kid and I'm happy to see her efforts rewarded. I'm hoping the experience will also help her when she's faced the the next intimidating thing that comes along.
Oh yeah, her mother is a little embarrassed but shouldn't be. I'm proud of her too.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Re-runs
I'm out until August 1. Until then I'll be running a series of re-runs from the last 3 years.
From March 2006:
the Flu
Wednesday night my youngest daughter started projectile vomiting all over the house.
By Thursday, my wife had contracted it. Friday night I could feel it coming and by Saturday morning, I had it full blown. Actually Saturday started with me laying in bed, unsure if I had it or not and unwilling to move for fear that I might find out.
The boy walked in and said, " good morning !...ummm by the way, I threw up twice last night."
"where"
" Uh, in my room, I'm sorry"
I walked into his room to see vomit strategically spewn all over his covers, the bed and the floor. Any doubts at to whether or not I was going to spend the day nauseous were sealed right there and then. The rest of the weekend was spent prone watching TV and hoping not to die.
Which reminds of a story of one other time i had the stomach flu.
I was in school and had it bad. I sweated it out for two days in my room, getting up only to got the the bathroom where I would howl in pain and grab the seat so as not to get blown out of the stall. After about 48 hours of of sweating the fever and emptying the lower half of my intenstinal tract it started to lift. The fever came down under 101 and I could sit upright without having to barf. With all the strength I had I got dressed and started heading down to the health campus in hope that they had some medicine to cure Lupus or whatever I had contracted.
I live about 1 mile from the infirmary and had been walking for about a half mile when I had the uncontrollable desire to fart. Now being a veteran of such incidences, I knew better than to let one rip. The last thing I needed was a spoonful in my trousers. I stopped in my tracks and very gingerly, oh so tenderly, I slowly loosened up the sphincter and tested the waters with the tiniest of flatulence. A squeeker if you will. Whew...nothing but gas.
I continued on my way somewhat relieved, but still not totally satisfied as there continued to be slight pressure on my lower half. Again I paused, gingerly relaxed, and as inconspicuously as possible provided myself some necessary relief with a nice solid, although purposely quiet fart. Ahhhhh, no worries at all. I continued on my way.
Now about three quarters of the way to the health campus the gas pains returned. Now this was getting to be a bit ridiculous. Hopefully when I got to the infirmary, they'd be able to give me something for the gas as well as the fever. Emboldened with confidence of my first two attempts I figured I'd just let this one go 'on the fly' and get to the infirmary and get things over with.
Then it happened.
A big and expected whiff of gas came out and the swelling in my belly subsided. Then, without warning, and with all the power of the Hoover Dam busting at the seams, the last remnants of my bowels started emptying into my pants. I instinctively tightened my sphincter, but to no avail. This was like a jailbreak. I even stopped in my tracks and clenched my buttcheeks, but it was no use. I might as well have been trying to stop a fire plug with two boxing gloves for all the good it was doing.
For a good 5 seconds, which anyone who has been in a similar situation could surely tell you is an anal eternity, the entire remaining contents of my lower bowels emptied into my pants. I had been worried about a spoonful....a got the whole gallon.
I stood stood there...still....stunned....ashamed....Panicked. Then I noticed a very very odd thing.
Despite what had to be a good quart of poo emptying out of my bottom, I couldn't....and i hate to be graphic here....I couldn't feel anything running...you know...anywhere.
Then I realized that a very surreal, dare I say, miraculous thing had occurred. In my haste to get dressed and out the door, I hadn't worn jeans and boxers. Instead I slipped on a pair of brief and and old pair of sweatpants. The combination of these two items had created sort of a catch basin...or depository, if you will....that all of the offending material was now precariously perched in. Everything I was worried about was hanging somewhere between my testicles and knees and was bordered on either side my the elastic bands of my undershorts.
By all means, this wasn't a solution...but it did offer hope. Slowly and steadily I turned. With the grace of a ballerina and the iron nerves of a bomb diffuser I waddled my way back toward home. Somehow, some way, it what is really a blur that I attribute to divine intervention, I negotiated my way through the sea of students and all the way back to the dormitory bathroom where I was able to extract myself from the shorts and shower all in one relatively safe manner.
From March 2006:
the Flu
Wednesday night my youngest daughter started projectile vomiting all over the house.
By Thursday, my wife had contracted it. Friday night I could feel it coming and by Saturday morning, I had it full blown. Actually Saturday started with me laying in bed, unsure if I had it or not and unwilling to move for fear that I might find out.
The boy walked in and said, " good morning !...ummm by the way, I threw up twice last night."
"where"
" Uh, in my room, I'm sorry"
I walked into his room to see vomit strategically spewn all over his covers, the bed and the floor. Any doubts at to whether or not I was going to spend the day nauseous were sealed right there and then. The rest of the weekend was spent prone watching TV and hoping not to die.
Which reminds of a story of one other time i had the stomach flu.
I was in school and had it bad. I sweated it out for two days in my room, getting up only to got the the bathroom where I would howl in pain and grab the seat so as not to get blown out of the stall. After about 48 hours of of sweating the fever and emptying the lower half of my intenstinal tract it started to lift. The fever came down under 101 and I could sit upright without having to barf. With all the strength I had I got dressed and started heading down to the health campus in hope that they had some medicine to cure Lupus or whatever I had contracted.
I live about 1 mile from the infirmary and had been walking for about a half mile when I had the uncontrollable desire to fart. Now being a veteran of such incidences, I knew better than to let one rip. The last thing I needed was a spoonful in my trousers. I stopped in my tracks and very gingerly, oh so tenderly, I slowly loosened up the sphincter and tested the waters with the tiniest of flatulence. A squeeker if you will. Whew...nothing but gas.
I continued on my way somewhat relieved, but still not totally satisfied as there continued to be slight pressure on my lower half. Again I paused, gingerly relaxed, and as inconspicuously as possible provided myself some necessary relief with a nice solid, although purposely quiet fart. Ahhhhh, no worries at all. I continued on my way.
Now about three quarters of the way to the health campus the gas pains returned. Now this was getting to be a bit ridiculous. Hopefully when I got to the infirmary, they'd be able to give me something for the gas as well as the fever. Emboldened with confidence of my first two attempts I figured I'd just let this one go 'on the fly' and get to the infirmary and get things over with.
Then it happened.
A big and expected whiff of gas came out and the swelling in my belly subsided. Then, without warning, and with all the power of the Hoover Dam busting at the seams, the last remnants of my bowels started emptying into my pants. I instinctively tightened my sphincter, but to no avail. This was like a jailbreak. I even stopped in my tracks and clenched my buttcheeks, but it was no use. I might as well have been trying to stop a fire plug with two boxing gloves for all the good it was doing.
For a good 5 seconds, which anyone who has been in a similar situation could surely tell you is an anal eternity, the entire remaining contents of my lower bowels emptied into my pants. I had been worried about a spoonful....a got the whole gallon.
I stood stood there...still....stunned....ashamed....Panicked. Then I noticed a very very odd thing.
Despite what had to be a good quart of poo emptying out of my bottom, I couldn't....and i hate to be graphic here....I couldn't feel anything running...you know...anywhere.
Then I realized that a very surreal, dare I say, miraculous thing had occurred. In my haste to get dressed and out the door, I hadn't worn jeans and boxers. Instead I slipped on a pair of brief and and old pair of sweatpants. The combination of these two items had created sort of a catch basin...or depository, if you will....that all of the offending material was now precariously perched in. Everything I was worried about was hanging somewhere between my testicles and knees and was bordered on either side my the elastic bands of my undershorts.
By all means, this wasn't a solution...but it did offer hope. Slowly and steadily I turned. With the grace of a ballerina and the iron nerves of a bomb diffuser I waddled my way back toward home. Somehow, some way, it what is really a blur that I attribute to divine intervention, I negotiated my way through the sea of students and all the way back to the dormitory bathroom where I was able to extract myself from the shorts and shower all in one relatively safe manner.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Something this fat-ass and I can agree on.
Monday, April 21st, 2008
My Vote's for Obama (if I could vote) ...by Michael Moore
Friends,
I don't get to vote for President this primary season. I live in Michigan. The party leaders (both here and in D.C.) couldn't get their act together, and thus our votes will not be counted.
So, if you live in Pennsylvania, can you do me a favor? Will you please cast my vote -- and yours -- on Tuesday for Senator Barack Obama?
I haven't spoken publicly 'til now as to who I would vote for, primarily for two reasons: 1) Who cares?; and 2) I (and most people I know) don't give a rat's ass whose name is on the ballot in November, as long as there's a picture of JFK and FDR riding a donkey at the top of the ballot, and the word "Democratic" next to the candidate's name.
Seriously, I know so many people who don't care if the name under the Big "D" is Dancer, Prancer, Clinton or Blitzen. It can be Mickey Mouse, Donald Duck, Barry Obama or the Dalai Lama.
Well, that sounded good last year, but over the past two months, the actions and words of Hillary Clinton have gone from being merely disappointing to downright disgusting. I guess the debate last week was the final straw. I've watched Senator Clinton and her husband play this game of appealing to the worst side of white people, but last Wednesday, when she hurled the name "Farrakhan" out of nowhere, well that's when the silly season came to an early end for me. She said the "F" word to scare white people, pure and simple. Of course, Obama has no connection to Farrakhan. But, according to Senator Clinton, Obama's pastor does -- AND the "church bulletin" once included a Los Angeles Times op-ed from some guy with Hamas! No, not the church bulletin!
This sleazy attempt to smear Obama was brilliantly explained the following night by Stephen Colbert. He pointed out that if Obama is supported by Ted Kennedy, who is Catholic, and the Catholic Church is led by a Pope who was in the Hitler Youth, that can mean only one thing: OBAMA LOVES HITLER!
Yes, Senator Clinton, that's how you sounded. Like you were nuts. Like you were a bigot stoking the fires of stupidity. How sad that I would ever have to write those words about you. You have devoted your life to good causes and good deeds. And now to throw it all away for an office you can't win unless you smear the black man so much that the superdelegates cry "Uncle (Tom)" and give it all to you.
But that can't happen. You cast your die when you voted to start this bloody war. When you did that you were like Moses who lost it for a moment and, because of that, was prohibited from entering the Promised Land.
How sad for a country that wanted to see the first woman elected to the White House. That day will come -- but it won't be you. We'll have to wait for the current Democratic governor of Kansas to run in 2016 (you read it here first!).
There are those who say Obama isn't ready, or he's voted wrong on this or that. But that's looking at the trees and not the forest. What we are witnessing is not just a candidate but a profound, massive public movement for change. My endorsement is more for Obama The Movement than it is for Obama the candidate.
That is not to take anything away from this exceptional man. But what's going on is bigger than him at this point, and that's a good thing for the country. Because, when he wins in November, that Obama Movement is going to have to stay alert and active. Corporate America is not going to give up their hold on our government just because we say so. President Obama is going to need a nation of millions to stand behind him.
I know some of you will say, 'Mike, what have the Democrats done to deserve our vote?' That's a damn good question. In November of '06, the country loudly sent a message that we wanted the war to end. Yet the Democrats have done nothing. So why should we be so eager to line up happily behind them?
I'll tell you why. Because I can't stand one more friggin' minute of this administration and the permanent, irreversible damage it has done to our people and to this world. I'm almost at the point where I don't care if the Democrats don't have a backbone or a kneebone or a thought in their dizzy little heads. Just as long as their name ain't "Bush" and the word "Republican" is not beside theirs on the ballot, then that's good enough for me.
I, like the majority of Americans, have been pummeled senseless for 8 long years. That's why I will join millions of citizens and stagger into the voting booth come November, like a boxer in the 12th round, all bloodied and bruised with one eye swollen shut, looking for the only thing that matters -- that big "D" on the ballot.
Don't get me wrong. I lost my rose-colored glasses a long time ago.
It's foolish to see the Democrats as anything but a nicer version of a party that exists to do the bidding of the corporate elite in this country. Any endorsement of a Democrat must be done with this acknowledgement and a hope that one day we will have a party that'll represent the people first, and laws that allow that party an equal voice.
Finally, I want to say a word about the basic decency I have seen in Mr. Obama. Mrs. Clinton continues to throw the Rev. Wright up in his face as part of her mission to keep stoking the fears of White America. Every time she does this I shout at the TV, "Say it, Obama! Say that when she and her husband were having marital difficulties regarding Monica Lewinsky, who did she and Bill bring to the White House for 'spiritual counseling?' THE REVEREND JEREMIAH WRIGHT!"
But no, Obama won't throw that at her. It wouldn't be right. It wouldn't be decent. She's been through enough hurt. And so he remains silent and takes the mud she throws in his face.
That's why the crowds who come to see him are so large. That's why he'll take us down a more decent path. That's why I would vote for him if Michigan were allowed to have an election.
But the question I keep hearing is... 'can he win? Can he win in November?' In the distance we hear the siren of the death train called the Straight Talk Express. We know it's possible to hear the words "President McCain" on January 20th. We know there are still many Americans who will never vote for a black man. Hillary knows it, too. She's counting on it.
Pennsylvania, the state that gave birth to this great country, has a chance to set things right. It has not had a moment to shine like this since 1787 when our Constitution was written there. In that Constitution, they wrote that a black man or woman was only "three fifths" human. On Tuesday, the good people of Pennsylvania have a chance for redemption.
Yours,
Michael Moore
My Vote's for Obama (if I could vote) ...by Michael Moore
Friends,
I don't get to vote for President this primary season. I live in Michigan. The party leaders (both here and in D.C.) couldn't get their act together, and thus our votes will not be counted.
So, if you live in Pennsylvania, can you do me a favor? Will you please cast my vote -- and yours -- on Tuesday for Senator Barack Obama?
I haven't spoken publicly 'til now as to who I would vote for, primarily for two reasons: 1) Who cares?; and 2) I (and most people I know) don't give a rat's ass whose name is on the ballot in November, as long as there's a picture of JFK and FDR riding a donkey at the top of the ballot, and the word "Democratic" next to the candidate's name.
Seriously, I know so many people who don't care if the name under the Big "D" is Dancer, Prancer, Clinton or Blitzen. It can be Mickey Mouse, Donald Duck, Barry Obama or the Dalai Lama.
Well, that sounded good last year, but over the past two months, the actions and words of Hillary Clinton have gone from being merely disappointing to downright disgusting. I guess the debate last week was the final straw. I've watched Senator Clinton and her husband play this game of appealing to the worst side of white people, but last Wednesday, when she hurled the name "Farrakhan" out of nowhere, well that's when the silly season came to an early end for me. She said the "F" word to scare white people, pure and simple. Of course, Obama has no connection to Farrakhan. But, according to Senator Clinton, Obama's pastor does -- AND the "church bulletin" once included a Los Angeles Times op-ed from some guy with Hamas! No, not the church bulletin!
This sleazy attempt to smear Obama was brilliantly explained the following night by Stephen Colbert. He pointed out that if Obama is supported by Ted Kennedy, who is Catholic, and the Catholic Church is led by a Pope who was in the Hitler Youth, that can mean only one thing: OBAMA LOVES HITLER!
Yes, Senator Clinton, that's how you sounded. Like you were nuts. Like you were a bigot stoking the fires of stupidity. How sad that I would ever have to write those words about you. You have devoted your life to good causes and good deeds. And now to throw it all away for an office you can't win unless you smear the black man so much that the superdelegates cry "Uncle (Tom)" and give it all to you.
But that can't happen. You cast your die when you voted to start this bloody war. When you did that you were like Moses who lost it for a moment and, because of that, was prohibited from entering the Promised Land.
How sad for a country that wanted to see the first woman elected to the White House. That day will come -- but it won't be you. We'll have to wait for the current Democratic governor of Kansas to run in 2016 (you read it here first!).
There are those who say Obama isn't ready, or he's voted wrong on this or that. But that's looking at the trees and not the forest. What we are witnessing is not just a candidate but a profound, massive public movement for change. My endorsement is more for Obama The Movement than it is for Obama the candidate.
That is not to take anything away from this exceptional man. But what's going on is bigger than him at this point, and that's a good thing for the country. Because, when he wins in November, that Obama Movement is going to have to stay alert and active. Corporate America is not going to give up their hold on our government just because we say so. President Obama is going to need a nation of millions to stand behind him.
I know some of you will say, 'Mike, what have the Democrats done to deserve our vote?' That's a damn good question. In November of '06, the country loudly sent a message that we wanted the war to end. Yet the Democrats have done nothing. So why should we be so eager to line up happily behind them?
I'll tell you why. Because I can't stand one more friggin' minute of this administration and the permanent, irreversible damage it has done to our people and to this world. I'm almost at the point where I don't care if the Democrats don't have a backbone or a kneebone or a thought in their dizzy little heads. Just as long as their name ain't "Bush" and the word "Republican" is not beside theirs on the ballot, then that's good enough for me.
I, like the majority of Americans, have been pummeled senseless for 8 long years. That's why I will join millions of citizens and stagger into the voting booth come November, like a boxer in the 12th round, all bloodied and bruised with one eye swollen shut, looking for the only thing that matters -- that big "D" on the ballot.
Don't get me wrong. I lost my rose-colored glasses a long time ago.
It's foolish to see the Democrats as anything but a nicer version of a party that exists to do the bidding of the corporate elite in this country. Any endorsement of a Democrat must be done with this acknowledgement and a hope that one day we will have a party that'll represent the people first, and laws that allow that party an equal voice.
Finally, I want to say a word about the basic decency I have seen in Mr. Obama. Mrs. Clinton continues to throw the Rev. Wright up in his face as part of her mission to keep stoking the fears of White America. Every time she does this I shout at the TV, "Say it, Obama! Say that when she and her husband were having marital difficulties regarding Monica Lewinsky, who did she and Bill bring to the White House for 'spiritual counseling?' THE REVEREND JEREMIAH WRIGHT!"
But no, Obama won't throw that at her. It wouldn't be right. It wouldn't be decent. She's been through enough hurt. And so he remains silent and takes the mud she throws in his face.
That's why the crowds who come to see him are so large. That's why he'll take us down a more decent path. That's why I would vote for him if Michigan were allowed to have an election.
But the question I keep hearing is... 'can he win? Can he win in November?' In the distance we hear the siren of the death train called the Straight Talk Express. We know it's possible to hear the words "President McCain" on January 20th. We know there are still many Americans who will never vote for a black man. Hillary knows it, too. She's counting on it.
Pennsylvania, the state that gave birth to this great country, has a chance to set things right. It has not had a moment to shine like this since 1787 when our Constitution was written there. In that Constitution, they wrote that a black man or woman was only "three fifths" human. On Tuesday, the good people of Pennsylvania have a chance for redemption.
Yours,
Michael Moore
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
